It was a long walk, and his new boots—comfortable enough that morning—were far less so by the time they reached the palace gates again. He could smell the fragrance of roast meats and bread, but next he had the ritual visit to the royal ossuary, and spoke vows into that listening silence, to those who had given him bone and blood, vows no one else would hear.

He came up again to find the feast spread in the King’s Ride, long tables stretching away into the distance. On either side, the trees rose up; he could feel them, feel their roots below the cushiony sod that welcomed his feet. His place lay at the farthest table, with the Lady, and that led him past the others, where men and women—and not a few children—bowed as he walked by.

At the head table, set across the line of other tables, he left a seat between himself and Aliam Halveric, and bent his knee to the Lady. She had withdrawn her glamour, as someone might fold in a cloak, but he was aware of the line of it connecting her through ground and air to the elvenhome kingdom she ruled.

“You are happy, Sir King?” she asked. He heard real affection in her voice.

“I am,” he said. “Still somewhat mazed, though.”

She chuckled. “So I would think. Bards elven and human will make songs of all this for a thousand years. Your paladin looks well.”

“She is not my paladin,” Kieri said. “She belongs to her gods.”

“Ah, but you were her … there is no word in human language that I know … I believe you were there when Ardhiel told her the story of the harp growing?”

“Yes …”

“Well—you are one of those who can grow people. It is not the same with individuals, of course, because unlike a tree, humans have choices they can make.”

“It was not my doing,” Kieri said, watching Paks come up the line of tables, laughing and chatting with people. “She was extraordinary from the start. I wish you could have met my wife, though …”

“I, too, Grandson.” She turned to face him and for a moment he saw compassion in her face. “You had children, and lost them. We both did. It is my dearest hope that the Singer grants you another love, and I know—because of my losses—that new children will not replace the old in your heart.”

Just as Kieri felt tears sting his eyes, Paks arrived at the table and came to his side. “Sir King? Are you well?”

“Very well,” he said, swallowing the tears, bitter and salt together. “Sit here between Aliam and me, will you not?”

“Of course, Sir King.” She sat, and as they ate, she chatted more with Aliam than with him, giving him space to talk to his grandmother. The afternoon wore on with music and song and—as he had promised Kirgan Marrakai—dancing.

At one point, the Pargunese envoy, Lady Hanlin, paused beside his chair. “I see not all the beautiful girls are in Pargun,” she said, with a sly grin. “But some are. I have nieces, you know.” Then she passed on, smiling and chatting with anyone who would speak to her, and smiling pleasantly at those who would not.