He entered the hall ahead of her. She followed in his wake, almost stepping on the edge of his robe as she stumbled. She'd forgotten just how dirty she was. And the scent of food drove pretty much anything but hunger out of her mind entirely.
When she was seated, when her plate appeared, as if by magic, in front of her, and when she had actually started to eat, he sat across from her. The table that had seemed narrow was actually very wide—it was also too damn long. Mess Hall in the Halls was probably smaller than this single room.
"You asked an intelligent question," he said quietly. "About the Arcanum. I will answer it now. To the less casual observer, the explosion that resulted in fire might appear to be a backlash."
Chew. She had to remember to chew. The swallowing was a little too intensely reflexive. "Backlash?" More words meant less food.
"If a spell is set," he told her quietly, "and if it is complicated, it requires an anchor. Very often the anchorage is provided by a person. In some cases, that is considered too much of a risk."
"So you think this was anchored by something."
"Indeed."
"And it broke."
"As you say."
She frowned. "You also think I should know this already, don't you?"
"I believe these explanations would be considered condescending by the rest of your compatriots, yes."
"We did set off a spell," she said as she drained the glass by the side of her plate. Or tried; most of it came back out with a distinct lack of dignity. "What is this?"
"Not water," he said with a pleasant smile. As if he ate with ill-mannered humans every day. Messy, ill-mannered humans. "The nature of the spell?"
She tried to speak around the fire in her throat. After a coughing fit that would have had the Hawks snickering for days, she managed to get control of her tongue; she knew her face was red. "It was meant to kill whoever tried to open a certain door."
"How?"
"Mostly? By ripping them into tiny bits, if I had to guess."
Lord Nightshade frowned; it was the frown of thought, not disapproval. "I do not think that such a spell would be anchored in the Arcanum," he told her after a pause. "Would you care to tell me why?"
"Because they'd expect it to be set off."
"Correct. Perhaps you managed to pay attention in your classrooms in the upper city."
"I had to pay some. Hamish used to throw erasers at the back of my head."
His expression made clear that he found the anecdote less amusing than she did. Which wasn't hard.
She ate more slowly as hunger receded. "You think it had something to do with the Lord of the West March."
"I can tell you the minute it happened, if it is of interest."
She shrugged. "Not really. I can't tell you when he woke up to the minute, so there's not much to compare." She set her fork down. "Tell me about the High Court."
"Can you not access your vaunted Records?"
"Not without being suspended."
"Ah. Then it seems that those who have your interests at heart prefer you to be without the information."
She nodded. "They expect that I'll be able to avoid the High Court."
"Then they are optimistic in a fashion that I am not. You are aware that he is the younger son of the castelord."
She nodded.
"You are also aware that the castelord has a surviving older son."
She nodded again.
"He also has a daughter."
"I knew that, too. Do you think it was the older son?"
"The Lord of the Green?"
"Is that what he's called?"
"By those who are conversant with the High Courts, yes."
"Him, then."
"Historically, it would be a good guess."
She smiled. "And this would be one of the times when lack of historical knowledge isn't a liability?"
"It is said that the brothers are fond of one another."
"And you believe it."
"I have seen them. I believe it."
"The sister?"
"She has nothing to gain by the death of either brother. The Barrani Court
has its place for her, and that place will not change."
"Then who would want to kill him? And please don't tell me that he's a Barrani High Lord as if that were enough of an answer."
"No." He had not eaten at all. "I am not yet certain, Kaylin."
"People seem to think that the death of the Lord of the West March might cause a war."
"The Lord of the West March is not an empty title. Humans use empty titles, but it is seldom that a Barrani Lord finds one. He is popular, in the fashion of our kind. And he is, as you have guessed, unusual."
"I guessed that, did I?"
"You must have. If I am correct, there was only one way to wake him." His eyes were a mix of emerald and blue. He stared at her intently.
She swallowed air. Food went down with it, and she dropped her fork; emptiness had been replaced by something a little too crowded for comfort. She chose her next words with care. "I can't speak of it."
"He understands what the mark you bear means."
"He didn't make exceptions."
"No." He lifted the stem of an empty glass and gestured, his fingers running along the rim. She wasn't particularly surprised when the glass filled. "He gave you his name."
She kept her face carefully blank.
"I could almost hear it, Kaylin."
"But he—"
"When you spoke it. I know what you saw," he added softly. "And I will not speak of it. You planted the Hawk," he added, "in the heart of the Lord of the West March."
She nodded.
"Do you understand what that portends?"
"No."
"He must understand it. I would not have been surprised had he killed you. He did not, however, and that saves me much difficulty."
"Because?"
"You bear my mark," he replied, as if that was answer enough.
"The mark of an outcaste."
"Of a surviving outcaste Lord."
She was smart enough to understand the difference. "He told me to ask you something," she said, lifting her own glass. The candlelight bent as she stared through the clear liquid. She wasn't quite brave enough to drink any more of it.
"And that?"
"Kyuthe."
"Ah. I assume that Anteela used the word."
"She did. And he implied that she—that she didn't have the right to use it."
Lord Nightshade was silent a moment. His gaze did not leave her. He was utterly still. He might have been a statue of black marble, burnished to catch light.
"He called you kyuthe."
"Yes," she said softly.
"And you don't understand why."
"No. But he said that ignorance excused nothing. Am I in trouble? I mean, in more trouble?"
"It depends, Kaylin. You have the eyes of the Arcanum upon you. I would not have said more trouble could be possible." He rose; she watched him as if she were no longer an active participant in her own life. Watched him move, listened to the rustle of dark cloth, the almost absent fall of feet. He came around the table slowly, and she felt his presence as shadow, a thing cast by light, a thing that said light was absent.
She felt the lack of movement just as keenly; her cheek was warm. He stood beside her, and above, as if he were bower. Or waiting cage.
"The Hawk is more than a symbol," he whispered, his words too deep to tickle, too quiet to resonate. "And you offered him all that it means. To you. He was on the edge of our twilight, although you could not see it clearly, and he accepted what you offered."
"How do you—"
"It grew, Kaylin. It grew, there. The Lord of the West March is like—very like—the Barrani of old. What you saw was real, in its fashion. You left it there. He accepted it."
"It was the only way I could call him," she whispered.
"Yes. And your instincts are far sharper than you know. You called, he heard. He
came. What you offered, he could have destroyed. Did he?"
She shook her head.
"I did not see the shadow of that loss upon you, and it tells me much. As he knew it would. You had no words for what you did, although if you struggled, you would find them. Words have power, but the power of words are not yours… you found a different way.
"But you gave, in some measure, what he returned. He knows you. If he speaks your name, Kaylin, you will hear it, and you will be bound in some fashion to him."
"But we don't have names. Not those ones."
"No. You are mortal, the learning of your name is simply the sum of what can be known. It is not always the sum of what you claim to know. They are not the same. But you left him something of value, and he retains it. You offered, and he accepted. The Lord of the West March does not use the word kyuthe lightly—he is not Anteela. He has not been exposed to the frailty of mortality." His hands touched her shoulders.
"Kaylin," he added, "the castelord has called High Court. From the West, and the East, from the mountains and the seas, from the forests that man has not yet encountered, the Barrani have come at his call. They are not numerous yet, but their presence will be felt in Elantra. It is felt now, by the Emperor."
"Why now?"
"That is the only question that needs be answered. If you understand it, you will understand the whole of this game. The Lord of the West March was seen as a threat. Had you not interfered, he would have died.
"But he is not—he has never been—a fool. He must have been prepared for a hundred different attacks. This one was subtle, and it succeeded—but it should not have succeeded. What does this tell you?"
She shook her head. "I don't even know what was done."
"What is not as important as how. Think on that." She felt the chair slide; she moved with it. She even started to rise, but her legs were like jelly. And her eyes were too heavy.
"Can I think tomorrow?"
She felt, rather than saw, his smile. "Tomorrow, then. Do you not have an appointment with Lord Sanabalis?"
She was lifted, and cradled; she could see candles flare and fall silent, their voices stilled. "Is there anything about my life you don't know?"
"Lord Sanabalis is one of the world's ancient powers," Lord Nightshade told her as he carried her out of the room. "And when the ancient powers move, they are felt. He is not without guile, and not without cunning, but he has been content these many years to serve the Dragon Emperor. If he has consented to teach you, you are honored, whether or not you know it.
"Sleep. I will watch you."
It was night, she thought. In the fiefs. And at night, only one other had ever watched her sleep. She wanted to tell him this, but she couldn't hold on to the words, just the fear.
"You love too easily," he told her. "Perhaps, in our youth, we once did the same. It was a different season, and it will not return to us, no matter how much we might wait. But what we learned in that youth, we hold as truth now. I would not have made the mistakes you made, Kaylin.
"But I would not have hated Severn for his choice, either. I would count myself in his debt."
And what of the dead? What of Steffi and fade? How would you repay the debt you owed them? How would you forgive Severn for their deaths?
He brushed hair from her face. "By learning, little one. By learning never to let the innocent be weapons that could be used against me."
His words were like the lull a ship knows in harbor. "Did it take a long time? To learn that?"
"I never said it was a lesson I had to learn, but I have often learned from the mistakes of others. And yes, Kaylin Neya, for others it was costly, and it took many, many years."
"More than I have?"
"Many more."
She was silent for a moment, surrendering wakefulness. "Good."
When she woke, she woke to light. But it wasn't sunlight; it didn't cast the shadows by which she told time. She wore her clothing, she did not wear her boots. Those had been tucked neatly against the wall, and looked so out of place they were almost embarrassing. Then again, the same could be said of everything she owned.
The room itself was empty; a single flower blossomed in red-and-blue above the lip of a silver vase on a table beside the bed. She stretched experimentally. Her arms and legs were stiff, but the pain of the previous day had left them.
The mirror stood at the opposite end of the room; she could see herself—and only herself—in its surface. No angry growls had broken her sleep. She got up, changed one uniform for another, and put on pants that didn't have slashes or holes. She pulled her hair down, removed the stray bits of wood that had managed to lodge there, and then tried to brush it. She really resented the Barrani their hair.
As she buttoned her sleeves, she paused, and rolled them up; she inspected the marks on her arms with care. One day, she would read them.
She wondered what would happen then, if they would kill her, or if they would slip away, their story finally told.
A knock interrupted her rare introspection. She hurriedly buttoned her sleeves and then shouted at the door. It opened.
Lord Nightshade stood in the frame. If he was unaccustomed to being shouted at through a closed door, it didn't change the general friendliness of his demeanor. Then again, knives probably wouldn't. "You will be late," he told her quietly, "if you do not leave soon. I have had food. You may take it with you."
She nodded, fetched her offending shoes, and shoved her feet into them, knotting the laces.
"Kaylin."
She looked up.
"You were dreaming."
And looked back down again. If she dreamed much, she generally didn't remember them, and given her life, she counted that on the plus side of the ledger.
But he didn't move, and after she'd finished putting her shoes on, she walked over to where he stood. "Was I talking?"
He nodded.
"In Elantran?"
"No. And that was odd."
"Aerian?"
"No."
"Barrani."
"Yes. High Barrani. Do you know what leoswuld means?"
She frowned. Shook her head.
"Were it not for the expectations of Lord Sanabalis, I would not allow you to leave the castle," Lord Nightshade said quietly.
"It's a bad word?"
"It is not a word that I have heard spoken by my kin since—" He smiled. It was a sharp smile. "It is, as you suggest, a bad word. Do not repeat it." His frown deepened, and the shade of his eyes were a blend of blue and green, both too deep for comfort. "But it would explain much." He lifted a hand. "Do not speak of it. It is death for outsiders."
She wasn't certain she could.
But she knew he was worried, and anything that actually worried a fieflord was probably something that could eat her alive and spit out the chewy bits without pausing for breath. Or, even worse, political.
"Tender my regards to Lord Sanabalis," Lord Nightshade said as he moved to one side. "I will see you out."
Seeing her out, as it happened, meant walking her to the banks of the Ablayne. The skiff was waiting for her there, and Andellen was once again its makeshift captain. "You will retain the services of Andellen and Samaran."
"I can't take them into the Halls of Law—they're—"
"If it is necessary, they will wait outside. Without breaking any of the laws you hold so precious."
"They've already broken at least sixty that I can think of, just by serving you!"
"They will not be an inconvenience."
She looked at his face. "I take them or I don't go?"
He shrugged. "There is always a choice."
She swallowed the words that automatically suggested themselves. They were all Leontine. And she suspected that he would understand every one of them.
"Andellen."
"Lord."
"Do not lose her."
"Lord."
Nightshade turned from the banks. "I have much to see to," he told her quietly. "And peo
ple of my own to gather." The day did not diminish him, but it made him seem far more distant. Which was a good thing.
Which should have been a good thing.
He approached her slowly, and in front of his waiting men, he lifted a hand to her cheek, to her unmarked cheek. His lips brushed her forehead before she could move—if she even wanted to; the touch was surprisingly soft. And warm. "I do not know when I will next see you," he told her quietly. "But I do not doubt that I will. And while you are away, I will be preparing."
"For what?"
He said nothing in exactly the wrong way, and let his hand fall.
Kaylin stepped into the boat, hating the way it wobbled. The river wasn't wide, and she'd half a mind to just ford the damn thing—but dripping on the carpets in the Halls was heavily frowned on, unless it was blood, and it would take her boots days to dry out. She disliked squelching on principle.
Six Barrani guards waited by the banks when the skiff reached the opposite side. They did not seem to notice the shift of boundaries. Like all Barrani, they owned whatever piece of ground they happened to be standing on. Or in.
Andellen and another guard, who she assumed was Samaran, followed her up the incline. They wore swords. All of the fieflord's Barrani guards did. She wondered why the Barrani Hawks chose staves instead. Even at their gods-cursed High Court, the weapon of choice seemed to be a long sword.
But she didn't ask. Instead, she turned toward the high city, shading her eyes from sunlight. It was warm on the back of her hand, and she gained warmth of a different kind from the sight of the three flags that flew above the distant Halls. "Let's go," she said without thinking.
But they followed without comment or annoyance.
And to her surprise, she was allowed entrance to the Halls with this strange escort. They elicited no surprise, no weapons checks, and no loud cries for help.
The first person she met in the office, once she'd cleared two sets of guards, was Teela. She almost failed to notice, but mornings did that to her; her brain didn't seem to acknowledge that the rest of her was awake until near lunch.
Andellen and Samaran noticed for her, however. They formed a metal wall between Kaylin and her fellow Hawk. She could have kicked them. Even considered it. But pockets of the office were now watching her, and she hated to make money for anyone who hadn't invited her to join in the betting.
Cast in Courtlight Page 13
