"I will respect your wishes," Jermayan said softly. "But I had thought— I had hoped—you had changed your mind. Fare you well, Idalia."
Jermayan turned and left. Gracefully.
Kellen hesitated for a moment, then came out.
Idalia rounded on him. "Get a good earful?" she asked dangerously. Her eyes glittered with anger, but behind the anger was a welter of such powerful emotions that Kellen could hardly believe it was the Idalia— calm, restrained Idalia—he had thought he knew standing before him.
"Well, neither one of you was keeping your voices down." He wasn't quite sure how to react to this new creature facing him. "You want to tell me what's going on with this Jermayan? I think I've got a right to know—I am your brother, after all," Kellen reminded her. He only realized how pompous and hateful the words sounded when it was too late to take them back.
But she didn't tender him the set-down that his stupid demand deserved. "I met Jermayan in Ondoladeshiron just after I turned back from being a Silver Eagle. I fell in love with him then. He thinks he loves me. And he's going to have to get over it, because it can't go anywhere, and I told him so at the time," Idalia said, her voice painfully flat.
"But—" Kellen protested, unable to understand why she should be saying anything of the sort. If she loved Jermayan, and the Elf loved her, then what was stopping them? "But, Idalia—"
"Think, Kellen," she interrupted him. "In another fifty or sixty years, I'll die. Jermayan will live for another nine centuries—and Elves mate for life. Do you think I'm going to condemn him to live what amounts to his entire life alone after I'm dead? What kind of love would that be? It isn't fair, and I won't do it!"
Her eyes filled abruptly with tears, and she turned away and ran into the other bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Kellen crept up to the door and listened. He thought he could hear Idalia weeping on the other side. But Idalia never cries.
And she never thought she'd have to see Jermayan again, either, another part of Kellen said.
He wasn't sure what to do. What he did know was that there wasn't anything he could do or say to comfort her—or to change her mind, either.
And he was pretty sure she'd rather he wasn't around when she came out, so that they could both pretend that the last few minutes had never happened. So how could he arrange that?
After a moment's reflection it occurred to Kellen that this would be a good time to get out and take a look around the rest of the Elven city. Nobody'd said that wouldn't be a good idea, and he thought he'd like to know a good deal more about Sentarshadeen and the folks who lived here, before he managed to make any more stupid mistakes.
And I'd really like to get away from Idalia so she can —
He stopped himself just as he was thinking "get over it." She wasn't going to get over it. She wasn't ever going to "get over it." But he could take himself off so she could pretend she could. So this would be a good time to get out and see the sights. There were several hours of light left.
And who better to tell him about Sentarshadeen than the people who—so Idalia said—were exempt from all local customs? He wondered how hard it would be to find a kid around here.
Taking a last look around the disorder of the common room, Kellen went out, closing the front door carefully, and very quietly, behind him.
HE went back down the cliff footpath, to wander the twisting paths along the cliffside among the small houses. This time he saw a number of adult Elves going about their business (all of them ignored him, very politely), but he had no intention of approaching any of them. He was looking for someone quite different.
Idalia said there weren't a lot of Elf-kids. If I were a kid, and I didn't have anybody to play with, where would I go?
He'd been walking for about half an hour, Kellen judged, mostly upstream along the riverbed—there was a trickle along the very bottom of the bed, mostly for decoration, he guessed—when he saw the boy.
The Elf-child was playing by himself down in the muddiest part of the streambed, and just like any other child, mud had gotten all over his skin and his clothes. His black hair was cut short, just brushing his shoulders, and Kellen was amused to see that there seemed to be mud there too. In fact, with a little work, the kid could probably get the rocks dirty. He was concentrating intently on something between his feet. Kellen saw something flicker on the surface of the water, passing him where he stood—a tiny boat made of folded colored paper.
He walked over to where the kid was squatting in the water. The boy was wearing a kilt and vest, and sometime this morning they'd been cream-colored, Kellen guessed. Since then, they'd suffered about as much as you'd expect at the hands of an active five-year-old—at least, the Elf-boy looked about five. For all Kellen knew, he might be fifty.
"Hello," Kellen said, and waited to see what would happen.
"I see—" The boy looked up and saw Kellen, and his black eyes widened in delight. "I know what you are! You're a human!" the boy said delightedly, jumping to his feet and scattering the rest of his paper boats in his excitement.
"My name's Kellen," Kellen said. "I just got here a couple of hours ago, and I was looking for somebody who could show me around the city."
"I could!" the boy said. "My name's Sandalon, and I know where everything is! I'll show you." He took Kellen's hand and began to lead him back along the river. "You're hot," he commented. "And you're an awfully strange color. Are you feeling all right? Do all humans wear clothes like that all the time? Are you going to wear clothes like that while you're here, or are you going to wear proper clothes? We can start with the kilns, because they're firing today, and that's always educational, Nurse Lairamo says. Are your ears really round? Is it true that humans eat raw meat?"
Eventually Sandalon's questions slowed down enough for Kellen to be able to actually answer them, and ask a few as well—it seemed that Elves knew as little about humans as humans did about them, only they were too polite to say so, if Sandalon's innocent questions were anything to go by—and so Kellen learned about the firing kilns and the orchards, and pretty much everything Sandalon knew about Sentarshadeen: which was quite a bit, since no one hindered him and everyone looked out for him. Kellen found himself the target of sharp glances more than once, but since the boy was obviously enjoying himself in Kellen's company, nothing was said.
Kellen discovered that the cliff walls weren't as solid as they looked, either—there were canyons cut into them, which in turn led back into a whole deeper set of valleys, almost like a labyrinth. Kellen's woodscraft stood him in good stead now: if he'd come here directly from Armethalieh, he'd have been completely lost among all the twists and turns almost at once, but spending a season in Idalia's woods had taught him the skills to be able to find his way back to his starting place fairly easily.
"And this is where I live," Sandalon said happily, pointing, after he'd spent most of the afternoon showing Kellen the high points of Sentarshadeen.
Kellen looked out across a meadow covered with short silvery grass. Set in its center was the largest Elven building Kellen had yet seen, a low, deep-eaved house built of silvery wood and pale stone. Age and strength radiated from it, as from an ancient living tree, and Kellen would not have been at all surprised to discover dryads living here.
"Come," Sandalon said, pulling at Kellen's hand. "I'll show you."
Kellen followed him across the grass.
The portico floor was covered with an intricate design of slatted wood, and by the time Kellen and Sandalon reached the doors, the soles of Sandalon's sandals and Kellen's boots were clean and dry. Though he knew this must be a very grand house by Elven standards, there was no sense of things being huge just to make people feel insignificant. There were double doors, wide enough so that several people could enter at once, but the doors themselves were not the towering things they would be in Armethalieh. They were simply the proper size for their function, just as the house seemed to be the proper size for its function, whatever that might be.
Sandalon pulled one of the doors open—the door latch was of age-smoothed bronze, in the shape of a twist of vine-stock—and sketched a quick bow in Kellen's direction.
"Be welcome in this house and find comfort at our hearth," Sandalon said. The words came out in a rush, as if the boy was repeating an only half-understood (as yet) lesson.
"Um… thanks. Thank you," Kellen said. Sandalon seemed to be waiting for Kellen to go first, so Kellen stepped past him, into the house itself. He thought he heard Sandalon breathe a sigh of relief and follow him inside.
"Here's where we live—me and Mother. And Father, too, only he isn't here right now."
The main entry hall extended the entire height of the house, and there was a skylight in the ceiling to let the daylight down into the hall. Directly below the skylight was a reflecting pool and fountain (empty now), its intricate mosaic of colored tiles depicting fish swimming in a river. At the back of the hall, two curving staircases mirrored one another, framing a doorway with sliding panels that echoed the entryway. On both sides, galleries opened onto the main hall, so that people in the rooms above could look down to see who had entered. The walls were hung with tapestries that would each have commanded a mage's ransom in Armethalieh. The colors glowed jewel-bright, and the weaving was finer than anything Kellen had ever seen.
Kellen would have liked to stay and gawk, but Sandalon was already halfway up one of the staircases, and Kellen had no choice but to follow.
He was starting to get a pretty good idea of what was going on—and who Sandalon was—so it wasn't much of a surprise when—after another quick tour of several rooms—they ended up about where Kellen expected.
"And this is my mother's dayroom," Sandalon said, opening the door.
The first impression Kellen got was that they'd stepped outdoors again. The walls were made of glass—hundreds of tiny panes, all held together in a bronze latticework—and the room seemed to hang in space, surrounded by a lacework made of light and air.
The second was that Sandalon's mother was the most beautiful woman Kellen had ever seen.
Here was the beauty of the Elves as Kellen had read about it: as regal and distant as the Moon, as dangerous as fire. She was seated on a cushion, with a writing desk on her lap, wearing an elaborate gown of green and silver, embroidered with sinuous, twisting designs that seemed to catch and hold the eye, the edges of her trailing sleeves and the hem of her skirt ornamented with heavy silver lace as substantial as jewelry. Her black hair was braided with pearls and a bright green gem Kellen had never seen before, and she wore rings on every finger. She looked up when the door opened, and for a moment Kellen was caught in her gaze. It was like seeing Shalkan for the first time—just as transfixing; like being terrified without fear.
Then she set aside her writing desk and held out her arms to her son, and the moment passed.
"Here is my child—and here is half Sentarshadeen upon his clothes," she added good-naturedly. Sandalon climbed into her arms and hugged her unselfconsciously. She paid no heed to the mud on him, and the havoc it was making of her gown.
"I see someone whom I have never seen before," she observed.
Kellen made his lowest and most formal bow. If this wasn't the Queen of the Elves, he'd eat the hat Shalkan hated so much.