The journey to the mainland occupied a very short space of time, and Waz Okoyar obtained a bhor for the Ipso-Rorka.
“I shall not forget you, Waz Okoyar,” said Chlorie. “Reward shall be given you for your speedy assistance to me.”
“Nay, my Princess, it is a joy to have served you.”
Hoormoori proved to be even more beautiful than Minniviar—the streets were wider and the buildings more magnificent. The bhor stopped outside a marble building. “I told him to stop here,” whispered Chlorie. “It is better that I break the news to my father myself, of my safe return.” They passed through a noble courtyard into a lovely garden. “Our own private apartments. I shall be able to get to my father unnoticed.”
Through a little door, up a short flight of stairs, and down a narrow corridor. A heavy curtain of blue hung outside a doorway. Chlorie lifted it gently. Alan drew back. Much as he loved her, he could not intrude at such a sacred moment.
“Father!”
“My child! My child!”
There was the sound of kissing—a whispered conversation, and then Alan heard his name. Slowly he entered the room, and at last was face to face with the Rorka—King of all Jupiter, but above all, father of his loved one. The majesty of the Rorka overwhelmed him, and he bent his knee in homage.
“Nay, rise,” said a gentle voice, musical, benign, soothing. “Rise and greet me, oh my Alan, for Chlorie has told me you are to be my son.”