Cast in Courtlight

by Michelle Sagara

  "There are many Barrani who find your presence offensive."

  "He's vocal."

  "He was… brave."

  "Which usually means certain of his power."

  Severn nodded. But something about his expression didn't mesh with hers.

  "You don't think the Arcanum is involved."

  "Oh, I didn't say that. But I think Lord Evarrim more canny and less obvious. He is interested in you, but his interest is more mundane."

  "Mundane?"

  "You have power. He knows it. He just doesn't know how much, or how it can be used."

  She took a breath and began to speak slowly. For Kaylin. "There was an accident at the Arcanum. I think it happened around the time that the Lord of the West March woke up."

  "Backlash?"

  "Maybe." He really had paid attention in his classes. As it was now useful, she tried not to resent the fact.

  "What time did the incident occur, exactly?"

  "I don't know."

  He ran his hands through his hair. "Kaylin—"

  "I assumed they were connected. I wasn't exactly paying attention to the timing at the time. And after—well, there wasn't a lot of after."

  "I can probably access records," he said at last. "But not from here. Oh, I can, but anything I access will be read."

  She nodded. "There's something here I don't see clearly."

  "Probably most of it."

  She shrugged. "Most of it's not important. I can afford not to see those bits."

  Severn nodded. "Have you explored the High Halls?"

  "Not… very much."

  "You should. They're old."

  The last syllable stayed there, playing itself out by vowel and consonant. "All right," she said quietly. "Let's go for a walk."

  Andellen peeled himself off the far wall. "The High Halls are not like the Halls of Law. They are not like the Imperial Palace."

  She frowned.

  "He means it's easy to get lost. And very hard to get found."

  "Try living in Castle Nightshade," she replied.

  Andellen's eyes were ringed with a pale brown. Brown. She grimaced. The Barrani guard held her gaze, and after a moment, he said, "You do not understand the mark you bear."

  "I think we've covered that." She stopped herself from snapping the words.

  "Learn, Kaylin. Learn to understand it. Lord Nightshade cannot—will not—stand in the High Court circle again, but he has invested some part of his power in you. It is why you are considered both offense and danger. Were you Barrani, and bore that mark willingly, you would have been dead before you passed the pillars."

  "But because I'm human, and of little consequence—"

  "It is because you are human that you are considered of little consequence. Even if Lord Nightshade worked through you, even if he used the mark against you, you have little power—in the eyes of the High Court—that could threaten the High Halls."

  She looked at her arms.

  "Yes," Andellen said quietly. "They little understand the power you do have. I little understood it, until the night you helped to birth the child." He paused, and added, "And I was there when you faced the black one."

  "Healing isn't a threat."

  "Power is a threat. How it is used is almost inconsequential. There is some power that—in theory—can be used for anything. It is considered a weaker power—the will of the person who wields it is of greater consequence than the magic itself. The stronger powers are said to have a will of their own. If you can use them at all, if you can channel them, you use them as primal force. You must know this. You wear the medallion of Lord Sanabalis.

  "It is very seldom that anyone is given the ability to channel more than one type of the latter."

  "Which," Severn said quietly, "she would know, if she could actually pay attention in a classroom."

  "What you did in the fief against the outcaste Dragon, I believe we might have been able to accomplish, working in concert. Lord Nightshade is not without power, and he was not unarmed."

  She remembered his sword. Remember Tiamaris's reaction to it.

  "But what you did in the birthing of the babe was as strong in its fashion. In at least the latter case, you were not even aware of the cost." He paused, and then turned to Severn. "The backlash at the Arcanum occurred perhaps five minutes after the second noon hour."

  "When did the Lord of the West March awake?"

  "Four hours after the backlash."

  Kaylin could feel the ground shift beneath her feet. "But that makes no sense."

  "Not yet. But both of these are true. They are the 'facts' of which the Hawks are so fond. It is to make sense of the facts that you've come. Is it not what the Hawks do?"

  She nodded grimly. "Severn?"

  "I'm here to investigate the presence of Lethe," he replied with a shrug.

  It occurred to Kaylin at that precise moment to wonder if there was any.

  "Good. Let's go, um, find some."

  If the skirts were less voluminous, she could have ignored them. If her shoes were boots, she would have. She almost tripped twice, tilting on her ankles as they rolled over the unfamiliar, small heels. Severn caught her both times. "I didn't design them," he told her when she glared.

  But he was wearing his dress uniform. If she looked at him, rather than at the ground or her feet, she could almost pretend she was strolling through a really, really rich neighborhood, on a useless patrol that would cause no work. And no paperwork.

  Usually, during the Festival season, that was considered part of your job: don't add to the paper piles. The office Hawks were pretty particular about it. And since Marcus was consigned to office hell during the Festival season—in a supervisory role—they had a lot of backup.

  So this was… doing her job. Beside Severn, who was doing his. She wondered how much he missed the Wolves; she'd never had the courage to ask. He would be there now if she hadn't been given the choice.

  She wondered if he knew.

  Thought about telling him. Thought more about how bad the timing was, and let it go. Because although she could pretend ferociously that this was just another neighborhood, she couldn't allow herself to believe it.

  He led her down the hall and stopped several times; the walls were composed of gaps that opened into small gardens. Small, perfect gardens. If there was wilderness in the growth of leaves or flowers, it was an artful wilderness. She half expected to see a signature.

  "Try to remember these Halls," he told her as they opened up. "They are the domain of the Lord of the West March, and if anything happens, you want to be in them."

  "What kind of anything?"

  He shrugged.

  Andellen said softly, "I can lead you back to these Halls."

  It surprised them both.

  "You lived here," Kaylin said quietly.

  "For many years." He was utterly impervious to compassion, and she didn't insult him by offering it. But she met his gaze, and saw the green in it. He wasn't annoyed.

  "Has it changed much?"

  "The nature of the High Halls has not changed." Which was sort of an answer.

  She smiled brightly. It was a pathetic attempt, but the expression clung to her face anyway, like a poorly fitted mask. "I have an idea!"

  Severn winced. "Kaylin—"

  Speaking in that forced, cheerful burble, she said to Andellen, "You can show us around!" She spoke in Elantran.

  His eyes did not change shade at all. "If you wish," he said, "I will lead you. I am not certain you will find it as interesting as Castle Nightshade, however."

  "Good."

  His smile was genuine. He stepped past her, leaving Samaran at her back and Severn at her side. And he walked slowly, as if he were revisiting, by simple steps, the whole of the life he had lost.

  They followed him, seeing what he saw, and failing to see it at the same time. Occasionally he would pause, lift a hand to touch the smooth wall, and nod. If there was magic in the wall, Kaylin couldn't sense it
. But memory wasn't her gift—and Barrani memory was, by all accounts, long indeed. And deep.

  Severn caught her hand; she had lifted it to touch Andellen's shoulder, without thinking. As if he were Tain, or Teela, he had stopped her. But as she lowered her hand, he continued to hold it, and their fingers entwined, and other memories intruded as they walked.

  The streets of the fief in winter. The chill of the air. The lack of warm clothing. The certainty of death, without shelter. She closed her eyes. They had often walked like this when it was cold, pressed together, as if by simply standing side by side they could form a wall that would keep the winter out.

  She opened her eyes.

  Andellen stood in an arch, his hands on either side of the smooth, round walls that formed it, his head exactly beneath the keystone that held the rest in place. Beyond him, she saw wall, old stone.

  And a symbol.

  She drew Severn forward. When she reached the Barrani's back, she saw that the arch opened up into a tower; stairs spiraled up and down as far as the eye could see. Farther, she thought, spinning slightly as she tilted her head too far back.

  She frowned. "Andellen—"

  He was looking down.

  "Severn, the tower—"

  He nodded. He'd seen. The stairs went up forever—and forever, even at their vantage, was too high. She had seen the Halls from the outside; she was aware—as every citizen who dwelled within Elantra was—that there were no buildings taller than the Imperial Palace, none that presumed to be of a height, save for the Halls of Law.

  And yet…

  The symbol on the wall behind those stairs must be High Barrani. She couldn't read it, but it was clear by the stiffness of Andellen's back that he could.

  "I fear I have led you astray," he told her quietly. "This is not a place for the idle guest."

  "I have been given the freedom of the High Halls," Kaylin countered with care. "And I've run up and down a lot of stairs in my time." The last was Elantran; it couldn't be said in High Barrani.

  "What does it say?" She pointed at the rune.

  He looked at her slender arm, green trailing from the wrists in a useless drape of shiny cloth. "You see it?" he asked her softly.

  She raised a brow.

  "Before you descend into sarcasm," Severn told her, tightening his grip on her hand, "I have no idea what you're pointing at."

  "It's a symbol. I'm pretty sure it's High Barrani. It's right there, Severn."

  The look Severn gave Andellen would have caused a lesser man to take a step back. Or several, at a run. Andellen did not move. Kaylin was too busy to try to figure out why Severn was glaring.

  "Andellen? What does it mean?"

  "It means 'choice,'" he replied, his voice completely neutral.

  "You've been here before."

  He nodded. "Every Barrani who wishes to be granted the title Lord has come here once. They usually come alone," he added softly. "But whether they come to the tower alone, or no, they enter it alone."

  "This is important," Kaylin told Severn.

  "How many leave?" Severn asked, ignoring her.

  "Those who have gained the right to the title," was the quiet reply.

  Severn turned to Samaran. But Samaran was silent in a way that said "disturb and die."

  "Choice," Kaylin said softly. "Is that all?"

  "In Elantran, it has a different shade of meaning, and more words."

  "And those?"

  "'By your choice, you shall be known.'"

  "What choice?"

  He smiled. "That is the question the tower poses, Kaylin. Among others." He lowered his hands and turned away. "This is not for you," he told her.

  But the word on the wall seemed to glow faintly, and the light in the runnels was blue. "I think—it is. Because I can see the rune." She turned to look at Samaran, and even his dour expression wasn't enough to silence her. "Can you see it?"

  He shook his head curtly.

  "Kaylin." She turned back to the exiled Lord who had once called the High Halls home. She thought Andellen would be annoyed; he wasn't. His eyes were green, and speckled with brown. "If you choose to wander here, you will almost assuredly miss the evening circle."

  That was about all the incentive she needed.

  Severn said, "You can't leave her. By the castelord's command, you cannot leave her."

  Andellen met Severn's gaze, and nodded. "That is his law, as given."

  "He can't come with me," Kaylin added.

  "I'm aware of that," Severn snapped. "And I think it would be politically inadvisable to miss the evening circle."

  "Severn, if I open my mouth while I'm there, 'inadvisable' will seem like an act of genius."

  He ran his hands through his hair and looked away.

  "I know you're making a face," she told him. She hesitated in the arch.

  "I'm not Andellen," Severn told her. "Where you go, I go." He looked back at the Barrani.

  The Barrani Lord frowned. But it was the frown of someone who has found something both alarming and interesting; there was no anger in it. "We will wait for you here," he told them. He glanced at Samaran. Samaran was distinctly blue-eyed and almost rigid.

  But Andellen's was clearly the greater authority, and the hand that fell to his weapon was Andellen's. No other threat was offered; none was necessary.

  "The Lord of the West March was not entirely accurate," Andellen added as Kaylin took a step forward.

  "About what?"

  "About which parts of the High Halls are the most ancient."

  She walked through the arch slowly, but her hesitation was that of an observer; she didn't want to miss anything. Especially not anything deadly. Severn did not follow her; he walked at her side.

  The rune on the wall was now glowing with a light that seemed at once blue and gold. She turned to Severn. Severn, frowning, executed a full circle, and cursed quietly.

  The arch was gone. At their back was now a smooth and slightly rounded wall. They stood on a small flat that merged with stairs, one set spiraling up as far as the eye could see, and the other, down. There were torches. Sort of. Down was darker.

  Severn looked at her. He lifted a hand once, to touch the new wall in a way that clearly indicated he wanted the arch back. He pushed against the wall with his full weight. It didn't give. "Occasionally," he told her, looking up to where the keystone had been, "I understand why you dislike magic."

  She almost laughed. "Usually it's just the door-wards," she offered.

  But he shook his head. "It's everything," he said quietly, and turned to face her. The landing seemed to shrink to an uncomfortably narrow width. "I don't understand you," he added.

  "You understand me better than anyone else does." She said it without thought, without hesitation; it just fell out of her mouth, probably because her mouth was open. She shut it.

  "I understand part of you better, but even that part often makes no sense."

  She frowned.

  "It started with magic," he told her. "In the fiefs."

  She said, in a flat voice, "It started with death."

  He shrugged. "If your mother hadn't died, we wouldn't have been together. Everyone faces death." His eyes were dark; the torchlight hid their color, but not their shape. "But if not for the marks on your arms and legs, we would have made our way in the fiefs. Or even out of them. If not for the magic," he added.

  She couldn't pull the sleeves up; they were tight and fitted. Which is to say, she could, but she risked tearing them. Or wrinkling them, which in Teela's eyes would probably be the greater crime.

  "When I went to the Wolves, I learned. I learned everything I could. About you. About what might have caused the marks." He shrugged. "I learned the acknowledged rules about the laws that govern the different schools of magic. I learned to understand some of the differences between the Arcanum and the Imperial Order of Mages. I listened. Because magic destroyed our lives." He was still staring at her.

  She shrugged and looked aw
ay. "I didn't."

  "I'm well aware of that. But I don't understand why. In the fiefs, we learned everything anyone would tell us about the ferals. Because they were a threat."

  "That was you," she said woodenly.

  "No, Kaylin. That was us."

  "Maybe I didn't want to know." She shrugged again. It was not comfortable.

  He shook his head. This time, his gaze let her go. "Knowing or not knowing won't change the nature of the threat. It will only change how well we deal with it."

  "And if we can't deal with it?"

  His smile was slight, but it flickered there, a kind of fire composed of lips. "It looks like we don't have much choice. I don't see another way out."

  You didn't have to come hovered on her lips, but it would have sounded childish, even to Kaylin. She managed not to say it. "Choice," she said. She looked at the steps. And at the opposite wall.

  "Up or down?" Severn asked.

  She almost said down. In fact, she started toward the stairs that led into darkness below.

  "Down?"

  She nodded, thinking. The shape of the rune drew her eye.

  The color of it was almost hypnotic. Thinking, seeing again like a Hawk, she made a decision. Acting like Kaylin, she didn't voice it. Instead, she walked forward, stepping with care not because she was afraid, but because she didn't want to fall over. Severn could walk beside her, and did.

  She grimaced. Lifting her hand, she placed a flat palm against the rune. It covered half of it. Before she could change her mind, she lifted her other hand and placed them side by side.

  Nothing happened.

  The familiar tingle of magic failed to make her palms or arms burn. "Oh well, I guess it's not a door," she said, and let her hands drop.

  She swore. In Leontine.

  "What is it? What's wrong?"

  "The rune," she told him.

  "What about it?"

  "It's gone."

  Severn shrugged, but then again he would—it's not as if he'd actually seen it. Or touched it. "Up or down?" he asked again.

  She swore, for good measure. "Down," she told him, and began to walk those stairs.

  He fell in beside her. "Not the heights?"

  She shook her head. "No." And before he could ask, she added, "We're looking for history. How much history can be above?"

  He frowned for a moment, and then nodded.