Alistair sighed. “Not a Faerie alive is so foolish.”
“That I’ll grant you.” Eanrin clapped the lad’s shoulder again. His eyes looked to the House of Lights, and his ears filled with the Sphere Songs. The mortals gathered had already grown accustomed to the sound, and some, like Lady Mintha, began to forget. But Eanrin heard them as though with new ears, and they filled his soul with an inspiration not unlike when he had first knelt before the Lumil Eliasul and taken up knighthood.
And he could see, even from that distance, that the Smallman King heard them as well. “He won’t soon forget,” Eanrin muttered.
“What was that?” asked Alistair.
“Nothing. Well, my friend, I must off!” Eanrin fixed a final smile on Alistair. “I can’t say it’s all been grand, but I can say that I’m glad I stopped the goblin poison from killing you and . . . yes, on the whole, I’m pleased we’ve met. We might meet again. I’m finding myself far more interested in mortal affairs than I once was. Maybe I’ll keep track of your flow of Time and have a look in on you now and then. Remember what I said: Get your feet moving and find out what you were meant for. Cheery-bye!”
With that he became a cat once more, and before Alistair could say a word, he had slipped away, vanishing between skirts and boots across the ruined courtyard of Gaheris.
If he was going to take the Faerie cat’s advice, he needed to do so at once before he talked himself out of it. So the following day Alistair made his way to Gaheris library, where the king had holed himself away for some privacy. Men stood guard and earls and retainers lined the halls, for much needed doing in this land that was now a kingdom. But, respecting their sovereign’s need for some quiet, they stood patiently without, waiting for him to emerge.
Alistair did not wait. Though the guards protested and refused to let him knock, he called out in a loud voice that carried through the heavy door, “Your Majesty! Will you see me?”
The door opened. The king looked out and said, “Let him in . . . please.” Though his voice already bore a tone of command, years of deference had ingrained certain habits. He winced at his own “please,” but the guards obeyed and Alistair stepped into the quiet of the library.
It was strange to see it in such a state of destruction, tables overturned, papers strewn, book covers torn into shreds of leather. The king looked far more the chronicler as he moved about the chamber, gathering pieces of his and his predecessor’s work, sighing over them as over friends now dead. But he paused to ask, “What may I do for you, my lord?”
Alistair shook his head. “I’m not your lord,” he said. “Remember, you are king now.”
“Yes.” The king frowned and took a seat on his stool, his short legs dangling. “It is difficult to grasp. They don’t talk about after the crowning in Faerie tales, do they?”
“Not that I recall,” Alistair said. “You might write it down yourself. For future chosen ones and prophetic kings to reference one day, eh? They would appreciate it.”
“I might just do that,” said the king, his voice serious. He looked again about the room at all the work to be done. Work that he himself would not have opportunity to perform. His heart was heavy at the sight. After all, he’d never asked to be king. Sighing, he turned to Alistair once more. “What may I do for you, cousin?”
This was perhaps strangest of all, this familiarity, this kindred they now shared, linked less by blood than by experience. For the one had died that the other might sacrifice his life to the needs of a kingdom. They were cousins indeed, Alistair realized. They were brothers.
Even amid this realization, his resolve was firm.
“I have come to take my leave,” he said.
The king nodded as though he had expected this. “You’ll return to the South Land, then? Behind the mountains?”
“I’ll try,” Alistair said. “It’s a much longer journey overland than through the Between, but . . . well, I don’t feel quite up to Faerie forests just now! I think a long trek might do me good.”
“A long trek?” The king frowned. “Long indeed. You may never reach your destination. And from what I know, there is no path to the South Land through those mountains.”
“I shall have to see when I get there,” Alistair said.
“You are determined?”
“Quite.”
“Will you take horses? Men? Provisions?”
“I’ll take a sack on my back and a stout pair of boots. And I’ll follow the blue star. That seemed to work well enough for Mouse. It’ll suit me fine.”
The king looked at him a long moment, unspeaking. His eyes said things he dared not speak aloud: You should be in my place. You should be king.