Cast in Sorrow coe-9

by Michelle Sagara

  “Is it clean?” Kaylin asked, looking dubious.

  “It’s clean enough.”

  Kaylin considering reminding Teela that bandages that were too tight were a problem, and decided against it because Iberrienne was stirring. “Grab the other tablecloth,” she said, wincing.

  “Why?”

  “He’s naked, Teela.”

  “Yes, I’d noticed. I prefer it to what he was wearing.”

  Kaylin flushed.

  “You’ve seen far worse in the morgue.”

  “None of those were alive.”

  “True—but you won’t have to look at his internal organs unless he attempts to do something foolish. I trust a disembowled, dead man who happens to be naked will be less upsetting?” She prodded Iberrienne with her very booted foot.

  Kaylin retrieved her daggers. “Are we out of danger?”

  “If this creature was responsible for the fires, yes.”

  “Lord Iberrienne,” Kaylin said.

  He lifted his head. His eyes were blue; they were not, however, the shade she associated with Ynpharion’s eyes whenever they happened to meet hers. He blinked and looked around the dining hall as if seeing it for the first time; had he been human, she would have said he was suffering from shock.

  Teela grimaced and sheathed her sword. Bending, she caught him by the upper left arm and yanked him more or less to his feet. He stumbled. “I do not believe this. If I have to carry you—”

  The words penetrated the fog of his blank expression. “An’Teela?” There was an open expression of confusion on his face. She had never seen a similar one on a Barrani before.

  Apparently, neither had Teela. “Kitling, what did you do to him?”

  “I told you—I used his name.”

  “How much resistance did he put up?”

  She held up her cloth-covered arms, and then lowered them. “I don’t think it was resistance that caused this. I mean—I don’t think I did it.”

  Iberrienne shook himself. Kaylin made her way to a table and pulled off a cloth, which she handed to him while Teela looked—for the first time this evening—faintly amused. Iberrienne took the cloth and draped it around his body. If he looked completely out of it, he was still Barrani; he looked better in a tablecloth than Kaylin looked in anything.

  She tried not to resent it.

  He wasn’t fighting her. Ynpharion, for the moment, was silent, as well. But he hadn’t been when she’d taken the name, pulling him back to himself. Iberrienne appeared to have no fight in him. Not yet.

  “Iberrienne,” she said, her voice gentling for no reason she could put a finger on.

  He nodded.

  “Lord Iberrienne.”

  “Lord...Kaylin.”

  “We can’t find the Consort. Do you know where she is?”

  He was silent. Kaylin wondered if she’d somehow bungled the naming. The small dragon bit her ear. She glared at him. He glared back.

  “Kaylin.”

  Kaylin began to lead Iberrienne in the direction Teela was walking. He offered no resistance—and no answers. She listened as she walked. Ynpharion put up a barrier of rage and humiliation every time her thoughts strayed close to his. She could crash through it—she knew that now—but she felt the pain she caused every time she did. He had never, on the other hand, caused physical wounds to appear anywhere on her body.

  She wondered if he could.

  “You’re Outcaste,” she told him quietly.

  He nodded. She might as well have said, “Nice weather we’re having.”

  “Teela?”

  Teela glanced over her shoulder. “We have two halls. If the instructions you were given are valid, we should clear the halls and reach the courtyard in minutes.”

  “I’m not sure the Lord of the West March is in the courtyard.”

  Teela exhaled. In Elantran, she said, “As long as we’re not in a building that’s magically trapped and on fire, I’ll consider it a win.” She glanced at Iberrienne and then continued to lead.

  “Teela?”

  “What, kitling? I have had a very long week, and I’m not at my most patient.”

  “Is he going to get better?”

  Teela’s eyes rounded. “I swear, if you weren’t wearing that damn dress—”

  The small dragon hissed.

  “Do not even imagine that I’m afraid of you.”

  * * *

  The courtyard was empty; the fountain, however, continued to trickle water into its basin, as if nothing untoward had happened. Since Kaylin could see that doors on either side of the courtyard were off their hinges, she knew that the attackers had passed through the courtyard; they hadn’t chosen to linger.

  Reaction had set in; Iberrienne wasn’t the only one who was in shock. Kaylin’s arms felt cold as the heat of the marks deserted them; she felt exhausted. She plunked herself down beside the fountain, her back pressed into the lip of the basin. To her surprise, Iberrienne followed, and sat as she sat.

  This was so not what she had expected. “Lord Iberrienne.”

  He nodded.

  “When did you last see the Consort?” She exhaled, and trailed a hand in the water. It was cool, but it didn’t deepen the chill she felt. After a long pause, she tried again. “Do you know where you are?” She hated to feel anything but resentment and fury toward this man: he’d kidnapped and killed dozens of people. He’d destroyed her home.

  She couldn’t find her anger. She couldn’t even find the terrible fear that had kept her moving since she’d heard that the Consort couldn’t be found.

  “Kitling.”

  “Have you seen anything like this before? It’s like—it’s like lethe.”

  “I assure you Lord Iberrienne was unlikely to imbibe lethe.”

  “But—it’s like that, isn’t it? Doesn’t it look like that to you?” Lethe was one of the few drugs prized by a small portion of the Barrani populace. It was—to Barrani—highly addictive, and it destroyed their perfect, immortal memory in bits and pieces.

  “His eyes are wrong for it,” Teela finally said. “Tell me what you did. Tell me exactly what you did.”

  Kaylin told her. “But—his name was malformed. It was—it was melty. Do you think I said it wrong?”

  Teela gave her the same scornful look the small dragon had. “You can’t mispronounce a syllable; if you got it wrong, he wouldn’t be Barrani—at least in form. Honestly, kitling, it’s like giving torches to infants. I can’t snap him out of this—I’m tempted to try, but given your current mood, it’ll only upset you.

  “If he’s in there, there’s only one person who can find him.”

  “No,” a new voice said. “There are two.”

  * * *

  It was the water’s voice. Teela leaped backward, landing—like a cat—on her feet. Her sword was free of its scabbard.

  Kaylin, however, rotated on the bench, tilting her chin toward the column of rippling water that had risen out of the basin when she wasn’t looking. It had the form of a person, but not the features that it sometimes took.

  One water arm rose slightly, as if to touch Kaylin’s face. You are far from home. You are far from kin.

  Kaylin nodded. “You are, too.”

  I am not confined. I am not contained. And, Kaylin, I am not all one thing or all the other. Things move within me, currents carry experience from one part of me to the other. I change, and I do not change. I grieve, and I do not grieve.

  You should not be here, Chosen. But you are here.

  The small dragon rose on Kaylin’s shoulder. He squawked, spreading his wings as he leaped into the air. He circled the pillar of water, making as much noise as he’d made all evening.

  Kaylin felt the water turn away from her, although nothing had moved. The water suddenly ran cold, numbing her skin after the first shock of contact. She couldn’t hear what the water said, but there were breaks in the small dragon’s noise that might—just might—mean she was replying.

  “Are you—are you
part of the green?”

  I am. I have always been part of the green. When it was a seed, Kaylin, I was the water that contained it.

  Most people grew things in the earth. Kaylin kept this to herself.

  I protect the green. To reach its heart, you must pass me. Did you not see the divide?

  She’d seen a small stream become a torrential river.

  Teela’s eyes widened. “Are you responsible for this, kitling?”

  “No. She’s the water, Teela.”

  “The water?”

  “The elemental water.”

  “An’Teela.”

  Teela’s eyes shed a bit of their paleness. “Eldest.”

  “The story is not yet told, daughter. And because it is not, the green suffers.”

  Teela was silent.

  “And you suffer, as well. It is time.” To Kaylin she said, “Find the Lady.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Find the Lady,” the water repeated, “if you wish to wake Lord Iberrienne.”

  “I brought him because I thought he’d know where the Lady is.”

  “He does,” the water replied. “If you wish to know what he knows, you might find the information—but you might break him in the process.”

  “He’s already broken,” Teela reasonably pointed out.

  “As are you,” the water replied; Teela’s eyes looked black in the dim light. “And because you have been, he is part of your story now.”

  “She’s not broken,” Kaylin said, because Teela said nothing.

  “The Lady is not yet dead.” The water warmed in her hand, and for a moment, Kaylin could see a young girl with bruised eyes in the lines the water took as it coalesced and solidified. She lifted Kaylin’s hand, the movement like the strong pull of undercurrent. Her lips folded in a sad smile. “I see you have already begun.” She was looking at Kaylin’s palm.

  “Lady—what is the heart of the green?”

  “What,” she replied, “is the heart of a Hallionne? You’ve been invited to two such places.”

  Kaylin was silent.

  “You understand, even if you cannot communicate it. The green is like the water, and unlike the water; it is like the Hallionne and unlike the Hallionne. It is a dream, Kaylin. And a nightmare. I am part of it, and separate from it. The Tha’alaan sleeps; I will not wake it unless you ask.”

  Kaylin swallowed and retrieved her hand. She looked at the bloodred mark on her palm. “I don’t understand,” she finally said.

  “No. Find the Consort.”

  “She was with the dreams of Alsanis.”

  The water began to fall, returning to the basin that contained it.

  “Teela?”

  Teela was rigid with anger. “Do not get involved in this.”

  “If I don’t, the Consort will die.”

  “The Consort who censured you and publicly humiliated you.” She frowned. “What are you looking at?”

  Kaylin almost shoved her hand behind her back, but that would have been as effective as breaking her own arm. In fact, given Teela’s mood, it might be exactly that. She held out her hand, palm up.

  Teela glanced at the palm of Kaylin’s hand for a long, long moment. When she spoke her voice was soft. It was the wrong kind of soft. “Where did you get that mark?”

  “In the tunnels.”

  “No, you did not.”

  “In the cavern that the tunnels lead to, if you’re lucky.”

  Teela’s eyes had narrowed. She dropped Kaylin’s hand. “If you asked for the judgment of the green, and you are not still trapped in its maze, how exactly did you end up here? You didn’t come from the heart of the green; there’s no way Lord Lirienne would have allowed you to run back into the halls. Kitling, look at me.”

  Long years of habit came to her rescue; she met Teela’s extremely dark eyes. “I asked the green if it could send me to where you were.”

  Teela’s eyes rounded in outrage. “I swear, when we get you back to Elantra, I will go straight to the Emperor himself and demand that you never leave the city again.”

  “Teela—no one knew where you were.”

  “So?”

  “Severn was with Nightshade. Whatever attacked them took Evarrim down—I don’t know if he survived or not. Lirienne was with Barian, everyone was frantic for the Consort—and no one knew where you were.”

  “So you came back into the heart of the fighting?”

  “I didn’t know where you were, Teela. And frankly, I was helpful. I know how you fight. I know how to stay out of your way, and I know when to cut in. I didn’t get in your way—I’m not a kid anymore.”

  Teela, however, was frowning. “Did Gaedin teach you the greetings and the obeisances? Did he teach you the blessings?”

  “No.”

  “Then how, exactly, did you ask the heart of the green to send you anywhere?”

  “Because the green can speak.”

  Teela stilled. Kaylin had thought her motionless before; now, even breath appeared to have deserted her. “The green spoke to you.”

  “Yes. Like the water usually does.”

  “Did you find this new mark before the green spoke to you?”

  “No, it was after.”

  Teela closed her eyes for one long moment. When she opened them, she glanced at Iberrienne. “We will find the Consort,” she said, sounding—for Teela—defeated. “And then, dress or no dress, I am packing you up and sending you straight home.”

  “You can’t—I’m the harmoniste.”

  “Do you want to bet?”

  She really, really didn’t. She rose, and when Iberrienne failed to follow suit, gently took his arm and pulled him to his feet. He frowned and shook his arm free, which caused the tablecloth to slip.

  Kaylin had a strong desire to go back into one of the guest rooms—any room—and find clothing. Even a dress was better than this. Sadly, Teela headed straight out, walking briskly but not so fast that she left Kaylin and Iberrienne behind.

  * * *

  The Barrani were gathered like a war band. They were armed that way, too. The subtle—and not so subtle—politics of the first dinner had evaporated. They were angry, no surprise there.

  Lirienne was enraged. None of it showed, except in the color of his eyes, and even then, it was dark enough that someone might mistake in their color. That someone was not, unfortunately, Kaylin Neya. She could feel his fury like a blow. It wasn’t that she was attempting to touch it; it radiated out with such force it made a week of Ynpharion look like child’s play.

  She was almost afraid to approach him.

  “Lord Kaylin.” He knew, of course. “Lord An’Teela.” His eyes widened slightly as he saw who trailed after them. “You have the Outcaste.”

  “We do. I thought he might be able to tell us where the Consort is.”

  Kaylin knew Lirienne could utter a single word, and what was left of Iberrienne would die here. She was no longer certain that would be a bad thing. She held his name, yes—but it felt incredibly fragile, a blown glass object meant to contain small, still things that wouldn’t break it. There were fleeting images that she could almost touch, but they never coalesced into the solidity of voice or emotion that she could feel from Lirienne or Nightshade.

  Hells, she wasn’t even trying to contact Lirienne and he was almost overwhelming.

  “An’Teela, what did you do to subdue him?” the Lord of the West March asked. He came to stand in front of Iberrienne. Iberrienne pulled the edges of the tablecloth more tightly around his shoulders before he met the Lord of the West March’s gaze. His eyes widened. “Lirienne.”

  If the sight of a Lord of the Court dressed in nothing but a tablecloth hadn’t already commanded the attention of all Barrani present, the tone of Iberrienne’s voice did. He didn’t use the unadorned name to signal public lack of respect, or to imply an inferiority of power or position on the Lord of the West March’s part. His voice was neither neutral nor chilly.

  It was said, Kaylin th
ought, with shy delight. She had never heard a Barrani speak this way, and she’d been forced for any number of reasons to listen to a lot of Barrani.

  To her surprise—and relief—Severn appeared, stepping around the Barrani who were content to let him pass. “Lord Iberrienne was injured in the outlands; it is possible that he had not fully recovered.”

  “He was not so badly injured that he could not field a sizeable force with which to attack the hall.” The Lord of the March paused.

  An’Teela did not subdue him. It wasn’t a question.

  No.

  What did you do?

  She swallowed. I could see his name.

  Silence.

  I used it.

  He fought you, then.

  She exhaled. Yes and no. I think—in the end—he wanted me to grab it. I have some experience with people who don’t.

  Ah. You do not refer to me?

  No. You don’t care.

  She felt his brief amusement. That is entirely incorrect. I care. But not so much that I wished to die.

  You’re not afraid of me.

  No. What you could do is theoretical. You have my name—but your hold over it has never been tested. Nor will it be, while you live. Teela does not wish your intervention to be known—and that is wise. No one of my people will assume that Iberrienne was brought low by you.

  Gee, thanks.

  Do you wish it known, kyuthe?

  Did she? She glanced at the assembled Barrani, Lords of the High Court, Lords of the lesser court of the West March. No. She hesitated.

  Of course he knew. You are concerned.

  Why did—why is he—looking at you like that?

  Silence. He didn’t want to answer. And she didn’t want to demand what he wouldn’t willingly give, although in theory she could.

  “Lirienne,” Iberrienne said, when the Lord of the West March failed to answer. “Where is Eddorian? Is he not here?”

  The Lord of the West March closed his eyes. And so, Kaylin saw, did Teela.

  * * *

  She was surprised when Nightshade also walked through the grim and silent crowd. The name, Eddorian, had dropped like a very large anvil into a very still pond. The Lord of the West March glanced at him, and Teela glared. Neither, however, spoke to stop him, and because they didn’t, the Barrani Lords let him pass.