Paul Thompson - Firstborn

“I’m in trouble,” he said ruefully.

“What have you done this time?” Sithas asked, loosening his grip on his twin.

“I was out flying on Arcuballis…”

“Have you been scaring the farmers again?”

“No, it’s not that. I was over the city, so I circled the Tower of the Stars…”

“Blowing your horn, no doubt.”

Kith-Kanan sighed. “Will you let me finish? I went round the tower, very gently, but who should be there on the high balcony but Father! He saw me and gave me that look.”

Sithas folded his arms. “I was there too, inside. He wasn’t pleased.”

His twin lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “What’s this all about? He didn’t call me here to chastise me, did he? You wouldn’t be here for that.”

“No. Father called me back from the temple before you came home. He’s gone upstairs to fetch Mother. He’s got something to tell you.”

Kith-Kanan relaxed, realizing he wasn’t going to get dressed down. “What is it, Sith?”

“I’m getting married,” said Sithas.

Kith-Kanan, wide-eyed, leaned back on the table. “By E’li! Is that all you have to say? ‘I’m getting married?’ ”

Sithas shrugged. “What else is there to say? Father decided that it’s time, so married I get.”

Kith-Kanan grinned. “Has he picked a girl?”

“I think that’s why he sent for you and Mother. We’ll all find out at the same time.”

“You mean, you don’t know who it is yet?”

“No. There are fourteen suitable clans within House Cleric, so there are many prospective brides. Father has chosen one based on the dowry offered—and according to which family he wants to link with House Royal.”

His brother’s eyes danced with merriment. “She will probably be ugly and a shrew, as well.”

“That doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she be healthy, well-born, and properly worship the gods,” Sithas said calmly.

“I don’t know. I think wit and beauty ought to count for something,” Kith-Kanan replied. “And love. What about love, Sith? How do you feel about marrying a stranger?”

“It is the way things are done.”

That was so like him. The quickest way to insure Sithas’s cooperation was to invoke tradition. Kith-Kanan clucked his tongue and walked in a slow circle around his motionless twin. His words rang off the polished stone walls. “But is it fair?” he said, mildly mocking. “I mean, any scribe or smith in the city can choose his mate himself, because he loves her and she loves him. The wild elves of the woods, the green sea elves, do they marry for duty, or do they take as mate a loving companion who’ll bear them children and be a strength to them in their ancient age?”

“I’m not any smith or scribe, much less a wild elf,” Sithas said. He spoke quietly, but his words carried as clearly as Kith-Kanan’s loud pronouncements. “I am firstborn to the Speaker of the Stars, and my duty is my duty.”

Kith-Kanan stopped circling and slumped against the table. “It’s the old story, isn’t it? Wise Sithas and rash Kith-Kanan,” he said. “Don’t pay me any heed, I’m really glad for you. And I’m glad for me, too. At least I can choose my own wife when the time comes.”

Sithas smiled. “Do you have someone in mind?”

Why not tell Sithas? he thought. His twin would never give him away.

“Actually,” Kith-Kanan began, “there is…”

The rear door of the hall opened, and Sithel entered, with Nirakina at his side.

“Hail, Father,” the brothers said in unison.

The speaker waved for his sons to sit. He held a chair out for his wife, then sat himself. The crown of Silvanesti, a circlet of gold and silver stars, weighed heavily on his brow. He had come to the time in his life when age was beginning to show. Sithel’s hair had always been white, but now its silky blondness had become brittle and gray. Tiny lines were etched around his eyes and mouth, and his hazel eyes, the sign of the heritage of Silvanos, betrayed the slightest hint of cloudiness. All these were small, outward signs of the great burden of time Sithel carried in his lean, erect body. He was one thousand, five hundred years old.

Though past a thousand herself, Lady Nirakina was still lithe and graceful. She was small by elven standards, almost doll-like. Her hair was honey brown, as were her eyes. These were traits of her family, Clan Silver Moon. A sense of gentleness radiated from her, a gentleness that soothed her often irritable husband. It was said about the palace that Sithas had his father’s looks and his mother’s temperament. Kith-Kanan had inherited his mother’s eyes and his father’s energy.

“You look well,” Nirakina said to Kith-Kanan. “Was your trip rewarding?”

“Yes, Lady. I do love to fly,” he said, after kissing her cheek.

Sithel gave his son a sharp glance. Kith-Kanan cleared his throat and bid his father a polite greeting.

“I’m glad you returned when you did,” Sithel said. “Has Sithas told you of his upcoming marriage?” Kith-Kanan admitted he had. “You will have an important part to play as well, Kith. As the brother of the groom, it will be your job to escort the bride to the Tower of the Stars—”

“Yes, I will, but tell us who it is,” insisted the impatient prince.

“She is a maiden of exceptional spirit and beauty, I’m told,” Sithel said. “Well-educated, well-born…”

“Father!” Kith-Kanan pleaded. Sithas himself sat quietly, hands folded on his lap. Years of training in the Temple of Matheri had given him formidable patience.

“My son,” Sithel said to Sithas, “Your wife’s name is Hermathya, daughter of Lord Shenbarrus of the Oakleaf Clan.”

Sithas raised an eyebrow approvingly. Even he had noticed Hermathya. He said nothing, but nodded his acceptance.

“Are you all right, Kith?” Nirakina asked. “You look quite pale.”

To her surprise, Kith-Kanan looked as if his father had struck him across the face. The prince swallowed hard and nodded, unable to speak. Of all the eligible daughters, Hermathya was to marry Sithas. It was incomprehensible. It could not happen!

None of his family knew of his love for her. If they knew, if his father knew, he’d choose someone else.

“Ah,” Kith-Kanan managed to say, “who—who else knows of this?”

“Only the bride’s family,” said Sithel. “I sent Shenbarrus acceptance of the dowry this morning.”

A sinking feeling gripped Kith-Kanan. He felt like he was melting into the floor. Hermathya’s family already knew. There was no going back now. The speaker had given his word. He could not, in honor, rescind his decision without gravely offending Clan Oakleaf.

His parents and brother began to discuss details of the wedding. A tremor passed through Kith-Kanan. He resolved to stand up and declare his love for Hermathya, declare that she was his and no one else’s. Sithas was his brother, his twin, but he didn’t know her. He didn’t love her. He could find another wife. Kith-Kanan could not find another love.

He rose unsteadily to his feet. “I…” he began. All eyes turned to him.

Think, for once in your life! He admonished himself. What will they say to you?

“What?” said his father. “Are you ill, boy? You don’t look well.”

“I don’t feel too well,” Kith-Kanan said hoarsely. He wanted to shout, to run, to smash and break things, but the massive calm of his mother, father, and brother held him down like a thick blanket. He cleared his throat and added, “I think all that flying has caught up with me.”

Nirakina stood and put a hand to his face. “You do feel warm. Perhaps you should rest.”

“Yes. Yes,” he said. “That’s just what I need. Rest.” He held the table edge for support.