Breakfast was served in the small antechamber where the family typically had their meals. It was usually an informal affair; Brente would put out plates and cups, bread, honey, tea on warming rests, and any cold dishes left over from prior meals. The family would filter in and out as they woke and prepared for their day.

Aerte and Uachi had allowed Diarmán time to wash his face and change into new clothes, and then they had come down together. If there was anything odd about the connections made within their trio, Diarmán did not have much attention to spare to consider it. He was far too focused on what would happen today.

Han Taín was here. He was alive, and he was going to stay at House Eldranxx.

They were a family again.

The dining room was nearly empty. Inside, Leán sat alone, hunched over his plate in a manner that did not befit a nobleman. His cheek bulged with whatever he'd just shoved into his mouth.

"Good morning, Brother," Diarmán said. "I hope we have not disturbed you? I'm rather attached to my hands—shall I stay on this side of the table?"

Leán swallowed his mouthful and pointed to a dish of cold rabbit pie left over from the feast. "That's what I've got my eye on next."

"Then we will steer clear of it." He settled onto the bench opposite Leán and reached for one of the teapots as Uachi swung a leg over the bench next to him. "Will you be going out to the tenancies today?"

His mouth already full again, Leán chewed as Diarmán poured his tea, fixing him with a look, a frown shadowing his brow. Aerte had crossed round the table and now took her seat on the bench next to Leán.

"Why would I go to the tenancies today?" Leán reached for the dish of pie, pulling it toward him. "Do you not think there are a few matters to attend to here?"

Diarmán shrugged. He passed the tea pot to Uachi. "A fair point. Have you had a chance to speak with Father?"

Leán shook his head, his expression difficult to read, and sliced into the pie. As he served himself a piece, he looked at Aerte, giving her a tired smile. "Good morning. Pie?"

She smiled back, sliding her plate toward him. "Thank you."

There were footsteps in the hall, and Diarmán looked up in anticipation.

"I can't believe we're just sitting down to breakfast like everything is normal." It was Gaerte, who arrived with Emón. He stopped just inside the room, looking at the breakfast table with a frown. "What is there—leftover roast pheasant?"

Diarmán's stomach turned, and his appetite soured. He scanned the dishes set out for breakfast and was pleased to see there was no pheasant on the offer. "No. Rabbit pie and cold candied carrots and more bread than is usual. Sit, and I'll pour you some tea."

Emón's expression was hopeful as he scanned the room. "Has Father come?"

"I haven't seen him," said Leán. At his side, Aerte was staring down at her pie, picking at a corner with her fork as if she were removing something that did not please her from the dish.

Out of nowhere, Declaen appeared. He placed his hands on Little Emón's shoulders and moved him out of the way as he entered the room. He then stepped aside to make way for Lady Moigré, who looked even paler than usual, casting large, dark eyes around the room. "It's all right, Mother," Declaen said. "He isn't here."

"Good morning, Mother," said Leán. There were muted echoes from the others as Declaen crossed to the table, raising a hand in a general, lazy greeting to those who were already seated. Moigré trailed in his wake, clutching a shawl around her shoulders.

"Is he going to come?" Emón asked. "Father?"

"I can promise you that if we could read his mind, we would ask more important questions than that," said Gaerte.

"Gaerte." Leán had a forkful of food on its way to his mouth, but he lowered it, straightening, with a troubled glance to his mother. "We are not well-served by snapping at one another."

"Come and sit." Surprisingly, it was Uachi who spoke, taking a plate from the stack in the center of the table and putting it next to him. "You had a late night, as did we all, and you should eat."

"I shall never have an appetite again." Gaerte shook his head and, with an expression of disgust, he turned his back, brushing past Emón on his way out of the room.

Leán began to rise, but Aerte put her hand on his elbow. He stopped, looking down at her.

"Let him go," she murmured. She did not take her hand away when Leán sat back down, and she exchanged a look with Uachi that Diarmán did not much like: tired understanding.

It seemed, in fact, that everyone had their own feelings and was keeping their own counsel. As Diarmán surveyed his family, a cast of characters he had known all his life, he felt strangely isolated from them, unable to truly read their feelings. All at the table were staring down at their plates. Declaen had seated himself next to Leán. He tore a heel of bread in half and put part onto his plate and part onto Moigré's, but he moved with reluctance. Aerte put her fork down, and Leán did not pick his up again.

"He's been like that all morning," said Declaen, breaking the strange silence.

"Well, then. We'll allow him his little strop." Diarmán slid the basket of bread toward Uachi, but the man raised a hand, declining the food. Even Diarmán, who'd been hungry, now did not feel like eating.

"You must have been up early," said Leán to Declaen.

"Chores." Declaen tore his bread into halves again, looking at it with something like distaste. "The water doesn't draw itself—you might have forgotten. Gaerte's been up since the dark end of dawn helping Padréc feed a thousand pheasants—probably explains his mood."

Leán's brow darkened. "Oh. Brother, I am sorry. I meant to—"

"No matter." Declaen pointed at a pot of jam standing in front of Uachi, and the ranger passed it to Diarmán, who handed it over to his brother. "You can do the horses. Has anybody seen Ruaraín? Padréc needs to speak with him about our sudden need to feed scores upon scores of birds."

"I have not seen him this morning; I've only just come down, surprising no one present, I am sure. Little Emón," Diarmán said, turning back to his smallest brother, who was still standing just inside the door, "Come and sit—or do you mean to simply watch us eat?"

"That is not his name."

Little Emón's face lit up at the sight of Han Taín, appearing in the doorway as if from nowhere. "Father!" he cried.

Han Taín stepped forward and extended his hands to his youngest son. "Look at you, my young hero."

The boy's smile did not fade, but he tilted his head. "What?"

"I never had the chance to give you a gift; 'twas your mother who gave you one, carrying you with her over the border between our worlds. Now there is no door, no boundary, that can stand against you."

Emón's grin widened, and he placed his hands in his father's upturned ones. "It was in the wood, wasn't it? I knew something was happening, but I didn't know what it was, or I would have done it sooner."

The faerie king pulled Emón closer, wrapping the boy in his arms. "My son."

Silence fell. Around the table, gazes dropped to plates; even Diarmán looked away, seeing the shine of his little brother's eyes. Underneath the table, he touched Uachi's thigh, and the ranger's calloused hand fell over his almost instantly. Their fingers slid together, and warmth spread through Diarmán's chest. He had thought they'd had a quarrel this morning, and last night, too, but Uachi was holding his hand; perhaps they were at peace. Perhaps, seeing Han Taín again, with his family, Uachi would see that all would be well.

"Let it be known to all," said Han Taín, his voice clear and resounding in the small chamber, "that this boy, once known as Emón, no longer bears that name. He is Samoch; this is the name I chose for him, and he shall carry it from this moment. And he is not merely a lord—no, nor any of you. My sons are princes all."

Diarmán looked at his mother properly for the first time, some small, shadowed part of his heart afraid of what he might see in her face. When he did, she was calm, her features smooth and her expression remote.

"My lady," said Han Taín, turning to Moigré and extending his hand.

She did not move. Declaen covered her hand with his own, a protective gesture. "My mother is quite tired this morning, Your Highness," he said coolly.

Han Taín gave him a soft smile and a nod of acknowledgment. "Of course. She is a human woman, gentle of heart, and my unheralded return was no doubt a troubling disruption in a season of deepest grief."

All were silent. Uachi watched Han Taín with narrowed eyes; Emón's smile had dimmed with confusion. On Moigré's other side, Leán sat straight, his breakfast knife in his hand.

Han Taín met Moigré's eye across the table, through her motley lady's guard, most of whom she had nursed at her own breast. "My lady, I shall never undo the wrongs I did you. In my world, you were a queen, and yet in this place our love is not even recognized as marriage by human customs. I built you a home with my own hands, and yet could never grant you the peace and the comforts of your own childhood dwelling-place. You mourned, and I did not understand and honor your tears. Forgive me."

Moigré gazed at him, expressionless, her eyes distant and hazy. Wisps of her dark hair clung to her temples. Her free hand, resting on the table, betrayed a shiver as delicate as that of a dry autumn leaf in a chill wind. Diarmán wondered, his heart sinking, if she had taken so much of her tea that she did not even hear Han Taín's words.

"In giving me my fine sons, you have granted me the bounty of the gods, and I can and will ask nothing more of you. We were well met, my sweet beloved, and we are well parted."

Moigré's soft inhalation was audible in the silence. Leán glanced at Diarmán, his frown questioning. After a beat or two, Emón—Samoch—spoke up. "What does that mean?"

Han Taín chuckled, patting his youngest son on the cheek. "It means your mother is free to live as she wishes. I shall leave her in peace and make no claims on her heart, and I shall bless her fortunes. If she wishes, she may marry—and so shall I."

What wonderful news! Han Taín says he has no designs on Lady Moigré's heart. Certainly this means that all will be well?