Jan squared himself before his folk.

“For my own deed, I accept no censure. If trespass has been done, be it on Korr’s head. With pure intent, I swore myself under summer stars, by light of Alma’s thousand thousand eyes. Such a covenant cannot be foresworn. It is unshakable. I will not regret it now. Nor will I abandon Tek and the twin issue of our deepest joy.”

Blacker than starless night he stood, head high, beard bristling in the wind.

“What has passed between us can be neither recanted nor denied. It is done. No word or feat can now undo it. Tek was my mate. She can be mine no more. Yet though we never again summer beside the Sea or bring forth new progeny, she remains the only such love I will ever know. I’ll seek no other in her stead. Though I sire no more young till the end of my days, I will never pledge my heart to another.”

The herd stood speechless, thunderstruck. Not a murmur or a snort disturbed the hush. Doubtless none had yet reasoned through the full consequence of the blood Jan and Tek believed they shared. Bemused or troubled glances, expressions of cautious approval, rank distaste, even dread passed like wildfire among members of the herd to hear Jan preparing to renounce his sacred marriage vow and the reason therefore. My daughter came forward to stand at Jan’s shoulder again.

“I, too, concur,” she announced. “Though I remain barren from this day forth, I’ll neither disown my past nor plight any other suitor my troth. Can you accept this of me and continue to call me queen? Will you honor the now severed bond betwixt me and my one-time mate, who cherish still the offspring we once, unwitting, bore? Can you spare ill will against our young and welcome them as my heirs? Among us all, their innocence is absolute.”

Again, silence. Then gradually, murmurs—not grudging, only thoughtful. Beside the healer, Teki, who once to safeguard me and mine had called himself my mate, Dhattar and Aiony chivvied, the black-and-silver filly snorting at flitter-bys, the white foal scrubbing his young horn against one knee. They paid no mind to anything else, as though unaware or unconcerned or, perhaps, already certain of the day’s outcome. Acknowledging them as their future princess and prince, the children-of-the-moon could feel no hardness of heart. In muted tones, but without cavil, the herd assented. Tek closed her eyes. Jan touched his cheek to hers, then drew breath.

“So be it. Tek, I therefore renounce…”

I gave him no time to complete the phrase.

“No need!” I cried. “No reason to abjure your vows, no need to wonder at the welcome of your heirs or forgo future young.”

The young prince stumbled to a halt. Frowning, so puzzled I could not hold back my joyous laugh, he and his queen turned to look at me.

“Children, forgive my holding tongue till now, for I meant all the world to know your mettle. Aljan Moonbrow,” I declared to him, “called also Firebringer and Dark Moon, you have spoken earnestly in the belief that Tek is our late king’s firstborn child and you, his secondborn. The former is true. The latter, not. You are not half brother to your mate. She is not your sib. You and Tek are no kin whatsoever to one another. No blood ties you. Henceforth let none ever question your union or your offspring already born or as yet unborn.”

Jan stared at me like a sleeper startled from his dreams. Beside him, his pied mate shook her head as one kicked smartly in the skull, half stunned. Jan roused.

“What?” he murmured, hoarse. “How can that be?” His voice gained strength. “What do you mean: Tek and I share no blood? Have you not confirmed her as Korr’s heir? How is she then not sib to me?”

Smiling, triumphant, I held my peace, for it was not mine to answer now. I glanced toward Ses, who flanked me on that meadow’s slope, and as we had already agreed, she stepped forward to face the prince, her child.

“Because you are not Korr’s son, my son. My mate who reared you was never your sire. You are not king’s get.”

Her voice was collected, decisive, clear. Before us, the whole herd rippled, some shying in surprise, others sidling, snorting. I heard whinnies, whickers of disbelief manes tossing, tails slapped, hooves stamped. Ses waited them out. A look passed between her and Tek, the young queen’s so intent, it was almost a plea. When the pied mare spoke, though, her words were calm.

“Tell us how this may be.”

“I loved another,” the pale mare said. “The summer before I swore myself Korr’s mate. He was one of the Free Folk. We met and loved upon the Plain after their custom, without exchange of any vows, and then we parted.”

She met Jan’s eyes.

“That autumn, when I pledged to Korr, I knew not then that I carried a foal. I meant my pledge. I intended to be his lifelong mate and bear his heir. It was not to be. I bore you to my lost Renegade come spring and carried you to term. You did not drop early, as others thought.”

The pale mare glanced at me, then down, away.

“Except the midwife, who understood. When I guessed her secret in turn, each of us held silent after, protecting our own and one another’s children from a capricious ruler. In time, I brought Lell, too, into the world, sired by my mate, the king.”

She found Lell with her eyes. The half-grown filly, her dark-amber coat merled now with gold, stood pressed against the shelter of Illishar’s folded wing. Like hers, his sandy pelt was brindled now, his grass-green fletching silver flecked. Amazement lit Lell’s gaze, but she watched her dam without condemnation or grief.

“I will tell you this,” continued the poppy-maned mare, addressing her son once more. “Though I spoke no pledge to my wild love of the Plain so many years ago, his memory has haunted me. Korr’s death pains me deep. I loved him well. Had he renounced his madness and deceit, willingly would I have returned to him.”

Her gaze lifted, skimming the assembled unicorns toward the unseen Mare’s Back beyond.

“But Korr did not. Now he is dead, and I am free. The Hallow Hills are won, and my daughter grown beyond colthood—faster than I could have dreamed. I find my thoughts straying to the Plain, ever and always, night and noon. There, the one I once loved awaits me still.”

Her voice grew quiet. I had to prick my ears to hear.

“I long for him I so lately found again, who guided us across the Plain, shared battle with us, and begged me to depart with him, as I nearly did so many summers past when instead I chose otherwise, returning to the herd to swear my pledge to Korr.”

Watching her red mane furl and toss, I could only approve the coolness with which she spoke, shirking none of the blame, but neither shouldering any not hers to bear. My daughter leaned against her mate, still staring at Ses. Beside her, the pale mare’s son stood dumbstruck, as did all the herd before them. I thought the jaws of some might brush the ground.

“Korr not my sire?” he whispered, stammering as one struggling against a gale. “If not Korr…, then who?”

“Calydor,” his dam replied, “whose name means Summer Stars.”