After leaving the Tower of the Stars, Sithas walked through the starlit streets. He wanted to be alone, to think. Anger propelled his steps, and habit steered him to the Temple of Matheri, where so much of his early life had been spent. The crystal dome of the sanctum of the god rose above the sculpted trees like a rising moon, lit a golden yellow from within. Sithas took the steps two at a time. At the door, he dipped his hands in the bowl of rose petals set on a tripod and scattered them on the paving before him.
In quick, barely audible tones, he said, “Wise Matheri, grant me entrance that I may commune with you.” The buffed wooden doors parted silently, with no hand to stir them. Sithas went inside.
In the center of the floor, directly under the great dome, the ever-burning lamp of Matheri stood. The silent, smokeless flame cast harsh shadows around the circular room. Along the outer edge of the temple were the meditation chambers of the monks. Sithas knew them well. This was where he had lived for thirty years of his life.
He went to his old cubicle. It was empty, so he entered. Sitting on the hard floor, he crossed his legs. The prince tried to meditate, to find the reason for his resentment of Kith-Kanan’s success. As the priests had taught him, he imagined a dialogue with himself.
“You are angry, why?” he asked aloud.
In his mind, he formed a reply. Kith’s suggestion is dangerous to the nation.
“Is it? Why?”
It allows the humans to remain on land that rightfully belongs to us.
“They have been there for years. Is their presence intrinsically bad?”
The land belongs to the elven nation. No one else.
“An inflexible attitude. Is this the reason you’re angry?”
Sithas paused and considered. He closed his eyes and examined closely the feelings that crowded inside his heart.
No. I’ve been working at father’s side for weeks, discussing, planning, thinking, and re-thinking, yet nothing was accomplished. I should have thought of the militia plan. I have failed.
“You are jealous of Kith-Kanan.”
I have no reason to be jealous. I am the speaker’s heir. Yet a short time ago I found myself wishing I hadn’t called him back.
“Why did you?”
He’s my brother. I missed him. I thought father might die—
Before he could ponder his feelings further, the carved rosewood door of the cell swung open. Sithas looked up, ready to lash out at whomever would intrude. It was Hermathya.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded harshly.
She stepped into the little room. Covered from head to toe in a midnight-black cape, she dropped the hood from her head. Diamonds gleamed faintly from her earlobes.
“I knew you would be here,” she said in a low voice. “You always come here when you’re upset.”
Sithas felt an icy mask of resolve fall into place, covering his painful emotions. “I am not upset,” he said coldly.
“Tosh, I heard you raving to yourself as soon as I came in.”
He stood and brushed the dust from his knees. “What is it you want?” he demanded again.
“I heard what happened at the tower today. It doesn’t look good for you, does it? All these days of negotiating for nothing, then Kith solves everything in one day.”
She was only reinforcing what his bitter heart had been saying. Sithas moved until he was only inches from her. He could smell the rosewater she’d bathed in. “Are you trying to provoke me?” he asked, staring into her eyes.
“Yes.” He felt her breath on his face when she said it. “I’m trying to provoke you into being a prince and not some sort of high-born monk!”
He drew away. “You are as tactful as ever, Lady. Leave me to recover my temper. Your advice is not needed or welcome.”
Hermathya made no move to go. “You need me,” she insisted. “You’ve always needed me, but you’re too stubborn to know it.”
Sithas swept a hand over the single candle that lit the cubicle. Darkness, save for a stray shaft of light that slipped in around the closed door, claimed the room. He could see the heat outline of Hermathya, her back to the door, and she could hear his quick breathing.
“When I was a child, I was sent to this temple to learn patience and wisdom. The first three days I was here, I wept all my waking hours because I’d been separated from Kith. I could live without my mother and father, but cut off from Kith…I felt like I’d been cut open and part of me had been torn out.”
Hermathya said nothing. The diamonds in her ears sparkled like stars in the scant light.
“Later, when we were older, I was allowed to go home to the palace and visit a few days each month. Kith was always doing something interesting—learning to ride, fence, shoot a bow. He was always better than me,” Sithas said.
Resignation was creeping into his voice.
“There is one thing you have that he hasn’t,” Hermathya said soothingly, reaching out in the dark for Sithas’s hand.
“What’s that?”
“Me.”
Sithas uttered a short, sardonic laugh. “I daresay he could have you if he wanted you!”
She snatched her hand from his and slapped Sithas hard across the cheek. Her blow stung his face. Forgetting his training, the prince seized his wife roughly and brought their faces together until they were only a finger’s width apart. Even in the dim cubicle, he could see her pale features clearly, and she his.
She said desperately, “I am your wife!”
“Do you still love Kith-Kanan?” Despite the coldness of their marriage, Sithas braced himself for her answer.
“No,” she whispered fiercely. “I hate him. Anything that angers you, I hate.”
“Your concern for me is touching. And quite new,” he said skeptically.
“I admit that I thought I might still love him,” she whispered, “but since seeing him, I know it’s not true.” Tremors shivered through her. “You are my husband,” Hermathya declared passionately. “I wish Kith-Kanan were gone again, so he couldn’t ever make you feel small!”
“He’s never tried to make me feel small,” Sithas retorted.
“And what if he wins your father’s favor completely?” she parried. “The speaker could declare Kith-Kanan his heir if he felt he would do a better job of ruling than you.”
Father would never do that!”
Her lips were by his ear. She pressed her cheek against his and felt his tight grip relax. Quickly she said, “The militia must have an overall commander. Who better than Kith-Kanan? He has the skills and experience for it. With all those square miles to patrol, he could be gone for decades.”
Sithas turned his head away, and she knew he was thinking about it. A small, triumphant smile played about her lips. “By then,” she murmured, “we will have a son of our own, and Kith could never come between you and the throne.”
The prince said nothing, but Hermathya was patient. Instead of prompting him further, she laid her head on his chest. His heartbeat was strong in her ear. After a time, Sithas slowly brought his hand up and stroked her copper-gold hair.
25 — By Next Dawn
When it came to the spread of important news, the great city of Silvanost was just like a tiny village.
By the next morning, word of the tentative agreement between the speaker and the representatives of Ergoth and Thorbardin had penetrated every corner of the capital. The city, and the elven nation itself, seemed to let out a long-held breath. Fear of war had been uppermost in the minds of all the people, followed closely by fear that large numbers of refugees would once more be driven back into the city by the bandit raids.