weren’t.”
“Yes, the exact opposite of what you seemed to be saying,” Kialan agreed. “Your thoughts have gone on after you.”
“That’s not new,” Moril put in. “It’s in a song by Osfameron.”
Moril would be disqualifying himself, Maewen thought, if he went on sticking just to what Singers knew. Perhaps Moril did not mind. Maewen had thought she did not mind, but now she knew she felt sad and alone and left out.
“I’m glad it’s not new,” Hern said. “I have no business having new thoughts. It wouldn’t be reasonable.”
Mitt could not help grinning.
“What are you smiling at?” Hern asked.
“You,” Mitt said, “must have been a regular eel in your day. Not reasonable, my big toe! You keep turning up new ideas.”
A slight, enjoying smile bent Hern’s mouth. “I was always very hot on reason,” he said. “If I had been able to give the new King advice, I would have told him never to rely on things being reasonable. I did, and it caused me no end of trouble.”
“There you go again!” said Mitt.
Kialan laughed. Hern’s smile grew slightly. “I defy you,” he said, “to discover any other new thoughts I’ve shown you.”
“Well,” said Kialan. “You can have new thoughts. Osfameron may have written that song about thoughts flying on, but you were dead when he wrote it.”
Hern shook his head. “Won’t do. Osfameron is my brother.”
Kialan looked very dashed at this and turned to Mitt for help. “He said shown,” Mitt said. “And he did tell us to listen to every word. Let’s see.” He looked at Hern. “You’ve shown us what comes of asking for the wrong thing, and then shown us yourself getting round that, and giving advice like you meant to. That’s how to keep the rules and break them, too. I like that. It takes a cool head. But there’s more,” Mitt said, thinking aloud, which was the way he always thought best. “Maybe this was what Kialan was driving at. Yes—you’re still at it. You’re not beat yet. You’re showing us that.”
“Is it a new thought, then, to say, ‘Keep on, there’s always hope’?” Hern said. “I thought that was a very old saying.”
“Yes, but you’re the first person I’ve met who’s still saying it when he’s dead,” Mitt answered. “That has to be new.”
Hern laughed and stood up. “I believe you. Bend your head, Alhammitt, so that I can put this crown on it.”
“What!” Mitt backed away in horror. “Now, look. I told you. And I was only saying what Kialan said.”
Hern looked at Kialan. “Was he?”
“Not really,” Kialan admitted.
“Tidying it up, then,” Mitt said pleadingly. “Take the thing away. I’m not qualified.”
“Yes, you are,” said Hern. “I told you. Your right descends from the Adon’s son Almet, who went to live in Waywold.”
“Pretty sideways, I’ll bet!” Mitt said.
“Only as sideways as direct descent, from father to son,” said Hern. “If that was not so, why does the Adon’s ring accept you?”
Mitt looked down at the Adon’s seal, snugly above his knuckle. “This is just a copy.”
“No,” said Hern. He nodded toward Maewen. “Hers is the copy.”
Mitt shot a disbelieving look from Hern to Maewen and rapidly tried the ring on his little finger, then on his thumb. Each time it slid over his lump of knuckle and fitted as if it had been made for him. “This is plain ridiculous!” he said. He turned round. For a moment it looked as if he was going to storm from the room.
“Wait!” said Hern. It was the voice of command that Navis was so good at using. Mitt almost stopped. But he shook his shoulders and put one foot on the steps. Hern said quickly, “Accept the crown, and you may ask the One one favor.”
Mitt turned back. “You mean that?”
“I do,” said Hern.