“And now that that is over,” she said, “I will be heard on the subject of who is king. Our baby is safe and sound, disguised as a peasant child, in the care of my old nurse in the village of Pronth in the Okarze Mountains.”
“But, darling, I buried him myself at Lake Luno,” Cabot remonstrated, still unconvinced.
Lilla explained: “That baby, whom Yuri slew, and whom you buried, was merely a borrowed orphan which we substituted for little Kew immediately after his birth, fearing exactly what eventually did happen, I grew to love the little substitute greatly, and his death grieved me almost as much as though he had been really mine. But our own baby still lives, and is King of Cupia!”
A warm thrill flooded through Myles Cabot’s body. He was still a father. The little hands would yet clasp his. The little toddler would yet walk by his side. All was well with Cupia, and his loved ones were safe.
Prince Toron stood the blow nobly, though his boyish face went a bit haggard.
“I seem to be out of a job,” he remarked grimly. “Today is not our family’s lucky day. First my brother loses his throne, and then in rapid succession I lose the same throne. Let us hope, however, that this run of bad luck does not extend to my infant cousin.”
And he strode over and patted Lilla warmly on the cheek. It was an act of congratulation and renunciation.
“Toron, you are a true sport,” said Cabot, “and some day I hope to repay you for your loyalty.”
Gone was every trace of his long resentment toward the young prince.
Lilla continued her explanation: “To make sure of little Kew’s identification, in case anything went wrong with me, I took several prints of the six little fingers of his right hand, and inscribed each one with the words: ‘The fingerprint of the true king.’ One copy I sewed into his little toga, one I secreted at Luno Castle, and one I took with me.”