Web had changed since last we had spoken. For a number of years following the death of his Wit-bird Risk, he had not repartnered. That loss had wrought a change in him. When I had lost my wolf, I felt as if half my soul had gone missing, as if there were too much empty space in both my mind and my body. For a time, I had seen that same emptiness in Web when he and Nettle’s brother Swift would visit Molly and me at Withywoods. His eyes had lost their bird-brightness, and he had walked as if he were anchored to the earth. He had seemed to age decades in a matter of months.

Today he walked with his shoulders squared, and his gaze darted quickly around the room, taking in every detail. The difference was a good one, as if he had rediscovered youth. I found myself smiling at him. “Who is she?” I greeted him.

Web’s eyes met mine. “He. Not she. A young kestrel named Soar.”

“A kestrel. A bird of prey. That must be different for you.”

Web smiled and shook his head, his expression as fond as if he spoke of a child when he said, “We both have so much to learn of each other. We have been together less than four months. It is a new life for me, Fitz. His eyesight! Oh, and his appetite and his fierce joy in the hunt.” He laughed aloud and seemed almost breathless. There was more gray in his hair and deeper lines in his face, but his laugh was a boy’s.

I felt a moment of envy. I recalled the headiness of the first days with a new partner. As a child, I had joined myself to Nosy without the least hesitation, and experienced a summer with the full senses of a young hound amplifying my own. He had been taken from me. Then there had been Smithy, the dog I had bonded to in complete defiance of Burrich and common sense. Lost to me when he gave his life defending my friend. They had been companions to my heart. But it had been Nighteyes the wolf who had wrapped his soul around mine. Together we had hunted and together we had killed, both game and men. The Wit bonded us to all life. From him, I had learned to master both the exhilaration of the hunt and the shared pain of the kill. Recalling that bond, my envy faded. No one could replace him. Could another woman ever be to me what Molly had been? Would I ever have a friend who knew me as the Fool did? No. Such bonds in a man’s life are unique. I found my tongue. “I’m happy for you, Web. You look a new man.”

“I am. And I am as sad for you as you are glad for me. I wish you had a Wit- companion to sustain you in your loss.”

What to say to that? There were no words. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “It has been hard.”

Kettricken had kept silent during our exchange, but she watched me keenly. The Witmaster found a cushion and lowered himself to sit beside the table. He offered Kettricken a wide smile and then regarded the food with interest.

Kettricken smiled in return. “Please, let us not wait for formalities. Be at ease, my friends. It has given me great pleasure to watch Web recover his spirits. You should meet Soar, Fitz. I do not say that he might make you reconsider your decision to remain alone, but he has certainly given me reason to doubt my own unpartnered status.” She gave a small shake of the head. “When I saw the pain you felt at Nighteyes’s passing, I thought I wanted none of that, ever. And again when Web lost Risk, I told myself that I had been wise to refrain from sharing my heart with an animal, knowing eventually I must feel the tearing pain of departure.” She lifted her eyes from watching Web pour tea for all of us and met my incredulous gaze. “But witnessing Web’s joy in Soar, I wonder. I have been alone so long. I grow no younger. Must this be a regret I take to my grave, that I did not understand fully the magic I possessed?”

She let her words trail away. When she turned to meet my gaze, there were echoes of hurt and anger in her eyes. “Yes. I am Witted. And you knew, Fitz. Didn’t you? Long before I suspected, you knew. And you knew the Wit that so endangered Dutiful when he was a boy came from me.”

I chose my words carefully. “My lady, I think it as likely that it came from his father as from you. And ultimately, it matters little where it came from. Even now, to possess the Wit can bring—”

“It mattered to me,” she said in a low voice. “And it matters still. What I felt between Nighteyes and me was not imaginary. If I had realized that during our sojourn in the Mountains, I would have let him know what that support meant to me.”

“He knew,” I said, recklessly interrupting her. “He knew, never fear.”

I saw her take a breath, her breast rising and falling with the emotion she contained. Her Mountain training was all that kept her from berating me. Instead, she said quietly, “Sometimes thanking someone is more important to the person giving the thanks than the one who receives it.”