A Glimmering Girl by L. K. Rigel Page B

you don’t. Turn around.”
    The abbess flicked her wrist, and a comb appeared in her hand. She untangled Igraine’s hair and continued her lecture.
    “You know, it was my great aunt Morwenna—not Merlyn—who taught transmogrification to Artros. Artros was an obtuse boy with a desperate need for empathy, and the lessons made him a better king. But you seem to have been born with a profoundly empathetic soul.”
    “Isn’t that a good thing?”
    “Not in this. Your natural empathy leaves you open to possession. When you transform, you take on more than the shape of a thing. You take on its essence—and risk being lost to your own.”
    “I don’t think so.” Igraine scoffed. “Could a rabbit or an eagle replace my true self?”
    “Not rabbit, not eagle. Not fish or fowl or any four-legged beast,” Zoelyn said. “But feed your empathetic impulses, and they will grow. They’ll become more fluid and accessible to a human looking for a way into your mind. Someone with conviction of purpose and an unyielding will.”
    Zoelyn’s words conjured the image of Prior Quinn, the horrible monk at Rozenwyn’s deathbed. The memory made Igraine sick to her stomach, and she regretted laughing.
    Why couldn’t she ever think first, before expressing her feelings?
    “Or worse, a creature of the Dark,” Zoelyn continued. “Brienne has lost control of the Sarumos court. Her fae have gone dark, and the Dark has found purchase in the west. The Dumnos fae are especially vulnerable with that pretender on the Moonstick Throne.”
    “For someone who shuns the fae, you seem to know a lot about them.”
    “Obey me in this, Igraine. Tell Sir Ross nothing about Lowenwyn. I’m not saying you should lie, but don’t seek him out.” It was the abbess of Avalos speaking, not Zoelyn. “At least wait until we know more.”
    “But he has the right—”
    “The baron is an honorable man. He prays to the high gods. He reveres Igdrasil. But his son has spent years with Lord Sarumen. If Sir Ross has aligned with the monasteries, we could lose Lowenwyn forever. Worse, when he becomes Lord Tintagos, we could lose Dumnos forever.”
    “Ross’s traveling companion is Prior Quinn.” Igraine shuddered to say the name, as she’d shuddered to hear it this morning on the road. “He’s a bishop now. He’s come to see the baron.”
    “Prior to bishop in three years,” Zoelyn said. “But then Quinn has the right connections for rapid advancement.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “He’s Sarumen’s nephew,” Zoelyn said. “I’ll wager he’s come not to see the baron but with questions for the baron’s son. Is Sir Ross still my lord’s creature, now that he’s home safe in his bed? Sarumen wants assurance that Tintagos will support Stephen against Mathilde, now that Aethelos is dead.”
    Igraine hadn’t seen Quinn since the day Wennie was born, and she’d hoped at the time never to see him again. “Zoelyn, when Quinn was here last, he asked Marrek about the faewood and if Marrek knew where there was a portal.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
    “It seemed unimportant, that he only wanted to avoid the fae. But… do you think he actually wanted to find them? Enlist the regent to help destroy us?”
    “I do, and I think Idris would jump at the chance. Since Queen Sifae died, the fae have mistrusted the wyrd.”
    “I don’t like that man,” Igraine said. “Quinn. He’s evil.”
    “Evil is a strong word,” Zoelyn said. “But he does sound damaged. And he might well enlist the regent in his cause. Thank the high gods for the goblins.”
    “Goblins.” Igraine felt the grimace carve into her face—despite having never seen a goblin. Or any fae, for that matter—as far as she knew.
    “Don’t be confused by a goblin’s ugliness,” Zoelyn said. “They are the highest and best of the fae, true at heart, builders and craftsmen and bakers and jewelers—their every endeavor pursued as art.”
    Aha! Somegoblin must be the