Iberrienne smiled. It looked so wrong on a Barrani face, Kaylin found it inexplicably painful to watch; it was far more personal than his unplanned nudity had been. “Calarnenne!”
“Iberrienne,” Nightshade replied, smiling in turn. His smile was different, but to Kaylin, no less jarring. It walked the edge between pity and compassion—neither of which she had ever associated with the fieflord. He held out both of his hands, and Iberrienne placed his over them.
“Where is Eddorian?”
“He is not yet here.”
Iberrienne’s eyes rounded. “If he is absent, it will ruin us. My Lord was so proud that he had been chosen.” He rose. “But—why are we here? It is not the hour of the green. Calarnenne—why are you wearing the Teller’s crown? Where is Annarion?”
“Annarion is preparing for his first recitation, as Eddorian must be.”
Kaylin looked at Teela as Iberrienne spoke. Her eyes were a shade that Kaylin couldn’t remember seeing before—not blue, not precisely, although there was a lot of blue in it. She thought it amethyst, a deep purple.
Do not ask her, Lirienne said.
I’ve never seen that color before—I mean, not in Barrani eyes. What does it mean?
Grief, Kaylin. A deep, abiding, encompassing grief. It is not a color that you are taught, because it is seen so very, very seldom. Grief generally makes my kin angry—and the color of our anger reveals nothing that we do not wish to be seen. An’Teela...
Eddorian was one of the children, the lost children, wasn’t he?
You already know the answer to that question. I will not insult your perception.
“I am the Teller,” Nightshade told Iberrienne. “But come, you are not properly clothed, and when we gather for the recitation, you will be far more of an embarrassment to your father than a late Eddorian.”
Iberrienne looked down at his tablecloth; as he had both hands in Nightshade’s, it had slipped from his shoulders. “I don’t—I don’t understand. Why am I wearing nothing?”
“That is no doubt a story for a long, slow evening; it will keep boredom at bay. Come, Iberrienne.” He looked to Barian. Of course he did.
Lord Barian, however, looked to—of all people—Kaylin. As if he knew, or as if he suspected. “He is as you see him,” she replied, as softly as she could.
“Will you grant us the hospitality of the West March, Warden?” Nightshade asked. It sounded very formal.
The Warden, Lord Barian, nodded.
To Kaylin, Nightshade said, Find the Consort, Kaylin. Find her and summon me if necessary.
What will you do with Iberrienne?
I will see him clothed.
Why is he—why is he like this?
Nightshade didn’t answer. Instead, with ineffable gentleness, he led Iberrienne away.
* * *
Silence reigned in the large clearing.
It was Kaylin who broke it. “Did the eagles remain with the Consort?”
Her question caused a ripple to pass through the Barrani; whatever disturbance Iberrienne had caused—and he had, there was no doubting it—passed.
“To the best of our knowledge, yes. The dreams of Alsanis were not seen by anyone else during the battle,” Lirienne said.
It was to Barian she looked. “They remained with her. We took our leave—at her request. Two of Lord Lirienne’s lieges remained with her, on the far side of her doors; she wished no company.” Before Kaylin could ask, he said, “They are dead.”
“And her chambers—”
“Her chambers are empty.”
“Were they—”
“They were half-destroyed, yes. The eagles, when we arrived, were gone.”
Barian glanced at Lord Lirienne, and then gave a brief shake of the head. “Preparations have been made, Lord of the West March. If you will countenance it, we will repair to the heart of the green.”
She heard the No that he didn’t speak, it was so visceral. “Lord Avonelle has agreed?”
Barian’s lips tightened; it was brief. “She has.”
Kaylin started to speak.
Do not interfere, Kaylin. It was Nightshade.
You’re not even here.
No. The attack on the Lord’s hall is unprecedented. Inasmuch as Barrani are safe anywhere, they have always been safe here; not even the three flights could breach the defenses of the green. In such a situation, there is no safer place.
Given the green and the Hallionne and the lost children, I’d consider that dubious safety.
Yes. You would. But if the Consort can be found, it will be by the will of the heart of the green. The politics of the green and its Wardens require caution—but caution takes time. Lirienne will accept the debt.
What debt? She’s the Lady—she’s the only one who can wake the newborns!
Yes. But he is from the East, not the Vale. Do not interfere.
This isn’t the time for politics!
He laughed. He was genuinely amused. Politics among my kin end when life does. Go. You have touched the nightmares of Alsanis. It is possible that the heart of the green will answer Lord Lirienne—but he will be unable to go to where she is. You, however, might.
Chapter 16
Lord Avonelle was wearing armor. Gone was the very fine, very flattering dress she had worn with such cold grace at dinner. At a dinner that felt like it had happened last week. Kaylin looked up to see the two moons; she had no idea how much time had passed. It was still dark, but the edge of the visible horizon implied it wouldn’t remain that way.
“Lord of the West March.”
He inclined his head. “Lord Avonelle.”
“Accept my apologies; the Warden informed me of the urgency of the situation with all speed. We were ill-prepared for an emergency of this nature. We have bespoken the runes, and we wait.”
“I ask your leave to enter the heart of the green.”
“The green will judge.”
Kaylin didn’t like the sound of that reply, but it was said without inflection. Clearly, even in emergencies, form was more important than function.
Avonelle stood aside. “Tenebriel will serve as guide.”
Barian, however, stepped forward. He bowed to his mother, Lord Avonelle; her eyes were very blue. “I will serve as guide, Lord Avonelle.”
She looked as if she wanted to argue.
“I am Warden.” He turned to the Lord of the West March, his back taking the brunt of Lord Avonelle’s silent anger. “The green will judge. Within the green’s heart, the Lords of the High Court—and the Lords of the Vale—are responsible for their own choices and their own decisions.” He raised his voice as he turned to the Barrani gathered behind the Lord of the West March. “Will you enter the heart of the green?”
Kaylin said, “I will.”
Lord Avonelle said, in the least friendly tone she’d used yet, “You will leave your companion behind.”
The small dragon turned his head toward Lord Avonelle. He met her gaze and then—very deliberately, in Kaylin’s opinion—yawned. “My apologies, Lord Avonelle,” she said, forcing herself to sound as arrogant as Teela in a mood. “But he goes where I go.”
“Then you will not walk the green.”
* * *
Lord Barian said, “Lord Avonelle, you are Guardian; your duties are clear. But I am Warden. Lord Kaylin has touched the dreams of Alsanis; she has drawn them into the Vale, where they have not flown for centuries. On both occasions—”
“Both?” The word was sharp.
“On both occasions, her companion occupied the position he now occupies. I do not believe that anyone who can touch the dreams of Alsanis means harm to the green. Had she woken only nightmares, I would abide by your decision. She did not.” Lord Avonelle was silent.
Barian now resumed his formal conversation with Kaylin, his expression grave. “You do not understand what the heart of the green is, but I perceive your determination. Will you accept my guidance, Lord Kaylin?”
“I will.” She p
aused; a path appeared beneath the feet of the Warden. It led away from him. She started toward it, and was pulled up short by Lirienne’s silent command.
You will wait, Kaylin; it is not safe to walk these paths without a guide.
Is it less safe than the maze?
Yes.
Great.
Teela stepped forward. “I will enter the heart of the green,” she said.
It was Barian’s turn to be silent.
Lord Avonelle moved. Before she could speak, Teela said, in a drawl that the Barrani Hawks would have recognized, “The green will judge.” It was a challenge.
“I am the Guardian of the green.”
“You are. You are not, however, the green.” To Barian, she added, “Warden, I am of the High Court. I have worn the blood of the green. Lord Kaylin is kyuthe to me. I will go where she goes; I will accept the judgment of the green. Will you deny me?”
“An’Teela,” the Lord of the West March said, “perhaps it would be best if you withdraw.”
She ignored him. She ignored everyone except Lord Barian.
For one long moment he met and held her gaze; their eyes were pretty much the same color. “The green,” he said softly, “will judge. Will you take that risk, cousin?”
Teela nodded.
The path just beyond Barian’s feet began to glow.
No one spoke a word. It occurred to Kaylin only then that they were afraid to enter the heart of the green if that heart contained Teela. Barrani never acknowledged fear; they acknowledged danger. She waited to see how it would fall out. The Lord of the West March was already committed.
She was surprised when Ynpharion stepped forward. She had avoided the touch of his thoughts as if they were plague; his anger and his contempt—for both her and himself—was almost crushing if she spent too much time listening. Because of this, she avoided asking him anything, and avoided any attempt to command him; she had only set her will above his in the heart of the Hallionne Orbaranne.
It was therefore his choice, inasmuch as he had a choice. “I will enter the heart of the green and abide by its judgment.”
He was not a senior Lord of the High Court. And what he did, she realized, the others must also be seen to be willing to do. The fact that he felt he had very little to lose was immaterial; the other Lords were not aware of it.
His statement had no effect on the Warden’s people, but oddly, it was not the Warden’s people that he resented.
“The green will judge.”
He joined Kaylin on the path. He did not, in any way, acknowledge her, but he glanced with genuine concern at her arms—her bare arms, the marks on them visible. It wasn’t the marks that concerned him. It was the dress. Kaylin guessed that the dress didn’t normally rearrange itself and lose its sleeves in the process.
To her surprise, he said, I do not know. I have never seen the blood of the green before you.
“Close your mouth, kitling,” Teela said, in quiet Elantran. “Or an insect will fly into it and we’ll be subject to your whining for what remains of the evening.” Kaylin closed her mouth and opened it again. “I am so not in the mood to hear whining.”
“I don’t understand why they’re worried about you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Can you explain it?”
“No. I understand it, but I am done with explanations for the evening.”
No one else would explain it, either.
* * *
Severn stepped forward. “I ask leave to enter the heart of the green.”
Barian’s jaw set for a moment. He had accepted Teela’s request with obvious hesitation, but little surprise; he accepted Severn’s the same way—but more.
Lord Avonelle lifted a hand. “You are mortal,” she said.
“So is the harmoniste. It will not be the first time that I have entered the heart of the green.”
And clearly Lord Avonelle remembered the last time without any fondness.
Barian closed his eyes for a long moment; when he opened them, he said a very cold, “The green will judge.” Kaylin could practically hear what Barian hoped the judgment would be.
“Your corporal has courage,” Teela murmured.
“He’s not lying.”
“No. I guessed that. He is wearing the blades.”
Kaylin nodded.
“They were forged—if such a word can be used—in the heart of the green.”
Kaylin’s eyes widened.
“When the wielder dies, kitling, the blades fall silent. They wake in the heart of the green, if they wake at all. Many have lifted their dull, lifeless chains and many have carried them into the heart of the green. Very, very few have emerged.”
“You mean, the blades remain sleeping?”
“No.”
“Wait—wait—you’re saying Severn took them—”
“Yes. He challenged the family who held the nascent blades in their keeping. He defeated—barely—the man who had not been willing to risk his own life to the judgment.”
“Does the green kill a lot of you?”
Teela actually chuckled. “No. But the green is not fond of weapons, or rather, not the iron we wield. One takes a risk when one carries those blades into the green’s heart. The judgment of the green cannot be bought; it can only barely be understood.”
“The blades—I think the blades were damaged.”
“Yes. In the outlands. He has not used them since.”
“He did.”
“Oh?”
“During the attack on the Lord’s hall, he did.”
“Did you happen to notice, since you weren’t actually there, whether or not they were as effective as they normally are?”
She hadn’t, and Teela knew it.
“The Warden risks much, this eve,” Teela said quietly. Ynpharion did not appear to be listening, but he was.
“With you or with Severn?”
Teela’s eyes were almost—almost—green. “With all of us, kitling. Lord Lirienne is not a risk, but you? Your corporal? Me?”
“Nightshade’s not here,” Kaylin offered.
“The risk Nightshade poses in the minds of all present is purely political. The risks we present are not. Avonelle is enraged.” The thought amused Teela. It shouldn’t, Kaylin thought. If she understood things correctly, Lord Avonelle was her aunt, her mother’s older sister.
“Barian will survive it.”
“Her rage, yes. But he will be guide. It is not without risk to him, either. There is a reason,” she added softly, “that permission to enter the heart of the green must be given. Only during the recitation is it entirely safe to walk here. The guardians choose those they feel present the least risk; they will not allow them to enter the green this way if they fear to anger the green.”
“But—but—”
“Yes?” She spoke the word as if it had two syllables.
“The tunnels. We can enter the heart any time we want. I mean, you can.”
Teela did laugh, then. It drew a lot of attention, and the attention bounced to Kaylin when it became clear that Kaylin was the cause of her mirth. “Is that what they told you?”
But Ynpharion was staring at them both. The thunderous beat of his rage had dimmed. “You walked beneath the green?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When the Lord’s hall was attacked.”
“And you are here? Should you not be in the heart of the green?”
“She should,” Teela said, her amusement ebbing. “That, however, is not a subject to be discussed here; it is neither wise nor safe.”
Severn joined them. Teela glanced at him. “You risk too much, Corporal.”
“Kaylin wanted me here,” he replied.
Kaylin met his gaze and then found her feet very interesting. It was true. She thought he even knew why.
Iberrienne.
Closing her eyes, she said, I’m not a Wolf, Severn. I’m a Hawk. We both served the Emperor in our own ways. But�
�but—
Yes. You consider Iberrienne so damaged you now see him as a helpless child. You understand that that doesn’t change my duty?
She swallowed. Yes. Look, I know, believe I know what he did. I know how many people he killed. He didn’t consider their lives worth anything. If the fiefs were in our jurisdiction, he’d hang. He wouldn’t, but the Barrani would kill him. They didn’t suffer their own to be judged in the Imperial Court—and as Iberrienne’s victims were not Barrani, the Barrani High Court could not claim caste exemption and therefore caste justice. I know he deserves to be executed. I know.
Severn smiled; it was a shadowed smile. He was standing much closer to her than he normally did. Could you kill him?
I’ve killed, Severn. I’ve killed people who didn’t deserve to die. I worked as an enforcer for Barren. If every murderer deserves death—I deserve it, as well. Me. She could still see Iberrienne’s painfully open expression. Whoever he thinks he is now is not the man who did those things. He looks—helpless. Young. She swallowed. No. No, I couldn’t. I could have killed him—if I had the power—at any other time.
He exhaled, lifted a hand, touched her shoulder. The Consort is more important, for the moment.
I’m not sure the Emperor would agree with that.
The Emperor’s not here, and I have reasons of my own for entering the green’s heart.
* * *
It was another long half hour before those who were willing to follow the Lord of the West March were gathered. Not all of the Barrani gathered here were willing to take that risk; everyone who had come from the High Court, however, was.
None of those men was Nightshade.
No, he replied. I will stay with Iberrienne.
I won’t be able to—to call you.
He said nothing. She felt, of all things, anger. He was angry—but not with Kaylin. Not, she sensed, with Iberrienne, either.
“Warden,” the Lord of the West March said.
“Lord of the West March.” He frowned, and then his eyes narrowed. When he lifted them, he lifted them to sky. Kaylin, whose vision was nowhere equal to that of the Barrani, nonetheless saw what he saw. An eagle.
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