When he reached the steps, the pommel of Kith-Kanan’s sword poked out from under his ceremonial sash. Nirakina glanced down at the weapon, which was largely concealed by the voluminous folds of his robe.
“Why did you bring that?” she whispered.
“It’s part of my costume,” he replied. “I have a right to wear it.”
“Don’t be impertinent,” his mother said primly. “You know this is a peaceful occasion.”
A large wooden chair, cushioned with red velvet, was set in place for the speaker’s wife on the left of Prince Sithas. Kith-Kanan, like his twin, was expected to stand in the presence of his father, the monarch.
Once the royal family was in place, the assembled notables lined up to pay their respects to the speaker. The time-honored ritual called for priests first, the clan fathers of House Cleric next, and the masters of the city guilds last. Kith-Kanan, far to the left of Sithel, searched for Hermathya in the press of people. The crowd numbered some three hundred, and though they were quiet, the shuffling of feet and the rustle of silk and linen filled the tower. The heralds advanced to the foot of the speaker’s throne and announced each group as they formed up before Sithel.
The priests and priestesses, in their white robes and golden headbands, each wore a sash in the color of their patron deity-silver for E’li, red for Matheri, brown for Kiri Jolith, sky blue for Quenesti Pah, and so on. By ancient law, they went barefoot as well, so they would be closer to the sacred soil of Silvanesti.
The clan fathers shepherded their families past the speaker. Kith-Kanan caught his breath as Lord Shenbarrus of Clan Oakleaf reached the head of the line. He was a widower, so his eldest daughter stood beside him.
Hermathya.
Sithel spoke for the first time since entering the Tower of the Stars. “Lady,” he said to Hermathya, “will you remain?”
Hermathya, clad in an embroidered gown the color of summer sunlight, her striking face framed by two maidenly braids – which Kith-Kanan knew she hated – bowed to the speaker and stood aside from her family at the foot of the throne platform. The hiss of three hundred whispering tongues filled the hall.
Sithel stood and offered a hand to Hermathya. She went up the stair without hesitation and stood beside him. Sithel nodded to the heralds. A single note split the air.
“Silence in the hall! His Highness will speak!” cried the herald.
A hush descended. Sithel surveyed the crowd, ending his sweep by looking at his wife and sons. “Holy clerics, elders, subjects, be at ease in your hearts,” he said, his rich voice echoing in the vast open tower. “I have called you here to receive joyous news. My son, Sithas, who shall be speaker after me, has reached the age and inclination to take a wife. After due consultation with the gods, and with the chiefs of all the clans of House Cleric, I have found a maiden suitable to be my son’s bride.”
Kith-Kanan’s left hand strayed to his sword hilt. A calm had descended over him. He had thought long and hard about this. He knew what he had to do.
“I have chosen this maiden knowing full well the disappointment that will arise in the other clans,” Sithel was saying. “I deeply regret it. If this were a barbarian land, where husbands may have more than one wife, I daresay I could make more of you happy.” Polite laughter rippled through the ranks of the nobles. “But the speaker may have only one wife, so one is all I have chosen. It is my great hope that she and my son will be as happy together as I have been with my Nirakina.”
He looked at Sithas, who advanced to his father’s side. Holding Hermathya’s left hand, the speaker reached for Sithas’s right. The crowd held its breath, waiting for him to make the official announcement.
“Stop!”
The couple’s fingers were only a hairsbreadth apart when Kith-Kanan’s voice rang out. Sithel turned in surprise to his younger son. Every eye in the hall looked with shock at the prince.
“Hermathya cannot marry Sithas!” Kith-Kanan declared.
“Be silent,” Sithel said harshly. “Have you gone mad?”
No, Father,” Kith-Kanan said calmly. “Hermathya loves me.”
Sithas withdrew his hand from his father’s slack fingers. In his hand he held a starjewel, the traditional betrothal gift among elves. Sithas knew something had been brewing. Kith-Kanan had been too obviously troubled by the announcement of his bride-to-be. But he had not guessed at the reason.
“What does this mean?” demanded Lord Shenbarrus, moving to his daughter’s side.
Kith-Kanan advanced to the edge of the raised floor. “Tell him, Hermathya. Tell them all!”
Sithas looked to his father. Sithel’s gaze was on Hermathya. Her cheeks were faintly pink, but her expression was calm, her eyes cast down.
When Hermathya said nothing, Sithel commanded, “Speak, girl. Speak the truth.”
Hermathya lifted her gaze and looked directly at Sithas. “I want to marry the speaker’s heir,” she said. Her voice was not loud, but in the tense silence, every sound, every word was like a thunderclap.
“No!” Kith-Kanan exclaimed. What was she saying? “Don’t be afraid, Thya. Don’t let our fathers sway you. Tell them the truth. Tell them who you love.”
Still Hermathya’s eyes were on Sithas. “I choose the speaker’s heir.”
“Thya!” Kith-Kanan would have rushed to her, but Nirakina interposed herself, pleading with her son to be still. He gently but firmly pushed her aside. Only Sithas stood between him and Hermathya now.
“Stand aside, Brother,” he said.
“Be silent!” his father roared. “You dishonor us all!”
Kith-Kanan drew his sword. Gasps and shrieks filled the Tower of the Stars. Baring a weapon in the hall was a serious offense, a sacrilegious act. But Kith-Kanan wavered. He looked at the sword in his hand, at his brother’s and father’s faces, and at the woman he loved. Hermathya stood unmoving, her eyes still fixed on his twin. What hold did they have on her?
Sithas was unarmed. In fact no one in the hall was armed, except for the flimsy ceremonial maces some of the clan fathers carried. No one could stop him if he chose to fight. Kith-Kanan’s sword arm trembled.
With a cry of utter anguish, the prince threw the short, slim blade away. It skittered across the polished floor toward the assembled clerics, who moved hastily out of its way. It was ritually unclean for them to touch an edged weapon.
Kith-Kanan ran from the tower, blazing with frustration and anger. The crowd parted for him. Every eye in the hall watched him go.
Sithas descended to the main floor and went to where Kith-Kanan’s sword lay. He picked it up. It felt heavy and awkward in his unpracticed hand. He stared at the keen cutting edge, then at the doorway through which Kith-Kanan had departed. His heart bled for his twin. This time Kith had not merely been impudent or impetuous. This time, his deeds were an affront to the throne and to the gods.
Sithas saw only one proper thing to do. He went back to his father and bride-to-be. Laying the naked blade at Sithel’s feet, he took Hermathya’s hand. It was warm. He could feel her pulse throbbing against his own cool palm. And as Sithas took the blue starjewel from the folds of his robe, it seemed almost alive. It lay in his hand, throwing off scintillas of rainbow light.
“If you will have me, I will have you,” he said, holding the jewel out to Hermathya.
“I will,” she replied loudly. She took the starjewel and held it to her breast.
The Tower of the Stars shook with the cheers of the assembled elves.
2
LATER THAT NIGHT
SITHEL STRODE WITH FURIOUS ENERGY DOWN THE CORRIDORS OF the Palace of Quinari. Servants and courtiers backed away from him as he went, so fierce was the anger on his face. The assembly had ended on a triumphant note, but the Speaker of the Stars could not forget the outrage his own son had committed.
The corridor ended at the palace’s great central tower. Sithel approached the huge bronze doors that closed off the private rooms of his family from the rest of the palace.
The doors were eighteen feet high, inlaid with silver runes that kept a protective spell on them. No one not of the blood of Silvanos could open the doors. Sithel hit one door with each palm. The immense portals, delicately balanced, swung inward.
“Where is he? Where is Kith-Kanan?” he demanded, setting his feet wide apart and planting his fists on his hips. “I’ll teach that boy to shame us in front of a public assembly!”
Within the chamber, Nirakina sat on a low, gilded couch. Sithas bent over her, proffering a goblet of sweet nectar. The prince straightened when his father entered, but neither he nor his mother spoke.
“Well?” demanded Sithel.
Nirakina looked up from her goblet. Her large amber eyes were full of sadness. “He is not in the palace,” she said softly. “The servants looked for him, but they did not find him.”
Sithel advanced into the room. His hard footsteps were lost in the deep carpets that covered the center of the floor, and his harsh words were muffled by the rich tapestries covering the cold stone walls.
“Servants, bah, they know nothing. Kith-Kanan has more hiding places than I’ve had years of life.”
“He is gone,” Sithas said at last.
“How do you know that?” asked his father, transferring his glare to his eldest son.
“I do not feel his presence within the palace,” Sithas said evenly. The twins’ parents knew of the close bond that existed between their sons.
Sithel poured a goblet of nectar, using this simple task to give himself time to master his anger. He took a long drink.
“There is something else,” Sithas said. His voice was very low. “The griffon, Arcuballis, is missing from the royal stable.”
Sithel drained his cup. “So, he’s run away, has he? Well, he’ll be back. He’s a clever boy, Kith is, but he’s never been out in the world on his own. He won’t last a week without servants, attendants, and guides.”
“I’m frightened,” said Nirakina. “I’ve never seen him so upset. Why didn’t we know about this girl and Kith?” She took Sithas’s hand. “How do we know she will be a good wife for you, after the way she’s behaved?”
“Perhaps she is unsuitable,” Sithas offered, looking at his father. “If she were, perhaps the marriage could be called off. Then she and Kith-Kanan —”
“I’ll not go back on my word to Shenbarrus merely because his daughter is indiscreet,” Sithel snapped, interrupting his son’s thoughts.
“Think of Hermathya, too; shall we blacken her reputation to salve Kith’s wounded ego? They’ll both forget this nonsense.”
Tears ran down Nirakina’s cheeks. “Will you forgive him? Will you let him come back?”
“It’s outside my hands,” Sithel said. His own anger was failing under fatherly concern. “But mark my words, he’ll be back.” He looked to Sithas for support, but Sithas said nothing. He wasn’t as sure of Kith-Kanan’s return as his father was.
*
The griffon glided in soundlessly, its mismatched feet touching down on the palace roof with only a faint clatter. Kith-Kanan slid off Arcuballis’s back. He stroked his mount’s neck and whispered encouragement in its ear.
“Be good now. Stay.” Obediently the griffon folded its legs and lay down.
Kith-Kanan stole silently along the roof. The vast black shadow of the tower fell over him and buried the stairwell in darkness. In his dark quilted tunic and heavy leggings, the prince was well hidden in the shadows. He avoided the stairs for, even at this late hour, there might be servants stirring about in the lower corridors. He did not want to be seen.
Kith-Kanan flattened himself against the base of the tower. Above his head, narrow windows shone with the soft yellow light of oil lanterns. He uncoiled a thin, silk rope from around his waist. Hanging from his belt was an iron hook. He tied the rope to the eye of the hook, stepped out from the tower wall, and began to whirl the hook in an ever-widening circle. Then, with practiced ease, he let it fly. The hook sailed up to the third level of windows and caught on the jutting stonework beneath them. After giving the rope an experimental tug, Kith-Kanan started climbing up the wall, hand over hand, his feet braced against the thick stone of the tower.
The third level of windows-actually the sixth floor above ground level-was where his private room was located. Once he’d gained the narrow ledge where his hook had wedged, Kith-Kanan stood with his back flat against the wall, pausing to catch his breath. Around him, the city of Silvanost slept. The white temple towers, the palaces of the nobles, the monumental crystal tomb of Silvanos on its hill overlooking the city all stood out in the light of Krynn’s two visible moons. The lighted windows were like jewels, yellow topaz and white diamonds.
Kith-Kanan forced the window of his room open with the blade of his dagger. He stepped down from the sill onto his bed. The chill moonlight made his room seem pale and unfamiliar. Like all the rooms on this floor of the tower, Kith-Kanan’s was wedge-shaped, like a slice of pie. All the miscellaneous treasures of his boyhood were in this room: hunting trophies, a collection of shiny but worthless stones, scrolls describing the heroic deeds of Silvanos and Balif. All to be left behind, perhaps never to be seen or handled again.
He went first to the oaken wardrobe, standing by an inside wall. From under his breastplate he pulled a limp cloth sack, which he’d just bought from a fisher on the river. It smelled rather strongly of fish, but he had no time to be delicate. From the wardrobe he took only a few things-a padded leather tunic, a pair of heavy horse-riding boots, and his warmest set of leggings. Next he went to the chest at the foot of his bed.
With no concern for neatness, he stuffed spare clothing into the sack. Then, at the bottom of the chest, he found something he hadn’t wanted to find. Wrapped in a scrap of linen was the starjewel he’d bought for Hermathya. Once exposed, it glittered in the dim light.
Slowly he picked it up. His first reaction was to grind the delicate gem under his heel, but Kith-Kanan couldn’t bring himself to destroy the beautiful scarlet gem. Without knowing exactly why, he slipped it into the fisher’s bag.
From the rack by the door he took three items: a short but powerful recurved bow, a full quiver of arrows, and his favorite boar spear. Kith-Kanan’s scabbard hung empty at his side. His sword, forged by the priests of Kiri Jolith, he’d left in the Tower of the Stars.
The prince put the arrows and the unstrung bow in the sack and tied it to the boar spear. The whole bundle he slung from his shoulder. Now for the door.
The latch whispered backward in its slot. Kith-Kanan pulled the door open. Directly across from his room was Sithas’s sleeping chamber. A strip of light showed under his brother’s door. Kith-Kanan lowered his bundle to the floor and reached out for the door handle.
Sithas’s door opened silently. Inside, his white-robed twin was kneeling before a small table, on which a single cut rose lay. A candle burned on the fireplace mantle.
Sithas looked up. “Come in, Kith,” he said gently, “I was expecting you.” He stood, looking holloweyed and gaunt in the candlelight. “I felt your presence when you returned. Please, sit down.”
“I’m not staying,” Kith-Kanan replied bitterly.
“You need not leave, Kith. Beg Father for forgiveness. He will grant it.”
Kith-Kanan spread his hands. “I can’t, Sith. It wouldn’t matter if he did forgive me, I can’t stay here any longer.”
“Because of Hermathya?” asked Sithas. His twin nodded. “I don’t love her, Kith, but she was chosen. I must marry her.”
“But what about me? Do you care at all how I feel?”
Sithas’s face showed that he did. “But what would you have me do?”
“Tell them you won’t have her. Refuse to marry Hermathya.”
Sithas sighed. “It would be a grave insult to Clan Oakleaf, to our father, and to Hermathya herself. She was chosen because she will be the best wife for the future speaker.”
Kith-Kanan passed a hand over his fevered eyes. “This is like a terrible
dream. I can’t believe Thya consented to all this.”
“Then you can go upstairs and ask her. She is sleeping in the room just above yours,” Sithas said evenly. Kith-Kanan turned to go. “Wait,” Sithas said. “Where will you go from here?”
“I will go far,” Kith-Kanan replied defiantly.
Sithas leaped to his feet. “How far will you get on your own? You are throwing away your heritage, Kith! Throwing it away like a gnawed apple core!”
Kith-Kanan stood still in the open doorway. “I’m doing the only honorable thing I can. Do you think
could continue to live here with you, knowing Hermathya was your wife? Do you think I could stand to see her each day and have to call her ‘Sister?’ I know I have shamed Father and myself. I can live with shame, but I cannot live in sight of Hermathya and not love her!”
He went out in the hall and stooped to get his bundle. Sithas raised the lid of a plain, dark, oak chest sitting at the foot of his bed.
“Kith, wait.” Sithas turned around and held out his brother’s sword. “Father was going to have it broken, he was so angry with you, but I persuaded him to let me keep it.”
Kith-Kanan took the slim, graceful blade from his brother’s hands. It slid home in his scabbard like a hand into a glove. Kith-Kanan instantly felt stronger. He had a part of himself back.
“Thank you, Sith.”
On a simultaneous impulse, they came together and clasped their hands on each other’s shoulders. “May the gods go with you, Brother,” said Sithas warmly.
“They will if you ask them,” Kith-Kanan replied wryly. “They listen to you.”
He crossed the hall to his old room and prepared to go out the window. Sithas came to his door and said, “Will I ever see you again?”
Kith-Kanan looked out at the two bright moons. “As long as Solinari and Lunitari remain in the same sky, I will-see you again, my brother.” Without another word, Kith-Kanan stepped out of the window and was gone. Sithas returned to his sparsely furnished room and shut the door.
As he knelt again at his small shrine to Matheri, he said softly, “Two halves of the same coin; two branches of the same tree.” He closed his eyes. “Matheri, keep him safe.”
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