Torka’s wife was away, and Kyrlos had asked him not to have any one in to supper, as he wished for a quiet evening, since there would be much to do for the next few days. Also he would be glad to get to bed early and rest his neck, which was getting stiff. Forsyth sent him off shortly after we had had supper, and went with him to bandage up his wound again. Torka went to see about the arrangements for the next day, and Aryenis and I were left alone sitting over the fire in the hall. We were neither of us very talkative. She was leaning forward, one shapely arm propping her chin, gazing into the glowing logs, and I was, I think, gazing at her, with the firelight glinting on her wonderful hair. Payindah’s words kept on coming back to me, and I could not help thinking what a very alluring prospect a vista of evenings with some one like Aryenis sitting by the fire would be, especially if the some one were one’s own Aryenis, and the firelight came from one’s own fireside. “You are silent, Harilek,” she said at last, turning her head. “So also are you, Aryenis. What were you looking at in the fire? Pictures like the children look for in the winter evenings?” “Perhaps. It is pleasant to sit by the fire, seeing pictures of things that might be: fairy stories such as we used to be told, of enchanted castles and dragons, and things like that.” “You forget the fairy princess with the red-gold locks, Aryenis. There is always one of them in the stories, isn’t there?” “Do all fairy princesses have red-gold locks?” “I don’t know about all, but some of them do. The one in my story did.” “What story is that?” “Oh, only one I was making up while you were looking into the fire. Wonderful red-gold locks, and hazel-grey eyes, steady, clear ones, and--no marks on her shoulders.” “That’s mean, Harilek. I shan’t tell you my story now if you’re going to laugh at me.” “I wasn’t laughing at you. I’m glad there isn’t going to be a mark.” “But there will be really, only it’ll be so small that none will see it unless they know where to look for it.” “That makes the story all the better. Princess with small mark on shoulder, that only the fairy prince who knows about it is able to find. Then, when he goes to look for the princess when she gets lost--they always get lost--he has to keep an eye on shoulders all the time. I’m afraid all the princesses in that story would have to wear very low-necked clothes or he’d never get to the end of his search.” “And how does the princess know the prince? Does he have fairy marks?” “Oh, he’d have wiggly ones where the dragon’s claws scratched him. Purple scratches, probably, and a tooth-mark or two down one arm.” “I don’t believe that’s right. Fairy princes don’t get bitten by dragons. They always kill them first with wonderful shiny swords the colour of that blue flame there.” “Well, this would have to be a special kind of prince with wiggly purple marks.”