The roads widened, and smoothed, as the carriage picked up speed. Beyond the windows, the buildings grew grander, wood making way for stone, and stone for storeys of fenced-off splendor that spoke of both power and money. The towers of the Imperial palace could be seen, for a moment, in the distance; the red-and-gold of the Imperial standard flew across the height of sky. Only the Halls of Law had towers that rivaled it, and that, by Imperial fiat; no other building erected since the founding of the Empire of Ala’an was allowed, by law, to reach higher.
There were other buildings with towers as high, but they were in the heart of the fiefs, where even Kaylin had not ventured. Not often. They were old, and had about them not splendor but menace; they spoke of death, and the wind that whistled near those heights spoke not of flight but of falling.
She shook herself. Severn was watching—inasmuch as he could, given the rough ride.
“The fiefs,” he said. Not a question.
She swallowed and nodded. The years stretched out between them. Death was there, as well. In the end, Severn looked away—but he had to; the carriage had tipped again.
There was so much she wanted to know. And so much she was afraid to ask. She’d never been good with words at times like these; they were awkward instead of profound, and they were almost always barbed.
Instead, she tried not to lose the food she hadn’t had.
“Remind me,” he said when the carriage began to slow, “never to let Teela drive again.”
She tried to smile. “As if,” she told him, “you’ll need a reminder.” Her legs felt like liquid.
He had the grace not to ask her how she was; he had the sense not to ask her if she would be all right. But as the carriage came to a halt in front of tall, stone pillars carved in the likeness of a Barrani Lord and Lady, he opened the door that was nearest him. He slid out, dragging his feet a few steps, and then righted himself.
She closed her eyes.
His hand touched her arm. “Kaylin,” he said quietly. “Come.”
She nodded, biting her lip as she opened her eyes and met his gaze. The pillars were perfect in every aspect; Barrani writ large, like monumental gods, the falling folds of their robes embroidered with veins of gold and precious stones. They dwarfed her. They made her feel ungainly, short, squat—and very, very underdressed.
But Severn wasn’t Barrani. He didn’t notice.
He offered her the stability of his arm and his shoulder, and she let him. The sun cast his shadow across her like a bower.
Teela jumped down from the driver’s seat, and rearranged the fall of her emerald skirts until the gold there caught light and reflected it, suggesting forest floor; the skirts were wide and long, far too long for someone Kaylin’s height.
Teela spoke a few words to the horses, low words that had some of the sound of Barrani in them, but none of the actual words. The horses, foaming, quieted. Their nostrils were wide enough to fit fists in.
“Don’t speak,” Teela told Kaylin quietly as she left the horses and approached. She didn’t seem to feel the need to offer the same warning to Severn.
Kaylin nodded. Speech, given the state of her stomach, was not something to which she aspired. She took a few hesitant steps, and mindful of the facade of the building that was recessed behind those columns, stopped. She had once seen a cathedral that was smaller than this. It had been rounder; the Barrani building favored flat surfaces, rather than obvious domes. But it was, to her eye, a single piece of stone, and trellises with startling purple flowers trailed down its face. A fountain stood between two open archways, and water trickled from the stone curve of an artfully held vase. The statue that carried the vase seemed a perfect alabaster woman, half-naked, her feet immersed.
She looked almost lifelike.
And Kaylin had seen statues come to life before, in the halls of Castle Nightshade.
“Kaylin,” Teela said, the syllables like little stilettos, “what are you doing?”
“Staring,” she murmured. Half-afraid, now that she was here. It was almost like being in a foreign country. She had never ventured to this part of Elantra before. Would not, in fact, have been given permission to come had she begged on hands and knees.
Standing here, she knew why; she did not belong on this path. Unnoticed until that thought, she looked at what lay beneath her feet. She had thought it stone, but could see now that it was softer than that. Like moss, like something too perfect to be grass, it did not take the impression of her heavy—and scuffed—boots.
Teela jabbed her ribs. “We don’t have time,” she whispered. It was the most Teela-like thing she’d done since Kaylin entered the Hawklord’s tower, and the familiarity of the annoyed gesture was comforting. And painful; the Barrani had bony hands.
She swallowed and nodded, and Teela, grabbing her by the hand, began to stride toward the left arch.
It was work just to keep up. Kaylin stumbled. Her legs still hadn’t recovered from the ride. But she had just enough dignity that she managed to trot alongside the taller Barrani noble. Severn walked by her side with ease and a quiet caution that spoke of danger.
She noticed, then, that he wore a length of chain wrapped round his waist, the blade at one end tucked out of sight. He had not unwound it, of course; he wasn’t a fool. There were no obvious guards at either arch, no obvious observers, but Kaylin had a suspicion that Teela would have taken it upon herself to break his arms if he tried.
Kaylin wanted to marvel at the architecture, and buildings rarely had that effect on her. She wanted to see Aerians sweeping the heights above, and Leontines prowling around the pillars that were placed beneath those heights, as if they held up not only ceiling but sky. She wanted to stop a moment to look at—to touch—the plants that grew up from the stone, as if stone were mooring.
But she did none of these things. Beauty was a luxury. Time was a luxury. She was used to living without.
A large hall—everything was large, as if this were designed for giants—opened up to the right. Teela, cursing in Elantran, walked faster. Kaylin’s feet skipped above the ground as she dangled.
She saw her reflection in marble, and again in glass; she saw her reflection in gold and silver, all of them distorted ghosts. She couldn’t help herself; Teela kept her moving, regardless.
There were candles above which flames danced; nothing melted. There were pools of still water, and the brilliant hue of small fish added startling life to their clarity. Too much to see.
And then there were doors, not arches, and the doors were tall. There were two, and each bore a symbol.
Her natural dislike of magic asserted itself as Teela let her go. But Teela stepped forward, and Teela placed her palms flat against the symbols. The doors swung wide, and without looking, Teela grabbed Kaylin and dragged her across the threshold.
She didn’t even see the doors swing shut. She saw Severn skirt them as they moved, that was all. She had scant time to notice the room they’d entered.
It was an antechamber of some sort. There were chairs in it, if that was even the right word. They seemed more like trees, to Kaylin’s untutored eyes, and branches rose up from their base, twisting and bearing bright fruit.
These, Teela passed.
They had walked a city block, or two, in Kaylin’s estimation; everything was sparse and empty.
The chamber passed by, and they entered one long hall. This was older stone, and harsher. It was rough. There were no plants here, and no flowers, no gilded mirrors and no pools. Weapons adorned the walls instead; weapons and torch sconces of gleaming brass.
But the weapons were fine, and their hilts were jeweled. If the gems were cold, they added the fire of color to the hall itself. “Don’t touch anything,” Teela said in curt Elantran.
At the end of this hall was a single door.
Kaylin stopped walking then.
Teela didn’t.
“Kaylin?” Severn asked. It was hard for him not to notice that her feet were now firmly planted
to the floor.
“The door—” She looked up at him, trying not to struggle against Teela’s grip. She hated to lose, even now. Animal instinct made it hard; she did not want to pass through that door.
“Teela,” Severn said, curt and loud.
Kaylin’s ineffectual struggle hadn’t actually garnered the Barrani’s attention; Severn’s bark did. She stopped walking and looked back at him.
Kaylin’s gaze bounced between them a couple of times, like a die in a random game of chance. “The door,” she said at last, when she came up sapphires. Teela’s eyes.
Teela frowned, and those eyes narrowed. But she asked no further question. Instead, she turned to look at the door. It was a Hawk’s gaze, and it transformed her face.
Her cursing transformed her voice. It was short, but it lingered. “Step back,” she said. She turned back down the hall and dragged a polearm from the wall. It was a halberd.
“Farther back,” she added as she readied the haft. Severn caught Kaylin by the shoulders, frowned, and then lifted her off her feet. He ran back the way they’d come, leaving Teela behind. Kaylin could hear his heart. Could almost feel it, even though he wore armor. Funny thing, that.
“What are you—”
Teela threw the halberd. It wasn’t a damn spear; it shouldn’t have traveled like one. But it did.
The door exploded. It shattered, wooden shards the size of stakes blowing out in a circle. The halberd’s blade shattered as well, and a blue flame burned in its wake.
Without a pause, Teela grabbed another weapon from the wall. It was a pike. She set its end against the floor and stood there, hand on hip, as if she were in the drill circle in the courtyard of the Halls of Law.
“What’s it look like now?” she asked Kaylin.
Severn set her down gently, but he did not let go of her.
“It looks like a bloody big hole,” Kaylin replied.
“A scary hole?”
“Could you be more patronizing?”
“With effort.”
“Don’t bother.”
The fleeting smile transformed Teela’s expression. It was grim, and it didn’t last long. “Good spotting,” she said, as if this were an everyday occurrence.
“Don’t you think someone’s going to be a bit upset?”
“Oh, probably.” She didn’t put the pike down. “Look at what it did to the frame.” Her whistle was pure Hawk.
The stone frame that had held the door and its hinges looked like a standing crater. The roof was pocked.
“What was that?”
Teela shrugged. “A warning.”
“A warning?”
“Of a sort. I imagine it was meant to be a permanent warning.” She seemed to relax then. “Which means we still have some time.” Then, thinking the better of it, she added, “But not much. Don’t gawk.”
That was Teela all over. Any other Hawk would have had the sense to ask Kaylin why she’d hesitated to go near the door. To Teela, the answer wasn’t important. Which was good. Kaylin herself had no idea why, and extemporizing about anything that wasn’t illegal betting was beyond her meager skills.
“Welcome,” Teela added, her voice so thick with sarcasm it was a wonder words could wedge themselves through, “to the High Court.” And taking the pike off the ground, holding it like she would the staff that was her favored weapon, she walked through the wreckage of the door.
Kaylin noted that Severn did not draw a weapon. And did not let go of her shoulder. They followed in Teela’s wake.
There were no other traps. Or rather, no magical ones. Teela led them through another series of rooms and past two halls, and finally stopped in front of a curtained arch.
“Here,” she said quietly. “There will be guards.” She paused, and then added, “They’re mine.”
Which made no sense.
“In service to my line,” Teela told her, as if this would somehow explain everything.
“Loyal?”
The muttered humans was answer enough. Teela pushed the curtains aside and entered the room. It was much larger than it looked through fabric.
There were chairs here, kin to the great chairs she’d seen in the large room, but smaller and paler in color. There was a still pond to the side of the room, adorned by rocks that glistened with falling water. Except that there wasn’t any.
There was a table, but it was small; a mirror, but it, too, was modest.
Beyond all of these things was a large bed, a circular bed that was—yes—canopied. Golden gauze had been drawn, but it was translucent. She could see that someone lay there.
By the bed were four guards. They were dressed in something that should have been armor, but it was too ornate, too oddly shaped. Master artisans would have either wept or disdained such ostentation. Teela tapped the ground with the haft of the pike.
As one, the four men looked to her.
“This,” Teela said, nodding to Kaylin, “is my kyuthe. She honors us by her presence.”
Kaylin frowned. The word was obviously Barrani; it was stilted enough in delivery that it had to be High Barrani. But she didn’t recognize it.
The guards looked at her. Two pairs of eyes widened slightly, and without thinking, Kaylin lifted a hand to cover her cheek. It was the first time she had remembered it since Severn had helped her out of the death trap that was otherwise known as a carriage.
“Yes,” Teela said, her grip on her weapon tightening. “She bears the mark of the outcaste. Even so, you will not challenge me.”
There was silence. A lot of it. And stillness. But it was the stillness of the hunter in the long grass of the plains.
Kaylin started to move, and Severn caught her arm in a bruising grip. He had not moved anything but his hand. But she met his eyes, and if human eyes didn’t change color, if they didn’t darken or brighten at the whim of mood, they still told the whole of a story if you knew the language.
Seven years of absence had never deprived her of what was almost her mother tongue. She froze, now part of him, and then turned only her face to observe Teela.
The Barrani Hawk was waiting.
Kaylin couldn’t see her feet, and wanted to. She’d learned, over the years, that Teela adopted different stances for different situations, and you could tell by how she placed her feet what she expected the outcome to be.
But you couldn’t hear it; she was Barrani, and almost silent in her movements. She looked oddly like Severn—waiting, watchful. She did not tense, and the only hint of threat was in the color of her eyes.
But it was mirrored in the eyes of these four.
Hers, she’d called them. Kaylin had to wonder if Teela’s grasp on the subtleties of Elantran had slipped.
The room was a tableau. Even breathing seemed to be held in abeyance. Minutes passed.
And then Teela turned her head to nod at Kaylin.
One of the four men moved. His sword was a flash of blue light that made no sound. He was fast.
Teela was faster. She lowered the pike as he lunged, and raised it, clipping the underside of his ribs. Left ribs, center. The pike punctured armor, and blood replied, streaming down the haft of the weapon—and down the lips of the guard.
Almost casually, the wide skirts no restriction, Teela kicked the man in the chest, tugging the pike free. Her gaze was bright as it touched the faces of the three guards who had not moved, neither to attack nor defend.
The Barrani who had dared to attack fell to his knees, and then, overbalanced, backward to the ground. Teela stepped over him and brought the wooden butt of the pike down before Kaylin could think of moving.
“Kyuthe,” Teela said. “Attend your patient.”
Kaylin was frozen. Severn was not. He guided her, his arm around her shoulders; even had she wanted to remain where she was, she wouldn’t have been able to. There was something about the warmth of his shoulder, the brief tightening of his hand, the scent of him, that reminded her of motion. And life.
She had seen B
arrani in the drill halls before. She had seen them in the Courtyards. She had seen them on the beat, and she had even seen them close with thugs intent on misconstruing the intent of the Law. But she had never truly seen them fight.
Teela wasn’t sweating. She didn’t smile. She did not, in fact, look down. She had spoken in the only way that mattered here. And the three that were standing at a proud sort of attention had heard her clearly. They showed no fear; they showed no concern. The blood on the floor might as well have been marble. Or carpet.
Kaylin tried not to step in it.
She tried not to look at the Barrani whose throat had so neatly been staved in.
“Do not waste pity,” Teela told her in a regal, High Caste voice. “There is little enough of it in the High Court, and it is not accorded respect.”
Severn whispered her name. Her old name.
She looked up at him, and he seemed—for just an instant—so much taller, so much more certain, than she could ever hope to be. But his expression was grave. He reached out, when she couldn’t, and he pulled the curtains aside.
There was a Barrani man in the bed.
His eyes were closed, and his arms were folded across his chest in the kind of repose you saw in a coffin. He was pale—but the Barrani always were—and still. His hair, like his arms, had been artfully and pleasantly arranged. There were flowers around his head, and in the cup of his slack hands.
“Who is he?” she asked, forgetting herself. Speaking Elantran.
“He is,” Teela replied, her voice remote, her words Barrani, “the youngest son of the Lord of the High Court.”
Kaylin reached out to touch him; her hands fell short of his face. It seemed…wrong, somehow. To disturb him. “What is he called?” she asked, stalling for time.
Teela did not reply.
Warning, in that. She reached out again, and again her hands fell short. But this time, the sense of wrongness was sharper. Harsher. Kaylin frowned. Her fingers were tingling in a way that reminded her of…the Hawklord’s door.
Magic.
She gritted teeth. Tensed. All of her movements were clumsy and exaggerated in her own sight.
But they were hers. “There’s magic here,” she said quietly.
The Chronicles of Elantra Bundle Page 46
