“He’s not likely to close the doors in our face—for one, I don’t think there are any.” But she moved as she spoke.
“I suspect the ring you’re wearing would grant you entrance, regardless. It won’t, however, speak for me.”
She hesitated. “I couldn’t help but notice that the Barrani here don’t like your weapon much.”
“It’s not the weapon,” he replied as he cleared the stairs. “It’s the wielder. I suffer from mortality.”
“It’s a curse,” she agreed. “How much trouble are they going to cause?”
“I’m uncertain. The weapon was damaged in our melee with Iberrienne. There are only two places in which it might be repaired. The West March is the least hostile.”
“I don’t want to know where the other place is.”
He chuckled. “No, you really don’t.”
She did, of course. But she’d already said too much. The hardest thing about Barrani Courts was the amount of silence they demanded.
Learn, Kaylin. Learn quickly. When you last attended Court, you were considered an oddity, a distasteful necessity in a city infested with them. In the West March, that is not the case. The Emperor’s shadow does not reach the green—but the shadows of three wars mark it. When the Consort wakes, you will be called to give your report of the events that occurred when you went missing in the Outlands. The fact that the Hallionne Orbaranne is standing—and whole—is the only point in your favor.
Dress, remember?
Ah. You mistake me. There is not a Barrani here who will attempt to dispose of you while you wear that dress. But the moment the telling is done—if you survive it—you will not be wearing the dress.
She froze. You won’t be wearing the crown, either.
No.
And you’re Outcaste.
I believe I am aware of that. I understood the risk, Kaylin. It is my opinion that I will be in far less danger than you yourself will be. The Barrani are not Dragons; Outcaste is a political statement. It is only relevant if the Outcaste in question has no power—but it is rare indeed that those without power are made Outcaste. Think of what you will tell the Court of the Vale when they bid you to speak. Think of how you will handle their accusations.
They haven’t accused me of anything.
Not yet. But if you falter, they will. It is the nature of Courts.
It’s the nature of carrion creatures, she snapped.
He chuckled. But he entered the hall without comment from anyone, and Kaylin scurried after Teela and the Consort.
* * *
The interior of the building—the parts that were visible in a straight walk from the door to a large suite of rooms—was distinctly different from the High Halls. There was far less stone here, and the wood was warm and bright; the floors were pale, but hard, the frames and lintels of doors carved out of the same wood. There were small trees, small fonts, and—as Teela stepped through a wide set of open doors—a large, circular courtyard.
In the center of the courtyard was a fountain.
Kaylin stopped walking. The Barrani at her back didn’t run into her, but they did move pointedly to either side. Teela, however, stopped. The Lord of the West March, sensitive to his sister, returned from the head of the procession. Kaylin was aware of them both, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the fountain—and she wasn’t even certain why.
Fountains weren’t exactly common in Elantra, although they weren’t unknown. Where they existed in crowded, well-traveled, public areas, they accumulated dirt, dead leaves, small sticks, and an assortment of pebbles. They also generally sported small children who were likely to get their ears boxed in the immediate future.
The water here was clean. It was clear as new glass. It reminded Kaylin of the height of summer, not because there was anything about it that suggested seasons, but because it promised blessed relief from the heat. The only noise in the courtyard was the fall of water and the slight weight of footsteps. Barrani didn’t have thunderous, heavy steps unless they were making a point.
“What do you see?” The Lord of the West March asked.
“Water.” As answers went, it defined inadequate—it was a fountain. Of course it had water. She was aware of the basin into which the water fell; the fountain was not the heavy, worn stone she was accustomed to seeing. A layer of what she assumed was gold-leaf gilded the basin, and writing, again in gold, the base into which it was set.
“I see the bridge,” she said, after a long pause. “And mist or fog.”
The Lord of the West March nodded, eyes narrowed. “An’Teela?”
“I see a fountain,” she replied. “Water is, apparently, falling from a small rift in the air above the basin.”
“You don’t see a bridge.” Kaylin’s voice was both flat and resigned.
“No, kitling.”
“And I shouldn’t, either.”
“It is not a test,” the Lord of the West March said with a tight smile. “There is no correct answer.”
Kaylin glanced at Severn.
I see what Teela sees.
Damn it. The small dragon squawked and pushed himself off her shoulder.
“Kitling,” Teela said sharply. “Remember what happened the last time your pet was near water.”
The Lord of the West March lifted a hand—in Teela’s direction. “What does he intend?”
Kaylin, however, reached for the small, winged rodent. She caught his legs and pulled him down as gently as she could; he wasn’t amused and let it be known. He sounded like an enraged chicken.
“His previous interference,” Teela said, “forced the Lady to wake Hallionne Kariastos.”
Brows rose over green-blue eyes. “Is he as he seems?”
“A familiar?” Teela shrugged. “If he is, legend proves unreliable in its particulars. But it is clear that Kariastos understood him in some small measure, and he proved himself useful on the forest paths.”
He’d done more than that, but Kaylin didn’t argue. “What,” she whispered, “is the problem?”
The small dragon nipped her hand. He was still annoyed, but not so much that he tried to take a chunk out of her. A cat would have, by this point; he was trying to lift the wings over which her palm was cupped. He chose to squawk instead. She heard his voice, and mentally adjusted her description. He sounded like a crow.
She couldn’t make out words; she wondered if Teela was right. Hallionne Bertolle had seemed to understand him, and he’d certainly said something more complicated than “hungry” or “sleepy” or “get lost.” Maybe she wasn’t listening the right way—but she wasn’t an ancient, sentient building. She wasn’t even immortal.
The small dragon caught her hand in his jaws. He continued to squawk while doing it, but the sound was muffled. Sighing, she lifted her head and froze.
The bridge was gone, as was the mist; water fell, but it fell in a sheet, and the sheet had the shape of long, flowing robes. “Teela,” Kaylin whispered. “Has the fountain changed?”
“No. Not to me. You no longer see a bridge?”
Kaylin shook her head. “I see the Tha’alaan.” Lifting her face, she stepped toward the water elemental on her pedestal.
Kaylin.
She reached out with one hand; the small dragon seemed content to spread his wings without leaping immediately into the air.
You are far from home.
“Tell me about it.” She hesitated. Water rose in the shape of a transparent limb and an open hand. Kaylin slowly raised her palm. When the two—flesh and water—connected, she heard the voices of the Tha’alani. Touching the Tha’alaan was always a shock, but never unpleasant; it was like finding an unexpected bonfire on the winter streets of the fief. It promised safety, warmth, and a place to rest. Even if she didn’t belong by birth, she felt welcome when someone else opened the door. She was a guest, here, in a place where there were no secrets and little judgment.
“An’Teela, come. If our kyuthe wishes to marvel at the fount, I will not deny
her, but we have the responsibility of the Lady, and we must see to it.”
“I have to go,” Kaylin whispered. “Will you be here?”
If I understand your question correctly, yes. I am bound to this place. It is not a harsh binding, she added, when Kaylin inhaled sharply. But I seldom hear mortal voices.
“Do you hear any voices at all?”
Only one.
She was certain then that the water spoke of the Lord of the West March. “Do you speak to him?”
He does not hear my voice. Sometimes, I hear his. It is not the voice of my people, but I do not fear it.
“Kitling?”
“Coming. Sorry.” She lowered her hand while the small dragon leaped up onto her shoulder and whiffled.
Chapter 4
Beyond the fountain was an open arch that led into a cloister. At the end of this cloister was a door. Kaylin’s arms started to itch on approach. Magic generally had that effect on her skin—but she’d seen so much magic that hadn’t in the past weeks she almost welcomed the familiar sensation. The fountain, which was clearly magical in nature, had had no effect at all.
Neither had the Hallionne, or the cold, gray mist in the outlands.
She had a few dozen questions to ask her magic teacher when she made it back to his classroom.
“Your room, Lord Kaylin, is beyond these doors. Lord Nightshade has similar rooms.” Before she could speak, he added, “They are the rooms occupied by the harmoniste and the Teller respectively, when we are fortunate enough to have them chosen.”
Severn caught her arm before she could ask the most obvious question.
“You will not find my domicile similar to the Hallionne. The Hallionne—when awake—are not comfortable residences for my kin. They are all awake now,” he added. “We have not seen such excitement since the close of the last war. You will have to touch the door ward.”
“Do I have to bleed on it?”
His brows rose, and then he chuckled. “I forget my own youth, it is so far behind me. The Hallionne exact a price for their hospitality that the Barrani do not; they also provide security that the Barrani do not. You have spent time in the High Halls; you will find my abode similar in many respects.”
“The fountain—”
He shook his head. “There are fountains within the High Halls.”
They weren’t the same. Kaylin approached the door and laid her palm against the ward engraved on its surface; her arm went instantly numb at the shock of it. The door ward did not, however, set off alarms in any other way, which made it less painful than the wards in the Imperial Library.
The Lord of the West March nodded and the door rolled open. It was not a small door; the Norannir could comfortably fit through its frame. Kaylin felt dwarfed, but expected as much; the Barrani built everything to make visitors feel small and unworthy.
She felt Nightshade’s amusement and noted that he didn’t likewise have to touch the door.
No, Lord Kaylin. This is not the first time I have visited the West March, you may recall.
“Lord Severn, your quarters are not within this wing, but if you will accompany us, I would speak with you.”
Severn inclined his head. He was watchful, but cautious. She wondered if he’d sleep at all as a guest in these halls. On the other hand, she was fairly certain that no other hall would be open to him.
* * *
The Lady’s room was at the end of a hall so wide and vaulted it looked like the nave in one of the great cathedrals. The doors at the end of that hall were closed, but they suited the hall; they were taller and grander—or at least their arches were—than the exterior doors. She turned to look over her shoulder and was surprised to see that most of the Barrani had departed; to where, she wasn’t certain.
This allowed her to relax, inasmuch as one ever did in Barrani Halls. She understood why the Barrani disliked the Hallionne, but she missed them. The Hallionne were tasked with preventing harm from coming to their guests, and they took their responsibilities seriously. Given that most of the harm that could befall their guests came from their other guests, it worked out well for Kaylin. She wasn’t stupid enough to take on the Barrani in all-out melee, and she wasn’t clever enough to slip poison into their food or drink.
She also wasn’t clever enough to avoid them.
When the doors to the Consort’s chamber were open, the Lord of the West March led Teela toward yet another set of more modest doors on the far end of a more modest hall. There was a small fountain on the left wall, and three slender trees, like artistic pillars, on the right; there were no visible guards.
The doors were warded. Kaylin, whose arm was still numb, was happy she wouldn’t have to open them. Instead, she scurried to catch up with Teela and helped her by turning down the bedcovers. Teela very gently set the Consort down as Kaylin fussed with pillows; there were far too many of them.
“Do not,” the Lord of the West March said, “attempt to heal the Lady.”
Kaylin hadn’t even considered it, given the way Barrani reacted to healing—although the Consort had given her explicit, public permission. “I wasn’t going to. I just... I don’t like her color. Can I remove the armor, or do you expect her to sleep in it?”
The Lord of the West March glanced at Teela. “If you do not consider it demeaning,” he finally said, “you may tend to the Lady; she will not wake.”
Teela’s eyes were markedly bluer, but she said nothing; she wasn’t exactly a stranger to armor and its care. “Honestly,” she said, as she began to undo buckles, “I cannot take you anywhere, kitling. You will note, for future reference, that I do not even remove my own clothing when I bathe in the High Halls.”
“That’s probably why you don’t live in them,” Kaylin shot back.
Teela’s eyes widened. She laughed, and they also changed color. “Maybe,” she said, in Elantran. “When the Lord of the West March forbids healing, he does so for a reason.”
“I healed him.”
“Indeed, which is why I mention healing at all.” She rose and tendered the Lord of the West March an enviably perfect bow. “It is unusual for the Consort to absorb three,” she told him gravely.
“How unusual?” Kaylin asked. She’d been truthful: she did not think the Lady’s color was healthy.
“It has never, to my knowledge, happened before.”
“What usually happens when the—the black bird things fly? Teela, what are they?”
“Before today? They were considered the nightmares of the Hallionne.”
“And now?”
“You saw the eagles.”
Kaylin nodded as if this made sense.
“The eagles were—long ago—considered the heralds of the Hallionne. They kept the Lord of the West March, and his Warden, apprised of any difficulties within their impressive range. There is a reason the West March has never fallen.”
“But...”
Teela sighed. “I will allow one.”
“The Hallionne is lost. Bertolle said as much, I think.”
“Indeed. He did. But the heralds are here, kitling. And they are here because you chose to interfere. No one of us understands how or why—but you’ve known the Barrani for much of your life. How many of us like to loudly proclaim our own ignorance?” Before Kaylin could reply, she added, “Exactly.” Folding her arms, she continued. “The substantiation of the nightmares began several hundred years ago.”
“The shadow birds.”
“Yes. They are not impervious to physical harm, but it was discovered that they seek a target when they appear. They are not easily detected before they do so; nor can they be entirely contained within the Hallionne. The Hallionne,” she added, “is off-limits.”
“I’m not an idiot, Teela.”
“Of course not. The Consort—and to a much lesser extent, the Lord of the West March—has an affinity for these nightmares.”
“She has an affinity for the Hallionne in general.”
“And your point is?�
�
Kaylin was hungry, tired, and worried. None of which mattered. “The Lady woke the Hallionne.”
“If I recall correctly, she woke the Hallionne to prevent the possible damage or destruction of your little pet.”
The small dragon hissed.
“Fine. It doesn’t matter why—she could wake the Hallionne.”
“It is the responsibility, in times of war, of the leader of the war band.”
“This isn’t a time of war. She woke the Hallionne. Nightshade helped.”
“An’Teela, is this true?” the Lord of the West March said, which showed that he was paying attention to every word.
Teela exhaled. “Yes. You will forgive Lord Kaylin; she is unfamiliar with the Hallionne.”
“I will, of course, forgive her her ignorance—where it is to be found. I am not entirely certain that she is ignorant in this case. Why do you feel the Lady has an affinity for the Hallionne?” His voice was cooler, and his gaze was all blue.
“I think it’s the other way around. I think the Hallionne have an affinity for the Lady,” Kaylin replied. “Bertolle and Kariastos appeared genuinely fond of her. Kariastos told me she was dearer than—”
“Enough.” The Lord of the West March held out one taut hand. “You will not speak of this again.”
Kaylin blinked. She understood that the Barrani considered any affection—or gods forbid—love they personally felt to be an almost unmentionable weakness, but she’d never encountered the inverse.
Teela chuckled, her eyes the safe green that touched none of the Lord of the West March’s. “Lirienne, you will frighten her. Think like a Hawk, kitling.”
She was. She had no doubt that the Lord of the West March believed her; it was because he believed her that he wanted her to shut up. Which meant the Hallionne did, as she pointed out, have an affinity for the Consort.
“If it makes any difference,” she said, “the Hallionne also seemed fond of—or concerned about—Teela.” It did make a difference—to Teela. Kaylin decided to shut up.
I fear it is late for that, Nightshade said.
“How do you explain the nightmares? If they come at random and every Barrani is more or less equal, what does it mean?”
Cast in Sorrow coe-9 Page 5
