"No doubt he has business of his own to take care of before he can afford a formal visit," the Seneschal murmured, as if to himself.
"More likely he is taking the time to see who is and is not our ally, going back to the time we all left Evelon," Lydiell replied tartly. "Someone of his rank and status can't afford an ally with an inconvenient number of deadly enemies."
"Well, the only enemy we have that I know of is Ael-markin...." Kyrtian said, letting his voice trail off and looking at his mother questioningly.
"Correct; Aelmarkin is our only open enemy, with the remote possibility that his allies might choose to throw in on his side," his mother confirmed. "Though once they see that Lyon has thrown in with us, however briefly, they are unlikely to back Aelmarkin against us in anything important. Thank the Ancestors we never meddled in politics on either side of the family! We'll have a clean slate, so far as Lord Lyon is concerned. All we have to worry about is keeping up appearances for a few days at most."
"I—don't intend to ask anything of Lord Lyon for this, Mother," Kyrtian said, hesitantly. "And I don't intend to make it seem as if I consider it a great favor on my part to teach him my methods. I want it to seem as if I consider this to be—how shall 1 put this?—something that I truly believe should be offered, part of my duty to the Elvenlords as a whole. I want to give him the impression of a solemn young man who is devoted to the welfare of his people. Which I am; just not the people that he thinks." He smiled. "There's no point in disillusioning him on that."
"Exactly right; any of the ordinary status-grubbers would do the opposite," she confirmed. "By acting differently than he expects, you'll catch him off guard and he won't know quite what to think of us. At best, he may decide that we're worth having as a permanent ally. The worst he'll assume is that we are so quietly provincial, so wrapped up in our own ways and life, with such quaint ideas of loyalty and duty, that we are no threat or challenge to anyone. We'll be safe to patronize, and he'll be motivated to protect us from any more of Aelmarkin's maneuverings."
"For my part, I would say that this would be the best thing he could assume," Kyrtian replied, relieved. "Can I take it that you approve?"
"Completely," Lady Lydiell said, as Tenebrinth nodded. Kyrtian smiled, a little thrill of pleasure tickling his spirit at the notion that his first foray into the dangerous world of Great Lords and politics had come off so successfully.
Even though I almost turned it into a disaster, he reminded himself. This is not the time for hubris!
He took his leave of both of them and stepped into the tube, which held him in place until the platform rose to receive him. Once he had been deposited on the ground floor, he headed straight for the West Tower, which held all five floors of the great library.
He planned to do a little genealogical investigation himself before his own plans went any further.
In the home of every Elvenlord, Great or Lesser, there was always a Great Book of Ancestors, kept up to date by either the Lady of the clan or a clerk she personally supervised. Every birth, death, and wedding was promptly reported to the Council, which sent out immediate notification to every household, however small and insignificant. No marriage or alliance could be made without consulting the Great Book, which dated back to the exile from Evelon.
Kyrtian sat at the table holding the Great Book on its slanting stand, and drew it closer to him. As he always did, because those First Days fascinated him, Kyrtian opened the Book to the first page where the names of all of those who had dared the Gate out of Evelon were written. Fully half of them were inscribed with death-dates that came within days or weeks of the Crossing. Some had died of the strain of the Crossing itself, or of injuries sustained in Evelon before the Crossing.
Few in these days realized that those who had made the Crossing had been the losers in a war that had split Elvenkind and set one half warring against the other. The Crossing had been the desperate attempt of the defeated to escape rather than surrender, not the valiant and bold move of those who were in search of a new world to conquer. That was one fact that those who ruled here now preferred to forget and bury in the past.
Of the survivors that remained after the Crossing, none were still alive at the present day. Elvenlords lived long, provided no accident, illness, inherited weakness, or murder disposed of them before the normal span of four or five centuries, but they were hardly immortal. Kyrtian's paternal great-grandfather had been one of the longest-lived survivors, as (he now learned) had Lyon Lord Kyndreth's great-grandsire; most other Elvenlords in these days were yet a further generation down the line from the original inhabitants of the new land.
He turned the page to trace his mother's line, rather than his father's. Odd, he thought, as he noted something that had never seemed important before. I'm literally the first male any woman of her line has produced since Evelon—
"That is why there was no great objection when I wedded your father," said Lydiell, behind him, as if she had the human gift of reading thoughts. He was too used to her uncanny ability to do this with him to be startled; he simply turned and smiled at her as she stepped forward another pace and placed her hand affectionately on his shoulder.
"No one—least of all Aelmarkin—ever thought I would produce a male heir," she said quietly. "That was why there was no objection raised to the marriage, and why Aelmarkin is so intent on dispossessing you of your inheritance now. He assumed that the ripe plum of our estate would drop into his lap without any effort on his part—or that he could somehow connive or force me to wed my presumed daughter to him." Lydiell smiled down at her son, whose birth had spoiled Aelmarkin's plans.
"But he's really a cousin in name only," Kyrtian objected, tracing back Aelmarkin's line. "His people haven't been directly related to ours since Evelon itself! It was our greatgrandfathers who were cousins, and there's been no closer marriage since then."
"But if you trace carefully, he's the only other male heir to the Clan," Lydiell pointed out. "That's as much your greatgrandfather's and grandfather's fault as anything else. Once they had a single, living child, the need to protect what we had built here took precedence over trying to sire any more children. They each had one male heir by one marriage and no further children; no daughters to wed outside the Clan, no second sons to secure alliances. Granted, they were exceptionally long-lived, and that's what saved us, but I was the first bride to come from a family not bound in any way to your Clan, and if your father was still with us, by now you would have at least a younger sister or brother, because I would have personally seen to it, rather than accepted the edict that there was no need for further children."
Now Kyrtian noted something else that had somehow escaped his attention. His ageless mother was nearer in age to his grandfather than his father! She saw his eyes resting on the birth-date under her name, and chuckled richly.
"I wondered when you would uncover that!" she said. "Yes, I'll admit it; I robbed the cradle! When your grandmother— wiser or more pragmatic than her husband—knew that she would not survive your father's birth, she had enough time to handpick a successor. She turned to our family, who had been her friends; she wanted my sister, but the family had already wed her off, so she chose me! But she had reckoned without your grandfather's love and devotion; he refused to take another wife, especially one as barely-nubile as I was. Still, for the sake of my friendship with her, I visited often and long, trying to amuse your grandfather and possibly even persuade him in time that I was fascinating and desirable! I wish you had seen me, still barely past my presentation fete, slinking around here as if I was a hardened seductress!"