Amara woke from a restless sleep. The moons still hung high in the star-studded sky. Sighing, she threw back the covers and wrapped herself in a thin robe. She walked to the balcony. A gentle breeze caressed her face, bringing with it the scent of pine and earth. She was feeling claustrophobic, locked within these palace walls all the time. So many things had happened so quickly. The prospect of her grandfather's tome being lost and never found had deeply disheartened her. King Olphan had sent every scribe to comb the library and any other areas where books could have been secreted away. If her father's tome was in the city, then it would be found, he had promised. But until it was discovered, she needed something to get her blood pumping. Something that wouldn't cause trouble.

She turned and looked up at the face of the castle. She hadn't climbed in a long time, and her body was itching for her to use her quickly weakening muscles. She walked to the railing where it connected with the wall and leaped onto it. The marble was cold and smooth beneath her bare feet. She ran her hands over the wall, searching for even the smallest imperfections. The stonework was impeccable.

Good. She needed a challenge. She found a few tiny cracks in the stone that would give her just enough lift to reach the decorative sconces above the balcony doors. Before she began, she judged the distance from where she stood to the top of the building. It was an ample height, and challenging too. She had climbed higher, though. Smiling with anticipation, she cracked her knuckles and bounced on her toes a few times. She placed her hands in the small cracks and began to scale the wall. She reached the sconces without much difficulty but quickly realized she had misjudged the distance between the decorative molding and a window high above.

Cursing softly, she stood on a narrow ledge, pressing herself firmly against the wall. She again ran her fingers over the bricks, searching for any form of foothold or handhold. The night air was exhilarating, and excitement rushed through her. She finally located a foothold. Studying the sill above, her mind worked feverishly. A plan formed, though it was a dangerous one. If she missed, she would plummet to her death, but throwing caution to the wind, she wedged her foot in the crack in the wall and bunched her muscles. She took a deep breath and jumped, pushing first off her lower foot and again off the higher. She propelled herself up the wall, and her fingertips met the ledge. After hanging limply in the air for a few moments, she hauled herself onto the sill and leaned against the side of the window.

She glanced in the opening, but there was nothing except a long, empty hall, so she continued her climb. The rest of the way was easy, for there were many windows and decorative edges to grasp. Finally Amara pulled herself up onto the roof. She sighed with relief and settled comfortably on the edge of the wall. Her forehead was damp with perspiration, and her muscles screamed in exhaustion. She felt wonderful. Staring out over the silvery treetops, a breeze rustled the leaves, causing them to look like ocean waves sparkling in the moonlight. Amara's heart ached as unbidden memories of her home came rushing forward.

"Oh, Papa," she whispered. "How you would have loved this place."

"Hello, Amara." The gentle voice startled Amara, and she bounded into a defensive position. To her surprise, before her stood the elven king of Celeblas.

"Be at ease, my dear," he stated, not reacting to her quick movements. "I am not an enemy." He moved forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the wall looking out over the forest. He looked at her, a gentle smile on his lips.

Amara relaxed and then felt embarrassment creep up as she realized all she wore were her sleeping clothes and a robe. She clutched it tightly around herself. "Your Majesty," she said, remembering her hardly used manners and curtsying.

The old king chuckled at her embarrassment, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for them to converse on top of the castle in the middle of the night—even when one of the two of them had just appeared over the wall of the castle.

"It is a beautiful evening for a stroll in the night air." He rose a brow imperiously. "Or a hair-raising climb."

Warmed by his teasing, Amara relaxed a little more. She sat back down on the edge of the wall, her bare legs dangling over the hundred-foot drop below.

"Yes, well, I am not accustomed to staying idle for so long," she replied.

The king nodded. "I noticed that a few days ago when you and the Lady Earwen raced that wagon through the market."

Amara ducked her head, mortified. Of course the king knew of her foolish stunt. He laughed and tenderly lifted her chin so he could see her face. She was struck by his eyes. They were so blue, and yet they were not harsh as blue eyes so often were. They were soft, no storms brewing in their depths.

"Do not be distressed, Amara. You are not the first youth to cause trouble. Nor will you be the last. My son has caused me more trouble than you ever could."

Amara frowned at this last statement. "You have a son?" she asked.

The king either did not hear her or ignored the question, for he asked one of his own instead. "Where have you really been since you escaped Goroth?"

Amara felt her heart flutter at the question, and shame spread through her. She looked away from the king's sorrowful gaze.

"Does it matter?" she replied.

"Yes."

"Why?" she asked. "What do you care?"

She glanced up and was surprised to see the same shame she felt mirrored in the man who stood before her. King Olphan was formidable in aura and stature, but he looked haunted and old in the harsh light of the moons.

"I care," he began, his voice unsteady with emotion, "because your father and I were not just friends. We were like brothers. He was sent here to Celeblas for protection during the Duvain before he took the throne."

Amara was surprised by this new revelation, but it only increased her confusion. "Then why did you not help us?" she asked.

The king shook his head in despair. "I tried, but too many were against the idea." Scoffing Amara shook her head.

"Aren't you the King?" Now the elf king looked guilty.

"I made a mistake many moons ago. Since, I have relinquished much of my control over to the council. The elders decided if we let Goroth have Calathil, we could avoid a war. I still pleaded for a rescue mission to liberate you from the evil lord's clutches, but we received information that Goroth had had you all killed. It wasn't until you arrived that I realized this was false information."

Amara looked at the dejected man, and her heart squeezed tightly.

"I swore long ago to protect the heirs of Calathil when they came to me during the Duvain." He moved toward Amara and looked at her bare shoulders where long, jagged scars peeked out from her nightgown. He set his hands over them, as if covering them would make them disappear.

"I failed your father. I failed you all. I am so sorry, Amara. I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you." Tears spilled over the king's cheeks, and he hugged Amara close.

The young princess did not know what to do, and she stood there a moment as the king clutched her tightly—as if he feared that letting her go would sentence her back to the prison she'd dwelled in because of his lack of care.

But her walls had been weakened by Earwen's gentle prodding, and Amara remembered her father. This was his friend—the man who was supposed to raise her if her father met his end too soon. And with this thought, her arms slipped up and around the king's neck, and a few tears leaked from the corners of her tightly shut eyes. What would her life have been like if he had known where she was? What if he had saved her instead of Faleon? Who would she be? Would things have been different? Surely they would have been better.

"It—it wasn't your fault," she whispered, and for the first time in many years, offered forgiveness.

The king heaved a great sigh at her statement and drew back. "I will make sure you are safe from now on."

Amara cocked her head and gave him a lopsided smile. "I am afraid I am no longer in need of a guardian, my lord. But I must find my grandfather's tome."

The king nodded solemnly. "Yes, I believe we will be able to locate it. But it may take some time."

"Time is something I fear we are lacking."

The king nodded.

"I will speak with my wife; perhaps she knows more than she is saying."

Satisfied, Amara nodded and looked out at the forest. She could feel the king's eyes still on her.

"I see why you have captured my son's acute attention."

Amara looked at him, and her skin prickled oddly at the second mention of the king's mysterious heir.

"Your son? I believe you are mistaken, for I am sure I've never met him."

The king smiled knowingly and looked out over the forest himself. "On the contrary. You know him very well. Traveled all the way here with him, in fact."

Amara's eyes widened in disbelief. "No..."

"Yes, dear. Thorindir is my son."