“Interesting.” Liatt’s expression implied the opposite. She fell silent again; it was the silence of winter. “Does the Academia accept visitors?”
“The chancellor accepts visitors, yes.”
“And is the library open to visitors?”
Ah. “You want to speak with Arbiter Starrante?”
“I wish to ascertain the veracity of your statements, yes.”
This was what they wanted, if sideways; Kaylin took a moment to untangle her offense at the implication she was lying. She glanced once at Bellusdeo, whose eyes remained a martial orange. But...Aggarok was a Tower. Even if Maggaron’s memories were entirely accurate—and Kaylin suspected they were—she knew what it was like to be enslaved by Shadow.
And she wasn’t enslaved, now. Shadow made everything complicated. It had been way easier to dismiss all of the Shadows as evil, as if anyone of any race could be counted on to be monolithic—a new word for Kaylin—in their behavior. Kaylin could even understand part of Bellusdeo’s concern: Candallar was a fieflord, and Candallar had allowed a Barrani lord to walk into—and out of—Ravellon, carrying a Shadow with him.
Where before, the fieflords would be above suspicion, now they were all...people. People with their own goals and their own desires, some of which conflicted with the duties the Towers were created to fulfill.
“If you are comfortable doing so, we can take you to the Academia.”
“I require a few moments,” Liatt replied. She vanished, leaving a sparkling afterimage in the air in her wake.
“She’s gone,” Mandoran said. “She hasn’t turned invisible.” He was staring, brow furrowed in concentration, at the space she’d occupied. “There’s something here, though—something sticky.”
Kaylin passed a hand through the space she’d occupied. “I can’t feel anything.”
“It’s not that kind of sticky. I think... I think she doesn’t bother to walk to a destination if she wants to get there.”
“Well, Aggarok—the heart of Liatt’s Tower—is like Starrante; they’re the same race. And Starrante weaves portals out of...”
“Stuff he spits out of his mouth, yes.” He frowned. “We really don’t understand how Towers work. The Hallionne are sentient buildings, but their internal architecture is very similar.”
“They had a different purpose; they were built to stop you all from killing each other when you checked in.”
“Which is why so many of our people won’t, as you call it, check in. But that’s beside the point. I think Liatt is making use of the portals Aggarok could once spin.”
“I wonder if he talks to her. Durandel doesn’t talk to Nightshade much.”
“And according to you, Tara never stops. It’s fifty-fifty. We don’t know. But I’d guess there’s more communication because she wants to visit the library.”
“Maybe because she doesn’t believe me.”
Mandoran shrugged. “You are so accustomed to people believing you, it must be frustrating to be you.”
“You aren’t?”
“We can’t lie to each other,” he replied, indirectly referencing the cohort. “But we certainly don’t expect anyone else to tell us the truth. A version of the truth, yes—but people are different. They want different things. They might consider us rivals or enemies in the far future. Or,” he added, with far more guilt, “the near future.”
“I do not consider you an enemy,” Bellusdeo said softly.
“A rival?”
She snorted, with smoke. “Hardly.”
Mandoran laughed. His eyes were green-blue, which was a distinct improvement; Bellusdeo’s also showed flecks of gold. Kaylin wanted them to remain friends, but she understood, better than many, the rules of scarcity. They could not both get what they wanted—or even needed—here. There was only one Tower.
“I think...she’s coming back.” Mandoran’s face lost even the hint of amusement.
Seconds later, Liatt once again emerged from thin air—or at least thin air in the vision of anyone who wasn’t part of Mandoran’s cohort.
“I would like to take a few of my own people with me. Will this cause difficulties?”
“Depends on what you mean by few.”
“Two.”
Kaylin shook her head. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Would you like us to give the chancellor advance notice?”
“Is that possible, for you?”
Kaylin didn’t grind her teeth.
Bellusdeo, however, was amused. “It is possible for me, and as I am the chancellor’s representative here, I can certainly give early notice.” Her grin deepened.
Kaylin reached up to cover both of her ears; the hells with constabulary dignity.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bellusdeo said. “There is no guarantee that Lannagaros would hear me, given the unusual nature of the Academia’s geography. No, I have a better method.”
Kaylin lowered her hands.
“Give me space,” the Dragon said sweetly to the fieflord.
Liatt stepped back but seemed entirely unimpressed. She might have seemed unamused, but Kaylin would have bet money that she didn’t have amusement in her.
Bellusdeo transformed, golden armor becoming golden scales, neck elongating, face stretching—without tearing—into a much larger shape. A tail emerged to balance it.
“Impressive,” Liatt said quietly. “I have never seen a proper Dragon transformation before. How large are your wings?”
“Watch,” the Dragon said, in a much deeper voice. The aforementioned wings, curled across her back, tightened. She roared.
Kaylin grimaced, certain she’d done it on purpose. Bellusdeo then pushed off the ground, the leap of draconic muscles carrying her up as if she was lunging at the sky. Her wings then snapped open.
“Impressive,” Liatt said, her voice even softer, her neck craned up, exposing her throat to watch as the gold Dragon headed toward the Academia.
* * *
They did not follow immediately, because Liatt was waiting for her attendants, who emerged from thin air, as Liatt had done. To Kaylin’s eye, they emerged in the same place their lord had, and they moved—naturally and casually—out of the way for the next person.
The first person through was a woman half Liatt’s age. “This is Liannor. She is my daughter, and when I reach an age at which I can no longer carry out my duties, my heir.”
Kaylin said nothing, but her expression must have been less than neutral.
“How other Towers and other fiefs guarantee that they will always have a lord is not my concern. She will be the lord of the Tower; the Tower has agreed.”
“He would,” said a voice that was too familiar. There was clicking and hissing in it, an undertone that implied either deeper meanings or a swarm of insects. Kaylin wasn’t surprised when two hairy, insect-like legs emerged, and she backed up to give the second guard room. “I will have to have a word with him. This portal was clearly not designed for normal people to use.” He spoke Elantran.
Liannor barely moved as this second guard emerged. “You’re certain you’re not eating too much?”
Liatt said nothing. Only when the last bit of the creature exited the invisible portal did she introduce him. “This is Riaknon. He is kin to the Tower.”
“Does he live in the basement?”
“I imagine he lives wherever he chooses,” was the cool reply. It invited no further questions. She did watch Kaylin carefully. Even so, she couldn’t help but notice Severn.
Severn had lifted both of his arms in greeting, his elbows and fingers bending.
Liatt’s expression shifted. She glanced at Riaknon. “Well?”
“It is clear he has met something that at least apes our customs. That,” he added, “was perhaps meant as a greeting?”
Severn nodded. “I apologize. It’s crude; Ar
biter Starrante did not offer to teach me the appropriate moves with arms that naturally bend in the opposite direction.”
Riaknon clicked. “Our limbs bend in both directions; we merely favor this one for movement.” He hissed at Liannor.
Liannor grimaced and mounted Riaknon’s back.
“We are ready, Liatt,” Riaknon said.
“And excited to be so, I see. Very well.” She turned to Kaylin. “These are my guards; I require no others.”
“No, I imagine you don’t. Starrante was involved in some of the fighting; I can well imagine that one of his kin would be more than enough to guarantee safety.”
“Starrante was fighting?” Riaknon asked.
“It’s a long story.”
“I would hear it.” Riaknon lifted his front arms, briefly. He then paused. “That is ‘please’ in our tongue.”
“We will walk on foot,” Liatt said. “The story of how you met Starrante will be much more pleasant than idle chatter.” Implying, heavily, that otherwise they’d be walking in stiff silence.
Kaylin exhaled. She glanced at Mandoran, who very determinedly refused to meet her eyes. When she stepped on his foot, he said, “What? He didn’t ask me. He asked you.”
* * *
Kaylin told the story. She attempted to start at the beginning, but felt obliged to answer Riaknon’s questions, and Mandoran threw an oar in, usually to correct her, which didn’t help. Riaknon took the correction, but didn’t expect mortals to have infallible or perfect memory. He also understood that with only two eyes, most races had difficulty accessing all available visual information.
Still, he told Liatt, he was now convinced that the corporals and their Barrani companion were telling as much of the truth as they were capable of processing.
Liatt nodded as if this was expected. Nothing about her posture, even while walking, implied that she had relaxed. Or that she could. She walked slowly; she might have been taking a leisurely stroll alongside visitors she didn’t trust to wander about her property at will. But she followed where Kaylin led, noting, as they crossed the border of her fief, the repair of the buildings that had been removed by the creation of the Towers themselves.
The roads hadn’t changed; they remained the roads that led out of the Academia. When they reached the circular road upon which the building that housed both students and library stood, Bellusdeo came to greet them.
“I should warn you,” Kaylin told Riaknon as they approached, “that the chancellor is also a Dragon.”
“Dragons are ferocious in their protection of the things they value and prize,” Riaknon replied. “And it is likely a Dragon that is needed now. I can hear my hearts beating; I feel almost young again.”
“Did you attend the Academia?”
“No. Aggarok did; I am not sure he loved it as much as was expected.”
Bellusdeo had been watching them come, and if the presence of one of Starrante’s people had come as a surprise, none of it showed. Her eyes were orange, but with the exception of a single interaction, that was the best they’d been all day.
“The chancellor would be pleased to meet with you,” she told the fieflord. “Here, you will be styled as Lord Liatt, unless you express a different preference. Appropriate titles of respect are to be offered in the absence of stated preference.” She glanced at Kaylin. “The woman who led you here is known as Lord Kaylin or Corporal Neya, when titles are to be used.”
“I prefer Kaylin.”
“Indeed? And I prefer Liatt.” This was the first thing the fieflord had said that came as a surprise to Kaylin.
* * *
Kaylin saw Liatt to the chancellor’s office; it was, and remained, large. The chancellor rose when Riaknon entered the room; Liannor, who had remained mounted for the entire journey, now dismounted.
Liatt introduced them all, and Liannor immediately availed herself of a chair. There were no chairs available for Riaknon. Or rather, no regular chairs. The chancellor, however, said, “Those two sections of wall, and a portion of the ceiling, have been modified for your use, if you wish to take weight off your feet.”
“I had best not. Liatt doesn’t like the webbing.”
“I do not dislike it, but it is not meant to be passable for my kin.”
Liannor said, “And if you didn’t forget it was there, it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Riaknon clicked.
Kaylin found herself relaxing. Liannor had spent much of her life around Riaknon and didn’t find him terrifying at all. Which meant, in time, Kaylin wouldn’t either.
Her reactions were her reactions, yes. They were visceral and instinctive. But her behavior was a choice—and if she had to struggle to make the right one, that was part of her job, wasn’t it? She did look forward to the day when those instincts replaced raw primal terror with the comfort Liannor clearly felt.
“Before we begin,” Liatt said, “I have a request.”
“You wish to meet with Arbiter Starrante.”
“I do, yes. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say Riaknon does. I am not certain that a man trapped in a library for a large part of eternity will have much of relevance to say to me, but for Riaknon he is one of a handful of kin, no matter how distant.”
“We understand sparsity of kin,” the chancellor replied, voice grave and slightly rumbly although he wasn’t in draconic form. On the other hand, he could probably transition into full draconic form in a room this size, without damaging himself—or the room—too badly.
“We might have the discussion your adjutant requested—” here, she nodded to Bellusdeo “—while Riaknon visits the library, if you will grant your permission that he do so.”
“He has my permission to request a visit, but the Arbiters and the interior of the library are not entirely under the jurisdiction of the chancellor.”
“Interesting. The library is housed in this building, but you are not the final authority?”
“No. The library space is its own space. The Arbiters rule there, as certainly as if they were Towers. They are not,” he added. “Something about the space itself allows this. I believe the Arbiters can leave the library, but there are some risks associated with it; to my knowledge, only Starrante has done so in the brief period the Academia has been open to visitors.”
“Very well. How would I petition the Arbiters?”
“Killianas?”
“I will convey the request,” the disembodied Avatar replied.
To Liatt’s credit, she saw nothing unusual about this.
11
Riaknon followed Kaylin—and Mandoran—out of the conference room the chancellor’s office had become; Liatt and Liannor remained behind. He was muttering to himself, which involved a lot of clicking and a very few dissonant syllables. At any other time, this would have worried Kaylin, but she felt the anxiety, the possibility of meeting distant kin for the first time in centuries, was nonetheless a familiar one; it mapped onto her understanding of people.
She herself had no such ties—but if she’d discovered that she had sisters or brothers somewhere in the world, she would have both wanted and dreaded the meeting. What if they didn’t want to meet her? What if they weren’t happy to discover her? What if she hated them on sight?
So many what-ifs. Riaknon’s clicking probably expressed a lot of them, in a language she couldn’t otherwise understand. She exhaled.
You’re right. She was surprised to hear Severn’s voice. Unless things were on fire—sometimes literally—he tended to avoid the communication given by a True Name she shouldn’t have had. I liked Starrante. I would trust him, if trust were a relevant issue.
So would I. I just... Spiders.
She felt both amusement and chagrin; they might have been her own feelings, they were so much in keeping with hers.
You should ask Starrante what we—or Barrani—called thei
r people. I’m almost certain we couldn’t pronounce the native word.
She frowned. Robin called him Wevaran. I think Robin had read about his race, somewhere in the library.
Try to use that instead of “spider” when you’re thinking.
He can’t hear the words, anyway. It’s not like I’ve insulted him.
Not for his sake, for your own.
Fair enough. Wevaran. Starrante and Riaknon were members of the Wevaran race.
Kaylin led and Riaknon followed, although he seemed to have difficulty walking in a straight line; for half of the walk through the halls he ended up skittering sideways on the walls, returning to the floor when he approached a door.
Students were in the hall. They watched with a mix of dread, fascination, and curiosity—much like Kaylin herself. She didn’t blame them.
A very familiar voice caught her attention. “Are you going to see Starrante?” Robin was standing in the door frame of a wall that Riaknon had just deserted.
“Arbiter Starrante,” came the immediate correction from an unseen teacher in the room behind Robin.
“Yes.”
Robin lifted both arms in Riaknon’s direction; his elbows implied he was trying to take flight.
Riaknon lifted his forelegs and repeated the gestures. “Starrante taught you?”
“I asked him. He says I have a good eye. Do you also weave portals?”
“Robin,” the distant voice said.
“Tell your teacher we need you to lead a visitor—at the chancellor’s command—to the library.”
Robin grimaced. “I can’t lie.”
Fine. “Robin is being seconded to help a visitor reach the library. The visitor is a relative of Arbiter Starrante.”
Silence, followed by the scraping—or the clattering—of a chair.
A Barrani man with gray hair—white and black strands that were otherwise perfect and long—appeared immediately in the doorway. It was Larrantin; his eyes were narrowed with either concern or anger. They were very, very blue.
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