Cast in Sorrow

by Michelle Sagara

  “How do we get out of here?”

  “The same way we entered,” the Consort replied. She raised one hand; it was an imperious gesture. The nightmare shadows wheeled and turned toward her, breaking their flight pattern.

  Kaylin’s jaw would have hit floor if it hadn’t been attached to the rest of her face.

  The Consort smiled. Her eyes were still blue, but it was the blue you might see at the heart of an emerald; it suggested the essence of green. She whispered a word. Alsanis.

  The eagles turned their heads toward her. They spoke; she replied. Kaylin couldn’t understand a word. The Consort said, without lowering her arm, “The dreams of Alsanis. Lord Kaylin, what did you do to wake them?”

  “I don’t know.” But she lifted her arms, as well, opening her palms. The Consort lowered hers; she spoke to the shadows. The shadows did not reply with words, but they came, and they landed on Kaylin’s arms. The marks on her skin began their slow burn.

  This time when she closed her eyes, the courtyard vanished. She opened them again in a panic, and met the Consort’s gaze. “I will not leave, Lord Kaylin.”

  “It’s not the leaving I’m worried about,” Kaylin lied.

  The Consort frowned; Kaylin closed her eyes again. Her skin was uncomfortably hot; her legs ached, and the back of her neck felt as if it had been rubbed raw. But her arms didn’t hurt. They felt blessedly cool.

  She’d forgotten the small dragon. He hadn’t forgotten her.

  “If you don’t stop biting me, I’ll bite you back.”

  Squawk.

  Her arms felt heavy; she struggled to keep them raised. She wasn’t going to win.

  Squawk.

  “Yes, we understand.”

  She opened her eyes. She was carrying two eagles. She could see tendrils of shadow drifting away from wings as the eagles pushed themselves into the air. One more.

  One. Kaylin raised her arms again, and she caught the final shadow. And it was a shadow; it weighed nothing, and implied the flight of a bird she couldn’t see overhead. She called the bird, and the bird emerged, cracking shadow as if it were shell.

  This fifth eagle, this final bird, turned its head toward the Consort, tilting it to one side. His voice was rich and resonant, his words unintelligible.

  “Close your eyes, Lord Kaylin,” the Consort said.

  Kaylin was tired enough to obey.

  “You don’t understand dreams of Alsanis.”

  “No. But it feels like I should, which makes me feel stupid. More stupid,” she added. “I can’t pin it down. It has the vowels and consonants of High Barrani, but it feels more fluid.” She hesitated. “When I was brought to the High Halls for the first time, I was asked to heal your brother.”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “He was willing to be healed, and I understand why most Barrani aren’t, because I healed him. But—”

  “You wonder if the cost to either of us will be the same.”

  Kaylin nodded. “I couldn’t wake him unless—”

  “He chose to withdraw into himself, to survive. What you saw was a reflection of that. What you see here is not entirely a reflection of me.”

  Kaylin frowned. She was certain her face was going to get stuck that way. “I don’t see how it’s a reflection of you at all.”

  The small dragon squawked.

  She felt the Consort take her hand. “Keep your eyes closed, Private Neya.” She had switched into spoken Elantran. The musicality of her voice made Kaylin’s mother tongue seem rich and textured and nuanced. “What did you see?”

  “Eleven ghosts,” Kaylin replied. And she realized, as she did, that she could no longer hear raised Barrani voices. She couldn’t hear the eagles, either.

  “Ghosts.”

  “It’s what I called them. They first appeared as glass statues, but they followed me. I came to find you,” Kaylin added, “because you wouldn’t wake up.”

  “I imagine the Lord of the West March has been concerned.”

  Barrani understatement.

  “These ghosts—”

  “I’m certain they’re meant to be the lost children. I don’t understand why they were made of glass—but I’m certain.” She hesitated. “What did you see?”

  “Nothing as clear as that. The Hallionne is...not dead.”

  “What—what did you see at the end? When I—when we—put the words into the fountain?”

  She heard—of all unexpected things—laughter. “Fountain? You saw a fountain?”

  Kaylin felt herself reddening. “It was like the fountain in Lord Lirienne’s courtyard. Sort of. But it was—it was almost out of water. You were—it looked like you were singing to it.” And as the words left her mouth, she froze. Because it did remind her of that fountain. And because she had touched the water in the real world and she knew that it wasn’t ordinary, city water. “What did you see?”

  “Water,” the Consort replied. “But not as you saw it. Water, land, a vessel. I stood in one of our ancient boats. It was damaged and sinking.”

  “Are you there now?”

  “No, Lord Kaylin. Neither of us is there now.”

  “And I don’t need to know your name. I don’t need to call you.”

  “No. I am not my brother. I feel that I can trust you—but I have learned not to trust my own instincts where the living are concerned. And it is not necessary now.”

  “Did you—did you see Teela?”

  Silence. Kaylin felt cool—blessedly cool—palms against the sides of her face. “Do not speak of that, Kaylin. Do not speak of that to anyone but me.”

  “And the eleven ghosts?”

  “I did not see them, either. It is...safer to speak of them; they are already lost. An’Teela is not.”

  “I should never have come to the West March. If I hadn’t, Teela wouldn’t be here.”

  “I understand why you feel that way,” the Consort said softly. “But I see the dreams of Alsanis, and they see us. I won’t pretend to understand what it means, but it has been so long. My mother could speak with Alsanis; the eagles once flew to the heart of the High Halls to converse with her. I was a child then, and I listened; it was not considered wise to interrupt my mother. Now they speak with me.” Her voice dipped at the end.

  “Would you have—would you have woken if I’d minded my own business?”

  The Consort laughed again; it was a clear, high sound, and it had no edges. Kaylin leaned into it, and into the hands that still cupped her face. It was so easy to see Barrani women as young: they always looked youthful. But she realized that the Consort was far older than her mother had been when she died, and she took comfort from that; she wasn’t sure why.

  “No.”

  “What did the words do?”

  “Do you not know? No, of course you don’t. You chose two. Why?”

  “Because I couldn’t just choose one.”

  “Why those two?”

  “Could you read them?”

  “In a fashion, and only here.”

  “I can’t—you know I can’t—read the words on my skin. I don’t even feel like they’re mine. But I had to choose, this time.”

  “You chose well, I think. Were I to choose, I’m not sure I would have made the same choice—but I am not Chosen. One of the two words was heavy; it was hard for you to carry, hard for you to bring here. The other weighed nothing. It is my belief that the heavier word speaks to the heart of Alsanis. It tells him that you understand some essential part of his plight. You are not Alsanis; you will never be Alsanis. At best, you might, in happier times, have been a guest.

  “He has no guests now.”

  “He has the lost children.”

  “They are not guests. They might have been, once—but they have far outstayed even the most generous definition of hospitality.”

  “The other word?”

  “It, too, speaks to Alsanis—both words did. He could barely hear my voice. But yours—through the words—was clear. It is hope, Kaylin.�
� She had slid from Elantran into Barrani, and Kaylin had followed the seamless transition so easily she couldn’t recall when the switch had happened. “I do not know if it is his hope or yours, but I believe he found hope in it.

  “It is scant hope,” she added softly. “And perhaps it will cause pain; hope oft does when it remains forever beyond our reach. But the hope, he drew into the depths, and the pain, he cast out. Come. I hear my brother, and he is not best pleased.”

  “Can we just leave?”

  “While you are in the West March, you will never entirely leave this place. I am sorry. I did not intend to embroil you in the affairs of the heart of the green.”

  “But you—”

  “Yes. But I am Consort, and I have seen the Lake of Life; it is my gift and my duty to touch the words that wait therein. And, Lord Kaylin, in ignorance, you have also done the same, and you survived.

  “Many of my kin did not. Lord of the West March, have you chosen to convene a council meeting in my chambers?”

  Kaylin’s eyes flew open. She was curled in a crouch beside the Consort’s bed, her hand—knuckles white—around the Consort’s. She was aware of the glares aimed squarely at the back of her neck, and worked to separate their hands, although the Consort’s tightened briefly before she let go.

  Kaylin stood and met the Consort’s blue eyes. She looked far healthier in real life than she had looked at the end of the not-quite-dream, but she still looked pale and exhausted. Her eyes, however, darkened as she looked at Kaylin.

  Kaylin looked down.

  There was a small jagged hole in the dress. In size and shape it matched a shard of ice. Kaylin froze, her eyes widening in panic.

  “Yes,” a voice said, and she looked up. There were now three eagles on the other side of the bed. The one in the middle was doing the talking. “Everything comes to an end, Chosen.”

  Could it come to an end when I’m not wearing it?

  “Endings and beginnings are often intertwined.”

  As answers went, this one sucked. It had that street-corner dispensed-wisdom tone. Which would be fine, but she was the first mortal to wear this dress, and of course it would take damage while she was doing it. That it hadn’t so far was some sort of miracle, and Kaylin did not want to come to the end of miracles while still wearing it. She was almost afraid to turn around.

  “Lord Kaylin.”

  Kaylin blinked as the Consort held out an imperious arm. Kaylin realized that the Consort, at least, was still lying in bed. She immediately bent to offer an arm to help the Consort to her feet. It gave her something to do, other than panic, but it also made her feel almost ashamed of herself; she was hiding behind the Consort, who was physically far frailer at the moment than she was.

  She was grateful anyway, because she turned, supporting the Consort’s weight, to face the room at large.

  The Lord of the West March was at the side of the Warden. Nightshade was standing to the Warden’s left, Evarrim to Lirienne’s right. Behind them, stood Barrani in the livery of the Lord of the West March; they had not drawn swords, but their eyes were the color of midnight as they met Kaylin’s.

  No one spoke. They looked at Kaylin, looked at her dress—and at the hole that wasn’t actually all that big—and said nothing. They said it really loudly.

  “Warden,” the Consort said, nodding regally. “You have my gratitude.”

  He looked genuinely surprised; the blue of his eyes was ringed by a slender, but visible gold.

  “You brought the Chosen to my side. I do not think I would have escaped the nightmares of Alsanis, otherwise. Brother,” she continued, using the familiar term in a particularly emphatic way, “the nightmares have never been this strong or this cold; nor has he sent five, if indeed the nightmares are sent at all, before now. The Warden could not have known; the nightmares and the dreams of Alsanis have never been under his control.”

  The Lord of the West March didn’t retreat into plausible denial. “I am heartened to know,” he told his sister, “that you retain some of the optimism of youth. I have not accused the Warden of deliberate malfeasance. Intent, or its lack, control, or its lack, are irrelevant. You are awake.”

  “Yes. I will take a light meal in my outer chamber; this is not the room in which I would choose to greet guests.” She turned to Kaylin and raised a brow. Kaylin took the hint and accompanied her to the doors, which opened before she reached them. Kaylin would have rushed to get out of her way, as well, given her expression. She didn’t entirely understand the Consort, but she understood her expression: she was in charge, at the moment, and she was Not Pleased.

  Kaylin didn’t have the option the doors had, being attached at the arm. Then again, the doors didn’t need the Consort’s regal disdain as a shield, either.

  * * *

  The outer chamber was pretty much a hall. It wasn’t a small hall, either, but the Barrani never did anything modest. There was a long table, visible through a broad, slender arch that didn’t look as though it could actually support the weight of the ceiling above it. Before the arch, there was a wide, sparsely furnished room, with a small font in the corner farthest from the bedroom door; natural light—during the day, which this wasn’t—would probably fill the room. Kaylin glanced at the Consort; the Consort looked straight ahead.

  Dining room, then.

  Although her guests were all men of power and import, the Consort headed straight for the exceptionally tall chair at the head of the table. Her hand tightened once on Kaylin’s arm before she slid into the seat. “Unless you enjoy stilted conversation and the suspicion that causes it, you may take your leave.”

  “The dress—”

  “I know. I would like to tell you it is the least of your worries, but that is unlikely to bring you much comfort. You are not in the Hallionne, Kaylin. Your role as harmoniste makes attempts on your life unlikely—but that is not now my concern.” She glanced, once, at the small tear in the dress. “I mean you no harm, but I am not certain I am...safe.” She looked pointedly at Kaylin’s shoulder.

  Or rather, at the small dragon that was draped across it.

  “I will not tell you to avoid An’Teela. I feel the opposite is almost necessary—but you are in the most danger while you are with her. Take your companion with you wherever you go.” She looked down the table as the rest of the guests entered the chamber. She didn’t rise to greet them.

  Kaylin hesitated, but the truth was, her ankle was throbbing—so much for imaginary injuries—and she was exhausted. As usual, she was hungry, but a table full of political, angry Barrani wasn’t much of an inducement to stay. She offered the Consort the most perfect bow a groundhawk with a bum ankle could muster, and then backed out of the room—also an awkward maneuver, given the ankle.

  For her part, the Consort accepted the obeisance as if it was her indisputable due.

  * * *

  Kaylin.

  Great. She could hear two voices on the inside of her head. She wondered idly if they could hear each other.

  Nightshade was amused. No.

  Lirienne didn’t answer.

  When I was in the Hallionne, she told them both—she hoped it was both—I couldn’t speak to either of you. I couldn’t reach you.

  No. It was Nightshade who answered, but that made sense—she had never tried to speak to the Lord of the West March the same way.

  You could reach me when I was in the void. You could reach me when I was in the High Halls, healing— She broke off, not that it would make much difference.

  Yes.

  Why was this different? Did I—did I disappear?

  No. To the eyes of all observers, you remained in the room.

  Does this happen often?

  No, Kaylin. I do not think it could happen anywhere but the green. When you leave, find your Corporal. If you encounter difficulty, call upon the eagles of Alsanis; I believe they will hear your voice.

  What can they do?

  He laughed, or at least, she felt laughter.r />
  Kaylin. A different speaker. Lirienne. I am—we are—in your debt.

  If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to skip the debt part.

  He also laughed. If her ankle hadn’t been throbbing quite so badly, she might have smiled. You would, I think, respect Lord Barian. Because you are not Barrani, I feel it necessary to remind you that trust is unwise. It is likely that we will convene a meeting of the Council of the West March on the morrow.

  Can I—

  No. You are the harmoniste, and given the appearance of the eagles, Lord Barian will request your presence even if I do not. You have seen most of Court, if you have not interacted with all of them; they were in the hall at dinner. There is very little you can do to disguise the damage to the dress, and it will cause distress. You may be called upon to explain it; resist.

  Who’s going to ask?

  I will.

  But you just said—

  Yes. Do not answer when I demand the truth.

  So I’m supposed to say nothing?

  You are, Nightshade said, to do no such thing. You are to answer, but you are to avoid the truth in any of your replies. Lie. Or misdirect. The Lord of the West March will allow obvious silence or obvious rebellion; you are mortal.

  Can he hear this?

  I can, Lord Lirienne replied. Because you desire it. I will speak with the Consort.

  You haven’t, yet?

  No; she has made clear that she is not to be questioned, and she never does so without cause. She took pains to prevent anyone present from interacting with you personally, and she dismissed you in a way that allowed none of us to follow.

  But Kaylin, kyuthe, be cautious. I know it is not in your nature—but try.

  * * *

  When she reached the end of the hall, she found Severn. She wasn’t even surprised to see him; she was mostly grateful. He was human. He was still bruised, his eye in particular; his hair had been singed, and although it was clean it was uneven. She didn’t ask him how he’d known to meet her. She did grimace when his gaze fell to her injured ankle.

  “Am I hobbling?”

  “You’re favoring your other foot,” was his diplomatic reply. “The Consort is awake?”