'I am glad to hear these words, Lady Amlaruil. Do you mean to say, then, that you will no longer remain in seclusion in these Towers?' Belstram pressed. 'It is a matter that must be addressed,' he continued heatedly, silencing the murmur of protest that rose from the assembled magi. 'Lady Amlaruil has not left these Tower grounds for nearly fifteen years, not since the birth of her daughter. Indeed, until recently it was not known beyond these walls that she had a child.'
Amlaruil rose in one swift movement. 'And now that all the world knows?' she said in a choked voice. 'What good has come of it?'
The Gold elf rose from his place and came to face the angry mage. 'The royal house has an heir,' Belstram said softly. 'This was a needed thing. What Evermeet needs now, my lady, is a Grand Mage.'
Several of the elves gasped at his effrontery, others rose in protest. The bladesinger Shanyrria, predictably enough, drew her sword in hot-tempered willingness to fight for the Lady of the Tower's honor.
Amlaruil gazed down at the Gold elf, astounded by his open challenge to her position before all the gathered magi. But to her astonishment, she read in Belstram's face not animosity, not even ambition, but deep and genuine concern. She saw, too, the truth in his accusation.
A sad smile curved her lips. 'Thank you, Lord Durothil,' she said softly. 'Thank you for your honesty. Your words are hard, but fair. I have not been the Grand Mage that Evermeet deserves.'
'You misunderstand,' Belstram said, seeming genuinely appalled by Amlaruil's words. He further astounded her by going down on one knee before her.
'You are dying, Lady Amlaruil,' he said bluntly. 'With each day that passes, you slip closer to Arvandor. Evermeet needs a Grand Mage, yet you are willfully depriving her of perhaps the greatest to rule these towers. Once, I thought that Jannalor Nierde had chosen his successor unwisely. Do not continue on this path, and prove me right.'
For many moments, the silence that filled the chamber was profound and absolute. Then Nakiasha huffed loudly. 'It's about time someone other than me spoke sense in these halls,' declared the opinionated sorceress. 'Which leads me to an interesting question. Are you absolutely certain, Belstram, that you aren't a Green elf in disguise?'
The look of consternation that crossed the Durothil's face sent the forest elf sorceress into hoots of laughter.
Nakiasha's mirth was contagious, spreading throughout the dining hall and echoing long as the elves found in laughter a much-needed release. Even Belstram managed a self-conscious smile as he rose and made his way back to his place.
Both bolstered and shamed by the truth in Belstram's words, Amlaruil resumed her seat and made a real effort at downing some of the food. As the evening progressed, the lightened mood of the evenfeast spilled over into celebration, for the young High Mage was much loved, and great was the elves' relief to have their concerns for her given voice.
Much later, as the elves danced in the Tower gardens beneath a star-filled sky, Amlaruil slipped away into the forest to ponder the events and insights of the day. Following a sure instinct, she made her way to the clearing in which she had first met Zaor.
She stood in long silence, remembering her first meeting with Zaor and the vision which had come to her that day. She remembered also the night when the King-Killer star had appeared to her and Lamruil, and had ironically set in motion the events that led to the crowning of an elven monarch.
Much later that evening, Zaor found her there, as Nakiasha said he might. As the elven king gazed upon his lost love, he understood why the sorceress had sent for him.
The change in Amlaruil was appalling, and unmistakable. Once, Zaor had witnessed the passage of an elf to Arvandor. His own father, a ranger who spent his life in the defense of Myth Drannor's forests, had simply faded away, leaving behind like a final benediction a fleeting glimmer of silvery motes. Amlaruil was doing much the same thing. In the faint, fey light of the stars, her slender form looked almost translucent. Zaor could see the faint shadows of these glittering motes-not just silver, as he would expect, but also gold, blue, green and even a few tiny pinpricks of gleaming obsidian. Zaor did not wonder at this, for in his mind Amlaruil was the uncrowned queen of all the elven People. He felt a deep sadness, though, for the years of loss-not only the empty years he had spent in the Moonstone Palace, but the centuries that stretched before him, void of his one love, his true queen.
'Come back to us, Amlaruil,' he said softly. The elf woman whirled at the sound of his voice, her blue eyes wide and startled and one hand at her throat. She stared at Zaor for a moment as if not entirely certain that she had not conjured him with a thought. Then her too-angular face relaxed into a smile. 'You still walk with the silence of a ranger, my lord.'
She made move to kneel, but Zaor was at her side in a few quick steps. He grasped her arms and pulled her fiercely to him.
'What are you doing?' he demanded in a raw, angry voice. Amlaruil blinked. 'I had thought to do proper reverence to Evermeet's king,' she said dryly.
'Not that! You are slipping away-you are leaving Evermeet behind. I will not permit it!'
The elf woman sighed, undone by the anguish in Zaor's voice and the truth in his words. Her head sank down to rest on Zaor's shoulder. His arms enfolded her.
'Promise me that you will stay,' he said in softer tones. 'Swear that you will remain on Evermeet for as long as you are needed.'
Amlaruil lifted her head to look into his eyes. 'That is a difficult pledge, my lord, and beyond the scope even of Evermeet's king to demand.'
'Even so, I think it is within your power to keep.' Even as he spoke the words, Zaor recognized the truth in them. All elves were slow to age, but time refused to touch Amlaruil with any but the kindest of hands. But for the fashion of her hair and the sadness in her eyes, she was still the lithesome elf maid he had glimpsed many years ago. And since the day that he had met Ilyrana, he had been beset by the suspicion that the girl was not entirely mortal. The gods had touched his daughter. Zaor could sense, if not fully understand, Ilyrana's deep communion and connection with the Seldarine. And through Ilyrana, he had come to better understand the nature of Ilyrana's mother. Whatever Amlaruil set her mind to, she could do.
Amlaruil was silent for a long moment, as if she, too, knew the truth of his words. 'I swear it,' she said at last.
With a faint smile, she eased out of Zaor's embrace. 'How is Ilyrana?'
It was strangely comforting, to be discussing their child as if they were lovers wed, recently reunited after a small time apart. Zaor only wished he had more to tell Amlaruil.
'Ilyrana is hard to know,' he admitted. 'She is not a cold or rude girl, yet she remains aloof, distant.'
'Has she taken well to court life?'
Zaor sighed. 'On the face of it, well enough. Her manners are without flaw, and her beauty remarkable. Though she is not yet of age, already the young nobles are lining up to vie for her favors. But when not at her lessons or at court, she has little to do with anyone in the palace.'
'The queen is kind to her?' Amlaruil said tentatively, hating to ask but needing to know.
'Lydi'aleera is not unkind. She does not know what to do with Ilyrana, though. She has no understanding of the girl. Not that I am much better,' he added.
Amlaruil heard the guilt in his voice. 'You cannot blame yourself. Ilyrana is a stranger to you. That choice was mine, for good or ill.'
'You should have told me,' Zaor said softly. The elf woman shook her head, understanding what he meant. 'If I had told you on the day of your kingmaking that I carried your child, you would never have agreed to the alliance with Amarillis. As things stand, the kingdom is secure, Evermeet's defenses have never been stronger, and even the most contentious Gold elves speak with grudging pride of their king. Would any of this have come to pass, had you passed over Lydi'aleera to wed your cousin?'
'But does it truly matter, compared to what we have lost?'
'It matters!' Amlaruil said with sudden passion. 'Do not dismiss what we have accomplished, or demean the sacrifices that we have made! If I did not believe that what I did was for the good of Evermeet, I could not bear this life!'
Zaor again took the angry elf woman in his arms, soothing her with soft words and gentle hands. The years fell away from them both, and with joy he felt the familiar kindling of their shared flame. When he thought he could
