An armed guard at the door to Maynards' mansion regarded Naomi with steely eyes.

"She is my teacher," Colin said brashly and tugged Naomi inside the door, into a spacious foyer.

A tall lean man with a long blond braid appeared in the doorway to their right. Dressed in colored silks like an elf, he looked elegant and utterly masculine despite a checkered kitchen towel gripped in one hand and a red checkered apron wrapped around his middle. Behind him, Naomi glimpsed a range and several copper pots on the wall. A delicious smell of fried onion and potatoes drifted to her nose.

"Colin?" the man said, his eyebrows lifting.

"Papa." Colin swallowed. "This is Miss Peterson, my... teacher. She wants to talk to you."

"Hello." Naomi stepped forward and offered the man her hand. "I'm Naomi Peterson, your son's dance instructor."

Automatically, he shook her hand, then frowned. "Dance?"

She sighed. "Yes, sir. I wanted to talk to you about it. You're Colin's father?"

"I'm sorry." He winced, and pink spots bloomed on his sharp cheekbones. "Where're my manners? Yes, I'm Derek Maynard. I wasn't aware Colin had a dance teacher." He tossed a quick glance at his son.

"Colin," Naomi said. "Why don't you go and put everything away while I talk to your father."

"Yes, Miss Peterson." Colin rushed up the stairs as if pursued by a monster.

"You were cooking." Naomi turned back to the father. "If you need to do things there, we can talk in the kitchen." She motioned with her chin. "I'll talk, and you'll continue whatever you've been doing."

"Come in then," he said dryly.

She followed him into the large kitchen. He hung the towel on a hook beside the sink and faced her, his expression inscrutable.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Miss Peterson?" He pointed to a stool at the granite-topped isle. "Please, sit down."

Naomi sat, and he took a seat across the island from her.

She plunged. "Colin said you want him to enter a military school, and he doesn't want to go. He wants to dance, to enroll in a dancing school."

"That's not his decision. He's a child."

"Have you seen him dance, sir? He has a real talent."

"Wait a minute. Is he taking dance lessons now? Or does he want to take your lessons?"

"He has been coming to my class since October," Naomi said. "Twice a week. And he paid from his allowance."

She cringed inwardly before continuing. She wouldn't tell Maynard everything, certainly not about the dagger Colin tried to sell. She hoped the boy already put it back into his father's collection. This man didn't seem very forgiving, and he was obviously ex-military. She didn't want to bring unbearable trouble onto the boy's thin shoulders, but she had to say something.

"Unfortunately, his allowance is not enough for my lessons, so he said he stole some money from you."

"You're not a schoolteacher?"

"No, sir. I teach children at the community center in Oakland. I also have a flamenco class for university students, and I teach a class of elves at my home studio."

"You teach dancing to the elves?"

"Yes. They are my best students, especially the sekasha."

"You teach dancing to sekasha?" He seemed flabbergasted.

Naomi would've smiled, if the situation wasn't so fraught with tension. "Yes. They like ballroom dancing. Waltz and tango. I also showed them some capoeira videos, and they're keen to learn it too."

He visibly shook off the distraction of the sakasha and capoeira to concentrate on the more important issues.

"Colin told me he takes fencing lessons. Did he lie?"

"It depends." Now, Naomi did smile.

"On what?" He didn't return Naomi's smile. He drummed his long fingers on the gray granite of the isle, his face expressionless, his eyes intent on her.

"On your interpretation of fencing lessons. He has a role in our Christmas recital in a few weeks. We've been busy with rehearsals. Some of his moves are fencing moves, with a sword. I asked one of my sekasha students to show him a few basic moves, and Colin took to them like a natural. Falcon was very pleased with him."

"It seems I don't know my son at all," Maynard said. "He lied to me. I never thought he would ever lie to me."

"I'm sorry. He lied to me too. I don't like it either, but in his defense, he thought lying was the only way for him to follow his dream. He said you would never allow him to dance, to make dancing his career. He really doesn't wish to go to a military school. He said he would run away, if you insist on it. I believe he will, even though I asked him not to."

"Miss Peterson. My son is eleven years old. He doesn't know what he wants. It is just a childish phase. Tomorrow, he'll want to be a glass blower or a policeman."

"No, sir. He knows what he wants. He is very talented. When I was eleven, I knew I would be a dancer, and I don't have half his talent. He could be a star with the best ballet troupes on Earth, if he gets the right training, and that training should start soon, before he is fully grown. He is fighting for his life, sir, with the only weapons available to him at the moment: lies. You're a former military man. You should appreciate his tenacity."

He shook his head, his lips a stubborn line on his chiseled face. "I was a career military, as were my father and grandfather. I'm not in the army now, but I know that a military training could shape a man."

"It could also ruin a dancing career, Mr. Maynard," Naomi said. "A military school has different priorities than a dance academy. It emphasizes training of the body that might be damaging to a dancer. Your son is an artist. He will always be an artist, regardless whether he attends a military school or a ballet school. Creativity finds a way. It always does. But sometimes, if it is not allowed an optimal outlet, it gets twisted and ugly. Colin is a bright and delightful boy. His artistry is like a fountain of joy. It would be a pity if he loses those qualities. And he will, if he is denied his heart's desire."

"This sounds like a fairy tale, miss."

"No. I'm not promising that his life would be easy and glittery like a Disney cartoon. No artist's life is ever easy. The more talent he has, the harder it is. But it could be fulfilling, or not. Please, consider a ballet school for Colin. I know some people in the dancing world. I might be able to help."

Maynard frowned. "Look. I'm not saying that it is an impossibility. What I hate most in this situation is that he lied to me."

"What would've happened if he told you the truth?" Naomi counted. "Would you have allowed him my lessons? Would you have paid for them?"

She saw the answers in his unyielding eyes. "No, you wouldn't. Lies are not the best course of actions, but sometimes, they are the only way, especially for the weak and helpless."

"Colin is not weak."

"Compared to you? He is. Colin had a choice: submit to his father's will or follow his own heart. He chose the latter. He lied and disobeyed you. I know that as a teacher, I should discourage disobedience. But as a dancer myself, I can't condemn him. You're his father. Please, help him achieve his dream. You're the only one who can."

He gazed at her for a few moments in silence. "Should I let his lies go unpunished?" he said at last. "I represent a link between humans and elves in this city. For the elves, a lie is the worst sin. Should I allow it in my own family?"

"Mr. Maynard. I'm just a teacher. I don't have any say in what happens between you and your son. But I have to ask: do you wish to know the truth about Colin? Do you wish to see him, the real him? No masks. No lies."

"Yes!" he bit out.

"Then come and see him dance. Allow him to continue my lessons. Come to our performance and witness your son shine on stage. Share his triumph. He is a star of the show. He doesn't lie when he dances. No true artist ever lies with his art, and that's what Colin is. A true artist. Would you come?"

He sat silent and immobile for a few moments before he nodded. "I'm good at what I do, Miss Peterson. I have been the EIA director in Pittsburgh for over two decades. I command an international force, and my people obey me without questions. But in my own family..."

"Ah. It's different with the family, Mr. Maynard."

"It shouldn't be."

Naomi chuckled at his suddenly flustered look. "Oh, it should. Family relations have one ingredient lacking in your professional interactions. You love your son, and he loves you."

"It should be simple then," he said grudgingly.

"I don't think so. Love muddies the water. It confuses everyone, makes a simple decision turn into a multidimensional tangle. Love is like art. The more you love, the more complicated it is."

"So it seems," he said reluctantly.

"I should be going." Naomi stood up. "Thank you for listening to me. I'll send the ticket to the show with Colin when I have the exact date."

"Thanks for talking to me, Miss Peterson." Maynard accompanied her to the door. "I see that you care for my son. I'm grateful, even if dance wouldn't be my first choice for him."

Naomi shrugged. "It is his first choice," she said.

She drove home deep in thought. Would Maynardallow Colin to continue? Would he come to the show?