Eilonwy awoke the next morning to the bob and sway of surf, the creak of wood and the muffled shouts of sailors. The day's journey was already underway.

At Caer Dallben she was accustomed to rising with the sun like Coll and Taran, to begin the day's chores. It felt odd, now, to know she'd been sleeping while others worked, as though she'd been left out of something vital, and she scrambled from the berth just as the pitch of the floor changed, and nearly tripped over a chamber pot. Oh…that. Where did the crew…? Never mind, she didn't want to know. Hurriedly she gathered her garments, still quite damp, unpleasant to don, but she had no other outer clothes.

A glance in the little copper mirror showed her hair in wild disarray, an aureole of waves and tangled curls; she put her hand to it in astonishment and found it stiff and somehow…crunchy. Seawater, of course; it must be full of salt. It looked and felt as though it would take agonizing hours to sort out, yet…there was something in its untamed frenzy that made her feel satisfyingly rebellious, and after a few halfhearted efforts with a comb proved quite useless, she tossed the lot over her shoulders with a shrug.

Skipping her shoes as well, she stepped out onto the deck, and beheld a day poured full of brightness like a cup of golden wine, so much light it hurt her eyes. Pale clouds soared in an azure sky; the sea shimmered below, infinitely blue. She squinted, stumbling about until both legs and vision adjusted, and looked around for her friends.

She was somewhat ambivalent to see one of them. Taran's behavior the previous evening still rankled in her chest. If he was determined to spend the day sulking, he'd be dreadful, yet the thought of avoiding him all day was worse, when they had so few days left in one another's company. How like an Assostant Pig-Keeper to spoil things! She'd not put up with it.

A commotion on deck caught her attention and she found him, following a couple of sturdy crewmen, all wielding mops and buckets.

"We swab the deck," she overheard, as she approached, "with seawater every day, to keep the mold off and the boards swelled tight, so's they don't leak into the hold. 'Tis a simple task for a land-walking farm boy." Grinning at the good-natured ribbing, Taran took the mop held out to him.

Eilonwy stepped up. "May I do it as well?"

The sailors blinked at her in consternation, apparently too shocked to remember not to look, and the one holding mops almost dropped them. "Beg pardon, milady?"

"I want to do something," she said, embarrassment making her more tart than she meant. "I'm accustomed to working, not sitting about like a piece of furniture. I don't know anything of sailing, but I'm sure I can do most of the things Taran can."

"Llyr's bones," someone muttered, and the mop-holder stammered wordlessly, but there was a chuckle from another. "Oh, let her do it, Niss. She's a smasher, that one."

Niss looked around helplessly for support. Taran, grinning, handed Eilonwy his mop. "There now," he said, turning to the sailors and reaching out for another. "If anyone makes a fuss about it, I'll take the blame. Best to let her do what she wants, usually."

Insufferable cheek, that, after his attitude last night! But he winked at her and set to work without another word; she followed his example while the sailors gaped. She could not decide whether to be grateful for his stepping in, or profoundly annoyed, but the slap of the wet mop upon the deck was a satisfying outlet for whatever it was she felt.

After a few minutes the sailors seemed to shrug off the oddity of her presence, and then all were working together. Squish…plop…smack…the mop plied the bucket and dragged across the boards in a vigorous pattern that captured the body, left the mind free to wander in peace. The sailors took up a song that followed the motion, or perhaps their movements automatically fell into the rhythm of the tune; she found herself joining in after a few repetitions of the chorus, humming along where she did not know the words, stepping to its beat and swinging her mop to follow. There were flashes of grins like tiny crescent moons on the men's sun-browned faces as they worked near her. Perhaps she could convince them that she wasn't ill-luck after all.

Taran had worked his way near her; she refused to look at him until he was so close by she could no longer pretend not to notice. Staring at their respective mops, they both spoke at the same time.

"Thank you for…"

"I'm sorry for…,"

They both stopped, sheepish. "Wait, hush," Taran murmured, "let me go first."

She stilled, waiting, and he continued to scrub the same board repeatedly.

"You terrified me, you know," he said. "Not just when I couldn't find you, though that was bad enough. But then when I did find you, it was as though…you weren't you. You seemed so changed, yesterday." He paused, faltering. "I know I can't really know what it's like for you…seeing the sea again. I never realized just how much this is all part of you; I suppose I had never really thought about it. You've always seemed to fit in so well at Caer Dallben, and now…"

She glanced up as he paused, and when their eyes met he looked away as though it pained him. "I know you wanted me to listen to you, last night, but I couldn't, not then. I was too upset. But I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. If you want to talk about it now, I'll try to understand."

"Oh," she sighed, her anger deflated; she barely knew what to say. "I don't…Taran, I haven't changed." But had she? If she had the choice, would she sail straight back to Caer Dallben and stay here? Never see the sea again? She chewed her lower lip anxiously, unexpectedly pulled in two directions. "I…want to know more," she said finally. "I feel things I've never felt, or at least, don't remember. And I want to know where they come from, and what they mean. But I'm not intending to go sailing off into the sunset and never looking back. I mean to come straight back to Caer Dallben when I can."

He glanced up at her swiftly, his eyes full of doubt. "I am sorry that I frightened you," she went on. "It was thoughtless of me to go off without telling anyone, and I'll not do it again. Only don't be cross with me for needing to go."

Taran hesitated, and then nodded, a little reluctantly. "Just…tell me, next time, before you head down any wild side trails, will you?" His gaze tripped lightly around her face, and his expression softened, infused by a touch of amusement. "Your hair's gone absolutely wild, by the way."

She reached up self-consciously, and made a futile effort to smooth it down. "Ugh. I know. It's the seawater, I think, and the wind. Do I look dreadful?"

From the corner of her vision she could see him watching her intently, and for several long moments there was silence. "No," he murmured at last. "You look like you belong out here."

Something in his tone made her slide her hands from her hair to her cheeks, to cover the heat rising in her face, and she stared steadfastly out at the horizon. She thought he moved, reached out a hand toward her…

"Hullo, hullo!" Prince Rhun appeared at her elbow with a parcel so suddenly she jumped. "I've brought your breakfast!" he announced. "What on earth…are you swabbing the deck?"

Seeing Taran stiffen and turn away, Eilonwy summoned up a smile with every ounce of self-control. Really, he did pop up like a mushroom at the most untimely moments! "Good morning, Rhun. I was just taking a breather, but yes. I asked to help, and this is a task I can do. I rather like it."

"You don't say," he remarked, in genuine amazement. "It's remarkable. I've never seen a lady doing such work."

"Are there no washerwomen or scullery maids in your castle?" she returned briskly, wielding the mop with renewed vigor.

"Oh, yes, of course there are," he said, "but they're not ladies. I mean…"

She paused again, squinting at him. "If doing scullery work makes a girl not a lady, then you'll have to stop calling me one. Because it's what I've been doing at Caer Dallben for years, along with washing clothes, gardening, feeding pigs, milking goats, hunting eggs, and shoveling dung."

"Dallben made you do all that?" Rhun gasped, aghast.

"Not exactly." She nodded toward Taran. "It's what we all did, because it needed doing, and there was no one else to do it. What do the ladies of your acquaintance do with themselves all day?"

He looked puzzled. "I'm…not quite sure. There's a whole wing of the castle where the ladies mostly keep to themselves, until there's a gathering of some kind, or a dinner. They seem to carry needlework about quite a bit."

She suppressed a groan, and turned back to work.

The day passed in a tangle of similar experiences, as she elbowed into tasks alongside Taran, to the astonishment, amusement, and occasional disapproval of members of the crew. Rhun tagged along, invariably expressing his wonder over this or that. He joined in with them in several occupations, but often wandered off in the middle of them, leaving them short-handed and short-tempered. Gurgi spent his time below deck, disposing of food deemed unfit for human consumption, or climbing through the rigging in pursuit of Kaw.

The ship made harbor in a sheltered cove, but all were bidden to stay aboard unless part of the landing crew, as the area was known to have treacherous terrain, and was home to dangerous beasts. The rest of them sat in small groupings around the deck, passing around the day's rations. Sailors, fed and plied with their draughts of ale, grew energetic and prone to bursting into rollicking shanties at a moment's notice. Pipes rang out, and feet beat the deck in blood-quickening rhythms. Those who did not dance clapped their hands, shouted and whooped. Their songs poured into the twilight and on into the night, vibrant and virile.

Rhun was even more cheerful than usual the next morning. "We're making excellent time!" he told her. "Master Owain says the sea favors us because you're on board. If that's true, I wish you were with us on the way down. It stormed for two days."

"I couldn't have done a thing about it," she said, with a wry shrug. "I know nothing of calming storms, or sailing."

"You know more than you did when we began," Rhun pointed out practically, "and that's something."

It made her smile. "Did you grow up sailing?" she asked. "It seems like something you'd do often, living on an island."

He shrugged. "Oh, I do love a day at the shore! But the real sailing, the long voyages…we leave them to the fishermen and traders, mostly. I've other duties at home, you know—a prince mustn't roam too far. It was my father who insisted on my coming on this trip. Mother didn't like it at first, but he talked her into it, somehow."

He had strolled with her to the side, midship, and together they leaned upon the bulwark, looking out. Eilonwy swallowed, thinking ahead. "What are they like? Your parents?"

"Mam and Tad?" His pale-blue eyes went round and thoughtful. "Why, they're grand, generally. Very kind and patient. Mother's a bit of a worrier, you know, like they all tend to…" He stopped, looking at her in sudden dismay. "Oh. I'm sorry. She told me, but I forgot. Your mother was…"

"It's all right," she said, shaking her head, though it didn't feel all right, and less so all the time. "It's just…how things are. But I suppose that's why I asked. I'm not sure what to expect."

"Oh, don't worry," Rhun assured. "Father's a good sort, but you likely won't see much of him. He's very busy, and doesn't meddle in the ladies' affairs. Mother will see to your comfort. She's quite pleased that you're coming. I still remember the tizzy she was in, a few years ago, when Dallben first sent word of you."

"Was she?"

"Oh, yes," he laughed. "Though I didn't hear much, myself—not being part of her circle, you know. Only it trickled down through the court; her ladies were so distracted it was all anyone talked about for days. First she didn't believe it. Then after they exchanged a message or two she changed to wanting you to come to us at once, and was very indignant when you weren't sent immediately. I heard her storming to Tad about it, calling Dallben a meddling magician and an eccentric, cantankerous old coot."

An hysterical laugh burst from her at this, an odd and contradictory mix of shock, defensiveness, and defiance. To hear such words applied to Dallben! Dallben: the generous, the wise, the powerful and compassionate, who had done so much for her. And yet…a sense of strange affection for this outspoken queen poked at her with subtle, perverse amusement. Was there not something…just a tiny bit…satisfying…

"That was unjust," she gasped, to cover her own rebellious impulses. "Dallben knew what was best, I'm sure."

"Oh, she didn't mean anything by it," Rhun said, mollifying. "Mother rants when she's crossed, that's all. But she's jolly most of the time. You'll be in good company."

With the ladies, she thought morosely, and made no answer.

The day passed all too swiftly, growing overcast in the afternoon. Mountainous clouds sat upon the horizon at twilight, blooming with the glow of distant lightning. They made port in another small cove, shallow enough to cast anchor but with no beach large enough to disembark.

No stars broke through the cloud cover, and only a few lanterns were allowed on board. The moment she had to squint to see her food, Eilonwy brought out her bauble and lit it out of habit, to startled exclamations from all in the vicinity. Rhun, just climbing down from the helm to join her where she sat with Taran and Gurgi, gave a hoot of surprise. "I say, what's that?"

"It's my bauble." She grinned at the bouncing shadows it threw upon his face. "I always carry it with me. You never know when it might come in handy."

"Amazing!" He goggled as she held it up for him to view. "I've never seen anything like it!" He took it from her, and the light winked out at once. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Oh dear, I'm afraid I've broken it."

She laughed. "No, you didn't. It's just that it doesn't work for everyone." Reaching out, she took it, and the light shimmered over the dark water below.

"Unbelievable," Rhun enthused. "You must show that to my parents! I wish we had a few trinkets like that about the castle. It looks far more efficient than torchlights and lamps, without the danger of setting things on fire."

"Yes, indeed," she agreed, setting it upon a pile of netting. "It's quite useful."

"That's how she found me," Taran was sitting across from her, unraveling a knotted ball of twine. "When I was in Spiral Castle, she accidentally dropped it as she went by, and it rolled into my cell through a grate. And because my hands were tied and I couldn't get it for her, she came in after it, and I asked her to get me out, as well."

"That was clever," Rhun said. "But what were you doing in a castle dungeon?"

Taran's mouth twitched. "It's a long story."

"But that was when happy Gurgi found his friends!" Gurgi piped up jubilantly. "And all were chased by fearsome dead warriors, chased through the fields and woods with great terror! They found hidden places of wondrous magics, and met the Horned King with great smitings and fightings!"

Rhun was wide-eyed. "I say, you have had adventures! Was that the battle of the Southern Cantrevs at Caer Dathyl? We heard about that—well after the fact, of course. The Horned King was Arawn's warlord, wasn't he? You actually met him in battle?"

Eilonwy exchanged a rueful glance with Taran. "I wouldn't call it meeting so much as running for our lives," she said, "but Taran did stand against him in the end."

"Much good it did us," Taran muttered, with a shrug. "It was Prince Gwydion who defeated him."

"Oh, but it took courage to stand at all, didn't it!" Rhun exclaimed. "Astonishing! It's just like the stories visiting bards tell in the Great Hall! My goodness, I can't wait to get back; the court will want to hear it all. We're rather dull on Mona, you know…we've not much fighting force to speak of, so we never get called up for war, and it takes so long for news to get there that we often don't find out about big doings until they're over. I've never even met Prince Gwydion, though Mother says he used to visit the area quite often when she was young." His pleasant face clouded a bit. "I don't think she'd allow me to join a war band, even if we did get called up."

"That's odd," Eilonwy said frankly. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen, a few weeks ago." The prince grinned. "This voyage was my birthday present. A test of mettle, Father said, though I must say it hasn't felt like much of a challenge. But perhaps seeing me return in one piece will convince them to let me do more."

A thoughtful silence fell. No wonder he's so simple, Eilonwy thought, with a twinge of pity. He's not been allowed to do a thing, barely ever left his parents' castle. Surely a prince should be sent out, to do…well, whatever it was they did. He must have education and training of some kind.

"So tell us," she prompted, "what sorts of duties do you have at home?"

Rhun fiddled with his bread, crumbling it to bits. "Oh, you know, the usual things. Weapons training, horseback riding, lessons on history and law, etiquette and courtesy, sitting in court with Father while he hears petitions and such."

She got the sense that he was rattling off a memorized list, rather than speaking of things he greatly enjoyed. "I see," Eilonwy said. "And what do you do when you aren't at your duties? When you just want to enjoy yourself?"

Rhun looked startled, his mouth left slightly ajar, as though he had never been asked such a question in his life. "Oh, I like to…well…you know just…just explore the gardens and grounds, and go out for walks. I sometimes head out to the beaches and collect shells and such, and I like to…erm…it's rather silly, but…I like to draw things. You know, make pictures. On parchment or what-have-you."

"That isn't silly," Eilonwy told him. "I've seen such things. Dallben's books are full of them. He has an herbal with drawings of leaves and flowers you feel like you could lift right off the page. I learned about everything in the garden and all the fields around, just from looking at them."

"Yes, quite so." Rhun gripped the edge of the bulwark, his eyes alight. "Then you've seen how it can be! Mine aren't so much, really, but I do enjoy it. One of my tutors began teaching me when I was young, but he left when I was twelve, and no one else around really knew how. So I've just sort of kept on, on my own. It's quite a nice thing, when you've got nothing else to do."

"I should like to see you do it sometime," she said, and he turned a wondering gaze on her.

"Would you? Really?"

"Of course. I've never seen it done, but it sounds fascinating."

His round face turned pink. "Well, I don't know about that. Anyway, my writing-master didn't think so, always catching me drawing in the margins when I was supposed to be working at calligraphy. But I'll show you some when we get home. We'll be there tomorrow, you know!"

Home. Tomorrow. The two words seemed like a dissonant chord, cruelly incongruent. Taran made an odd little jerk, correspondent to her own mental hitch. Eilonwy glanced his way in silent sympathy, catching the golden light gleaming in his eyes. The glow of her bauble lit his face as soft and warm as firelight, but without its impish flicker; this clear steady burn seemed to illuminate things invisible to all other sources. She had first seen him in this light, bruised and hollow-eyed in his cell. He'd been traumatized and terrified, but even then, that overlay of golden gilding had showed her something more…something unidentifiable, that had made her stay with him.

Now once again she had no name for what it showed her, in that steady meeting of eyes she finally had to break, its intensity unbearable. She had a sudden reckless desire that there were no one else around to see it, that they could be as alone as they had been in that cell, once upon a time. Bother these sailors, bother Rhun, bother even Gurgi and Kaw; she wished them all a thousand miles away. Perhaps then she could be brave enough to find out what she saw, to face this formless thing that hung between them, both desperate and terrified to be acknowledged.

The rambunctious sea shanties had mellowed with the gathering darkness; now a single pipe lilted a mournful tune into the night, joined by a few of the better voices. They sang of the siren call of the merciless sea, and of their lost loves, left behind for it. The light seemed to waver with longing, of mingled grief and desire that wound its way into her very breath.

She shivered, and Taran rose, walked away and returned with his cloak, laid it over her shoulders, and sat again next to her, so close she could hear him breathe. Llyr! How did he always seem to do what would fluster her the most? For that matter, why was she flustered, when it was exactly what she had imagined him doing? There he sat, close enough for her, by the smallest movement, to lean against him, rest her head on his shoulder, as she had two nights past after her nightmare. A simple thing, to give in to this compulsion…one that felt as strong, as heady as any magic.

Suppose she did it. Would he respond as he had, that night in her loft? Would she enjoy that same sweetness and safety again…only to have to bid him farewell, in another day?

We'll be there tomorrow.

No, she couldn't bear it all…Taran, this journey, the music, her own snarled-up feelings. With a heave she threw off the cloak, snatched her bauble and rose to her feet. The others all looked at her in concern at the abruptness; Rhun stammered, "I say…" but she was already gone.

She shed no tears, alone in her berth. But she lay awake long, listening to the roll of the distant thunder, and the mournful songs of men in love with the sea.