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“That’s probably what the raiders have done with the other captives,” Sithas said darkly. “The wives and children of the Silvanesti settlers.”

Kith-Kanan told of the sacked village he and Mackeli had seen on their way home. Sithel was disturbed to hear that a settlement so close to the capital had been attacked.

“You will come to the tower tomorrow,” the speaker declared. “I want the Ergothians to hear what you have seen!”

Sithel rose. “It is very late,” he said. “The session begins early, so we’d all better take our rest.” Mackeli was already snoring. Hermathya, likewise, was dozing where she sat, curled up in her chair.

Kith-Kanan roused Mackeli with a shake, and the boy sat up.

“Funny dream, Kith. I went to a great city, and people lived inside stone mountains.”

“Not so funny,” Kith-Kanan said, smiling. “Come on, Keli, I can put you in Sithas’s old room. Is that well with you, Brother?” Sithas waved his agreement.

Kith-Kanan kissed his mother’s cheek and said good night. Her face shone with contentment, which made her look decades younger.

“Good night, son,” she said devotedly.

A servant with a candelabrum arrived to conduct Mackeli to his bed. Sithel and Nirakina went out. At last, the brothers stood by the door.

“I’ll leave you to your wife,” Kith-Kanan said, nodding toward the sleeping Hermathya. Rather awkwardly, he added, “I’m sorry I missed the wedding, Sith. I hope you two are happy.”

Sithas stared at his wife’s sleeping form for a few seconds, then said, “It has been no bargain being married to her, Kith.” Kith-Kanan could not conceal his surprise. He asked in a whisper what was wrong.

“Well, you know how willful she is. She takes every opportunity to make herself known to the people. She throws trinkets from the windows of her sedan chair when she goes out. People follow after her, calling her name.” Sithas’s mouth hardened to a thin line. “Do you know what the city wits call us? The Shadow and the Flower! I don’t suppose I need to explain who is who, do I?”

Kith-Kanan suppressed a wry smile. “Thya always was chaos in motion.”

“There’s more to it than that. I think…” Sithas cut himself off as a servant came down the corridor toward the open door. The yellow glow of his candles flowed ahead of him like a stolen sunrise.

“Good night, Kith,” Sithas said suddenly. He summoned the servant and told him to guide the prince up the dark stairs to his room. Kith-Kanan regarded his twin curiously.

“I shall see you in the morning,” he said. Sithas nodded and held the hall door. As soon as Kith-Kanan went out, Sithas shut the door firmly.

Inside the hall, Sithas spoke sharply to Hermathya. “It’s very childish, this pretense of sleep.”

She sat up and yawned. “Quite a compliment from the master of pretense.”

“Lady, have you no respect for us or our position?”

Hermathya pushed her heavy chair away from the table. “Respect is all I do have,” she replied calmly. “Heavy, thick, rigid respect.”

The Palace of Quinari was sleeping, nearly everyone within it walls exhausted by the homecoming of Kith-Kanan. But in the gallery leading away from the central tower, two figures met in the dark and broke the silence with their whispers.

“He’s come back,” said the female voice.

“So I have heard,” answered the male. “It’s not a problem.”

“But Prince Kith-Kanan is a factor we hadn’t considered.” In her distress the female spoke louder than was necessary—or prudent.

“I considered him,” said the male voice calmly. “If anything, his return will be to our advantage.”

“How?”

“Kith-Kanan enjoys a certain popularity with all those who find his brother cold and uninspiring—elves such as the royal guard, for example. Moreover, my evaluation of the errant prince tells me he is more open and trusting than either his father or brother. And a trusting person is always more useful than a doubter.”

“You are clever. My father chose well when he picked you.” The female voice was once more calm and soft. There was the sound of heavy cloth being crushed and a kiss. “I wish we didn’t have to meet in shadows like this.”

“Don’t you think it’s romantic?” murmured the male voice.

“Yes…but it annoys me that so many think you are harmless.”

“My best weapon. Would you take it away from me?”

“Oh, never….”

There was silence for a while, then the female voice said, “How long till sun-up?”

“An hour or so.”

“I’m worried.”

“What about?” he asked.

“The whole affair is getting too complicated. Sometimes when I’m sitting in the audience hall I want to scream, the tension is so great.”

“I know,” the male voice said soothingly, “but our task is quite simple. We have only to delay and dissemble and keep the elves talking. Daily, our numbers swell. Time is our ally, my darling. Given enough time, the mighty elven nation will fall!”

Their slippered feet made only the slightest whisper on the cool marble floor as the conspirators stole down the gallery to the steps. They had to get back to their rooms before the palace stirred. No one must see them together, not even the members of their own delegation.

24 — The Day Following

The entrance of Kith-Kanan into the Tower of the Stars the next day created a stir. Gone were Kith-Kanan’s tattered green buckskins. Now he wore smooth white robes and a silver circlet on his head. With great ceremony he was introduced to Lord Dunbarth. The dwarf doffed his floppy hat and said, “It is a great honor to meet you, Prince. I’ve heard much about you.”

“Perhaps we shall be friends anyway,” was the wry reply.

Meeting the human delegation was more forced. Praetor Ulwen sat in his portable chair like a wax image. Only the slight rise and fall of the blanket over his chest testified he was alive. Lady Teralind accepted Kith-Kanan’s hand, holding it for a long minute as she assessed this newest addition to the conference. He noted the dark circles under her eyes. The lady hadn’t slept very well the night before.

Ulvissen saluted, human fashion. Kith-Kanan imitated his gesture.

“Have we met before?” the elf prince asked, looking carefully at the bearded human.

“I don’t think so, noble prince,” Ulvissen replied coolly. “I served most of my military career on ships. Perhaps Your Highness met another human who looked like me. I understand it is hard for elves to distinguish one bearded man from another.”

“There is much in what you say.” Kith-Kanan walked away, but the idea that he’d seen Ulvissen before troubled him still. He paused before his father, bowed, and took his old seat on the speaker’s right. A human with a full, red-brown beard—where had he seen him?

“The fifteenth session of the Conference of Three Nations will now begin,” said Sithas, acting as his father’s herald. “Seated for Silvanesti is Prince Kith-Kanan.” The scribes at their tables wrote busily.

Dunbarth stood up—which had the effect of making him shorter, as his chair’s legs were longer than his own. “Great speaker, noble princes, Lord Praetor, Lady Teralind,” he began. “We have been here many days, and the principal obstacle in the way of peace is this question: Who rules the western plains and the forest? The noble speaker and his heir present as proof of their claim ancient treaties and documents. Lady Teralind, on behalf of the emperor of Ergoth, makes her claim from the point of view of the majority, claiming that most of the people who live in the disputed territory are Ergothians.” Dunbarth took a deep breath. “I summarize these positions as I have presented them to my king. I have this day received his reply.”

Murmurs of interest rose. Dunbarth unfolded a heavy piece of parchment. The golden wax seal of the king of Thorbardin was visible.