Serpent Mage by Weis, Margaret

This suited us fine. To be honest, we were a bit nervous, now, as to our parents’ reaction. We knew they’d be happy to have us back again, but after the kisses and tears we figured we could expect a severe scolding, if not worse. We had, after all, disobeyed their orders and run off without thinking of the suffering and misery we’d cause.

We even went so far as to mention this to Haplo, hinting that he would do us another great service if he would stay with us and smooth things over with our mothers and fathers.

He only grinned and said he’d protected us from the dragon-snakes, but when it came to parental wrath, we were on our own.

But we weren’t thinking about stern lectures and punishment when the submersible landed and the hatch opened and we saw our parents standing there, waiting for us. My father took me in his arms and held me close and I saw, for the first time in my life, tears in his eyes. I would have listened to the sternest lecture, then and there, and loved every word.

We introduced them to Haplo. (The dolphins had, of course, already told our parents how he had saved us.) Our parents were grateful, but it was obvious that all of them were a little overawed by the man and his blue-marked skin and his air of quiet self-assurance. They managed to get out only a few, broken words of gratitude, which he accepted with a smile and a shrug, saying that we’d rescued him from the sea and that he’d been happy to return the favor. He said nothing more, and our parents were glad to turn back to us.

For a while, it was all embraces and words of affection. Devon’s parents were there, waiting for their son. They were as glad to have him back as any of the other parents, but I saw, when I was in shape to see anything, that they still seemed sad, when they should have been overjoyed. The elven king was there, too, to welcome Devon, but Sabia wasn’t.

Then I noticed, for the first time, that her father was dressed in white—the elven color of mourning. I saw all the elves around us—and there were many, waiting to welcome us—were clad in white, something that happened only when one of the royal family has died.

A chill constricted my heart. I looked at my father with what must have been a wild and terror-stricken expression, because he only shook his head and put his finger to my lips, to silence my questions.

Alake had been asking for Sabia. Her eyes met mine, and they were wide with fear. We both looked at Devon. Blind with joy, his vision clouded by rainbows, he hadn’t seen a thing. He broke free of his parents’ embrace (was it my imagination or were they trying to hold him back?) and went to the elven king.

“Where is Sabia, Sire?” Devon asked. “Is she mad at me for striking her? I’ll make it up to her, I promise! Tell her to come out …”

The One lifted the clouds from his eyes. He saw the white clothing, saw the elven king’s face scarred and ravaged by grief, saw the petals of white flowers that had been scattered over the Goodsea.

“Sabia!” Devon shouted, and he started to run toward the coral castle that stood shimmering behind us.

Eliason caught hold of him.

Devon struggled violently, then he collapsed in the man’s arms. “No!” he cried, sobbing. “No! I never meant … I wanted to save her …”

“I know, my son, I know,” Eliason said, stroking Devon’s hair, soothing him as he might have soothed a child of his own. “It wasn’t your fault. Your intentions were the best, the noblest. Sabia”—he could not speak her name without a catch in his throat, but he mastered himself—”Sabia is with the One. She is at peace. We must take comfort in that. And now, I think it is time for the families to be alone together.”

Eliason took charge of Haplo with the gracious dignity and politeness that is characteristic of the elves, no matter what personal sorrows afflict them. Unhappy king. How he must have longed to be alone with his child!