Rihwin had the chamber on the other side of the Fox's. Since Rihwin could no more keep secrets than Fand could keep calm, Gerin walked by his room. The next bedchamber held Marlanz. Across from it was the library, to which Gerin and Selatre were both drawn like feathers gliding toward rubbed amber.

Few in the northlands knew their letters. Selatre hadn't, not till Gerin taught them to her after bringing her to Fox Keep. He'd thought to give her a useful place here, not knowing he would fall in love with her in short order-and she with him, too, which struck him as stranger and more marvelous. She'd also fallen in love with books. That, unlike falling in love with him, he understood completely. He'd done it himself.

He opened the door, then gestured for her to go in ahead of him. She did-and started to laugh. When he followed her into the chamber, he laughed, too. There sat Dagref in front of a lamp, his nose in a scroll.

Gerin glanced over at Selatre. "Anyone would think he was our child," he said.

Dagref looked up at his parents. "Of course I'm your child," he said testily, "and I'm sure you came in here so you could talk about something you think is none of my business."

"You're right," Selatre told him.

"It isn't fair," he said. "How am I supposed to learn what I need to know if you won't let me find out about it?" He started to stalk off, then stopped under Gerin's glare. When he went back, rolled up the scroll, and replaced it in its proper pigeonhole, his father stopped glaring.

"That was good," Selatre said with a smile after her son did depart. "He figured out why you were unhappy."

"Something, anyway," Gerin agreed. "Tell him the same thing four hundred times in a row and he will start to listen-if it suits him. If it doesn't…" His scowl said what happened then. After a moment, he went on, "And yet, if it's something he wants to learn, he'll soak it up the way dry ground soaks up the first rain of the year."