“Ah! With that, I could die happy,” Kith-Kanan said, placing a hand over his heart. Laughing, he and Sithas started toward the stairwell, with Mackeli following a pace behind. Kith-Kanan suddenly halted.
“What about father?” he asked apprehensively. “Does he know you called me?”
“Yes,” said Sithas. “He was ill for a few days, and I asked him for permission to use the Call. He consented. A healer brought him through, and he’s well now. We’ve been dealing with ambassadors from Ergoth and Thorbardin, too, so things have been quite busy. We’ll go to him and mother as soon as you’re presentable.”
“Ambassadors? Why are they here?” Kith-Kanan asked. “And, Sith, what happened to the Market? It looks as though it was sacked!”
“I’ll tell you all about it.”
As the twins reached the steps, Kith-Kanan looked back. Stars were coming out in the darkening sky. The weary Arcuballis had dropped into a sleeping crouch. Kith-Kanan looked from the star-salted sky to the nearby bulk of the Tower of the Stars. Without really thinking about it, his hand went to the sprig of oak he’d snipped from Anaya’s tree and drew it out. It had changed. Where there had been tight buds, now the shoot was furnished with perfect green leaves. Even though it had been cut from the tree two days past, the sprig was green and growing.
“What is that?” asked Sithas curiously.
Kith-Kanan drew a deep breath and shared a knowing glance with Mackeli. “This is the best part of my story, Brother.” Tenderly he returned the oak shoot to its place over his heart.
23 — Night of Reunion
Freshly bathed, clothed, and fed, Kith-Kanan and Mackeli followed Sithas to the Hall of Balif. There the speaker, Lady Nirakina, and Lady Hermathya were having a late, private dinner.
“Wait here,” Sithas said, stopping his twin and Mackeli just outside the hall door. “Let me prepare them.”
Most of Mackeli’s attention was focused on his surroundings. Since entering the palace, he’d touched the stone walls and floor, felt bronze and iron fittings, and goggled at the courtiers and servants that passed by. He was dressed in one of Kith-Kanan’s old outfits. The sleeves were too short for him, and even though his ragged hair was combed as neatly as possible, he still looked like a well-costumed scarecrow.
Servants who recognized Kith-Kanan gaped in astonishment. He smiled at the elves, but admonished them in a low voice to go about their business as he stepped close to the hall door and listened. Hearing his father’s voice, even so indistinctly, brought a lump to his throat. Kith-Kanan peered around the door, but Sithas held a hand out to him. Straight as an arrow, he walked proudly into the now-silent hall. Then there was a gasp, and a silver spoon rang on the marble floor. Hermathya bent to retrieve the lost utensil.
Sithas stopped Mackeli so that Kith-Kanan could approach the table alone. The wayward prince of the Silvanesti stood across the oval table from his parents and former lover.
Nirakina rose halfway to her feet, but Sithel commanded her tersely to sit back down. The lady sank back into her chair, tears glistening on her cheeks. Kith-Kanan bowed deeply.
“Great speaker,” he began. Then: “Father. Thank you for letting Sithas call me home.” Both elf women snapped around to stare at Sithel, for they had not known of the speaker’s leniency.
“I have been angry with you a long time,” Sithel replied sternly. “No one in House Royal ever shamed us as you did. What have you to say?”
Kith-Kanan dropped to one knee. “I am the greatest fool who ever lived,” he said, looking down at the floor. “I know I shamed you and myself. I have made peace with myself and the gods, and now I want to make peace with my family.”
Sithel pushed back his chair and stood. His white hair seemed golden in the candlelight. He’d regained some of the weight he’d lost while ill, and the old fire in his eyes was renewed. He strode with firm, even steps around the table to where his younger son knelt.
“Stand up,” he said, still in his commanding speaker’s voice.
As Kith-Kanan got up, Sithel’s stern countenance softened. “Son,” he said when they were face to face.
They clasped hands about each other’s forearms in soldierly fashion. But it wasn’t enough for Kith-Kanan. He embraced his father with fervor, a fervor returned by Sithel. Over the speaker’s shoulder, Kith-Kanan saw his mother, still weeping, but now the tears tracked down on each side of a radiant smile.
Hermathya tried to maintain her aloofness, but her pale face and trembling fingers betrayed her. She dropped her hands to her lap and looked away, at the wall, at the ceiling, at anything but Kith-Kanan.
Sithel held the prince at arm’s length and studied his sunbrowned features. “I cannot deny you,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “You are my son, and I am glad to have you back!”
Nirakina came and kissed him. Kith-Kanan brushed away her tears and let her walk him back around the table to where their places were set. They came to Hermathya, still seated.
“You are looking well, Lady,” Kith-Kanan said awkwardly.
She looked up at him, blinking rapidly. “I am well,” she replied uncertainly. “Thank you for noticing.” Seeing Kith-Kanan at a loss for words, Sithas moved to intervene. He ushered Mackeli forward and introduced him. Sithel and Nirakina found the boy’s rustic manners both charming and amusing.
Now that the news was out, servants were roused from their work, even from bed, and whole troops of them filed into the hall to pay their respects to the returned prince. Kith-Kanan had always been popular with the members of House Servitor for his lively manner and kind heart.
“Quiet, all of you! Quiet!” Sithel shouted, and the throng became still. The speaker called for amphorae of fine nectar, and there was a pause as cups of the sweet beverage were passed through the crowd. When everyone had a share, the speaker raised his goblet and saluted his newly restored son.
“To Prince Kith-Kanan,” he exclaimed. “Home at last!”
“Kith-Kanan!” answered the great assembly. They all drank.
All but one. Hermathya held her cup tightly until her knuckles were as white as her face.
The servants finally dispersed, but the family remained. They surrounded Kith-Kanan and talked for hours, telling him what had happened during his absence. He, in turn, regaled them with his adventures in the wildwood.
“You see me now, a widower,” Kith-Kanan said sorrowfully, gazing at the dregs of nectar in his cup. “Anaya was claimed by the forest she had served so long.”
“Was this Anaya nobly born?” Nirakina delicately asked.
“Her birth was a mystery, even to her. I suspect she was stolen from her family by the guardian before her, just as she took Mackeli from his parents.”
“I’m not sorry she did so,” Mackeli said staunchly. “Anaya was good to me.”
Kith-Kanan allowed his family to assume Anaya was Silvanesti, like Mackeli. He also kept from them the news of his unborn child. The loss was too recent, and he wanted to keep some memories for himself.
Sithas broke the quiet interlude by commenting on the half-human Voltorno. “It fits with what we already suspect,” he ventured. “The emperor of Ergoth is behind the terror in our western provinces. He not only wants our land, but our timber, too.” Everyone knew that Ergoth had a sizable navy and needed wood for ships. Their own land was relatively poor in trees. Also, unlike elves, humans tended to build houses out of wood.
“At any rate,” the speaker noted, “the emissaries have been here nearly five weeks and nothing’s been accomplished. I was ill for a few days, but since my recovery we’ve made no progress at all.”
“I’d be glad to speak to the ambassadors of the things I saw and heard in the forest,” Kith-Kanan offered. “Men from Ergoth have been landing on our southern coast to plunder the forest. They would have taken Mackeli to Daltigoth as a slave. That’s a fact.”