“Why are you looking so—how can I put it—so sad?” asked Kulmervan.
Alan laughed. “He has a wife,” he muttered. “Why does he take her from others?”
“But she has honoured him. It is not for us to choose for the Ipso-Rorka,” said Kulmervan.
“Yes, but she is so beautiful, so sweet, so glorious,” began Alan. Then he stopped suddenly. “Oh,” he continued, “what do you people of Jupiter know of love or hate? Your lives are too quiet, too humdrum to know aught of passion—”
“Teach me! Teach me!” cried Kulmervan leaning toward him. “Your face is drawn—your eye hard. Yet you look as if you could battle with the world. What is it?”
“Love and hate,” said Alan grimly. Then he laughed. “What a fool I am. Desmond is my cousin; we love each other like brothers. He has won Mavis—why should he not dance with the Ipso-Rorka? Mavis does not mind.”
But Kulmervan turned away in silence. Knowledge had come to him in a curious way. He saw passion, love, hatred, anger, jealousy all raging within a human heart. Unconsciously the feelings were photographed upon his too sensitive mind. Love that had only smouldered was now born in all its fury for the Princess Chlorie, the fair. And with love was born the twin, hate—hate for Alan, the man he feared might supplant him.
It seemed as if death, although burned and purified, had brought into Keemar unrest and sin. The prayers of the High Priest himself were unable to wash it away, until scourged and purified the earth folk themselves became less material and more godlike and true.
The day for the Sacrament of Schlerik-itata arrived at last and the strangers found themselves on the way to Ak-Marn’s palace.
Although the Aks had no administrative powers, as had the Jkaks, they were held in the highest esteem, for they were princes of royal blood.