The Second Generation

“Home, I suppose,” said Gil, a choking sensation in his throat. “Unless my father rode after me.”

Hope rose in Gil’s heart. Certainly his father would come after him. Tanis would find the invitation, right where Gil had left it (his declaration of his right to do as he pleased). Tanis would ride to the Black Swan and ... and discover that Gil had never been there.

“I let Rashas’s servant have my horse! He . . . he could have told my parents anything!” Gil sank despondently into a chair. “What a fool I’ve been!”

Alhana let fall the curtain. She studied the young man intently a moment. Then, coming over, she laid the fingertips of her hand on his shoulder. Her touch was chill, even through the fabric of his shirt.

“I think you had better tell me the whole story.” Alhana seated herself—erect and regal—in a chair across from him.

Gilthas did so. He was astonished, at the end of his recital, to see her face relax. She brushed her hand across her eyelashes.

“You were afraid my parents were behind this!” Gil said in sudden realization.

“Not behind it, perhaps,” Alhana said, sighing, “but that they approved. Forgive me, Prince. If your father and mother were here, I would beg their forgiveness, too.”

Reaching out her hand, she clasped his. “I’ve been alone for so long. I began to think everyone I had ever trusted had betrayed me. But we are in this together, it seems.” She squeezed his hand gently, then released it. Sinking back into her chair, she stared unseeing at the curtained window, then sighed again.

“My father and mother both know I planned to come to Qualinesti. They must know I’m here, no matter what the servant told them. They’ll come after me, my lady,” Gil said stoutly, hoping to comfort her. “They’ll rescue both of us.”

But Alhana only shook her head. “No, Rashas is far too clever to permit that to happen. He has concocted some means to keep your parents from reaching you.”

“You make it sound as if we could be in danger! From Senator Rashas? From our own people?”

She raised her gaze to meet his. “Not your own, Gilthas. You are different. That’s why they chose you.”

You are part human. The unsaid words hung in the air. Gil stared at her. He knew she had not meant it as an insult, especially not after the praise she had given Tanis. It was a habit of thought, bred into her by thousands of years of self-imposed isolation and the belief—however mistaken—that the elves are the chosen, the beloved, of the gods.

Gil knew this, yet he felt hot words rise up into his throat. He knew if he said them, it would make matters only worse. Yet...

Grace under pressure, my dear

Gil heard his mother’s voice, saw her rest her hand on Tanis’s arm. Gil remembered meetings held at their house, remembered watching his mother move with dignity and calm through the storms of political intrigue. He remembered her words to his father, reminding him to remain cool, under control. Gil remembered seeing his father turn red in the face, swallow hard.

Gil swallowed hard.

“I think you should tell me what’s going on, my lady,” he said in a low voice.

“It is really very simple,” Alhana replied. “My husband, Porthios, is being held a prisoner in Silvanesti. He was betrayed by my people. I am being held a prisoner here, betrayed by his people....”

“But why?” Gil was perplexed.

“We elves don’t like change. We fear it, mistrust it. But the world is changing very rapidly. We must change with it—or we will wither away and perish. The War of the Lance taught us that. At least I thought it did. The younger elves agree with us; the elder do not. And it is the elder—like Senator Rashas—who wield the power. I never supposed he would dare go this far, however.”

“What will happen to you and Uncle Porthios?”

“We will be exiled,” she said softly. “Neither kingdom will accept us.”

Gil knew enough of his people to realize that exile for an elf is far worse punishment than execution. Alhana and Porthios would be known as “dark elves”—elves who have been “cast out of the light.” They would be exiled from their homelands, prohibited any communication with their people. They would have no rights anywhere on Ansalon and, as such, would be in constant peril. Rightly or wrongly, dark elves are considered evil. They are hounded, persecuted, driven out of every city and town. They are fair targets for bounty hunters, thieves, and other scum. Not surprising that, in order to survive, most dark elves did seek refuge in the shadow of Takhisis.

Gil could think of nothing to say that would be of any help or comfort. He looked up at Alhana.

“Why me, my lady? Why now?”

“I am with child,” she said simply. “If our baby is born, he or she will be heir to the throne. As it is, should anything happen to Porthios, your mother is rightful heir. But your mother’s marriage to a half-human bastard—”

Gil sucked in his breath.