Mark Anthony - Kindred Spirits

The Speaker smiled at his daughter, but it seemed a sorrowful expression, then he turned his gaze back toward the courtiers. “It has been the longstanding honor and joy of my family to count among its closest friends the Third House of Qualinost. Indeed, it was the Lord of the Third House who lent me the strength of his hand in the dark years following the upheaval of the Cataclysm, and so helped me assure the continuance of the peace we cherish here in our homeland.” The courtiers nodded; they knew that.

“At that time, the Lord of the Third House-whose name I may hold only in memory, now that he has stepped beyond the edges of this world-had a young son, and in my gratitude to him, I promised a great gift for that son. The son of the Lord of the Third House stands among us today, and you know him now as the lord of that honored house himself: Lord Tyresian.”

The tall, handsome elf lord, resplendent in a tunic the color of dark red wine, bowed deeply to the Speaker. Too deeply, Hint thought to himself, if there could be such a thing. It was only that the gesture had seemed more of a show, rather than an act of sincerity.

“Speaker, I thank you for calling me forward on this joyous day,” Tyresian said. He cast a sideways look at Laurana, but the elf woman seemed hardly to have noticed him. Her eyes were on Tanis.

The Speaker nodded at Tyresian and then lifted his arms, as if he were encompassing both the elf lord and his daughter. “I give to you, then, an occasion for celebration,” he said in a voice as clear as a trumpet’s call. “For on this day, it is my duty and pleasure to announce the great gift that was granted Lord Tyresian long ago. Let all the people of Qualinost know that, from this day forward, the hand of my beloved daughter, Lauralanthalasa, is betrothed to Lord Tyresian of the Third House, until such day as the two be joined as husband and wife.”

A whispered gasp ran about the chamber, followed by scattered applause that gained rapidly in strength and volume. Tyresian seemed to glow before the courtiers, but Flint saw that the Speaker seemed exhausted. Miral had stepped onto the podium-an action against protocol-and he appeared to be surreptitiously supporting the Speaker, preventing him from stumbling. The mage cast a dark glance at Tyresian.

Flint cast a hurried look at Tanis, but the half-elf seemed hardly to be marking the furor around him. He only stared glassily forward, clutching the small object, the one he had been fidgeting with, tightly in one of his fists.

“But…” Laurana said, and stopped. Her need to express herself clearly battled with her deference to court decorum and her love for her father. “Why didn’t you tell…?” She faltered and grew silent. The applause ended abruptly, and a tenseness descended over the Tower.

“I thought…” Laurana tried again and looked desperately toward Tanis. “But we made a promise long ago…”

The courtiers, some looking shocked, others pleased, still others merely fascinated by the turn of events, began to swivel to gaze at the uneasy half-elf.

Tyresian looked annoyed but unworried. Porthios narrowed his eyes and glared at the half-elf. The Speaker’s face held a worried expression; little is as important to an elf as honor. Laurana continued to watch Tanis beseechingly.

Tanis suddenly blinked, as if startled. “Oh, no,” he said, so softly that only Flint could hear.

“Is this so, Tanis?” the Speaker asked. “Are the two of you promised, without my knowledge or approval?”

The half-elf looked around wildly. Only Flint’s eyes held any sympathy. “I…” he said. “Yes, but…It was long ago…”

Flint edged closer and caught his friend’s elbow with one strong hand. “Gather your thoughts, lad,” he hissed. “Or be silent.”

But Tanis stammered, “We were children… not serious. I thought so, anyway.”

Laurana gasped, then slipped quickly from the chamber, not meeting anyone’s eyes, her slippers tapping against the floor. Tyresian followed.

Court, needless to say, quickly came to an end.

“I trust you’ll be able to take care of this little… problem, Speaker,” Tyresian said smoothly. He calmly refilled his wine glass from a crystal decanter and smiled absently. He swirled the ruby-clear liquid around so that it glowed like a dark gem in the light of the sunset that spilled through the glass walls of the Speaker’s private office.

The Speaker nodded wearily. “Of course, Tyresian. Indeed, there is no problem.” The Speaker’s own glass stood untouched on the table before him, but though his face seemed haggard, his green eyes were as clear as ever, his shoulders as straight and square.

Tanis watched anxiously from a position as near the door as he could get without looking as if he were about to flee. After the chaos following Laurana’s outburst had subsided-due largely to Xenoth’s good sense in herding the agitated courtiers from the Tower-the Speaker had bid a private meeting be held in the palace. Only a scant few had been called to attend: Tyresian, of course, since the matter directly concerned him; Miral and Porthios, standing beside the Speaker; and, lastly, Tanis. Solostaran had ordered a servant to fetch Laurana, but the Speaker’s daughter was nowhere to be found, the servant reported.

Laurana’s actions left Tanis as confused as anybody- probably more so. He sighed and tried not to fidget with the ring concealed in his pocket. It felt as if it were glowing white-hot, about to burn a hole in the cloth of his breeches and fall shimmering to the floor, betraying its presence to everyone.

He desperately wished Flint were here. Flint would have had some gruff words that would make things all right, but the dwarf had not been invited.

“Remember, she is little more than a child, Tyresian,” the Speaker went on.

“True. But sometimes childish infatuations are those that linger most strongly, especially when they are denied.” Tyresian cast a glance back at Tanis. The half-elf expected a look of malice in the elf lord’s eyes, but there was no such darkness in Tyresian’s expression, only a look of mild curiosity. That was all, as if somehow he found it puzzling and almost amusing to find Tanis playing the part of a rival-unwilling or no-in all of this.

“Tyresian,” the Speaker said then, standing up. “Long ago an agreement was made between our two houses.” He moved to the windows and gazed for a moment out into the myriad colors of the dwindling sunset before turning his attention back to the elf lord. The Speaker seemed very much in control now, despite his weariness.

“The word of my house is held important above all else, for without honesty, there is nothing. And in honesty, I must tell you that I would rather my daughter did not have to think of her future while still so young. I would rather she might know the joy of wedding one who has courted her and won her heart rather than one who was chosen for her by two old men before she was born, her betrothed little more than a child himself. Now, I do not mean to belittle what your father did for me-the Lord of the Third House was too great a friend for that-but still, I wish one thing to be clear: There is little in this world that means more to me than my daughter. And while her hand will be yours, her blood will always be mine. Do not forget this. And treat her accordingly.”

Tyresian stared for a long moment at the Speaker. A bit of the overbearing pride seemed to have been washed out of him. “Of course, Speaker,” he said finally, his voice subdued. “I should not have doubted, but I thank you for your assurances all the same.” With a stiff half-bow, the elf lord stepped away from the Speaker, then brushed past Tanis and left the chamber.