"I do not need to ask from what country you are," he said. "You are Tavia of Tjanath."
"How do you know?" she asked.
"Because you are my daughter," he replied. "Tavia is the name your mother gave you. You look like her. By that alone I should have known my daughter anywhere."
Very gently he took her in his arms and I saw tears in his eyes, and hers too, as he pressed his lips against her forehead, and then he turned to me.
"They told me that the brave Tan Hadron of Hastor had chosen to mate with a slave girl," he said; "but that is true. Your princess is in truth a princess-the granddaughter of a jed. She might have been the daughter of a jed had I remained in Tjanath."
How devious are the paths of fate! How strange and unexpected the destinations to which they lead. I had set out upon one of these paths with the intention of marrying Sanoma Tora at the end. Sanoma Tora had her path, she had found only ignominy and disgrace. At the end of mine I had found a princess.