The Fyrst touched his wife’s face once more, then walked to his throne dais, climbed the steps, and sat. Laying his sword across his knees, he looked out over the hall. “Where’s my scribe?” The same clerk who recorded my Cyhn separated from the mob of castle servants, petty officials, and guards who were busy disarming and taking prisoners, and hurried to His Grace.
“Record in the Acta that I declare Rabbit, son of Lark and Two Trees, and Jusson of the House of Iver to be of my line—”
Ilenaewyn made a sound of rage.
“—their lineages to be my lineage, their oaths to be my oaths, their debts I shall owe, what’s owed them I shall collect, those they love, I love, those they hate I set my face against. Fiat.”
“Betrayer of your own kind,” Pellan said, struggling against his bonds of air.
“No, he’s not,” Suiden said, distracted from Kenalt. “You have no idea what your Fyrst has done, do you? Ilenaewyn does.” The dragon turned his head to consider the northern elf. “Any House with pretensions has at least one line to Iver. The entire kingdom is descended from the Fyrst. Or at least the ruling class is.”
“But I have sixteen lines,” Esclaur began. “Even Gherat has ten—” His voice trailed off and his ears laid back as he stared up at the Fyrst. He gave a small whine.
“But the lines are to Iver,” Berle said, daring to sit up, “and he’s not related to the Fyrst.”
“Iver didn’t beget children alone.” Suiden looked down at Berle and she shrank back into herself. “Marrying the heir, willing or not, is a time-honored way of securing a throne. By the laws of primogeniture, both human and elfin, Iversterre has been passed down through the Fyrst’s heirs.”
Inheritance and landlaw, and the right of the firstborn to continue in the parent’s stead. I stared at the father of our kingdom and my somewhat remote grandda, who looked back at me with intent eyes. I then felt a touch on my arm and met Her Grace’s golden gaze.
“And as the Fyrst is not dead,” Suiden continued, “he can say that the inheritance is not yet his heirs’ and Iversterre is his. All of it.” Ilenaewyn made another sound of rage, his face full of fury.
“No, not the Fyrst’s,” Wyln corrected. “To his line, which is in elf law a little different, though just as binding.” He gave the fair and northern Ilenaewyn his gentle smile. “Which must stick in the craw of others who want the human kingdom for themselves, isn’t that so, Ilenaewyn?”
“A line of half-breed mongrels born of rape and bastardy,” Pellan said before Ilenaewyn could respond. Pellan’s eyes shifted to the fair northern elf. “At least the northern clans have kept their lines pure.”
At that moment, First Lieutenant Falkin ran through the open double doors into the audience hall. His pale blond hair shone in the light coming through the broken window and his slanted dark gray eyes set above high cheekbones in his elf-narrow face were rather round as he skidded to a stop.
I smiled, showing all my teeth. “Oh, really, Eorl Pellan? You think?”
Chapter Sixty-six
“I’m looking for Vice Admiral Havram …” Falkin’s voice I trailed off as his eyes skittered over the hall, lighting on me as I stood once more in the middle of my own personal windstorm with butterflies fluttering about. “Rabbit?” He then looked past me and goggled. “Lord Gherat?” He caught movement and turned to see Ambassador Sro Kenalt dangling from Suiden’s claws. Falkin’s lips moved but nothing came out.
“The lieutenant’s northern fairness was pointed out by the Faena, my sister’s son,” Wyln said into Pellan’s stunned silence.
“Outraged ambition has a way of selecting what one sees and hears, Wyln,” the Fyrst said, his voice dry.
Falkin ignored the byplay as he studied the audience hall and its inhabitants. His eyes rounded further as he noted the frozen High Council and the great sword resting across the Fyrst’s knees. “What—what has happened?”
His Grace propped his chin on his fist and answered for me. “A cabal, Lieutenant, seeking to overthrow the human kingdom and the Lady curse anyone that got in their way.”
“And now the curse is theirs,” Laurel rumbled as he and his traveling medicine show moved to check on Javes and Esclaur. He gently tilted Javes’ face up so he could look at the wolf’s swollen eye. “Making glory spheres and banishing ghosts before the moon season is ended.”
“It’s good, then, that we have come early,” a voice rumbled and I quickly turned around. Dragoness Moraina’s head and shoulders just cleared the double doors, her wings pressed flat against her back. Her brilliant sapphire blue eyes swept over us, resting a moment on Suiden as she squeezed through the doorway, her talons loud on the marble floor. As the light from the windows struck her gray, blue and charcoal scales, we all bowed, falling back to give her room. As I did, I again caught a flash where the stone had been cracked. I frowned, moving so I could look closer.
“Rabbit!”
“Da?” I snapped upright to see my father coming into the hall. “Da!” I hurried towards him as he came to meet me, Uncle Havram with him. Everything blurred as I was caught up in a hug that played merry havoc with my bruised back and damn near cracked my ribs.
“Well, lad, I’m glad you’re all right,” Uncle Havram said, peering into my face.
“All right?” Da drew back and held me at arm’s length, his face anxious. “Look at him.” I could imagine what I looked like: bruised, disheveled, barefoot, braid half undone. Not to mention the staff and butterflies.
“Look at you,” Da said, his voice changing. “You’ve grown. You are grown.” He dropped his hand to touch the empty scabbard at my side. “And a soldier.” His face became anxious again and he touched the bruises on my wrist. “Was there a battle? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Da. I’m fine.” I stared back, noting the streaks of gray in his hair and lines on his face. My eyes blurred again. “Is Ma here?”
“No,” Da said. “Sage and Harmony have decided that since they are twins, they should marry, get with child, and then give birth at the same time. Your mother’s with them. I came with Dragoness Moraina and Brother Paedrig.”
Smiling at the thought of my sisters, I searched the hall until I found the short, rotund brother kneeling next to Doyen Allwyn.
“I met them right outside the castle,” Uncle Havram said. “I didn’t quite make it to my ship as I was stopped at the docks and told my presence was urgently required back here.” He rubbed his arm. “None too gentle were they about it too, though they had a complete change of heart when the dragon landed in front of them as they came out of the park.”
Uncle Havram’s eyes widened. “The trees moved back to give her room, lad—”
“Cyhn Rabbit Two Trees’son, bring your family forward,” the Fyrst said and the tumult in the crowded hall died down, all eyes turning towards us.
My da shot me a wild look at the “Cyhn” as he, my uncle and I approached the Fyrst’s throne. As we bowed, Molyu and Wyln joined us. Her Grace and the Enchanter gave my da and uncle searching looks.
“You’ve the same look,” His Grace remarked.
He was right. All three of us were long and rangy, with the same narrow face and dark hair, the only difference being my uncle’s blue eyes as opposed to our dark brown. (My brothers, sisters, and I were the laughing despair of our short, blond, and—after eight children—rather plump ma, who claimed she’d done every bit of the work but had nothing to show for it.)
“Cyhn,” Moraina rumbled from where she sat next to Suiden. Her voice was filled with satisfaction. “You’ve taken Rabbit into your House?”