"Prince Rhun?"

It came out like an invective. Taran could hardly have made his dismayed disbelief more evident. Eilonwy frowned at him for such rudeness, but Rhun seemed unperturbed. "Quite so," he said, beaming. "King Rhuddlum is my father, and of course, Queen Teleria is my mother."

He was round-faced, with red cheeks, a wide, pleasant smile, and pale, high brows that made him look perpetually surprised. Not quite as tall as Taran, slightly stockier, he was not exactly an imposing personage, but his face was cheerful and open, and somehow made Eilonwy feel a little less stiff and lonely. Rhun inclined his head toward her politely. "Shall we go aboard? I should hate to upset the shipmaster. He does worry about those tides."

Aboard. Aboard the ship that was taking her away. Eilonwy caught her breath, staring at its curved wooden sides and its lashed sails, her heart rising up to her throat, ready to choke her again. Coll's strong hands enfolded her shoulders, and she whirled to face him, flinging her arms around his neck with a sob.

"Ach, now," he clucked, patting her back. "'Tisn't forever, cariad. When we meet again I doubt we shall recognize you. You shall be a fine princess."

A horrifying thought. "I want to be recognized," she said fiercely. "I want to be me."

He held her at arm's length and looked her in the face, his eyes suspiciously shining. "Never fear," he said gruffly, and winked, chucking her chin one last time before turning to Taran. "And you, my boy, farewell. When you return, send Kaw ahead to tell me, and I shall meet you here again."

"Oh!" Rhun exclaimed, turning to Taran, "are you coming as well? I thought it was only the princess."

"I am," Taran said shortly, "and Gurgi. Dallben asked us to ensure her safe arrival on Mona."

Rhun looked puzzled. "Well, if that's all, I can assure you she'll be quite safe with…"

"Nevertheless," Taran broke in, "we shall accompany her."

He was fuming—irrationally, inexplicably angry; he made no obvious sign, but Eilonwy could see it in his bearing, knew it by the clipped tightness of his voice. Ridiculous boy! No one had forbidden him to come, but he would be cross about it anyhow! And here stood the both of them, talking about her as though she were luxury goods about to be loaded and exported, with nothing of her own to say about the arrangement.

"Taran and Gurgi are my friends," she said aloud, rather coolly. "Dallben granted them permission to keep me company on the journey. I should very much like to have them along, if it's all the same to you."

Rhun's bewilderment evaporated into another guileless smile. "Oh, certainly! The more the merrier, of course. I only thought it might be an inconvenience, but if it isn't…off we go, then!"

He held his arm out to her, in a manner no one had shown her since she'd last seen Fflewddur. Really, it was rather nice to see courtly manners now and then! She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow with a smile, conscious of Taran's simmering as he fell into step behind them.

"Watch your footing, now," Rhun murmured, as he guided her to the plank. "As you might have noticed, it's a bit dodgy! Forgive me for dripping all over." He did his best to hold his sodden cloak away from her as they made their way up, a gallant gesture that threw him further off-balance. She looked down at her own dark reflection on the rippling surface of the water below them, wobbling along, and almost laughed. It would have been safer, probably, to walk herself across, but somehow they made it to the ship without mishap. Taran and Gurgi scrambled after.

Rhun led them to the center of the deck, where the man he had identified as shipmaster conferred with several of his crew. "Master Owain," he said importantly, "I present the Princess Eilonwy, daughter of Angharad of Llyr, and…and, er…her companions." He motioned to Taran and Gurgi. "Blast! I've already forgotten. Please introduce yourselves."

The shipmaster was a tall man, swarthy and bearded, with dark eyes that looked upon her with wonder. He took her hand and bowed over it, speaking in a voice rough but rich, like gold-flecked gravel. "A great honor it is, milady, to have y'aboard. The blessing of a Daughter of Llyr on my ship is a thing I never dared to dream of. All has been done to ensure your comfort."

"Thank you, sir." She blushed, flustered by so much formality. The blessing of a Daughter of Llyr? Would she be expected to wave smoldering herbs and say significant things? Hastily she introduced Taran and Gurgi by name.

The man seemed puzzled about what to make of Gurgi, but he brightened as he shook Taran's hand. "A good strong grip! You're a hearty-looking boy. Ever thought of joining a crew? Going to sea? If you've an appetite for adventure, there's none better."

Taran flushed a bit, and his eyes shone. "It hadn't occurred to me, sir, and I'm needed at home. But I shall be glad to learn what I can on this voyage."

"Good lad!" Owain clapped him on the back. "We'll give you a taste for salt, and have you halfway to a seaman before we're done. Keep a sharp lookout as we get underway, and you'll begin to see the way of things if you're a quick one. Now, Lady, if you'll permit me—have a set here, midship near the cabin. There'll be a lot of hullabaloo, and here you'll be safe from anyone stumbling over you."

He motioned them to a crate beside a square, platform-topped structure like a shed, and then hurried off into the general hubbub of preparing to cast off, shouting orders. Oarsmen took their places at benches along the sides. Sailors scrambled over the deck. Ropes hissed and flew like living things. The deck suddenly swayed underfoot and Eilonwy grabbed at the wall of the shed for support, startled.

With a communal shout, answering the chant of their leader, the oarsmen plied themselves to their task, and the boat moved swiftly away from the riverbank. Coll ran along the waterline, waving his cap. Eilonwy thought she heard him calling, but the chanting of the men, the creak of the boat, the splashing of the water all drowned him out. She raised her hand to him, waving wildly, and he disappeared as they rounded a bend of land. How swiftly they were moving! Faster than galloping horses, as fast as flying, perhaps.

Tears stung her eyes, but she turned to the wind, now flowing strong as the boat sped forward. Rhun, standing near the front of the ship, waved to them, beckoning. "I suppose we can leave this spot, now," Taran said. "Everything seems to be going smoothly."

Eilonwy rose, and had moved three steps when the swaying deck met her foot before she was quite ready. She stumbled, disoriented. Llyr, the floor was never where you expected it to be! There was a thump beside her, and she realized Taran, following her closely, was experiencing similar difficulties. He stood with his feet wide, knees bent, his face clenched in anxious concentration. Beside him, Gurgi was bent on all fours, his arms splayed to steady his balance.

Eilonwy could not help laughing. "You look like you're trying to step over the whole river in one go."

Taran scowled, and then paled as the deck pitched. "I didn't know it would feel like this! And we're not even out in the swells, yet. How do they manage?" He glanced up at the men as they bustled about the deck, unconcerned with its constant motion.

"I suppose one gets used to it," Eilonwy murmured, and took another experimental step. With some difficulty she made her way, pausing when the sway threatened her balance, looking ahead for support. The Avren was wide, here, but fingers of land still looped ahead of them, greyed out in the distance. How far off was it, the ocean blowing its breath to her, pulling her along on its current? When would she see it at last?

"Hullo, hullo!" Rhun's cheerful voice rose above the wind as they joined him. "Splendid, isn't it!" he exclaimed. "I do like to stand in the bow, myself, looking out ahead. When you're out on the open sea with the wind in your face, it feels just like flying."

"The bow?" Eilonwy said, puzzled.

Rhun's face brightened even further. "Quite so. Have you never been on a ship? The front, here, is the bow, and that thing sticking out is the bowsprit. Back there is the stern, and that little shed-looking thing is the cabin, where you'll sleep…" He took her arm again and eagerly set off across the deck, rattling off a litany of ship anatomy as Kaw might show off a collection of shining debris—though with none of Kaw's cockiness, she noted. The prince was all eager enthusiasm and wonder, like a child immersed in a new and exciting environment.

Leaning on Rhun's arm, Eilonwy managed not to stagger quite so much, but Taran, who stuck to them like a shadow, moved like someone drunk. He stumbled and swayed, at one point jostling into her and upsetting all their balance. Rhun, interrupted in his chatter, let go of her arm to steady him. "Easy, there! It takes time to get your sea legs. Try bending your knees a bit, and look out at something fixed on the riverbank." He laughed, not unkindly. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it in a day or so. By the time we get home, it'll feel odd to walk on land! Always takes me a bit to adjust. That's why I fell off the plank, back there. Oh, that reminds me—I should go change out of my wet things. Make yourselves comfortable; I'll be back directly!" He scrambled away, leaving them stranded in the middle of the deck.

Gurgi moaned. "Poor Gurgi's tender head is spinning from all this dashing and splashing! He does not like sailing. The good, safe earth does not move with such heavings beneath Gurgi's feet!"

"Oh, but you've lived in trees!" Eilonwy exclaimed, kneeling beside the forlorn creature as he clung to the deck. "Think of how the branches move in the wind, yet you haven't any trouble climbing through them. This is new, that's all."

"That's right," Taran added, distracted from his ire for a moment. "Come, stand up; it'll take some time for all of us, but you'll probably get it before we do." He reached a hand down and Gurgi took it, and allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet. "There, now. Take a few steps and pretend you're up in your favorite tree. You'll be used to it in no time."

Gurgi wobbled forward cautiously, testing each step, and Eilonwy caught Taran's eye. He offered her a somewhat sheepish smile, and she felt, despite the bob and sway of the ship, that they were once more on even footing. He was always at his best when he was helping—when concern for someone else's troubles distracted him from his own. Perhaps we're all that way, really, she thought. He just… shows it more.

"Does it really feel like this?" he asked her quietly.

"Does what?"

"Being in a tree." He nodded at Gurgi. "Does it sway like a ship?"

The significance of the topic made her face warm, and she cleared her throat, and answered tartly, "If you'd ever bothered to join me in one, you'd know the answer to that."

"It's a good thing I wasn't—" he began, and she cut him off in haste.

"It's not just like. If a limb I were on moved this much, I should think it could only be in a gale, and I'd be daft to be up a tree in a storm. But…" She shut her eyes for a moment, to better take in the sinuous movement of the boat over the water. It rose…fell again…slid to one side…then to the other. The sound of the water rushing by was a low, hissing murmur. She imagined sitting in the apple tree, pressed against its trunk as it rocked back and forth in a summer wind, the leaves whispering around her. It had startled her, the first time she had encountered it, made her dizzy until she had learned to relax into the movement…like now, as she let her weight settle into her legs, felt the shift in her ankles and knees and hips as the next wave rolled underfoot. "It is like enough," she breathed at last. "Like enough."

She opened her eyes and saw that he was watching her…watching her with that look again, the one that pushed her pulse to her throat and made her breath catch. He looked on the verge of speaking, and she took an involuntary step back, just as…

"Hullo, hullo!"

Taran's face, as his gaze shifted over her shoulder, turned instantly to a stiff mask of frustration. Eilonwy turned, pulled between a strange mix of relief and reluctance, as Rhun came bounding up, arrayed in dry clothes, his damp hair combed back. "Now, then!" he said cheerily, "where was I? Oh, I should show you the cabin so you know where your belongings were stored. Although…" He looked around, suddenly puzzled. "Oh, dear. Did we leave your things behind? I don't recall—"

"No, it's all right," Eilonwy assured him. "I haven't got much—just this." She indicated the pouch slung from her shoulder.

"That's all?" he exclaimed. "Oh, my. I suppose I thought…well, the ladies of my acquaintance always seem to have such piles of spare clothing and jewelry and such. I thought you'd need much more space."

"We don't have much call for such things at Caer Dallben," Eilonwy explained, amused. Taran was growing red around the ears. Why did simple statements of fact make him so upset?

Rhun beamed. "Well that's all the simpler then, isn't it!" Nothing seemed to discomfit him for very long. He called for a sailor, who took her pack and moved off with it toward the cabin. Just then, a commotion near the bow drew their attention. Several of the oarsmen, released from duty now that they were under sail, had gathered there, pointing down at the water, smiling and laughing at what they saw. "Come!" Rhun said, and propelled her forward, Taran and Gurgi on their heels.

The men parted to let them through as they came near, and Rhun hooted excitedly as he leaned over the bulwark to see what they had been observing. "What luck. Look, dolphins!"

Eilonwy peered over the curved side of the boat, to where the wooden side met the water and skimmed along like a knife cutting through butter. Near it, grey shapes were emerging and disappearing at the surface. They were slick and shining and swift, moving almost too fast to get a proper sense of their shape. As she watched, one of them suddenly launched itself all the way out of the water. A long tapered body, set with fins like wings, arced over its mates and dove back in a single, effortless move.

"Oh!" Eilonwy exclaimed, as the creature soared past them. "It was smiling!" She craned over the bulwark for a better look at the rest. "Look at them! They're all smiling!"

"Not just that," Taran said, in wonder. "They're laughing! Listen."

She fell silent, straining to hear. Over the splashing and the wind she heard them —a series of chirps, chitters, and clicks that did sound remarkably like laughing. She joined them in it, her spirit suddenly lifting. "Aren't they lovely! Oh, I never saw anything so delightful."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried, gripping the railing. "What leapings of joy! What dashing and splashing! If Gurgi could swim like these fishes, he would never leave the water!"

The dolphins cavorted as though they knew they had an audience, racing alongside the prow, now nose-to-nose, now darting ahead of it, then falling back, taunting and teasing the great wooden beast in their domain. They leapt and soared as though they might transform to birds at any moment and leave the river altogether. Some turned in the air full circle, spiraling back into the water, scattering diamond-sparkling mist into the sunlight.

There could be no such thing as sorrow when watching them; they were creatures made of play and joy. Eilonwy forgot everything but the delight of watching them. Her companions joined her in shouted choruses of laughter, exclaiming over each new exhibition of exuberance. Rhun, as enthusiastic as the rest of them, leaned so far over the bulwark that he seemed about to tumble out of the boat. His jeweled sword hilt caught itself on the railing and upended. The blade slipped from the scabbard, and would have slid right into the river, but Taran, next to him, noticed in the nick of time. With a shout of alarm, he jerked forward and snatched the handle, nearly toppling over the bulwark himself in the process; Gurgi seized him and hauled backwards, and he stumbled and fell, but he and the sword somehow landed safely on the deck.

Rhun turned to him, blue eyes wide. "I say, that was quick thinking! Many thanks." He took the blade again as Taran held it out, returning it to his scabbard. "Mam and Tad would have never let me hear the end of losing this."

Taran was straightening himself up, his brows knit together, his mirth muddled by annoyance. Eilonwy offered him a sympathetic half-smile over Rhun's shoulder, guessing at his thoughts. Poor Rhun! Prince he might be, but…well…

She peered over the edge again. The dolphins had apparently tired of the game; she saw the flashing of fins and tails as they moved off, and sighed regretfully.

"They're going after a school of fish, most likely," Rhun declared. "We ought to try to catch some! Ever had fresh fish for your dinner?"

"Yes, of course," she said. "We've often caught trout from—" But he had already scrambled away, heading toward the stern, and gestured to them to follow. She and Taran exchanged glances—amused on her part, exasperated on his—and strolled after.

Presently Rhun saw that they were all outfitted with fishing gear and stationed at various points of the ship. Eilonwy perched at the stern, near the tiller, and let her line trail in the water, uninvested in the results. She cared little for fishing, but it was something of a relief simply to be alone with her thoughts for a moment.

The river melted away behind them in an ever-widening blue trail, the land at its banks slowly lowering from rolling hills into gently undulating plain, green with marsh grass. How far must they be from Avren harbor already? Every minute took her further from Caer Dallben, the distance stretching like strained cloth. If you stretch cloth far enough, she thought, it rips, and you can never bind it back quite the same way again.

It was no use thinking such things; it only brought that painful tightness to her throat. She turned her mind deliberately elsewhere.

Dallben had said nothing of King Rhuddlum's and Queen Teleria's having a son. Perhaps he hadn't known. At any rate, she was mildly glad that there would be someone there near her own age. Rhun might not be brilliant in terms of conversation, but he was cheerful and courteous, and if his unflagging eagerness was somewhat exhausting, at least it wasn't depressing. He could, possibly, turn out to be a decent companion, in a place she had had little hope of finding any.

Of course she might not be allowed to make anything like a companion of him. Perhaps he had been sent only to ferry her to the island, and once she reached Mona she'd be cloistered away with a flock of girls with nothing amusing to do. She groaned softly to herself at the thought, morosely leaning her chin on her forearms, and watched the water churn in their wake, a fluid swirl that seemed to catch her mind upon its current, turning it upon itself in an endless round of uncertainty.

Eventually a shout from Rhun drew all their attention. She turned in time to see him haul a very large fish onto the deck, where it flopped in vain. The prince picked it up, wrestling to constrain it.

Taran had joined her at the commotion; he had caught several fish himself, stowing them without fanfare in the barrel they'd been given for the purpose. Rhun came running up to them, his face flushed scarlet. "Look at this cod!" he crowed. "What a monster! Have you ever seen such a trophy! I've got to bring it all the way home; my parents will be so pleased!" He shoved the squirming thing at Taran. "Just feel how heavy it is! The biggest I've ever caught. You all are good luck, that's what you are!"

Taran, who had thrown his arms out automatically, clutched the writhing fish to his chest, his face fixed in a valiant, rather frozen smile. "Yes," he choked out. "It's quite impressive."

Eilonwy had to hold her breath. Taran's being subjected to such thoughtless indignity irritated her on his behalf…and yet his obvious outrage over it was such an overreaction that she wanted to laugh. It was too clear that Rhun meant no ill. He was as simple as a child, that was all, innocently expecting everyone to be as amazed by everything as he was, lacking any notion of self-awareness. You couldn't be angry with someone like that…not really, not with any sense of fairness.

"I must find an empty barrel large enough for it," Rhun gasped, and was off again, shouting for a crewman. Taran looked ready to drop the cod unceremoniously onto the deck, along with a few choice words.

"You don't have to—" Eilonwy began, and stopped. The fishing line tumbled from her hands, forgotten.

Come.

She turned her face into the flowing wind. The air had changed. Salty, biting, it nipped her nose anew, parted her lips and filled her mouth and pushed into her lungs like something that wanted to possess her. A new sound had risen above the general ambience of air and voices and commotion: a low rumble like distant thunder, incessant, compelling. It whispered again into her mind: come.

The tiny hairs rose on her arms, on the back of her neck; sensations prickled over her as though threads of magic had encircled her unaware and were now drawing tight, tight, burrowing into her skin and her blood and her bones, as her very essence allowed and welcomed what her mind still wanted to hold at arm's length to examine. She trembled and swayed, and suddenly Taran's face was interrupting her line of vision, and saying her name, with the concern of someone who had said a thing several times already without a response.

He had deposited the fish somewhere, and reached out to her cautiously. "Eilonwy, what is it? Are you all right?" His voice seemed to come from far away, barely reaching through the roaring in her ears.

"I must…" she gasped, and interrupted herself to inhale again, deep and ecstatic. She turned as though by a outside force, one that pulled her toward the bow, toward the sky that rose above it in a vast blue haze, curving down, down, until it reached a dark line that stretched, endless, across the horizon.

There it was. The river had brought them to the open sea.

She did not know that she ran across the swaying deck, and that only the bulwark stopped her from tumbling straight out into that endless swale of blue. She leaned over the bow, hands reaching out for the crash of spray as the prow cut into the surf. The vibration of it rose through her feet and all through her, its thunder shaking the loose chinks in that stone wall between mind and memory, until she wept, salty tears blowing from her eyes and melting into a kindred wind.

Somehow she remembered this. This! How could one ever forget so much water? So much sky. That infinite indigo stretch moved on and on to the edge of the world. Over and over, the white frills upon the swells rose and fell, weaving in and out of themselves like the embroidered trim on a fine cloak, or like court dancers, moving in a ceremonial welcome, upon the return of their queen.

She knew not how long she stood there, wrapped in recognition. Only that when she turned, at last, remembering herself a little, that the land was already a grey mass in the distance to their right, glimpsed in the gap beneath a billowing white sail, and that between her and that glimpse stood Taran, well back on the deck, watching her. He looked forlorn, somehow, and far away; his face was wide-eyed and awed, almost fearful, as though in that moment she had become someone else, someone he did not recognize, and he did not know how to call her back.

She called to him instead, held her hand out, motioning him up to stand next to her. "Oh, Taran, come! Come and look out at this!"

He answered the invitation, looking relieved but still bewildered, and when he was beside her he looked not at the vast view but studied her face. "You're crying," he murmured, and reached up to brush a salt droplet from her cheek. "Why?"

"Am I?" She reached up in surprise, touched her own face to affirm it. "I don't know. I suppose I…it's like…oh," she sighed, "it's like nothing else I can think of. There aren't words for it. Only, just…like I've heard something calling all my life, and never knew where it came from 'til now."

His gaze on her was troubled, but he broke it at last to take in the great blue gulf before them. "It is marvelous," he said. "But I thought you'd been to the sea before, when you were little. You spoke of the white horses of Llyr that night in the mountains, the first time Fflewddur played for us."

She shut her eyes, recalling it. "I know. But that was like remembering a dream, and I don't know when or how it happened. I don't remember ever feeling like this." She threw her head back, inhaling deep, feeling the wind lift her hair, tasting the salt on her breath, and laughed. "Oh, Llyr! I don't even know what to do with myself. I could dance over this deck; I could fly."

She opened her eyes again to find him watching her with a wistful smile, and her face heated at the open admiration in his expression, at the warm rush of emotion she felt from him. "If I could," he said, a little hoarsely, "I'd give you the wings."

Before she could answer this, a familiar call broke their reverie. "Hullo, hullo!"

Eilonwy barely restrained the groan that almost tumbled from her lips. Taran was less restrained, but his grumble of annoyance was drowned out by the general noise as Rhun hurried toward them. "Isn't it grand?" the prince gushed, waving out in a general gesture toward the sea. "Now you'll see some fine sailing. We on Mona have the best seamen in the country! There's nothing like handling a boat in open water…at least, that's what they tell me. I'm about to try steering a bit, myself. I've been watching, and it doesn't seem so difficult."

Gurgi, loping up next to him but out of his line of vision, rolled his eyes skeptically, and Taran snorted as Rhun scrambled back astern, up the steps of the cabin and onto the helm. They watched him exchange words with the steersman, who finally relinquished the tiller with obvious reluctance. The shipmaster hovered nearby, looking on.

The moment the tiller was in Rhun's hands, the boat lurched violently starboard. Eilonwy yelped as the bow swept sideways, flinging her off her feet; she landed at Taran's elbow, heard the crack of his head upon the bulwark as he went down. The sail flapped wildly at the change of direction and the coxswain bellowed at his oarsmen as all strained to regain the balance of the ship. Gurgi howled in terror as a water cask snapped its ropes and rolled helter-skelter across the deck.

In moments the steersman had wrestled the tiller back away from Rhun, who, nothing daunted, bounced cheerfully to the head of the platform and called out "Lash up the sail! Steady the helm!"

"Steady the helm!" Taran exclaimed in disgust. He sat up, rubbing the side of his head and scowling. "As if it wasn't he that upset it in the first place!"

"No one's paying any attention to him, anyway," Eilonwy observed, watching the sailors methodically returning to their places as she picked herself up off the deck, sitting safely with her back to a barrel.

"Just as well," Taran scoffed. "Prince of Mona, indeed! He's no more than a—a princeling, a clumsy, muddle-headed baby. Commanding the voyage? If the sailors listened to him, we'd be aground in no time. I've never sailed a ship, but I've no doubt even I could do it better. I've never seen anyone so feckless."

This tirade bore all the signs of one that had been building for some time. Eilonwy sympathized, and yet it pained her to hear him be so uncharitable. Not since Ellidyr had he spoken so ill of anyone. Ellidyr had deserved it, of course. But Rhun? She shook her head. "Feckless? He does seem a little dense, but…I'm sure he means well. I've a feeling he has a good heart. In fact, I think he's rather nice."

Taran scowled. "I suppose you do, because he gave you his arm to lean on. A gallant, princely gesture. You're lucky he didn't pitch you over the side."

"Well, it was polite, at least," she replied coolly, "which is something Assistant Pig-Keepers sometimes aren't."

She meant to nettle him, but as usual he missed the point, adopting a withering look of self-pity. "An Assistant Pig-Keeper! Yes, that's to be my lot in life. Born to be one, just like the Princeling of Mona was born to his rank. A king's son! And I—I don't even know the names of my parents."

It was an old, familiar refrain, but it never grew less tiresome. "You can't blame Rhun for being born," she pointed out. "I mean, you could, but it wouldn't help matters. It's like kicking a rock with your bare foot."

"I dare say that's his father's sword he's got on," Taran went on, taking no notice. "And I dare say he's never drawn it, except to frighten a rabbit."

"Why do some people judge everything in terms of fighting," Eilonwy sighed to the clouds. Taran twitched irritably.

"Well, at least I earned the right to wear mine," he growled. "Yet he still calls himself a prince."

"He might call himself a crow to please you, I suppose," she said, amused, "or a pebble, or a moonbeam, but he's still a prince, whatever anyone calls him. He just is. He was born one and it isn't his fault. Why are you so upset about it?"

He was nearly squirming with outrage. "But does his birth make him worthy of his rank? As worthy as Gwydion Son of Don?"

She faced him then, in real dismay, surprised that he could be so unjust. "Prince Gwydion's the greatest warrior in Prydain. You can't expect everyone, not even every prince, to be like him. Besides, what does it even mean, princes and nobles and anything else? They're all just…we're all just…just people! And it seems to me that if an Assistant Pig-Keeper does the best he can, and a prince does the best he can, there's no difference between them."

His eyes widened, and she felt the brunt of his bruised pride hit her like a blow. "No difference!" he exploded. "You spoke well enough of Rhun!"

Oh, for goodness' sake, he was determined to misunderstand her. "Taran of Caer Dallben," she retorted, "you've stopped making sense altogether! I really believe you're jealous. And sorry for yourself. And that's as ridiculous as—as painting your nose green!"

With a huff she pushed herself to her feet and strode away, leaving him to sulk. Idiot boy! What did he want her to say? That he was ages more capable than Rhun in almost every way? He knew that well enough already, but it had nothing to do with anyone's rank. Did he want her to run down the prince as he had done? That, she would not do—not to someone so harmless, and what good would it have done? It wouldn't stop Rhun from being a prince, which was apparently the thing Taran found so unbearable. What did it matter to him?

Typical nonsense! Ruining things, just when she'd been happy, just when she'd seen the sea for the first time in her memory and only wanted to share her joy with him. Well, she needn't allow it. She could, at least, find that space of happiness again.

But as she stood at the bulwark amidship, Eilonwy felt a curious unease. Looking back at the deck, surveying the sailors going about their tasks, she became conscious of strange behavior among them. To a man, none came nearer to her than twenty paces. Some would not even look in her direction; others averted their gazes instantly when she intercepted them, and then muttered to each other. When she reached out with that internal sense of people that had always served her, she felt a baffling mix of things: Reverence and fear. Awe and distrust. Curiosity and interest, some of it darkly edged with something vaguely like hunger, something that brought back unpleasant associations with the men Achren had employed. She shied away from all of it in confusion. What had she done to invite any of this?

Taran was still standing near the bow. Instinct pressed her to go to him, to share her impressions and lean on his reassurance, and take comfort in the protective stance he took anytime she was uneasy. But he was still frowning moodily out to sea, now, too wrapped up in his own discontent to listen to hers. Rhun's would be a sympathetic face, but not one in whose understanding she felt much confidence.

The wind was picking up, the waves growing choppy, eerily synchronous with her mood. She noticed the shipmaster standing at the helm, looking appraisingly at a mass of gathering clouds on the southern horizon. He had been both courteous and respectful, and had an air of practical soundness that she trusted instinctively. He would do.

Eilonwy marched purposefully toward the helm, fully observant now of how the sailors scattered out of her path. She climbed the steps to the platform, as master and steersman both took note of her with amazement, and faced the master squarely. "Master Owain," she said clearly. "I think some of the crew mislike me. Why?"

The steersman, a young man, looked intensely uncomfortable at this, and averted his eyes when she glanced at him. Owain raised his craggy brows in surprise, and his voice rasped sternly as his gaze swept the deck. "By the tides! Has any mother's son of my crew been discourteous to you, milady?"

"No," she assured him, "not exactly. It's more as though they're trying to pretend I'm not here at all, but not doing it very well. They won't look at me, and I haven't tried, but I'm almost certain they won't speak to me. Will you?" she demanded of the steersman, who snapped his eyes to her face, and then just as quickly looked down, in sudden panic.

"I…" he stammered. "It's not that…it's just…."

"Spit it out, Tygs!" Owain grunted. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd never seen a woman in your life. What's caught your tongue?"

"But she's not just a woman, is she?" Tygs blurted out, and turned red as a strawberry. "Beg pardon, Master…Milady…I mean no disrespect. It's only…we've all heard tales of your people. 'Tis said time out of mind among us that a man who looked a Daughter of Llyr in the face would perish on the spot." He glanced at her again, quickly, as though he couldn't help testing his luck.

Eilonwy stared. A bewildered laugh burst from her lips. "Good Llyr! I never heard such rubbish. You saw your own prince look at me and not drop dead. And you appear to be breathing still."

Tygs shrugged sheepishly. Master Owain shook his head. "Sailors are a superstitious lot, milady. There's a hold's-worth o' wild stories and rumors about Llyr and his daughters, and what happened to the island, and o' course there aren't any left who can set the lines straight, as it were." He rocked on his heels. "For that matter, many of these dogs believe it's bad luck to have a woman aboard ship, no matter who she be. Don't pay it any mind. If any man says an uncivil word to you, I'll have him swabbing the deck 'til his hands bleed."

Her skin prickled at this cavalier assurance. "I don't want anyone to bleed because of me," she exclaimed, "and I'd rather uncivil words than none, or things whispered behind my back. I know little of Llyr, or his daughters, my House or my land—just myself, and if I'm bad luck, then it's the first I've heard of it. I don't want to be made a fuss over, or treated like more than I am. Will you tell them that?"

The Master's dark eyes twinkled. "Aye, milady, an' it please you, though I think you'll have them well eno'w in hand. But just now," he added, motioning to the gathering clouds, "if you'll take an old dog's advice, find a sturdy spot to land for the next few hours. We're in for a rough patch of sea."

She descended to the deck and leaned against the mast, brooding, watching as Taran joined the sailors in coiling up lengths of rope, moving ballast, and other odd jobs. She would rather have liked to make herself similarly useful, but not if the sailors were going to side-eye her the entire time. Who would have known such strange things were said of her ancestors? What other rumors would chase her, single her out before she were even aware of it?

The ship was indeed beginning to rock more roughly. She saw Taran stumble to the deck again, coming up rather green and leaning against the bulwark. She felt none too serene herself. The mast tilted as the deck heaved beneath her feet and she clung to it, stomach lurching. Somewhere near the bow she heard Gurgi wail a complaint. Even a few of the sailors looked a bit pale.

A cheery "hullo, hullo," fell upon her ear and she sighed. Rhun was striding toward her cheerfully. "I've just been having a word with the cook," he announced. "It's nearly time to eat!"

"Oh," said Eilonwy politely, though the thought of eating just then was a wretched one. "And where does that happen?" There was nothing resembling a kitchen, or tables…for that matter, how did one cook on a ship? Surely they did not build fires on this wooden structure.

Rhun gestured toward the oarsmen's benches. "Oh, there's just stuff passed around on deck. We won't get a proper dinner until we dock for the night, and can go ashore to cook. Are you hungry?"

The ship dove into a trough between swells and Eilonwy clung to the mast and groaned. "Not at all."

"I say, you do look pale!" Rhun took her by the arm. "Come, you should lie down in your cabin. It was done up just for you, you know. Here!" He steered her toward the door and opened it, handing her inside. The interior was dim, but she could make out a low berth, a small table, a lantern hung from the rafter, and a few stacks of crates and chests lining the walls. Narrow vents near the ceiling admitted air and a bit of light. "Now then," Rhun assured her, "have a lie down and you'll feel better directly! I'll make sure you're saved a serving."

Eilonwy thanked him —he was thoughtful, whatever his other failings—stumbled to the berth over the heaving floor, and fell into it. Fighting down a wave of nausea by breathing deep and slow, she grimaced wryly into the dim room. Who would have imagined a Daughter of Llyr, seasick! I don't suppose that's one of their stories, she thought.

The rocking did not cease, but it was more tolerable this way. She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling, feeling mildly guilty that she was given privacy and comfort while Taran and Gurgi had to weather their suffering out on deck. Inviting them in was no doubt out of the question for propriety's sake; neither would Taran ever agree to trade places with her, she knew. No, the only sensible thing to do was rest while she could, and perhaps later when she was recovered, she could be of help to her friends.

Wrestling off her cloak, she felt her bauble bump against her arm, pulled it from the pocket and made it glow. The golden light illuminated the little chamber in greater detail, tossing glints off the lantern and chest hinges and the odd nail driven into the walls, pinning up parchment maps and shells hung upon hemp strings and bits of netting. Llyr, she was wearier than she'd realized…no surprise, after a near-sleepless night. She sank, almost unwillingly, into the sultry memories of those small hours of the morning, but they felt, already, a lifetime ago. Caer Dallben itself seemed like a dream she had awakened from, a place that might or might not actually exist.

She brought forth her ormer slice and watched it glisten, giving off every color of the sunset. Somehow, holding it settled her spirit, and she lay with it clenched in her fist, resting over her heart. Her breathing slowed. From without came the crash and roll of the waves rushing against the sides of the craft, roaring and whispering as she fell into sleep, voices pursuing her into dreams she did not remember on waking.