“Call me Impa,” she said with another grin, and propped the toe of one hind hoof up in a gesture of relaxation. Impa didn’t mind the closeness of the other mare —she was flattered, really— and she shifted her weight to bump companionably against the chestnut. Fayte’s response was, in some ways, encouraging. Impa felt her heart thud erratically for a few beats. It was possible the appaloosa had encountered her father before his strange disappearance.

“Yes. I was born here,” she replied, and marveled at the steadiness of her voice. Inside, she felt shaky. Impa’s head turned to the left as she peered with her right eye at the line of trees that surrounded the little grove. A chestnut stallion stood half-hidden among the gray-brown trunks. Impa’s first impulse was to ignore him, but Fayte introduced him as the king. “King?” Impa repeated. “The King of Luthien?” Her ears turned back, not flat but not upright, and she looked at Fayte again.

If the stallion was the king of Luthien, it could only mean that Kisei was no longer on the island. Even if the chestnut had impressed her sire enough for him to step down from his metaphorical throne and allow another to take his place, there was no possibility that Kisei would ever have given up his beloved trees. It did not even occur to Impa that the stranger might have fought for the crown. Even as an adult she held the misguided idea that her father could never be bested.

Impa shifted to stand on all fours. “Two years. Please, tell me, when you first came here— was there a stallion here, a great big black one with feathers like mine? Or a mare called Dynalia?” She pushed her ears up and they quivered in anticipation of the mare’s answer.