“The people want a king,” Konnal said. “The Heads of House are quite ready to believe you are a Caladon, as you claim to be.”
“I am a Caladon,” Silvanoshei said, offended by the implication that whether he was or he wasn’t, the Heads would approve him anyhow. “I am the grandson of Lorac Caladon and the son of Alhana Starbreeze.” He spoke her name loudly, knowing quite well that he wasn’t supposed to speak the name of one deemed a dark elf.
And then an elf had walked up to him, one of the most beautiful of his people that Silvanoshei had ever seen. This elf, who was dressed in white robes, stood looking at him intently.
“I knew Lorac,” the elf said at last. His voice was gentle and musical. “This is indeed his grandson. There can be no doubt.”
Leaning forward, he kissed Silvanoshei on both cheeks. He looked at General Konnal and said again, “There can be no doubt.”
“Who are you, sir?” Silvan asked, dazzled.
“My name is Glaucous,” said the elf, bowing low. “I have been named regent to aid you in the coming days. If General Konnal approves, I will make arrangements for your coronation to be held tomorrow. The people have waited long years for this joyful day. We will not make them wait longer.”
Silvan lay in bed, a bed that had once belonged to his grand-father, Lorac. The bedposts were made of gold and of silver twined together to resemble vines, decorated with flowers formed of sparkling jewels. Fine sheets scented with lavender covered the mattress that was stuffed with swan’s down. A silken coverlet of scarlet kept the night’s chill from him. The ceiling above him was crystal. He could lie in his bed and give audience every night to the moon and the stars, come to pay homage.
Silvanoshei laughed softly to himself for the delight of it all.
He thought that he should pinch his flesh to wake himself from this wonderful dream, but he decided not to risk it. If he were dreamin let him never wake. Let him never wake to find himself shivering in some dank cave, eating dried berries and waybread, drinking brackish water. Let him never wake to see elf warriors drop dead at his feet, pierced by ogre arrows. Let him never wake. Let this dream last the remainder of his life.
He was hungry, wonderfully hungry, a hunger he could enjoy because he knew it would be satiated. He imagined what he would order for breakfast. Honeyed cakes, perhaps. Sugared rose petals. Cream laced with nutmeg and cinnamon. He could have anything he wanted, and if he didn’t like it, he would send it away and ask for something else.
Reaching out his hand lazily for the silver bell that stood on an ornate gold and silver nightstand, Silvanoshei rang for his servants. He lay back to await the deluge of elf attendants to flood the room, wash him out of his bed to be bathed and dressed and combed and brushed and perfumed and bejeweled, made ready for his coronation.
The face of Alhana Starbreeze, his mother’s face, came to Silvan’s mind. He wished her well, but this was his dream, a dream in which she had no part. He had succeeded where she had failed. He would make whole what she had broken.
“Your Majesty. Your Majesty. Your Majesty.”
The elves of House Servitor bowed low before him. He acknowledged them with a charming smile, allowed them to fluff up his pillows and smooth the coverlet. He sat up in bed and waited languidly to see what they would bring him for breakfast.
“Your Majesty,” said an elf who had been chosen by the Regent Glaucous to serve in the capacity of chamberlain, “Prince Kiryn waits without to pay you honor on this day.”
Silvanoshei turned from the mirror in which he’d been admiring his new finery. Seamstresses had worked all yesterday and all today in a frantic hurry to stitch the young king’s robes and cape he would wear for the ceremony.
“My cousin! Please, let him enter without delay.”
“Your Majesty should never say, ‘Please,’” the chamberlain chided with a smile. “When Your Majesty wants something done, speak it and it will be done.”
“Yes, I will. Thank you.” Silvan saw his second mistake and flushed. “I guess I’m not supposed to say, ‘Thank you’ either, am I?”
The chamberlain shook his head and departed. He returned with an elf youth, several years older than Silvan. They had met only briefly the day before. This was the first time they had been alone together. Both young men regarded each other intently, searching for some sign of relationship and, pleasing to both, finding it.
“How do you like all this, Cousin?” Kiryn asked, after the many niceties and polite nothings had been given and received.
“Excuse me. I meant to say, ‘Your Majesty.’” He bowed.
“Please, call me ‘cousin,’” Silvan said warmly. “I never had a cousin before. That is, I never knew my cousin. He is the king of Qualinesti, you know. At least, that’s what they call him.”
“Your cousin Gilthas. The son of Lauralanthalasa and the half-human, Tanis. I know of him. Porthios spoke of him. He said that Speaker Gilthas was in poor health.”
“You needn’t be polite, Cousin. All of us know that he is melancholy mad. Not his fault, but there you have it. Is it proper for me to call you ‘cousin’?”
“Perhaps not in public, Your Majesty,” Kiryn replied with a smile. “ As you may have noted, we in Silvanesti love formalities. But in private, I would be honored.” He paused a moment, then added quietly, “I heard of the deaths of your father and mother. I want to say how deeply grieved I am. I admired both of them very much.”
“Thank you,” Silvan said and, after a decent interval, he changed the subject. “To answer your earlier question, I must admit that I find all this rather daunting. Wonderful, but daunting. A month ago I was living in a cave and sleeping on the ground. Now I have this bed, this beautiful bed, a bed in which my grandfather slept. The Regent Glaucous arranged for the bed to be brought to this chamber, thinking it would please me. I have these clothes. I have whatever I want to eat and drink. It all seems a dream.”
Silvan turned back to regarding himself again in the mirror. He was enchanted with his new clothing, his new appearance. He was clean, his hair perfumed and brushed, his fingers adorned with jewels. He was not flea bitten, he was not stiff from sleeping with a rock for a pillow. He vowed, in his heart, never again. He did not notice that Kiryn appeared grave when Silvan spoke of the regent.
His cousin’s gravity deepened as Silvan continued speaking.
“Talking of Glaucous, what an estimable man he is! I am quite pleased with him as regent. So polite and condescending. Asking my opinion about everything. At first, I don’t mind telling you, Cousin, I was a little put out at General Konnal for suggesting to the Heads of House that a regent be appointed to guide me until I am of age. I am already considered of age by Qualinesti standards, you see.”
Silvan’s expression hardened. “And I am determined not to be a puppet king like my poor cousin Gilthas. However, the Regent Glaucous gave me to understand that he will not be the ruler. He will be the person to smooth the way so that my wishes and commands are carried out.”
Kiryn was silent, made no answer. He looked around the room as if making up his mind to something. Drawing a step nearer Silvan, he said, in a low voice, “May I suggest that Your Majesty dismiss the servants?”
Silvan regarded Kiryn in troubled astonishment, suddenly wary, suspicious. Glaucous had told him that Kiryn himself had designs upon the throne. What if this were a ploy to catch him alone and helpless...