In the park, a blustery north wind had littered the paths with rubbish plucked from nearby streets, before moderating to a cooler moisture-laden breeze. Irenya continued her story and Natalie listened. For twelve months, Irenya had often told her story—uncensored—to the Natalie she carried in her head; the reality was very different. They walked, and with each event recounted, the gap between truth and absurdity widened. Irenya began to doubt her own perceptions. She left out details, altered others, the world of Dar Orien flattening to paper-thinness. The attack at Akkod became a brawl, the Sildahni rituals merely quaint, and her Gift no more than a curiosity. The griffin vanished altogether. Natalie said little.
Max danced from his grandmother’s side to Irenya’s, anxious not to miss a w
