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As the elves entered, Zaor took note of how they aligned themselves. The Council members stayed together, forming a small group at the far side of the tent. His friends Keryth Blackhelm, who now commanded the Leuthilspar guard, and Myronthilar Silverspear, a captain of the guard, came to flank him in unspoken support.
Only Amlaruil stood apart and alone, as isolated and solitary as the Towers she ruled. Zaor could not bring himself to meet her eyes, for fear of what he might reveal before the gathered elves. He could only imagine what use Montagor Amarillis might make of the knowledge that Zaor had already pledged his heart-and to an elf woman of his own clan!
He turned to the Council. "Will you as a group support the Moonflower claim?"
"How can we, when the task of the moonblades is incomplete?" responded Yalathanil Symbaern.
Francessca Silverspear snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. "Then let it be completed! Let the Amarillis pup draw his moonblade, if he dares, and then further dare to fight Zaor for the throne!"
"We ca
"You see how it is," Lady Durothil said dryly, tossing an exasperated glance at Zaor. "The Council is not of one mind about this matter, or any other. Montagor Amarillis plays upon these divisions like a master minstrel his harp!"
Zaor nodded, and turned to Keryth Blackhelm. "You know the minds of Leuthilspar's warriors. What do you think? Can I hold Evermeet without the support of Amarillis?"
The captain thought this over. "The warriors respect you. There's no doubt that they would follow you in battle. It's peace that worries me. You and I are warriors, Zaor, but neither of us understands the sort of bloodless battle waged among the noble houses. The truth, then? No. I don't believe that you can rule without Amarillis. Not as it should be done, at least."
Zaor stood silent, his head bowed, as he struggled to find his way through the tangle. Finally he looked up, his eyes at last falling upon Amlaruil.
"My friends, I would like to consult with the Lady of the Towers," he said softly. "I thank you all for your advice. I will not leave you waiting long for my decision."
Lady Durothil cast a glance at Amlaruil Moonflower's inscrutable face, then turned a searching gaze upon the Moon elf warrior. She seemed deeply disturbed by what she saw. She rose hastily.
"Come, all of you," she said briskly. "The sooner we're away, the sooner Zaor can make his choice."
Amlaruil sat silently as the Gold elf matron herded the others from the pavilion, as relentlessly and efficiently as a Craulnober hound might drive a flock of northland sheep from a pasture.
"She knows," the mage said simply when at last she and Zaor were alone. "She knows, and does not approve."
"Lady Durothil has been High Councilor for many years," Zaor said hastily. "She knows how the noble clans will respond to news of our love. She has spent a lifetime dealing with the nobles and their small intrigues."
"Which only give more weight to her opinion."
"It doesn't matter. None of it matters." Zaor covered the distance between them in a few steps and took both of her cold hands in his. "Amlaruil, we made a pledge to each other. Whatever happens, I intend to honor that! There can be no one for me but you."
Amlaruil’s gaze was sad, but steady. "If you refuse this alliance with Amarillis, war among the clans-the very threat that the moonblades were intended to forestall-seems possible. Even if you rule in peace, offending Amarillis will almost certainly ensure the failure of the very task for which you were chosen: bringing unity to the elves. You must understand that clan Amarillis forms both a link and a buffer between Moon elves and Gold. Without Amarillis, you might as well take scepter and crown and place them directly into Durothil hands."
Gently, she slipped her fingers from Zaor's grasp. "The gods have chosen you as Evermeet's king. They have chosen me to help you, and so I must."
The Grand Mage of the Towers went down on her knees before the appalled elf. "I pledge my personal allegiance, as well as all the power of the Towers of the Sun and the Moon, to Zaor, King of Evermeet, and to Lydi'aleera his queen. May you both live long, and reign well." Tears sparkled in her eyes, but her voice was firm.
Before Zaor could speak, Amlaruil disappeared. Only a faint silver sparkle of magic in the air, and the tiny mark of two fallen tears upon the earthen floor of the pavilion, betrayed that she had ever been there at all.
The Moon elf warrior dashed from the tent, looking frantically about for a glimpse of Amlaruil's beautiful red-gold hair among the crowds of elves. She was nowhere to be seen.
Lady Durothil came forward and grasped him by his forearms, her eyes searching his stricken face. Relief and sympathy mingled on her countenance. "You have chosen well," she said gently.
"I did not choose at all!" he blurted out. For a moment, the Moon elf's loss and heartache was naked in his eyes.
"The Lady of the Towers has acted with honor," Lady Durothil said softly. "And she has taken the worst burden-the burden of choice-from your shoulders. She did what she must, and now so must you."
Zaor was silent for a long moment. "I have always heard that the sacrifices demanded of those who would lead can be great. Had I any idea of what would be required of me, I would have wanted no part of this!" he said passionately.
The matron sighed. "If the gods are kind, it might be that you've already endured the worst! But come, my lord-the others are waiting."
For the remainder of that summer, the High Magi of the Towers of the Sun and the Moon lavished their magic upon the creation of Evermeet's court. The Moonstone Palace, a wondrous structure fashioned from marble and moonstone and roofed with gold, rose from the heart of Evermeet.
The labor was bittersweet for Amlaruil. Though she rejoiced to see Zaor as king, her part in his kingmaking was hardly what she had dreamed it might be.
As the summer passed and the brilliant colors of autumn faded from the land, Amlaruil went into seclusion to prepare for the birth of her daughter. Only Nakiasha attended her on the night that Zaor's heir drew breath, and stood witness to the elf woman's tears of mingled joy and loss.
In the months that followed, Amlaruil found immense comfort in her daughter. But she could not escape the feeling that this child was merely loaned to her. Amlaruil's ties to the Seldarine were deep and mystical, but it seemed to her that this babe was more a child of the gods than of mortal elves.
From birth Ilyrana was oddly silent, and her large, sea-blue eyes were grave and ancient. Nor did the babe resemble either of her parents. Tiny and ethereally pale, her white skin seemed tinged with blue, and her snow-colored baby curls held a touch of palest green. Amlaruil named her Ilyrana, from the Elvish word for opal.
Never once did Amlaruil speak the name of her baby's father. As an elf woman of noble birth, a High Mage, and Grand Mage of the Towers, she was beyond reproach in such matters. The child was hers, and if any of the elves of the Tower cared to speculate further, they did so with unusual discretion. Amlaruil had already won the respect and love of most of the young magi. Most of them grasped that it was her wish to keep the child from common sight and knowledge, and they protected their lady and her child as they did any of the Towers' other legacies.
What none of the magi understood, however, was that Amlaruil's reticence was based on something far darker than discretion and a desire for privacy.