“He took office to save the students—you among them. And now Lannagaros is chancellor. You will have to stop calling him the Arkon, however; it is not a name, but a title, and he has renounced it as of today.”
“He can’t stay here.”
“He most certainly can.”
“He can’t stay here without somehow relocating the contents of his personal library.”
“Ah.” Killian paused, blinked and nodded. “You are correct. He also feels he owes at least the duty of apology and proper transfer of responsibility to the one who will carry the duties of Arkon in his stead.”
“Can you make it less difficult for us to find you?”
“I believe that can be done, yes. Return at your leisure. I do not think you have the makings of a diligent student in you—not yet; you are given to the practical, or to what you see as practical; you want an immediate use for the knowledge you gain, and you want to study only those things that will have that immediate use.
“Perhaps this will change with time; perhaps not. I believe there are those among your houseguests who might be at home in the Academia, but Candallar’s method of inducting students was never ours.” He bowed again. “You will always be welcome as a visitor.”
* * *
Bellusdeo, Emmerian and the Arkon left together; they were followed at a discreet distance by Annarion, Sedarias, Mandoran and Terrano, although Annarion fell back to walk beside his brother. There was no hostility between the two brothers, which was almost a first.
Kaylin and Severn walked together. She glanced pointedly at his singed arm, and he just as pointedly refused to notice the direction of her glance.
The Academia looked normal: the grass, the trees, the buildings all had the color one would expect had they been situated in any other part of Elantra. The grounds weren’t empty; the cohort, the Dragons and the Hawks were not the only people leaving. Not all of the people Candallar—she assumed it was Candallar—had inducted into the student body had enjoyed their endless and repetitive captivity.
One or two looked back, as if they were afraid that freedom was the dream and the Academia the only reality—but they continued to walk toward the streets that would lead them, eventually, to Elantra.
Those streets, however, like the Academia, were solid. The cohort could see them as clearly as anyone else; they no longer saw the fog that obscured the buildings everyone else had seen.
Killian was, as Kaylin had half suspected, the border zone.
She wondered if the streets that led to the fiefs—but no, there were no streets now. The border zone, with its changing width, length and unpredictable buildings, was gone; what remained was a pleasant single street that led directly into the fief of Nightshade.
The fieflings and the Barrani who served Nightshade directly wouldn’t have dared to stop the large party that now entered the fief; they might seek Nightshade’s command, but as he was walking with them, they failed to emerge. He walked them to the bridge that led across the Ablayne.
“I would invite you to visit,” he said to his brother, “but Durandel is difficult and willful, and I do not think he has forgiven you for the last visit.”
Annarion was in no hurry to return—not to Castle Nightshade. The whole of the cohort, however, seemed eager to return to Helen. To Helen or the rest of their number, who were waiting.
Kaylin understood; she wanted to go home, too.
But Lord Emmerian invited her to accompany them to the palace. Her expression must have been honest because he winced. Bellusdeo, however, put her foot down.
“We will accompany Lannagaros to the palace. He will need to speak to the Dragon Court about what occurred—and you are one of our primary witnesses.”
Hope squawked.
“Yes, I’m aware of that—but there will be questions, and we thought it best to allow Kaylin to answer them. I am not certain the cohort is prepared for the Imperial Court at the moment, and even were the cohort prepared, I’m not certain the same could be said for the Court. You are their spokesperson, as well.”
“Sedarias wouldn’t agree to that.”
“No, of course not. But Sedarias is with Helen, and her reaction is your problem.”
“Can I remind you that you also live under the same roof?”
Bellusdeo grinned. With teeth.
Kaylin wanted Severn as company; she wanted Severn to clean and tend his arm.
He shook his head. “I’ve had worse injuries. This is almost nothing.”
“It’s a burn. Burns are—”
“It’s not a burn. It’s fine. I highly doubt the Emperor—or the rest of the Court—will look twice at my lack of a sleeve given the news the former Arkon is about to impart.”
* * *
Sleeves might or might not be an issue, but sleeves—attached to a shirt—were brought by pages when Severn arrived at the palace. He and Kaylin, following Emmerian, had been escorted to Sanabalis’s offices. Sanabalis was in those rooms at the time. He didn’t look exactly pleased to see Kaylin, but his eyes retained their predominantly golden hue, and he did offer drinks and refreshments. For once, Kaylin declined.
Emmerian spoke briefly with Sanabalis, whose eyes did shift to a more martial orange. He nodded, and Emmerian left—no doubt to speak with Lord Diarmat and the Emperor, the two Dragons not yet in the loop.
“I hesitate to ask what you’ve done this time,” Sanabalis said when Emmerian had left them. “I note the Arkon and Bellusdeo did not join you here. What is the current emergency?”
“The Arkon,” Kaylin replied.
“He was injured?”
“Not precisely. Look—I’m tired. No, I’m exhausted. I want to go home and put my feet up someplace where they won’t get bitten off. But Lord Emmerian and Bellusdeo insisted I accompany them to the palace, where people could question me endlessly if they needed answers.” Answers that were never going to be complete enough for the purposes of annoyed Dragons.
Sanabalis transferred his gaze to Severn, who offered a polite version of a fief shrug. Kaylin noted that Sanabalis didn’t pressure Severn for more information.
* * *
The meeting of the Dragon Council was two hours in the making, largely because the Emperor had appointments that could not be broken with ease. Had the city been on literal fire, he might have been justified in canceling—and to be fair, he was Emperor, and he could damn well do what he liked. But he was aware, as Kaylin had become aware, that there would be a future cost for that, and he chose which costs he was willing to pay.
The Dragon Court, with Bellusdeo and the two Hawks in attendance, met in a throne room that was empty of all save a handful of select Imperial Guard. Tiamaris, as a member of that Court, was also present. Kaylin was surprised, and it showed; the youngest member of the Court grimaced, the expression smoothing into a genuine, if chagrined, smile.
Kaylin cringed just before the discussion started because it hadn’t occurred to her until that point that it would be held in their native tongue; the ceilings here were acoustically unforgiving. But aware of the eyes of the Imperial Guard, she made no attempt to cover her ears or otherwise preserve her hearing.
The discussion reverted to Barrani when the Emperor had questions; he asked those of Severn and Kaylin. But for the most part, the discussion was for, and by, Dragons. Hope joined in on one or two occasions, and the Dragon Court accepted his input without comment or resentment.
The Arkon then withdrew a box from the folds of his robes—a box that shouldn’t have fit there. It was familiar to Kaylin; she’d seen it before. He didn’t open it this time; he approached Sanabalis and, to Kaylin’s surprise, knelt.
She understood, then: Sanabalis was to become the Arkon.
Sanabalis, Imperial mage, Dragon who had not yet found his hoard. She wondered why the Arkon hadn’t chosen Diarmat, a man whose sense of duty and
responsibility defined him and sucked all the humor out of his life—but perhaps that was answer enough.
Sanabalis didn’t bow. “You are certain?”
“I am certain.” The Arkon rose to his feet. “As in all decisions of note, there are lingering shadows, lingering desires. I have been Arkon for most of my life, and I am aware of the burden it places upon your shoulders. I am not caged or confined as chancellor; indeed, it will be my responsibility to find students who will benefit from the Academia and what it has to offer; if I do not, we will continue to remain trapped in a history so ancient the Empire has never even heard of its ending, never mind its beginning.”
His eyes were gold as he turned to face the Emperor. “I remain, as young Tiamaris does, a member of your Court and a member of your Flight; in times of danger and war, the chancellors were not exempt from the demands of their kin.”
The Emperor’s nod was regal, but not remote. “I am...happy for you, old friend. In all of the futures I imagined we might face together, this is not one I had ever considered a possibility. It brings me peace to know that in the heart of my Empire, you have found your way back to the heart of yours. Take what you have gathered with my blessing.
“You will, however, be tasked with personally overseeing the transport of your collection. I expect all of the people you choose to aid in this endeavor to survive more or less unscathed.”
Which was a pity, because given how touchy the Arkon was about his personal collection, Kaylin didn’t.
As if the Emperor could hear the thought even Kaylin knew better than to put into words anywhere within the palace grounds, he chuckled. “I have oft been accused of unreasonable expectations by Lannagaros; I am certain this will not be an exception.”
He then turned to Sanabalis. “Arkon,” he said.
“Your majesty.” Sanabalis bowed, box in hand. “I believe the empty interior of the palace currently occupied by the Arkon would be a suitable haven for the symbols of the office I have accepted.” He glanced once at the former Arkon—Kaylin was going to have a hard time with the names going forward—and tendered him a bow.
His eyes were gold, as were Emmerian’s.
Diarmat’s were gold, which was far more of a surprise. Kaylin could not recall Diarmat’s eyes ever lacking a tint of orange.
Bellusdeo’s were luminous and shining. She eschewed Court decorum in its entirety, and not, this time, to annoy Diarmat. She threw both arms around the older Dragon’s neck and caught him a bruising hug that would have cracked bones had she done it to Kaylin.
Wordless, he returned the hug. “You will visit.”
“I will continue to bother you, yes.”
“Good.”
“I shall remind you that you said that.”
Epilogue
Kaylin felt she hadn’t been home for days. Weeks, maybe. She was stiff and sore, but Helen had made certain she was no longer hungry. Her room was dark, and the halls beyond it almost unnaturally silent.
“You are worried.” Helen’s voice was gentle.
Kaylin said nothing.
“If you don’t wish to speak about it, I will leave.”
“You never leave.”
She could almost feel her house smile. Like the voice, it was gentle.
“Candallar’s dead,” she finally said, pulling the counterpane up and tucking it beneath her chin. Hope was curled up on the pillow—the second pillow—and appeared to be asleep.
“Yes.”
“His Tower is empty.”
“Yes.” Kaylin’s silence extended, but it was wakeful. “You are worried about Bellusdeo.”
Kaylin nodded. Unlike Helen, she didn’t need to actually say words to be heard.
“You are worried about yourself.”
There was no point in lying or denying it; there was no one but Helen to hear her.
“She will not leave yet, Kaylin. But she is not a child. This is not her final home.”
“She could have babies here.”
“Not yet. You are to help Lannagaros in the morning. Sleep.”
* * *
Bellusdeo was commandeered by the Arkon to be one of his moving aides. Bellusdeo, in turn, commandeered Maggaron, who was built for it, and Kaylin, who was not.
The cohort, however, was teeming with almost indecent amounts of curiosity; they had never visited the Imperial Palace and had therefore never come close to any of the Arkon’s personal hoard. Sedarias offered to help Bellusdeo in her assigned task—where, by offered, one meant commanded, no matter how it was phrased.
Bellusdeo chose to find it amusing rather than annoying and agreed instantly. Kaylin almost pitied the Arkon, who was likely to be frazzled and aggravated even if everything went perfectly. Where the cohort was involved, perfect was a distant, never-visited country.
But Valliant and Serralyn were practically quivering with excitement. Helen was less sanguine than Bellusdeo.
“I am not at all certain they are ready to enter the city streets,” she confessed. “Annarion still has difficulty in certain circumstances. I am not worried about Sedarias, Mandoran or Terrano, and Allaron and Fallessian have never caused any detectable problems.”
“We’re going by way of Tiamaris, and Tara should be able to dampen any noise they make.”
“Dampen, yes. I think you will find that you lose some of the cohort to the Academia.”
“I’d be surprised. Sedarias—”
“Sedarias is not the cohort, as you well know.”
“No, just the boss of it.”
Helen chuckled, but once again lapsed into her worried expression. “If they weren’t so interested in the Academia, I think I would counsel heavily against their help.”
Kaylin felt the same. “Terrano will be with us, and he seems to be able to hear when things are off. I think he can keep them in line—or enough in line—until we reach Killian. They’ll be safe there; they won’t have to worry about being heard by things we’d prefer didn’t hear them.”
Helen nodded.
All eleven of the cohort in residence piled out of Helen’s front door in Bellusdeo’s wake. Mandoran was underfoot—Bellusdeo’s feet—the entire way to the palace. Only Teela was absent, but she would be aware of everything the cohort experienced.
* * *
The Arkon’s expression upon sighting the cohort was instantly pinched and weary. And no, Kaylin thought, although she hadn’t spoken the title out loud, he was no longer the Arkon. He was, as Bellusdeo had always called him, Lannagaros.
Kaylin’s arms were numb by the time the Arkon decreed the wagons—four in total—ready to go; he had clearly taken magical precautions to protect the contents of these wagons, and it was the type of magic that gave her figurative hives.
“These aren’t the only wagons,” Bellusdeo said. “But these are the ones that contain cargo he feels is delicate or priceless.”
“I’m surprised there’s only four.”
“The interior space of the wagons—you will note they’re all covered—is somewhat larger than the exterior suggests. I highly doubt, given the tenor of the escort, we will encounter difficulties. I believe the Arcanum is preoccupied, and the human Caste Court likewise in flux.”
And those were the two most likely to cause problems.
* * *
If the procession of wagons headed toward the bridge to Tiamaris drew stares, people remained at a distance. This wasn’t only because the Barrani were out in force; Maggaron was here, and at nearly eight feet in height, he was the most visible guard present. The irony, of course, was that he was probably the person least inclined to violence in the caravan; size told a story to the people who stood back, near the walls of the buildings that lined the street, but it was the wrong story.
Still, it meant there would be very little in the way of interference. The Arkon—no, the
former Arkon—had received Imperial writs and permissions to temporarily close down traffic from cross streets, never a popular move, to get from the palace through the rest of the city to the fief of Tiamaris.
Tiamaris was waiting on the other side of the bridge. His eyes were golden as he met the former Arkon. “Lannagaros,” he said, offering the oldest member of the Dragon Court a perfect bow.
“Tiamaris.” No word of thanks passed the older Dragon’s lips, but his eyes, like Tiamaris’s, were gold.
“I would offer you refreshments, but I see that you are anxious to reach your destination. Might I accompany you?”
“Yes, in fact. I have a need to speak with your Tara shortly, although your permission will, of course, be required.”
“You are always welcome in my fief.”
“Ye-es. It is not entirely a matter of the fief.”
“I suspected it might not be, given your destination. But where it is possible to do so without compromising our own responsibilities, you will have our utmost aid.”
“Good. One of the most promising of the students Candallar happened to haphazardly locate came from the warrens.”
“I see.”
“There are citizens within your fiefs that might benefit from some study—although that will have to be discussed with Killian.”
Kaylin, listening, considered this. Robin had been a prisoner in the Academia, but even so, had not appeared to be unhappy there. And why would he? If the lessons were repetitive—and that wouldn’t be the case going forward—the day started with breakfast, was broken by lunch, and finished with dinner.
If he learned nothing from his time in the Academia, he was fed and he was safe. But he’d clearly learned something.
* * *
Cast in Wisdom Page 48
