The Sable Moon by Nancy Springer Page B

for going out-of-bounds. Trevyn was expecting a mighty roaring at the very least. But Alan surprised him. “I am glad to see you, lad,” he remarked quietly. “I ought to knock your head, but I haven’t the inclination. Come get your supper.”
    Trevyn stood still and peered at him. “What is the matter?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s Hal,” Alan told him candidly. “He’s been sulking in his tower for weeks now, scarcely eating, scarcely speaking.… I have known him for a long time, Trevyn, and borne with his moods as he bears with mine, but this—it harrows me. I don’t want to speak of it. Come get your supper.”
    Preoccupied, Alan had not noticed Trevyn’s borrowed cloak or his missing brooch, and Trevyn gave private thanks for that. He flung the cloak aside and followed his father to the huge, cobbled kitchen. None of the Lauerocs had much patience with the prerogatives of rank; they usually helped themselves rather than eating in great-hall style. Trevyn’s mother and his Aunt Rosemary sat at a big plank table near the hearth, slicing bread. Rosemary smiled wanly as Trevyn entered, but Lysse jumped up to hug him, gauging his well-being with her elfin eyes.
    â€œYou have been in danger, Beloved!” she exclaimed. “What was it?”
    â€œThe snowstorm perhaps?” he hedged. He had left Rafe with the understanding that he would carry report to the Kings concerning the peculiar behavior of the wolves. But now, guiltily, he realized that he had no intention of doing so. He could not risk his newly won independence by telling his parents he had come to woe. Childishly, he felt that they would never let him out alone again, never let him sail to Elwestrand! Shaking off thoughts of duty, he turned the talk. “What is the matter with my uncle?”
    â€œHe is fey.” Queen Rosemary proudly raised her lovely auburn head.
    â€œHe is Mireldeyn.” Lysse spoke the name neither in agreement nor in denial. She sat down with effortless, fluid grace. “His ways are not the ways of men. He has withdrawn from men now.”
    Trevyn dipped himself a bowlful of stew, for he was hungry from his ride. No one else ate much; they all sat watching him. “But Uncle Hal has always been a recluse,” he ventured between bites of bread and meat.
    Alan distractedly shook his head. “Not like this. He was only a recluse in body, Trevyn; his mind and vision were focused on Isle and on me; I could feel his love even from afar. But now—his dreams have pulled away, like a sea pulling away from shore. He scarcely speaks to me; it is as if he is already gone. How will I rule without him? How will I live? He is Very King.”
    â€œBut where—how—” Trevyn faltered. Alan looked as if he might weep, and Trevyn had never seen his father weep, even over the tiny bodies of his stillborn sisters. “I don’t understand. I know you were close, but I thought—”
    â€œYou thought I ruled,” Alan snapped, suddenly burying his grief in asperity. “Hal has suffered and labored for Isle, and men think I rule. He longs only for peace, and yet he was the greatest war leader this land has ever seen. Men rallied around his dreams. Likely his dreams will last longer than all my busy devices. And his wisdom in the court of law deserves to be legend. And yet, because I am the one who counts the gold, men think I rule.”
    â€œYou suffered too,” Trevyn protested.
    â€œWe both bear scars,” Alan grumbled. “What of it? Let suffering go, Trevyn.”
    â€œHal has never been able to let go of his pain,” Rosemary whispered to her hands. “It has driven him mad.”
    â€œNay, Ro,” Lysse said gently, “the truth is cleaner and harder, I think. There will be a ship for him, at the Bay of the Blessed, to take him where the others have already gone. Aene has called him, and he goes as he has