Dragons of a Lost Star

6 The March on Silvanost

No one quite knew how word came to spread throughout the capital city of Silvanost that the hands of the human girl named Mina were the hands of a healer. The elves might have heard news of her from the outside world, except that they had been long cut off from the outside world, covered by the shield that had been presumably protecting them but had been, in reality, slowly killing them. No elf could say where he had first heard this rumor, but he credited it to neighbor, cousin, or passerby. The rumor started with the fall of darkness. It spread through the night, whispered on the flower-scented night breeze, sung by the nightingale, mentioned by the owl. The rumor spread with excitement and joy among the young, yet there were those among the older elves who frowned to hear it and who cautioned against it.

Strong among these were the kirath, the elves who had long patrolled and guarded the borders of Silvanesti. These elves had watched with grief as the shield killed every living thing along the border. They had fought the cruel dream cast by the dragon Cyan Bloodbane many years ago during the War of the Lance.

The kirath knew from their bitter experience with the dream that evil can come in lovely forms, only to grow hideous and murderous when confronted. The kirath warned against this human girl. They tried to halt the rumors that were spreading through the city, as fast and bright and slippery as quicksilver. But every time the rumor came to a house where a young elven mother held to her breast her dying child, the rumor was believed. The warnings of the kirath went unheeded.

That night, when the moon lifted high in the heavens, the single moon, the moon that the elves had never grown accustomed to seeing in a sky where once the silver and the red moons had swung among the stars, the guards on the gates of Silvanost looked out along the highway leading into their city, a highway of moondust, to see a force of humans marching on Silvanost. The force was small, twenty Knights clad in the black armor of the Knights of Neraka and several hundred foot soldiers marching behind. The army was a shabby one. The foot soldiers stumbled, they limped, footsore and weary. Even the Knights were afoot, their horses having died in battle or been eaten by their starving riders. Only one Knight rode, and that was their leader, a slender figure mounted on a horse the color of blood.

A thousand elven archers, armed with the storied elven longbow, legendary for its accuracy, looked down upon this advancing army, and each picked out his or her target. There were so many archers that had the order been given to fire, each one of those advancing soldiers would have been stuck full with as many arrows as there are quills on the porcupine. The elven archers looked uncertainly to their commanders. The archers had heard the rumors, as had their commanders. The archers had sick at home: wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, children, all dying of the wasting disease. Many of the archers themselves were in the first stages of the illness and remained at their posts only through sheer effort of will. So too with their commanders. The kirath, who were not members of the elven army, stood among the archers, wrapped in their cloaks that could blend in with the leaves and trees of the forests they loved, and watched grimly. Mina rode unerringly straight toward the silver gates, rode into arrow range unflinching, her horse carrying its head proudly, neck arched, tail flicking. At her side walked a giant minotaur.

Her Knights came behind her, the foot soldiers followed after. Now within sight of the elves, the soldiers took some pains to dress their lines, straighten their backs, march upright and tall with the appearance of being unafraid, although many must have quaked and shivered at the sight of the arrow tips shining in the moonlight.

Mina halted her horse before the gate. She raised her voice, and it carried as clear and ringing as the notes of a silver bell.

“I am called Mina. I come to Silvanost in the name of the One God. I come to Silvanost to teach my elven brothers and sisters of the One God and to accept them into the service of the One God. I call upon you, the people of Silvanost, to open the gates, that I may enter in peace.”

“Do not trust her,” urged the kirath. “Do not believe her!”

No one listened, and when one of the kirath, a man named Rolan, lifted his bow and would have fired a shaft at the human girl, those standing around him struck him down so that he fell bloody and dazed to the pavement. Finding that no one paid them any heed, the kirath picked up their fallen comrade and left the city of Silvanost, retreated back to their woodlands.

A herald advanced and read aloud a proclamation.

“His Majesty the king orders that the gates of Silvanost be opened to Mina, whom His Majesty names Dragonslayer, Savior of the Silvanesti.”

The elven archers flung down their bows and gave a ragged cheer. The elven gatekeepers hastened to the gates that were made of steel and silver and magic. Though these gates looked as frail and fragile as spun cobweb, they were so bound by ancient magicks that no force on Krynn could break them, unless it was the breath of a dragon. But Mina, it seemed, had only to set her hand to the gates, and they opened.

Mina rode slowly into Silvanost. The minotaur walked at her stirrup, glowering distrustfully at the elves, his hand on his sword. Her soldiers came after, nervous, watchful, wary. The elves, after their initial cheer, fell silent. Crowds of elves lined the highway that was chalk-white in the moonlight. No one spoke, and all that could be heard was the jingle of chain mail and the rattle of armor and sword, the steady shuffling march of booted feet.

Mina had gone only a short distance, and some of the army still remained outside the gate, when she drew her horse to a halt. She heard a sound, and now she looked out into the crowd.

Dismounting, she left the highway and walked straight into the crowd of elves. The huge minotaur drew his sword and would have followed to guard her back, but she raised her hand in a wordless command, and he halted as though she had struck him. Mina came to a young elven woman trying vainly to stifle the whimperings of fretful child of about three years. It was the child’s wail that had caught Mina’s ears.

The elves drew aside to let Mina pass, flinching from her as though her touch pained them. Yet, after she had passed, some of the younger reached out hesitatingly to touch her again. She paid them no heed. Approaching the elven woman, Mina said, speaking in elven, “Your baby cries. She burns with fever. What is wrong with her?”

The mother held the child protectively in her arms, bowed her head over the little girl. Her tears fell on the child’s hot forehead.

“She has the wasting sickness. She has been ill for days now. She grows worse all the time. I fear that. . . she is dying.”

“Give me the child,” said Mina, holding out her hands.

“No!” The elven woman clasped the child to her. “No, do not harm her!”

“Give me the child,” said Mina gently.

The mother lifted fearful eyes and looked into Mina’s. The warm liquid amber flowed around the mother and the child. The mother handed the baby to Mina.

The little girl weighed almost nothing. She was as light as a will-o’-the-wisp in Mina’s arms.

“I bless you in the name of the One God,” said Mina, “and I call you back to this life.”

The child’s whimpering ceased. She went limp in Mina’s arms, and the elder elves drew in hissing breaths.

“She is well now,” Mina said, handing back the child to the mother.

“The fever has broken. Take her home and keep her warm. She will live.”

The mother looked fearfully into the face of her child and gave a cry of joy. The child’s whimpering had ceased, and she had gone limp because she now slept peacefully. Her forehead was cool to the touch, her breathing easy.

“Mina!” the elf woman cried, falling to her knees. “Bless you, Mina!”

“Not me,” said Mina. “The One God.”

“The One God,” the mother cried. “I thank the One God.”

“Lies!” cried an elf man, thrusting his way forward through the crowd.

“Lies and blasphemy. The only true god is Paladine.”

“Paladine forsook you,” Mina said. “Paladine left you. The One God is with you. The One God cares for you.”

The elf opened his mouth to make an angry rejoinder. Before he could speak, Mina said to him, “Your beloved wife is not with you here this night.”

The elf shut his mouth. Muttering, he started to turn away.

“She is sick at home,” Mina told him. “She has not been well for a long, long time. Every day, you watch her sink closer to death. She lies in bed, unable to walk. This morning, she could not lift her head from the pillow.”

“She is dying!” the elf said harshly, keeping his head turned away.

“Many have died. We bear our suffering and go on.”

“When you return home,” said Mina, “your wife will meet you at the door. She will take you by the hands, and you will dance in the garden as you once used to.”

The elf turned to face her. His face was streaked with tears, his expression was wary, disbelieving. “This is some trick.”

“No, it is not,” Mina returned, smiling. “I speak the truth, and you know it. Go to her. Go and see.”

The elf stared at Mina, then, with a hollow cry, pushed his way through those who surrounded him and vanished into the crowd.

Mina extended her hand toward an elven couple. Father and mother each held a young boy by the hand. The boys were twins, thin and listless, their young faces so pinched with pain they looked like wizened old men. Mina beckoned to the boys. “Come to me.”

The boys shrank away from her. “You are human,” said one. “You hate us.”

“You will kill us,” said his brother. “My father says so.”

“To be human, elf, or minotaur makes no difference to the One God. We are all children of the One God, but we must be obedient children. Come to me. Come to the One God.”

The boys looked up at their parents. The elves stared at Mina, saying nothing, making no sign. The crowd around them was hushed and still, watching the drama. Finally, one boy let loose his mother’s hand and came forward, walking weakly and unsteadily. He took hold of Mina’s hand.

“The One God has the power to heal one of you,” said Mina. “Which will it be? You or your brother.”

“My brother,” the child said immediately.

Mina rested her hand on the boy’s head. “The One God admires sacrifice. The One God is pleased. The One God heals you both.”

Healthful color flooded the pallid cheeks. The listless eyes blazed with life and vigor. The weak legs no longer trembled, the bent spines straightened. The other boy left his father and ran to join his twin, both flinging their arms around Mina.

“Bless you! Bless you, Mina!” some of the younger Silvanesti elves began to chant, and they gathered close to Mina, reaching out to seize hold of her, begging her to heal them, their wives, their husbands, their children. The crowd surged and heaved around her so that she was in danger of being adored to death.

The minotaur, Galdar, Mina’s second-in-command and self-appointed guardian, waded into the mass. Catching hold of Mina, he bore her out of the press, thrusting aside the desperate elves with his strong arms. Mounting her horse, Mina rose up in the stirrups and lifted her hand for silence. The elves hushed immediately, strained to hear her words.

“It has been given to me to tell you that all those who ask of the One God in humility and reverence will be healed of the sickness brought upon you by the dragon Cyan Bloodbane. The One God has freed you from this peril. Pray to the One God upon your knees, acknowledge the One God as the true God of the elves and you will be cured.”

Some of the younger elves fell to their knees at once and began to pray. Others, the elder elves, refused. Never before had the elves prayed to any god except Paladine. Some began to mutter that the kirath had been right, but then those who had prayed lifted their heads to the moonlight and cried out in joy that the pain had left their bodies. At the sight of the miraculous healing, more elves dropped to their knees, raised their voices in praise. The elder elves, watching in dismay and disbelief, shook their heads. One in particular, who was dressed in the magical camouflaging cloak of the kirath, stared hard at Mina for long moments before vanishing among the shadows.

The blood-red horse proceeded forward at a walk. Mina’s soldiers cleared her way through the press of bodies. The Tower of the Stars glimmered softly in the moonlight, pointing the way to heaven. Walking at her side, Galdar tried to breathe as little as possible. The stench of elf was overpowering, cloying, sickeningly sweet to the minotaur, like the scent of something long dead.

“Mina,” said Galdar in a harsh growl, “these are elves!” He made no effort to conceal his disgust. “What does the One God want with elves?”

“The souls of all mortals are valuable to the One God, Galdar,” Mina responded.

Galdar mulled this over but could not understand. Looking back at her, he saw, in the moonlight, the images of countless elves held prisoner in the warm golden amber of her eyes.

Mina continued through Silvanost as prayers to the One God, spoken in the Elvish language, rustled and whispered through the night. Silvanoshei, son of Alhana Starbreeze and Porthios of the House of Solostaran, the heir to both kingdoms of the elves, the Qualinesti and the Silvanesti, stood with his face and hands pressed against the crystal windowpane, peering into the night.

“Where is she?” he demanded impatiently. “No, wait! I think I see her!” He stared long and then fell back with a sigh. “No, it is not her. I was mistaken. Why doesn’t she come?” He turned around to demand in sudden fear, “You don’t think anything has happened to her, Cousin?”

Kiryn opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say a word, Silvanoshei had spoken to a servant. “Find out what is happening at the gate. Return to me at once.”

The servant bowed and departed, leaving the two alone in the room.

“Cousin,” said Kiryn, keeping his voice carefully modulated, “that is the sixth servant you have sent this past half hour. He will return with the same message that they have all brought. The progress of the procession is slow, due to the fact that so many of our people want to see her.”

Silvanoshei went back to the window, stared out again with an impatience he did not bother to hide. “It was a mistake. I should have been there to greet her.” He cast a cold glance at his cousin. “I should not have listened to you.”

“Your Majesty,” said Kiryn with a sigh, “it would not have looked good. You, the king, welcoming in person the leader of our enemies. Bad enough that we have admitted her into the city in the first place,” he added to himself, but Silvanoshei had sharp ears.

“Need I remind you, Cousin,” said the king tersely, “that it was this same leader of our enemies who saved us from the machinations of the foul dragon Cyan Bloodbane. Because of her, I was brought back to life and given the chance to lower the shield he erected over us, the shield that was sucking out our very lives. Because of her, I was able to destroy the Shield Tree and save our people. If not for her, there would be no elves in the streets of Silvanost, only corpses.”

“I am aware of that, Your Majesty,” Kiryn said. “Yet I ask myself why? What are her motives?”

“I might ask the same of you, Cousin,” Silvanoshei said coolly. “What are you motives?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kiryn said.

“Don’t you? It has been brought to my attention that you are plotting behind my back. You have been seen meeting with members of the kirath.”

“What of that, Cousin?” Kiryn asked mildly. “They are your loyal subjects.”

“They are not my loyal subjects!” Silvanoshei said angrily. “They conspire against me!”

“They conspire against our enemies, the Dark Knights—”

“Mina, you mean. They conspire against Mina. That is the same as conspiring against me.”

Kiryn sighed softly and said, “There is someone waiting to speak to Your Majesty.”

“I will see no one,” Silvanoshei said.

“I think you should see him,” Kiryn continued. “He comes from your mother.”

Silvanoshei turned away from the window and stared at Kiryn. “What are you saying? My mother is dead. She died the night the ogres raided our camp. The night I fell through the shield . . .”

“No, Cousin,” said Kiryn. “Your mother, Alhana, lives. She and her forces have crossed the border. She has been in contact with the kirath. That is why . . . They tried to see you, Cousin, but were denied. They came to me.”

Silvanoshei sank down into a chair. He lowered his head to his shaking hand to hide his sudden tears.

“Forgive me, Cousin,” Kiryn said. “I should have found some better way to tell you—”

“No! You could have brought me no happier news!” Silvanoshei cried, lifting his face. “My mother’s messenger is here?” He rose to his feet, walked impatiently toward the door. “Bring him in.”

“He is not in the antechamber. He would be in danger here in the palace. I took the liberty—”

“Of course. I had forgotten. My mother is a dark elf,” Silvanoshei said bitterly. “She is under penalty of death, as are those who follow her.”

“Your Majesty now has the power to set that right,” said Kiryn.

“By law, perhaps,” said Silvanoshei. “But laws cannot erase years of hatred. Go and fetch him, then, wherever you have hidden him.”

Kiryn left the room. Silvanoshei returned to the window, his thoughts a confused and joyous muddle. His mother alive. Mina returned to him. The two of them must meet. They would like each other. Well, perhaps not at first. . . .

He heard a scraping sound behind him, turned to see movement behind one of the heavy curtains. The curtain was drawn aside, revealing an opening in the wall, a secret passageway. Silvanoshei had heard stories from his mother about these passageways. As a lark, Silvanoshei had searched for the passages, but had found only this one. The passage led to the hidden garden, a garden now lifeless, its flowers having been killed by the blight of the shield.

Kiryn stepped out from behind the curtain. Another elf, cloaked and hooded, followed after him.

“Samar!” exclaimed Silvanoshei in a recognition that was both pleasurable and filled with pain.

His first impulse was to run forward, grasp Samar by the hand or perhaps even embrace him, so glad was he to see him and know he was alive and that his mother was alive. Kiryn was hoping for just such a reunion. He hoped that the news that his mother was near, that she and her forces had crossed the border would wrench Silvanoshei’s mind away from Mina.

Kiryn’s hopes were doomed to failure.

Samar did not see Silvanoshei the king. He saw Silvanoshei the spoiled child, dressed in fine clothes and glittering jewels, while his mother wore clothes she made of homespun and adorned herself in the cold metal of chain mail. He saw Silvanoshei residing in a grand palace with every comfort he could wish for, saw his mother shivering in a barren cave. Samar saw a vast bed with a thick down mattress and blankets of angora wool and sheets of silk, and he saw Alhana sleeping on the cold ground with her tattered cloak wrapped around her.

Anger pounded in Samar’s veins, dimmed his vision, blurred his thinking. He blotted out Silvanoshei completely and saw only Alhana, who had been overcome with joy and emotion on hearing that Silvanoshei, whom she had believed to be dead, was alive. Not only alive but crowned king of Silvanesti—her dearest wish for him.

She had wanted to come immediately to see him, an act that would have placed in jeopardy not only her life but the lives of her people. Samar had pleaded long and hard to dissuade her from this course of action, and only the knowledge that she risked imperiling all for which she had labored so long had at last convinced her that he should go in her stead. He would take her love to her son, but he would not fawn or dote on the boy. Samar would remind Silvanoshei of a son’s duty to a mother, be he king or commoner. Duty to his mother, duty to his people.

Samar’s cold look halted Silvanoshei in midstep.

“Prince Silvanoshei,” said Samar, with a very slight bow. “I trust I find you well. I certainly find you well-fed.” He cast a scathing glance at the laden table. “That much food would feed your mother’s army for a year!”

Silvanoshei’s warm affection froze to solid ice in an instant. He forgot how much he owed Samar, remembered instead only that the man had never approved of him, perhaps never even liked him. Silvanoshei drew himself up to his full height.

“Undoubtedly you have not heard the news, Samar,” Silvanoshei said with quiet dignity, “and so I forgive you. I am king of the Silvanesti, and you will address me as such.”

“I will address you as what you are,” Samar said, his voice shaking, “a spoiled brat!”

“How dare you—” Silvanoshei began hotly.

“Stop it! Both of you.” Kiryn stared at them, aghast. “What are you two doing? Have you forgotten the terrible crisis that is at hand? Cousin Silvanoshei, you have known this man from childhood. You have told me many times that you admired and respected him as a second father. Samar risked his life to come to you. Is this how you repay him?”

Silvanoshei said nothing. He pressed his lips together, regarded Samar with an expression of injured dignity.

“And you, Samar,” said Kiryn, turning to the elven warrior. “You are in the wrong. Silvanoshei is the crowned and anointed king of the Silvanesti people. You are Qualinesti. Perhaps the ways of your people are different. We Silvanesti revere our king. When you demean him, you demean us all.”

Samar and the King were silent long moments, staring at each other—

not as two friends who have been quick to quarrel and are glad to make up, but as two duelists who are sizing each other up even as they are forced to shake hands before the final contest. Kiryn was grieved to the heart.

“We have started out all wrong,” he said. “Let us begin again.”

“How is my mother, Samar?” Silvanoshei asked abruptly.

“Your mother is well. . . Your Majesty,” Samar replied. He left a deliberate pause before the title, but he spoke it. “She sends her love.”

Silvanoshei nodded. He was keeping a tight grip on himself. “The night of the storm. I thought. . . It seemed impossible that you could survive.”

“As it turned out, the Legion of Steel had been keeping watch on the movements of the ogres, and so they came to our aid. It seems,” Samar added, his voice gruff, “that you and your mother have been grieving together. When you did not return, we searched for you for days. We could only conclude that you had been captured by the ogres and dragged off to torment and death. When the shield fell and your mother crossed over into her homeland, we were met by the kirath. Her joy was boundless when she heard that not only were you alive, but that you were now king, Silvanoshei.”

His tone hardened. “Then the reports of you and this human female—”

Silvanoshei flashed Kiryn an angry glance. “Now I understand the reason you brought him here, Cousin. To lecture me.” He turned back to the window.

“Silvanoshei—” Kiryn began.

Samar strode forward, grabbed hold of Silvanoshei by the shoulder.

“Yes, I am going to lecture you. You are behaving like a spoiled brat. Your honored mother did not believe the rumors. She told the kirath who spoke of this that they lied. What happens? I overhear you speaking of this human. I hear from your own lips that the rumors are true! You mope and whine for her, while a massive army of Dark Knights crosses the border. An army that was waiting at the border, prepared to cross when the shield came down.

“And, lo and behold, the shield fell! How did this army come to be there, Silvanoshei? Was it coincidence? Did the Dark Knights happen to arrive at the precise moment the shield happened to fall? No, Silvanoshei, the Dark Knights were there on the border because they knew the shield was going to fall. Now they march on Silvanost, five thousand strong, and you have opened the gates of the city to the female who brought them here.”

“That is not true!” Silvanoshei returned heatedly, ignoring Kiryn’s attempts to placate him. “Mina came to save us. She knew the truth about Cyan Bloodbane. She knew the dragon was the one responsible for raising the shield. She knew the shield was killing us. When I died at the hands of the dragon, she restored me to life. She—” Silvanoshei halted, his tongue cleaving to his palate.

“She told you to lower the shield,” Samar said. “She told you how to lower the shield.”

“Yes, I lowered the shield!” Silvanoshei returned defiantly. “I did what my mother has been striving to do for years! You know that to be true, Samar. My mother saw the shield for what it was. She knew it was not raised to protect us, and she was right. It was put in place to kill us. What would you have had me do, Samar? Leave the shield in place? Watch it suck the lives from my people?”

“You might have left it in place long enough to check to see if your enemy was massing on your border,” Samar said caustically. “The kirath could have warned you, if you had taken time to listen to them, but no, you chose to listen to a human female, the leader of those who would see you and your people destroyed.”

“The decision was mine alone to make,” said Silvanoshei with dignity.

“I acted on my own. I did what my mother would have done in my place. You know that, Samar. She herself told me of the time she flew on griffon-back straight into the shield in her efforts to shatter it. Time and again she tried and was flung back—”

“Enough!” Samar interrupted impatiently. “What’s done is done.” He had lost this round, and he knew it. He was quiet a moment, pondering. When he spoke again, there was a change in his voice, a note of apology in his tone. “You are young, Silvanoshei, and it is the province of youth to make mistakes, although this, I fear, may well prove fatal to our cause. However, we have not given up. We may yet be able to undo the damage you have—however well-meaning—caused.”

Reaching beneath his cloak, Samar drew out another cloak and hood.

“Dark Knights ride into our sacred city with impunity. I watched them enter. I saw this female. I saw our people, especially our young people, bewitched by her. They are blind to the truth. It will be our task to make them see again. Conceal yourself with this cloak, Silvanoshei. We will leave by the secret passage through which I entered, escape the city in the confusion.”

“Leave?” Silvanoshei stared at Samar in astonishment. “Why should I leave?”

Samar would have spoken, but Kiryn interrupted, hoping to salvage his plan.

“Because you are in danger, Cousin,” said Kiryn. “Do you think the Dark Knights will allow you to remain king? If they do, you will be no more than a puppet, like your cousin Gilthas. But, as king in exile, you will be a force to rally the people—”

Go? I cannot go, Silvanoshei said to himself. She is coming back to me. She draws closer every moment. This very night perhaps I will fold her in my arms. I would not leave though I knew death itself had come for me. He looked at Kiryn and he looked at Samar and he saw not friends, but strangers, conspiring against him. He could not trust them. He could trust no one.

“You say that my people are in danger,” said Silvanoshei. He turned his back, turned his gaze out the window, as if he were looking over the city below. In truth, he searched for her. “My people are in danger, and you would have me flee to safety and leave them to face the threat alone. What poor sort of king is that, Samar?”

“A live king, Your Majesty,” Samar said dryly. “A king who thinks enough of his people to live for them instead of for himself. They will understand and honor you for your decision.”

Silvanoshei glanced coolly over his shoulder. “You are wrong, Samar. My mother fled, and the people did not honor her for it. They despised her. I will not make the same mistake. I thank you for coming, Samar. You are dismissed.”

Trembling, amazed at his own temerity, he turned back to the window, stared out unseeing.

“You ungrateful whelp!” Samar was half-choked with the gall of his rage, could barely speak. “You will come with me if I have to drag you!”

Kiryn stepped between Samar and the king.

“I think you had better leave, sir,” Kiryn said, his voice calm, eyes level. He was angry with both of them, angry and disappointed. “Or I will be forced to summon the guards. His Majesty has made his decision.”

Samar ignored Kiryn, glowered balefully at Silvanoshei. “I will leave. I will tell your mother that her son has made a noble, heroic sacrifice in the name of the people. I will not tell her the truth: that he stays for love of a human witch. I will not tell her, but others will. She will know, and her heart will break.”

He tossed the cloak on the floor at Silvanoshei’s feet. “You are a fool, young man. I would not mind if by your folly you brought ruin only on yourself, Silvanoshei, but you will bring ruin upon us all.”

Samar left, stalking across the room to the secret passage. He flung the curtain aside with a violence that almost ripped it from its rings. Silvanoshei cast a scathing glance at Kiryn. “Don’t think I don’t know what you were after. Remove me, and you ascend the throne!”

“You don’t think that of me, Cousin,” Kiryn said quietly, gently. “You can’t think that.”

Silvanoshei tried very hard to think it, but he failed. Of all the people he knew, Kiryn was the only one who seemed to have a true affection for him. For him alone. Not for the king. For Silvanoshei.

Leaving the window, he walked over, took Kiryn by the hand, pressed it warmly. “I’m sorry, Cousin. Forgive me. He makes me so angry, I don’t know what I’m saying. I know you meant well.” Silvanoshei looked after Samar. “I know that he means well, but he doesn’t understand. No one understands.”

Silvanoshei felt a great weariness come over him. He had not slept in a long time. He couldn’t remember how long. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her face, heard her voice, felt the touch of her lips on his, and his heart leaped, his blood thrilled, and he lay awake, staring into the darkness, waiting for her to return to him.

“Go after Samar, Kiryn. Make certain he leaves the palace safely. I would not want any harm to come to him.”

Kiryn gave his king a helpless glance, sighed, shook his head, and did as he was told.

Silvanoshei went back to the window.