"Well done, Lord Ra'Salore," he says quietly.
I straighten my shoulders as the women continue to talk about the journey, but then, behind the king and queen, other Enduares begin to congregate.
My mother's face catches my eye. Strange that she would be out of her home for a festival without me.
And then...
Oh gods.
A tall, angular troll stands next to my mother. His hair has faded from gray to pure white, and his body is sinewed, with some darker blue spots scattered over his face and arms. He wears crystal spectacles, and his face has deep lines.
“Pater,”I gasp.
My father, flesh and bone, yet a ghost as far as I had known.
I leave the girls to stand next to Melisa, but I push forward, eyes burning, until I force myself to stop two paces before him.
“You are a phantom,” I choke out.
My mother looks at me with tears in her eyes.
"Salore," she starts. "They found your father under the sea."
"But how?" I ask, confused by his smile, which is familiar yet different with age and harsh living. Guilt strikes true. “I left you to die along with Sera, Orena, and Anina.”
My father shakes his head, a sadness morphing his soft expression.
“No, you didn’t. Your sisters... there was no way to save them. But they called on me to guard the king. It was a futile mission. We sunk into the ocean with the rest of the cities. The Ardorflames kept us alive.”
Ragged breaths are torn from my chest. “And you survived.”
His smile brightens. “While you have been gone, your new king, a fine man, has started to bring the battalions up from the depths."
My eyes burn, and I reach across the distance, embracing him tightly. His hands clap against my back.
"I did the best I could, but I failed. I failed Tirin," I recall through tears.
He shakes his head, and the movement rustles my ragged slave clothes.
“Please. Your mother has told me of all you have accomplished—how you have led. I am sorry you have been forced to live with such loss," he says. “I am proud of you, my son.”
Over the last five decades, I have imagined what words my father would say to me. These exceed each invented scenario. My attempts to recreate him in my mind never compared to the goodness of his vibrant, loving soul.
At last, I pull away and turn behind me. There, standing a ways back, is Melisa. She watches, unsure.
Come,I beckon with both mind and hand.
"Mater, Pater,this is Melisa. My human mate. These are her daughters, Thea and Wren," I say joyfully.
Melisa shifts her position, but the girls hide behind her. "I know your mother. We met while she was tending to her mushrooms."
My father laughs, the sound rich and warm.
"She loves her garden. The cook Ulla has already started to use hers over the royal garden’s mushrooms.”
My mother preens.
"I am a woman of many talents," Mer’Leuel glows.