that had stilled out of politeness while Eric played resumed their song. There was no sunshine, of course: there was no sun Underhill, only a perpetual twilight, except when the Prince or the Queen deemed it appropriate to deepen the twilight to something like true night, so that the fireflies, Fae Lights, and Faerie Illuminations could enliven the darkness. Eric held his breath and wondered what he had done wrong this time. Was it that horrible?
Finally Dharinel had let out his breath and opened his jewel-toned eyes. “I have nothing more to teach you,” he said in his controlled, utterly perfect voice.
Eric had shaken his head. “What?” he blurted. “Was I that bad?”
“You were that good,” Dharinel corrected. “I have nothing more to teach you. The rest will come with maturity and practice, and it is a pity that you are not of the Blood, for you would be a force to reckon with in a hundred years or so.” He had actually smiled then; a thin smile, but the expression so seldom crossed Dharinel’s sardonic lips that Eric had nearly fallen off his bench. “As it is, in a mere handful of mortal years, you will be a force to reckon with in the mortal world. And that is where you must go now. You have unfinished business there.”
The moment Dharinel said those words, all of the vague discontent that had been in Eric’s heart attained an object. Once music had become his All again, he