Uachi did not go back down to the dining hall, although there was, in fact, quite a bit of bird shit to clean up—and dozens upon dozens of gowns and trousers and doublets and so much jewelry it fairly dripped from the rafters. Such work would of course not typically fall to him, a guest of the household, but it would be a way to occupy what promised to be long, sleepless hours.

He did not have the energy for it, though. It would be a problem for the following day. Besides, the family had not used the formal dining hall in years, according to Uachi's understanding, and it was Old Lord Emón's funeral only that had prompted its use. They could simply close the doors and ignore the mess until the end of the world, for all he cared in the moment.

He was exhausted, and he felt heavier of heart than he had in a good, long while, which made little sense, because he should have been angry. Diarmán was being a bloody fool, and instead of knocking sense into him, Uachi had crept away, his belly full of stones.

He made his way back to his own bedchamber, creeping quietly through the halls, his senses alert for any disturbance. In a familiar corridor, he came upon the door to the room where Aerte now dwelled. There was a light flickering within, and Uachi stopped, reminded suddenly of the woman's presence in the household.

Had she been at the funeral feast?

Was she now up in Padréc's aviary, feathered and frightened?

Uachi leaned in to the door, placing his ear against the wood panel. He heard nothing from inside, but there was that glowing light.

He rapped lightly with his knuckles. "Aerte?"

There was a soft sound from inside. A rustling. Uachi waited for a moment and then rapped again.

Had that been the rustling of feathers?

Then came the padding of bare feet over flagstones. The door opened just an inch, and Aerte's face appeared. "What is it?" she asked.

"Gods below," Uachi said. "Were you not at supper?"

"No. I've been indisposed today," she said. Indeed, she looked tired. She wore a scarf wrapped around her hair and she lifted a hand now as if to ensure it was still in place. "A headache."

A headache. A bloody headache had saved her. Uachi rubbed a hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I swear to you I would not ask this were it not important, miss, but will you let me in?"

She frowned at him, still peering through the tiny opening. "Has something happened? Is Diarmán okay?"

"Please. I will not speak of it here."

Aerte hesitated only a moment longer, giving him a frowning, up-and-down look before stepping back and allowing the door to swing open. Uachi stepped inside and turned, quickly swinging the door shut and locking it.

He did not realize how this, meant to secure their privacy, would seem to Aerte. The woman moved back from him several paces, clutching her robe closed at the throat with one hand. With the other, she snatched the fire poker from the hearth; the holder, jostled, clanged onto the hearthstones.

Uachi raised his hands, stepping back so that his shoulder blades touched the door. "I'll go no farther, I swear to you," he said in a whisper. "Something has happened. If I have overstepped, I shall leave you, but I must warn you to stay in your room."

Her glare was suspicious. She brandished the poker at him. She was stiff-shouldered, but that and the grasp on her robe was the only sign of her fear.

"I will not move from this spot," said Uachi.

"You are twice my size, and you have a knife."

He blinked in surprise, looking up at his right hand, which was spread, in the air, and then down at the hilt of the dagger in his belt. "You may have it," he said at once, reaching for it. "I'll just—"

"Don't!" she cried. Sharp fear cracked her voice. "Don't move or I'll crack your skull."

Uachi froze with his hand halfway to the hilt. He slowly lifted it again. "I believe you. I do. Promise you will stay in here, lock the door, and I shall leave you. I'm sorry for—"

"You said something happened at supper."

"Yes."

"Well? What is it?"

"Do you know of Diarmán's history? His lineage?"

She nodded.

"His father. He's returned."

There was a flicker of surprise on her face, but only that. A flicker, smoothed away almost instantly. "Then we were right. We thought we had seen him on the grounds."

"What? Who?"

"I and Diarmán."

"Oh. He didn't tell me this," said Uachi. Why hadn't Diarmán mentioned seeing Han Taín? And why had he told Aerte instead?

"I do not think he told anyone else. He said he feared he'd gone mad." Aerte stared at Uachi for a moment longer. Then she lowered the fire poker slowly, though she did not put it down. She stayed where she was, across the room. "You and he have become close, haven't you?"

Uachi nodded.

She slowly smiled at him, and in that smile, he recognized a knowingness that reminded him of Diarmán. It was vexing. "Whatever was once between us is in the past. We are only friends—just as we were from the first day we met."

"I know that," said Uachi gruffly.

She nodded in acknowledgement, but her smile did not fade, and some of the tension had faded from her bearing. "I know you do—but all the same, allow me to declare that I have no interest in his heart, and let us put it behind us."

"Fine." Uncomfortable speaking of such matters with this woman, Uachi took this as permission to move back to the matter at hand. "So, you both saw him on the grounds. Well, neither of you was mad. Tonight, at Lord Emón's funeral feast, this Han Taín walked in as if he belonged here, and he wrought such havoc..."

For the first time, it occurred to Uachi that Aerte might not believe him when he told her what had happened.

"Has he hurt someone?" she asked. "Lady Moigré?"

"He turned all of the household's guests into pheasants. Even...even the corpse."

She drew in a sharp breath.

Uachi spread his fingers, raising his eyebrows at Aerte. When she nodded, he lowered his arms, though he stayed right where he was. "We've managed to gather all of them—we hope, all of them—and lock them away in Padréc's aviary for now. I hope we will determine how to undo the spell that has put them into the bodies of birds, but at least they are safe for the nonce. But I believe that this fellow is still here in the castle. I'm not sure what his intent is in returning." He fingered the dagger he wore at his side.

"It cannot be good. It seems you agree." Aerte's eyes flicked to the knife and then back up to his face.

"We need to consult with Diarmán," said Uachi, "but I fear that his mind is muddled by his father's return. If you know Diarmán as well as you say, then you must know he, too, has powers; perhaps what his father has wrought, he can unwork."

"Where is he now?"

"In his room. I spoke with him and left him only moments ago; he has declared he does not wish to make decisions tonight."

Aerte's eyes widened with incredulity. "He does not wish to—well, then. Let us leave the poor man in peace. We mustn't press him into making decisions if it is inconvenient to him."

Uachi smiled; he was not amused, but he was relieved to be in good company. "It is a troubling time for him. He has long carried a burden of guilt over what happened to his father. What he thought happened."

"I know that he believes it was his fault. He must see this as a second chance. An opportunity to have the life denied him."

"He also raised the inconvenient notion that once the nobility is restored to human form, House Eldran might find itself beset by enemies on all sides."

She scoffed, turning to pick up the iron tool holder from the hearthstones. Once she had righted it, she slid the poker back into place. "Certainly true, but imagine the trouble we shall all be in if half of the country's high-borns disappear into House Eldran and are not heard from again?"

"Just as I told him."

"You will be good for him, Uachi. You have sense."

With a short laugh, Uachi nodded his acknowledgment. "Tell me what we should do, Aerte. If you and I press him, perhaps we can arrive at some plan tonight. Or, we can grant him the evening of peace, as you said, and hope that his own good sense prevails; in the morning, we can discuss matters with him and determine how we are to unwork this magic and deal with this Han Taín. Were he a normal adversary, I would have no qualms about trying my luck against him, but I fear that steel cannot stand against his powers."

"It is not just the music and glamour that he possesses, either. Diarmán always told me that Han Taín granted his gifts to his sons from his own powers."

Uachi thought about this. He knew of the Eldran sons' powers only in broad strokes, but knowing Han Taín possessed an uncanny physical strength, among other things, did not make him any keener to try his hand against him.

"Then we give Diarmán time. Let us hope that he sleeps tonight. Gods know I shall not." Aerte shook her head, gesturing to the door. "Meet me back here in the morning, and we shall find him together."

"Good night, then," said Uachi.

"Good night."