As he climbed, he could see files of elves lining up on the other side of the circle. With every step he felt the same strangeness he’d felt in the battle on the way … the hairs stood up on his arms, his neck, and the sunlight pouring into the center of the opening acquired a silvery shimmer. Every leaf, every flower, seemed to glow from within. More fragrance rose from the moss, from the grass, as if the earth itself breathed welcome and delight. And now he could see the Lady of the Ladysforest, bringing with her the elvenhome light, with her attendants behind her. He came to the lip of the mound’s flat top and saw the stone, a polished slab inlaid with the flowing patterns elves favored.

Trumpets sounded. Kieri stiffened. He had seen no musicians … and yet the sound seemed to come from everywhere.

“Present the king-to-be,” the Lady said. “Is he acceptable to all?”

“Great and gracious Lady,” Sier Halveric said, “this is Falkieri Amrothlin Artfielan, seed-son of Falkieri, fourth king before, and born-son of his elven queen. The Council of Men accepts him as king, with joy.”

The Captain-General bowed. “The Company of Falk accepts him as king, with all joy, in the name of all his human kindreds.”

“I present him to the Lady Flessinathlin of the Ladysforest,” said the elf ambassador. “He is known to us, as my Lady knows, and I will ask: Is he acceptable to the elven kindred?”

“The Ladysforest accepts him, with all joy. Let the elfane taig witness, and the forest taig witness, and the people of this realm witness: All accept him.”

Kieri felt his eyes stinging.

She bent her gaze on him. “Come forward, Falkieri my beloved grandson, and make those pledges that bind our peoples together. And accept the blessing of the Singer, the High Lord, and all gods who serve the good. It is time.”

The Halveric and the elf ambassador stepped aside, and Kieri went forward alone, to stand across the stone from the Lady. “Your dagger,” she said, drawing a slim silver knife from her waistband. Kieri handed her his dagger—new, like the rest of his outfit but the elf-blade at his side—and took hers.

The words—he had learned the words of the pledges—but speaking them in chorus with her, in that mix of light, in that place, he felt them piercing his heart. “I, Falkieri Amrothlin Artfielan, pledge my life to this realm, to the welfare of all its people of every race. I pledge to renew and protect the taig to the end of my ability …”

And as they spoke, Kieri followed the Lady’s lead as she pricked her finger with his blade, and he pricked his finger with hers, and the mingled drops of blood fell on the stone, in the exact center of the design on its upper surface.

Kieri had never seen elf-blood before; he had heard the phrase “silver blood” but had not known what it meant—now the silvery glints danced in that drop, and when the drops landed, they shone a moment on the surface, then disappeared. In that moment, a lance of light shot upward from the stone, bright even in the sunlight. Kieri felt for a moment that he had been clasped in strong arms and given a knight’s buffet. Then he was standing, blinking against the afterimage of intolerable brightness, and the Lady across from him blinked back.