Amlaruil's answering smile was cold. "Did you think the Tower magi spent all their time dancing beneath the stars? This will not be the first time I have used my magic in battle. And if the need arises, yes, I will take up a sword."

The High Mage disappeared in a sharp, angry crackle of magic.

After a moment's silence, Montagor came forward, shaking his head in bemused admiration. "Amlaruil in battle! Now that would be a sight worth seeing!"

Lydi'aleera's hand flashed out and cuffed her brother sharply on the side of the head. "Do your thinking with this, brother! You heard everything. Whatever am I to do now?"

Montagor considered her carefully. "You realize the importance of an Amarillis heir, do you not?"

"Yes, yes-of course! Would I go to such lengths to ensure one, otherwise?"

The elf nodded. "Then this is what you must do. You know Adamar Alenuath, of course. Have you ever noticed how closely he resembles Zaor?"

"No," she retorted. "He is nowhere near the king's stature, nor is anyone on this island."

"Perhaps 'closely' is overstating the case." he admitted. "But Adamar is a Moon elf warrior and strongly built, though not nearly of Zaor's height. He has the same odd coloring-the blue hair, the gold flecks in his blue eyes. If you were to seduce Adamar, the resulting offspring should be like enough to the Moonflowers to pass as the king's own."

Lydi'aleera gasped. "You cannot be serious!"

"Why not? Can you think of another way?"

"But even if I wished to do such a thing, Adamar would never agree to it!"

"Again, why not? You are very beautiful. He admires you-I know that to be so."

The elf woman shrugged impatiently. "And what of it? Adamar is loyal to the king. To lie with Zaor's wife would be an act of treason and personal betrayal. He would not do it, even if he desired me more than his next breath of air!"

A crafty smile twisted Montagor's lips. "Then it is time to test the potency of Amlaruil's spell. I will arrange for Adamar to come to the palace on some pretense. Give him the potion in a glass of wine, and he will not resist your offered charms."

Lydi'aleera wrung her hands. "But he will confess, after!"

"And besmirch his honor and that of his clan? To publicly dishonor his queen?" Montagor smirked. "I think not."

The elf's face grew deadly serious. "But do not concern yourself overmuch, my sister. Adamar thinks me his friend and consults me on all matters. Oft-times I know his mind before he is entirely certain of it himself. If he is driven to confess, he will start by unburdening himself to me. If necessary, I will challenge him to battle over my sister's honor. And do not doubt that I will win."

She laughed without humor. "I have seen you fight, brother. You are not Adamar's equal."

"The duel will be a pretense," Montagor said softly, though his burning eyes acknowledged that her words had struck home. "Adamar is a noble fool-he will think he deserves to die. He will think his defeat the only rightful end, and will have more to do with bringing it about than I could think to accomplish. In fact, he may simply do the deed himself and save me the trouble of lifting a sword."

"But either way, Adamar will be dead."

"And Zaor will have an heir by his lawful queen."

Lydi'aleera was silent for a long moment, gazing out the open window over the city with eyes blinded to the turmoil of battle preparations below. "Very well. Send for Adamar, then," she said, the words coming out in a rush. She whirled to face her brother, hatred naked in her eyes. "But may Lloth claim you as her own," she said in a venomous whisper.

The curse, perhaps the most deadly and offensive words that could pass between two of the People, merely brought a smile to Montagor's lips.

"Be that as it may, dear sister. But bear in mind that the Abyss is a very large place. Be very careful whom you consign to damnation, lest you be judged by the same measure."

He turned and swaggered out of the chamber. At the door he paused, as if some new thought had come to him. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, "I have not seen Amlaruil for many years. She is wondrous fair, is she not? It is little wonder the king is so obsessed with her."

"Get out," Lydi'aleera gritted from between clenched teeth. She snatched up a gem-encrusted vase and brandished it.

But Montagor was not quite finished. "A word of advice, my sister. Save a few drops of that potion for Zaor's return. You'll need to bed him to complete this farce. And without Amlaruil's magic-even that which comes in a vial-you haven't a chance."

The queen hurled the vase at her brother. It missed him with room to spare and shattered against the wall. The tinkle of falling crystal mingled with the sound of Montagor's mocking, and triumphant laughter. He would have what he wanted at last, and why should he care that she had to pay the price for it?

Despite her anger, Lydi'aleera understood her brother's mind. He had worked long and hard for this, and would get what he desired: an Amarillis heir to the throne of Evermeet. Lydi'aleera would also have her due: a child of her own, the regard of her lawful husband, the esteem of Evermeet. What was a small, needed deception compared to such gain?

Under the command of King Zaor, the drow were driven from the island of Tilrith and the tunnels sealed. The king also sent warriors and mages into the caves of Sumbrar and the Eagle Hills to explore and to seal off any possible openings to the world below. The only tunnels left undisturbed were those that led to the sleeping places of Evermeet's dragon guardians. If by chance the drow should ever find their way into those caverns, they would be well met indeed.

Within a year of the battle, a boychild was born to the royal family. If there were those who wondered at the begetting, they kept their suspicions to themselves. Zaor did not speak of the matter even to his closest friends, but he proclaimed Rhenalyrr his heir, and raised the young elf to be king after him.

Time passed, and Rhenalyrr reached the age of accountability. All the elves of Evermeet were to attend the ceremony that named him heir to the throne, and to stand witness as the young prince took an oath upon his father's sword, which he would one day wield as king.

As that day neared, not all of Evermeet's people rejoiced in the honor due to their prince. Lydi'aleera withdrew into silence whenever the ceremony was mentioned. And what the Grand Mage thought of Rhenalyrr, no one knew, for Amlaruil never spoke a word against Zaor's son or denied his claim to the throne.

Along with all of Evermeet, Amlaruil prepared to attend the high ceremony. She dismissed all the Towers' elves from their duties so that they might attend as well.

Shanyrria Alenuath, the bladesinger who taught this uniquely elven blend of swordcraft and magic at the Towers, was reluctant to go. She was a solitary elf by nature, and not at all fond of state gatherings or the gaiety of festivals. Indeed, she had not even stepped foot in her family mansion for many years. Yet her sense of clan was strong, and she stopped in Leuthilspar on her way southward so that she might attend the ceremony with the rest of her clan.

She walked into her childhood home to find it strangely silent. The mansion was deserted, but for one elf: her father Shanyrria could feel his presence. She had always been close to Adamar, and she loved her father with an intensity that bordered on rapport.

Thus it was that she felt the weight of his despair, and the sharp, bright pain that promised release. Her heart seemed to leap into her throat, fluttering like a caged lark as she ran up the curving stairway to her father's chamber.

Shanyrria found Adamar there, his hands clenched around the grip of the family's moonblade-which protruded from below his ribs. She stared in horror. This was beyond imagining! Never did an elf take his own life, and certainly not with the weapon that symbolized the family's honor!