The Second Generation

“Only myself and my servants live here now,” Rashas continued. “I am a widower. My wife died during the war. My son was killed fighting with the armies of Whitestone, armies led by your mother, Gilthas.” Rashas gave the young man a strange look. “My daughter is married and has a house and family of her own. Most of the time, I am alone.

“But today I have company, an honored guest staying with me. I hope you, too, my prince, will consider my house your own. I trust you will grace my dwelling with your presence?” The senator appeared eager, anxious for Gilthas to say yes.

“I am the one who would be honored, Senator,” Gil said, flushing with pleasure. “You do me too much kindness.”

“I will show you your room in a moment. The servants are making it up now. The lady who is my guest is most anxious to meet you. It would be impolite of us to keep her waiting. She has heard a great deal about you. She is, I believe, a close friend of your mother’s.”

Gil was mystified. Following her marriage, his mother had retained few friends among the elves. Perhaps this person had been one of his mother’s childhood companions.

Rashas led the way up three flights of gracefully winding stairs. A door at the top opened onto a spacious hallway. Three doors opened off the hall, one at the far end and two on each side. Two of the Kagonesti servants stood outside the far door. They bowed to Rashas. At a signal from him, one of the Wilder elves knocked respectfully on the door.

“Enter,” said a woman’s voice, low and musical, quiet and imper ious.

Gil stood back to permit Rashas to enter, but the senator bowed, gestured.

“My prince.”

Embarrassed, yet pleased, Gilthas walked into the room. Rashas followed behind him. The servants shut the door.

The woman had her back to them; she was standing by a window. The room was octagon-shaped, a small arboretum.

Trees grew in the center, their branches carefully coaxed and trained to form a living ceiling of green. Tall, narrow windows were set into the walls.

These windows were not opened, Gil noticed, but were all closed and draped in silk. He supposed the room’s occupant did not like fresh air.

Two doors—one on each side of the room—led to private chambers off this main one. The furniture, a sofa, table, and several chairs, was comfortable and elegant.

“My lady,” said Rashas respectfully, “you have a visitor.”

The woman remained standing with her back to them a moment longer.

Her shoulders seemed to stiffen, as if bracing herself. Then she turned slowly around.

Gil let out a soft breath. He had never in his life seen or imagined such beauty existed, could be embodied in a living being. The woman’s hair was the black of the sky at midnight, her eyes the deep purple of amethyst.

She was graceful, lovely, ethereal, ephemeral, and there was a sorrow about her that was like the sorrow of the gods.

If Rashas had introduced the woman as Mishakal, gentle goddess of healing, Gil would not have been the least surprised. He felt strongly compelled to fall on his knees in worship and reverence.

But this woman was not a goddess.

“My prince, may I present Alhana Starbreeze—” Rashas began.

“Queen Alhana Starbreeze,” she corrected, softly, haughtily. She stood tall and—oddly—defiant.

“Queen Alhana Starbreeze,” Rashas amended with a smile, as if he were indulging the whim of a child. “Please permit me to present Gilthas, son of Lauralanthalasa of the House of Solostaran ... and her husband, Tanthalas Half-Elven.” Rashas added the last almost as an afterthought.

Gil heard the distinct pause in Rashas’s words, a pause that effectively separated his father from his mother. Gil felt his skin flame in embarrassment and shame. He could not look at this proud and haughty woman, who must be pitying and despising him. She was talking, not to him, but to Rashas. Such was Gil’s confusion that he couldn’t understand what she was saying at first. When he did, he raised his head and stared at her in pleased astonishment.

“...Tanis Half-Elven is one of the great men of our time. He is known and revered throughout Ansalon. He has been awarded the highest honors each nation has to offer, including the elven nations, Senator. The proud Knights of Solamnia bow before him with respect. Revered Daughter Crysania of the Temple of Paladine in Palanthas considers him a friend. The dwarven king of Thorbardin calls Tanis Half-Elven brother—”

Rashas coughed. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said dryly. “I understand the half-elf has friends among the kender, too.”

“Yes, he does,” Alhana returned coolly. “And considers himself fortunate to have won their innocent regard.”

“No accounting for taste,” Rashas said, his lip curling.