Firstborn

23 — Night of Reunion

Freshly bathed, clothed, and fed, Kith-Kanan and Mackeli followed Sithas to the Hall of Balif. There the speaker, Lady Nirakina, and Lady Hermathya were having a late, private dinner.

“Wait here,” Sithas said, stopping his twin and Mackeli just outside the hall door. “Let me prepare them.”

Most of Mackeli’s attention was focused on his surroundings. Since entering the palace, he’d touched the stone walls and floor, felt bronze and iron fittings, and goggled at the courtiers and servants that passed by. He was dressed in one of Kith-Kanan’s old outfits. The sleeves were too short for him, and even though his ragged hair was combed as neatly as possible, he still looked like a well-costumed scarecrow.

Servants who recognized Kith-Kanan gaped in astonishment. He smiled at the elves, but admonished them in a low voice to go about their business as he stepped close to the hall door and listened. Hearing his father’s voice, even so indistinctly, brought a lump to his throat. Kith-Kanan peered around the door, but Sithas held a hand out to him. Straight as an arrow, he walked proudly into the now-silent hall. Then there was a gasp, and a silver spoon rang on the marble floor. Hermathya bent to retrieve the lost utensil.

Sithas stopped Mackeli so that Kith-Kanan could approach the table alone. The wayward prince of the Silvanesti stood across the oval table from his parents and former lover.

Nirakina rose halfway to her feet, but Sithel commanded her tersely to sit back down. The lady sank back into her chair, tears glistening on her cheeks. Kith-Kanan bowed deeply.

“Great speaker,” he began. Then: “Father. Thank you for letting Sithas call me home.” Both elf women snapped around to stare at Sithel, for they had not known of the speaker’s leniency.

“I have been angry with you a long time,” Sithel replied sternly. “No one in House Royal ever shamed us as you did. What have you to say?”

Kith-Kanan dropped to one knee. “I am the greatest fool who ever lived,” he said, looking down at the floor. “I know I shamed you and myself. I have made peace with myself and the gods, and now I want to make peace with my family.”

Sithel pushed back his chair and stood. His white hair seemed golden in the candlelight. He’d regained some of the weight he’d lost while ill, and the old fire in his eyes was renewed. He strode with firm, even steps around the table to where his younger son knelt.

“Stand up,” he said, still in his commanding speaker’s voice.

As Kith-Kanan got up, Sithel’s stern countenance softened. “Son,” he said when they were face to face.

They clasped hands about each other’s forearms in soldierly fashion. But it wasn’t enough for Kith-Kanan. He embraced his father with fervor, a fervor returned by Sithel. Over the speaker’s shoulder, Kith-Kanan saw his mother, still weeping, but now the tears tracked down on each side of a radiant smile.

Hermathya tried to maintain her aloofness, but her pale face and trembling fingers betrayed her. She dropped her hands to her lap and looked away, at the wall, at the ceiling, at anything but Kith-Kanan.

Sithel held the prince at arm’s length and studied his sunbrowned features. “I cannot deny you,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “You are my son, and I am glad to have you back!”

Nirakina came and kissed him. Kith-Kanan brushed away her tears and let her walk him back around the table to where their places were set. They came to Hermathya, still seated.

“You are looking well, Lady,” Kith-Kanan said awkwardly.

She looked up at him, blinking rapidly. “I am well,” she replied uncertainly. “Thank you for noticing.” Seeing Kith-Kanan at a loss for words, Sithas moved to intervene. He ushered Mackeli forward and introduced him. Sithel and Nirakina found the boy’s rustic manners both charming and amusing.

Now that the news was out, servants were roused from their work, even from bed, and whole troops of them filed into the hall to pay their respects to the returned prince. Kith-Kanan had always been popular with the members of House Servitor for his lively manner and kind heart.

“Quiet, all of you! Quiet!” Sithel shouted, and the throng became still. The speaker called for amphorae of fine nectar, and there was a pause as cups of the sweet beverage were passed through the crowd. When everyone had a share, the speaker raised his goblet and saluted his newly restored son.

“To Prince Kith-Kanan,” he exclaimed. “Home at last!”

“Kith-Kanan!” answered the great assembly. They all drank.

All but one. Hermathya held her cup tightly until her knuckles were as white as her face.

The servants finally dispersed, but the family remained. They surrounded Kith-Kanan and talked for hours, telling him what had happened during his absence. He, in turn, regaled them with his adventures in the wildwood.

“You see me now, a widower,” Kith-Kanan said sorrowfully, gazing at the dregs of nectar in his cup. “Anaya was claimed by the forest she had served so long.”

“Was this Anaya nobly born?” Nirakina delicately asked.

“Her birth was a mystery, even to her. I suspect she was stolen from her family by the guardian before her, just as she took Mackeli from his parents.”

“I’m not sorry she did so,” Mackeli said staunchly. “Anaya was good to me.”

Kith-Kanan allowed his family to assume Anaya was Silvanesti, like Mackeli. He also kept from them the news of his unborn child. The loss was too recent, and he wanted to keep some memories for himself.

Sithas broke the quiet interlude by commenting on the half-human Voltorno. “It fits with what we already suspect,” he ventured. “The emperor of Ergoth is behind the terror in our western provinces. He not only wants our land, but our timber, too.” Everyone knew that Ergoth had a sizable navy and needed wood for ships. Their own land was relatively poor in trees. Also, unlike elves, humans tended to build houses out of wood.

“At any rate,” the speaker noted, “the emissaries have been here nearly five weeks and nothing’s been accomplished. I was ill for a few days, but since my recovery we’ve made no progress at all.”

“I’d be glad to speak to the ambassadors of the things I saw and heard in the forest,” Kith-Kanan offered. “Men from Ergoth have been landing on our southern coast to plunder the forest. They would have taken Mackeli to Daltigoth as a slave. That’s a fact.”

“That’s probably what the raiders have done with the other captives,” Sithas said darkly. “The wives and children of the Silvanesti settlers.”

Kith-Kanan told of the sacked village he and Mackeli had seen on their way home. Sithel was disturbed to hear that a settlement so close to the capital had been attacked.

“You will come to the tower tomorrow,” the speaker declared. “I want the Ergothians to hear what you have seen!”

Sithel rose. “It is very late,” he said. “The session begins early, so we’d all better take our rest.” Mackeli was already snoring. Hermathya, likewise, was dozing where she sat, curled up in her chair.

Kith-Kanan roused Mackeli with a shake, and the boy sat up.

“Funny dream, Kith. I went to a great city, and people lived inside stone mountains.”

“Not so funny,” Kith-Kanan said, smiling. “Come on, Keli, I can put you in Sithas’s old room. Is that well with you, Brother?” Sithas waved his agreement.

Kith-Kanan kissed his mother’s cheek and said good night. Her face shone with contentment, which made her look decades younger.

“Good night, son,” she said devotedly.

A servant with a candelabrum arrived to conduct Mackeli to his bed. Sithel and Nirakina went out. At last, the brothers stood by the door.

“I’ll leave you to your wife,” Kith-Kanan said, nodding toward the sleeping Hermathya. Rather awkwardly, he added, “I’m sorry I missed the wedding, Sith. I hope you two are happy.”

Sithas stared at his wife’s sleeping form for a few seconds, then said, “It has been no bargain being married to her, Kith.” Kith-Kanan could not conceal his surprise. He asked in a whisper what was wrong.

“Well, you know how willful she is. She takes every opportunity to make herself known to the people. She throws trinkets from the windows of her sedan chair when she goes out. People follow after her, calling her name.” Sithas’s mouth hardened to a thin line. “Do you know what the city wits call us? The Shadow and the Flower! I don’t suppose I need to explain who is who, do I?”

Kith-Kanan suppressed a wry smile. “Thya always was chaos in motion.”

“There’s more to it than that. I think…” Sithas cut himself off as a servant came down the corridor toward the open door. The yellow glow of his candles flowed ahead of him like a stolen sunrise.

“Good night, Kith,” Sithas said suddenly. He summoned the servant and told him to guide the prince up the dark stairs to his room. Kith-Kanan regarded his twin curiously.

“I shall see you in the morning,” he said. Sithas nodded and held the hall door. As soon as Kith-Kanan went out, Sithas shut the door firmly.

Inside the hall, Sithas spoke sharply to Hermathya. “It’s very childish, this pretense of sleep.”

She sat up and yawned. “Quite a compliment from the master of pretense.”

“Lady, have you no respect for us or our position?”

Hermathya pushed her heavy chair away from the table. “Respect is all I do have,” she replied calmly. “Heavy, thick, rigid respect.”

The Palace of Quinari was sleeping, nearly everyone within it walls exhausted by the homecoming of Kith-Kanan. But in the gallery leading away from the central tower, two figures met in the dark and broke the silence with their whispers.

“He’s come back,” said the female voice.

“So I have heard,” answered the male. “It’s not a problem.”

“But Prince Kith-Kanan is a factor we hadn’t considered.” In her distress the female spoke louder than was necessary—or prudent.

“I considered him,” said the male voice calmly. “If anything, his return will be to our advantage.”

“How?”

“Kith-Kanan enjoys a certain popularity with all those who find his brother cold and uninspiring—elves such as the royal guard, for example. Moreover, my evaluation of the errant prince tells me he is more open and trusting than either his father or brother. And a trusting person is always more useful than a doubter.”

“You are clever. My father chose well when he picked you.” The female voice was once more calm and soft. There was the sound of heavy cloth being crushed and a kiss. “I wish we didn’t have to meet in shadows like this.”

“Don’t you think it’s romantic?” murmured the male voice.

“Yes…but it annoys me that so many think you are harmless.”

“My best weapon. Would you take it away from me?”

“Oh, never….”

There was silence for a while, then the female voice said, “How long till sun-up?”

“An hour or so.”

“I’m worried.”

“What about?” he asked.

“The whole affair is getting too complicated. Sometimes when I’m sitting in the audience hall I want to scream, the tension is so great.”

“I know,” the male voice said soothingly, “but our task is quite simple. We have only to delay and dissemble and keep the elves talking. Daily, our numbers swell. Time is our ally, my darling. Given enough time, the mighty elven nation will fall!”

Their slippered feet made only the slightest whisper on the cool marble floor as the conspirators stole down the gallery to the steps. They had to get back to their rooms before the palace stirred. No one must see them together, not even the members of their own delegation.