Paul Thompson - Firstborn

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.

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.