“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.”