"Yes," Montagor said stoutly, praying that he might get word to his sister in time to bolster his plans.
The Gold elf wrung her hands in dismay. "Then all is lost! Had we known of this, Kymil would have chosen another way."
"There is yet a way to turn this around," Montagor said earnestly. "Kymil must find the princess before the poison takes effect, and bring her to the palace. I will swear that he acted all the while in behalf of Lydi'aleera."
"A Nimesin, errand runner for a Gray elf?" Vashti sneered.
"Better than being seen as a murderer and a traitor," Montagor pointed out coldly. "And do not think that you can implicate me in this. I have aided my sister in seeking out Zaor's heir-she will vouch for this! In this task, I have demonstrated my loyalty to the royal family, even placing it over the concerns and claims of Amarillis! In light of this, no one will believe I conspired with you against the crown princess. No, Nimesin will fall alone for this deed, on this you may believe me!"
He gave the elf woman time to absorb this new threat. "There is a way, however, that Nimesin can escape any taint of scandal," he said softly. "More than one Gold elf clan has left Evermeet for Cormanthyr-just last fortnight, every member of Ni'Tessine sailed for the mainland. Join them, and seek there the power that you have forfeited upon this island. If you go, I pledge upon my life and my honor that your secret will never be disclosed."
Lady Vashti glared at him with undisguised hatred. "Very well," she said at last. "Kymil will deliver the bastard princess and grit his teeth as he plays the role of heroic rescuer. Then I and all my house will leave this island. But do not think for a moment that we will cease to work for the good of the People!"
A familiar chill shivered through Montagor at these words, for in them he glimpsed the shadow of deeds yet undone.
Yet he quickly comforted himself with this day's success. Once the Nimesins were safely off the island, he could surely stave off any future attacks. After all, was not Evermeet inviolate?
Lydi'aleera would not be pleased by these developments, but she was a pragmatic elf. Ensuring a strong succession to the throne was vital-that was the first lesson of the moonblades. Moreover, as a barren wife, she could not remain queen forever. Evermeet must have an heir, on that even the Gold elves agreed.
Montagor rose to his feet. "With your permission, Lady Nimesin, I am away to the palace. The queen needs to know that the princess is on her way, sooner than expected."
As he hurried through the streets of Leuthilspar toward the Moonstone Palace, Montagor wryly noted that his last words to Vashti Nimesin held much more truth than the elf woman could know.
19
Towers of the Sun and Moon
Amlaruil sat alone in her chamber in the Tower of the Moon, staring at the framed picture in her hands. It was a small painting of Ilyrana as a child, done by one of the student mages not many years ago as a gift to the Lady of the Towers. The mage studied the face of her only daughter, looking, as she often did, for some visible link between herself and Zaor. But Ilyrana was ever and always nothing but her own person.
Never had Amlaruil seen such oddly beautiful coloring as Ilyrana's. The elf maid closely resembled the opal for which she had been named; pure white, but for hints of pale colors that almost seemed to be reflected from some other source. Palest blue clung to her angular features, a flush of pink lingered about her lips and in the hollows of her cheeks, and a hint of green glinted among her white curls. Ilyrana was as beautiful-and nearly as remote-as the gods themselves.
With a sigh, Amlaruil put aside the portrait, silently berating herself for the terrible, numbing loss she felt over her daughter's absence. Surely that was nothing but selfishness!
And yet, even as the thought formed, Amlaruil knew it was untrue. She would have missed Ilyrana had the girl gone to the groves of Corellon to study as a priestess, but she would be content knowing that her daughter was following her chosen path. There was no peace in the knowledge that Ilyrana had been taken away from her own desires to be raised as a princess in the court of Leuthilspar.
It seemed to Amlaruil that there was reason for concern. One thing had Ilyrana inherited from her mother; her connection with the Seldarine was deep and profound, so much so that the girl often seemed detached from the mortal elves around her. How would she fare among the shallow, petty concerns of the Leuthilspar court? In the palace of Queen Lydi'aleera, fey and uncanny Ilyrana would be like a penned unicorn, or a pixie captured beneath a glass!
A soft knock at her door interrupted the mage's bitter thoughts. "Lady? I am bidden to summon you for even-feast," came a tentative male voice from without.
Amlaruil started guiltily. Evenfeast, already? The day had slipped past unnoticed. It had not been the first.
She rose, smoothing the folds of her mantle about her, and bid the lad enter. Tanyl Evanara, a Gold elf boy whose slender limbs already held the promise of unusual grace and height, slipped into the room.
"Forgive the intrusion, Lady," he said, as his eyes darted to the portrait of Ilyrana.
"Not at all," Amlaruil said briskly, softening the words with a smile. "You merely did as you were bid, and well, as usual. Your studies are progressing, I trust?"
The boy's face lit up in a grin. "Shanyrria Alenuath says I will make a bladesinger, if that is my wish! I have both the sword and the voice for it, she says!"
"I am sure she is right," Amlaruil said, but she wondered if the fiery young bladesinger spoke more from impulse than wisdom. Shanyrria had that tendency. Yet truly, Tanyl showed promise in the use of both weapons and song magic, and perhaps the bladesinger's path was indeed his to follow. A bladesinger melded magic, music, and fighting into a uniquely elven technique, and was in many ways the epitome of an elven warrior. But bladesinging was not merely a fighting style, but a philosophy. Amlaruil could not picture the gregarious Tanyl as one of these self-contained warriors.
"I am sure that Shanyrria is right about your potential," Amlaruil repeated, "but remember that your path is your own to chose. Just because you can do a thing, it does not follow that you must."
The boy's forehead furrowed as he contemplated this advice. "I will remember," he said somberly. He bowed then, and offered his arm to Amlaruil with the grace of a courtier.
"I am to escort you to evenfeast. You must eat-Nakiasha said so," he added with a grin, suddenly appearing to be the boy he was. He clearly took delight in their implied fellowship; after all, even the beautiful Grand Mage of the Towers had to listen to someone!
Smothering her own smile, Amlaruil took the arm Tanyl offered and walked with him down the spiraling stairs that led to the dining hall.
As she did, she could not help but wonder if her well-meaning words to this talented boy were based in reality. Had she herself chosen the path she now trod? Had Ilyrana, or even Zaor? In truth, did anyone?
The soft murmur of conversation that filled the dining hall dwindled to near silence as the Grand Mage entered the room. Amlaruil smiled and nodded to the gathered elves, indicating that they should continue. At proud Tanyl's side, she made her way into the very center of the spiraling table. As she took her place in the midst of them, a terrible desolation swept over her in sudden, devastating waves. None of this felt real-not the gathered elves, or the food on her plate, not even her presence in this chamber.
Amlaruil speared a bit of venison and pretended to eat. As she did, she noted the disapproving eyes of Belstram Durothil upon her.