The Chronicles of Elantra Bundle

by Michelle Sagara

  “To the Lord of Hawks?”

  She nodded.

  “The Lord of Hawks has no purchase within the High Halls, and no control of what passes within them. Not even the Emperor himself would be so bold, or so unwise. An oath sworn here is of this place. Or could be.”

  “But I’m not,” she replied. “And I don’t intend to stay here. I’m not Barrani.”

  “As you say. But you will remain two days at least, unless you wish to surrender your title—and possibly your life.”

  That, as usual, caught her attention, not that it had been wandering much. “Say that last part again.”

  “The High Court will gather in strength to witness leoswuld and the passing of the Lord. It is a Barrani rite, and there are few who have witnessed more than one such gifting.” He paused and added, “Lord Evarrim is one.”

  “He doesn’t want me there.”

  “Perceptive.” It was a dismissive set of syllables, given in exactly the tone she might have used had one of the foundlings dumped a bucket of water over their own head and then said, “I’m wet.”

  She said, “I don’t understand the Arcanum’s role in this.”

  “The Arcanum? Inasmuch as it exists within the High Halls—and Lord Evarrim is not the only Barrani Lord to work within the Arcanist league—it wants nothing.”

  She frowned.

  “He is Barrani first, Arcanist second. What power he derives from his association with the Arcanum is used to further his goals as Lord. No more and no less. They do not use him.”

  She was silent for a long moment. “But the Arcanum is somehow involved.”

  He glanced at her, and away. She could not see the color of his eyes. “Why do you say that, Kaylin?”

  “There was a backlash in the Arcanum.”

  “And that could not have been caused by their actions throughout the rest of the city? It is the Festival season, and I believe the streets of Elantra are heavily populated.”

  She frowned. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, as in you know what the Arcanum was doing.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how are you so certain of this?”

  Because you’re not looking at me, she thought. And because you’re asking the wrong damn questions. She stopped walking, and after a step or two, he paused, as well. “Do the games here ever end?”

  “Almost never, Kaylin.”

  “You want something from me,” she told him quietly, “and I don’t play games. Tell me what you know.”

  “I know very little. And it is not our custom to speak of certainty when so little exists.”

  “It’s your custom to lie. I think it’s a recreational pastime.”

  He was quiet. “You bear Lord Nightshade’s mark,” he said at last, his voice neutral. “And for that reason, Kaylin, no one will answer your questions.”

  “Not even you?”

  “Not even I.” He began to walk again; he had not turned to face her. She followed. Thinking. The backlash had occurred four hours before the Lord of the West March had risen.

  The Lord of the West March himself had said that his brother, the Lord of the Green, was responsible for his coma, and having touched him—having barely touched him—Kaylin couldn’t bring herself to doubt him.

  So what had happened four hours earlier?

  What had—

  “Lord of the West March.”

  He stopped again, and again, she had a great view of his back. Of his Court robes, his perfect shoulders, his utterly straight spine, his long, dark hair.

  “When exactly did you say you encountered the Lord of the Green? When did he try to—take your name?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Four hours, she thought.

  Five minutes after the second noon hour. She allowed him to lead her to the West Wing, although she no longer had any intention of sleeping.

  Severn was waiting for her in the room with the multihued glass walls. Where waiting, in this case, meant he was once again standing so close to them it should have been impossible to focus. He heard her enter the room but took a few minutes to react.

  Those few minutes were occupied by Andellen and Samaran; they bowed in a truly annoying way as she entered. The Lord of the West March failed to notice, and they tendered him their respects in a similar fashion.

  Kaylin looked down at her dress.

  “I don’t suppose,” she began.

  But the Lord of the West March nodded to the bed; laid out upon it was a whole lot of silk that looked vaguely as if it had been touched by seamstresses once or twice in its existence. It was a paler green than the remnants of the dress she now wore.

  “Bath?” she asked.

  He nodded again. “If you wish an attendant, I will summon one. If you would rather trust your guards—”

  “I can bathe myself,” she said curtly. And then thought the better of it. “Do you know where Teela—Lord Anteela—is?”

  “If that is your quaint way of asking me to summon her, I will do so.” His eyes were green, and the corner of his mouth moved up in something that resembled a smile. One offered at her expense.

  Kaylin wasn’t certain whether a bath was a tub—like the one she didn’t own—or a lake with a small waterfall; the latter, in these halls, seemed more natural.

  But if it were the latter, it was contained in what was a huge room—almost larger than the Aerie in the Halls of Law—with almost no floor. Unless you thought you could walk on water, and Kaylin’s arrogance, while noted by many, had not yet reached that height.

  The Lord of the West March left her at the door, indicating towels—yards of cloth, really—before he took his leave.

  She looked at them, and looked longingly at the water. The truth—which she’d momentarily forgotten—was that she couldn’t exactly bathe herself because she couldn’t get out of the dress. And asking Severn to unbutton her before she traipsed down the open corridors hadn’t occurred to her. Even if it had, she wouldn’t have asked.

  She took off her shoes and put her toes in the water; it was warm. Hot, really. But clear and still, regardless. If there had been fish here, she would have given up and lived with the dirt. Whole winters in her childhood had been spent without much in the way of cleanliness; the water was either cold or ice, and warmth was in short supply.

  But Teela entered the room, and changed its character. What had seemed peaceful and solitary shrunk at the force of her presence. She wasn’t exactly angry; she wasn’t exactly happy. In this inexact state, she was most often to be found in a tavern, fleecing the drunks before she became one.

  The lack of gaming tables and a bar made themselves instantly felt. But the look she turned on Kaylin was one of familiar exasperation. “Look, Kaylin,” she said in sharp Elantran, “I’m not a servant here.”

  “I know. You’re a Lord of the High Court.”

  “Which part of Lord means ‘helps another Lord bathe’?”

  “You don’t have to help me bathe.” Kaylin turned her back almost helplessly. “You just have to cut me out of this thing. I can do the rest myself.”

  Teela snorted. “The Lord of the West March is an idiot,” she muttered under her breath as the buttons began to open beneath her slender fingers. “I don’t suppose he thought to tell you that anyone else would be insulted for—oh—ever?”

  “Not really. Maybe it escaped his attention.”

  Teela snorted again. But she undid the rest of the buttons quickly; Kaylin had the distinct feeling Teela was biting back disgust.

  As she eased her shoulders and arms free of the dress, she gained enough freedom that she could turn around. Disgust didn’t quite do Teela’s expression justice. But more than disgust was folded into the familiar frown: This was how Teela worried. She looked up from the dress—she was still holding a small part of it between carefully pinched fingers—and studied Kaylin.

  Undressed, the marks on her arms were exposed. “Do they look d
ifferent?” Kaylin asked, trying to sound casual.

  Teela stared at them for a moment, her brows bending as she concentrated. Barrani had good memories; they weren’t Records, but they were the next best thing. If you didn’t happen to have a Dragon with you. “No,” she said at last. “They’re the same.”

  “Not darker?”

  “I think you’re paler.”

  “Oh.” Kaylin stepped free of the skirts, and gave the dress a halfhearted kick; the silk was soft against her wet, and bare, feet. “Can we get rid of it?”

  “I’d suggest burning, myself. But not,” she added, “in this room. Start a fire here—if you could—and you’d have half the Hall in an uproar.”

  “Why?”

  “This is the Water Room,” Teela replied. “Or hadn’t you noticed?”

  Everything Kaylin knew about sarcasm, she’d learned from the Hawks, and Teela foremost among them. She bowed to her better, and bit back a reply.

  Teela rolled her eyes and tossed her head to one side; black followed in a perfect sheen, reflecting some of the light at the heart of the pool. “I could use a bath,” the Barrani Hawk said. She still spoke Elantran. “I’ll join you, if you don’t mind. That way, when you decide to fall asleep and drown, I can pull you out before anyone notices.” It was her way of offering comfort.

  Kaylin, almost born a beggar, did what came naturally: She took what was offered. She removed the rest of her undergarments, peeling them from her skin; she was sweaty and sticky. These, on the other hand, she’d keep, mend and wash. She’d paid for them, after all.

  She slid into the water and found, to her surprise, that it was deep. She was up to her neck before her feet hit bottom, and she drifted, slightly buoyant, in the heat.

  “Come to the edge,” Teela told her. Being Barrani, and being competent, she had undressed in about as much time as it had taken Kaylin to remove a few scraps of cloth, and her dress was the finer of the two.

  Kaylin swam to the edge, until she could almost touch Teela.

  “There are ledges here. Sit.”

  She sat slowly; the water still rose to her neck, but she had more control of where she was drifting, and held the edge of what seemed a seat in her hands.

  “Soap?”

  Teela shook her head. “You won’t need it here. Just…sit. And shut up,” she added as an afterthought.

  “Shut up about what?”

  “Everything.”

  Kaylin was quiet for as long as she was capable of being quiet. Actually, given the comfort of the water’s current, it was longer than she’d intended. When she turned her head to look at Teela, Teela’s eyes were closed. She almost seemed to be sleeping.

  “Teela—”

  “Which part of shut up didn’t you understand?”

  “I just have a couple of questions—”

  “You always have a couple of questions. And then a couple more. And then another dozen.”

  It was more or less true. “Don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “I mean, we’re in the High Halls—”

  “I had noticed that, Kaylin.”

  “I mean, I’m in the High Halls. Doesn’t that strike you as worthy of questions?”

  “Not ones that should have answers, no.”

  “Is it the mark?”

  “Is what the mark?”

  “You don’t want to answer questions here because I bear Nightshade’s mark.”

  Teela reached out almost languidly, and Kaylin ended up with a faceful of water. She sputtered, and Teela waited until she’d finished. “Don’t,” she said in a voice that could have been Marcus’s, “insult me.”

  “I just wondered,” Kaylin began in a much quieter voice.

  “The Hells you did. The reason I don’t want to answer your questions—aside from the one I just gave—is that you don’t understand the High Court, and you have a big mouth.”

  “But if I don’t understand, won’t I just make more mistakes?”

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” Teela replied. But she shifted, lowering herself into the water. “But it might be,” she said, grudging every word.

  “You don’t think Nightshade can control me through the mark.”

  “No. I thought he might be able to until you fought in the fiefs.” She didn’t mention the black Dragon whose plan had almost destroyed an empire, but then again, almost no one did. “Even then, it was a distinct possibility. But now? No, Kaylin. I’m not afraid of that.”

  “Then—”

  Teela, continuing her Leontine impression, growled softly. And said something that even Marcus seldom said. “You’re here because of me,” she told the younger Hawk. “And it was made very, very clear that you were to come back in more or less the same condition you left in.

  “By Marcus. He wasn’t joking.”

  “He doesn’t, usually.”

  “He was deadly serious.”

  That was bad. “I’m not hurt,” she offered.

  Teela slammed her hand against the tiles that surrounded the pool. The sound echoed. “I cannot for the life of me figure out how it is that Marcus hasn’t eaten you yet. Kitling,” she added, using the Leontine word.

  “I need to know something.”

  “All right, all right. I’m listening. I’m not happy, I’m looking forward to either being rended limb from limb or dropped off the height of the Hawklord’s tower by the Hawklord himself—did I mention he also indicated you were to be watched?—but I am listening.”

  “When was the Lord of the West March discovered?”

  Teela’s expression didn’t change at all. But the growling stopped. “Almost four hours before I brought you to my chambers.”

  “They were yours.”

  “Yes.”

  “You found him?”

  “Kaylin—”

  “I think it’s important,” Kaylin said, her voice low, her eyes unwavering.

  “You’ve got the look of the Hawk about your face,” Teela said with just a glint of brown in her eyes to lend warmth to the words. “And you’re on a hunt. What have you seen, Kaylin?”

  “I don’t know yet. I don’t understand all the pieces. I’d bet money—even mine—that I haven’t seen them all.” She waited.

  “I discovered him, yes.”

  “You were following him.”

  “Yes, if you must know. I was following him.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “Okay. So you had orders to follow him.”

  Teela didn’t deny this. In some ways, this type of conversation reminded Kaylin of youth in the fiefs; Twenty Questions, a game played at night or when the rains were harsh and there was nowhere else to go. Severn had nicknamed her bulldog when she played because she resolutely refused to count the questions she asked. On the other hand, when she’d first started, she couldn’t count them.

  “And you can’t tell me who gave those orders.”

  “They weren’t orders.”

  “A suggestion in the High Court can be an order.” Kaylin stopped. More thoughtfully, she added, “But not from someone less powerful or less senior than you.”

  Teela’s nothing was like a nod. Except for the actual movement.

  “The Lord of the West March told me about leoswuld,” Kaylin said quietly.

  “It is your right to know. You are a Lord of the Court.”

  “He told me before.”

  Teela said nothing.

  “But I don’t think what he said was entirely accurate.”

  “He is a Barrani Lord, Kaylin, and accuracy is always a matter of context.”

  “Okay. Context. The context there was a bit unnerving. Let’s leave that for now. You found him.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the Lord of the Green?”

  Teela tensed, her eyes shading to blue. That was almost enough of an answer, but Kaylin had to keep going. Had to. “Did you find the Lord of the Green?”

  “Kaylin—”


  “I’ve seen him, Teela,” she said, voice lower and more urgent. “I’ve touched him.” She paused, and then added, “I think Lord Evarrim was present when you found them. Or he was already there.”

  Teela said nothing, but it was the wrong type of nothing.

  “Lord Evarrim tried to contain the Lord of the Green. That’s what I think happened.”

  “Do you?”

  “It caused a backlash in the Arcanum. Whatever power Evarrim called upon, it wasn’t enough. But the funny thing about it? Backlashes like that only happen when the spell is already in place. Or so I’ve been told. Correct me when I’m wrong, hmm?”

  “I should just drown you.”

  “Marcus would kill you.”

  “I don’t have to leave the High Halls.”

  Kaylin frowned; she didn’t feel entirely safe, but she didn’t feel threatened. “Why did you leave them, anyway?” She got another faceful of water in reply.

  “You’re not an Arcanist, that I know of,” she continued.

  “No.”

  “And Lord Evarrim could only have known to place a spell of power in advance, if one of two things were true.”

  “And those?”

  “Either he understood the difficulty the Lord of the Green was having,” Kaylin said, choosing her words with deliberate care, “or the Lord of the West March summoned him. I don’t like Evarrim…he doesn’t much like me.”

  “Like is irrelevant.”

  “Not to me. Human, remember?”

  Teela snorted. “I keep trying to forget, but you make it damn hard.”

  Kaylin laughed. It was short, but felt good. The ebb of the water, the warmth of it, was eating away at whole months’ worth of tension. She wanted one of these. Of course, her whole apartment would fit in the corner if it were twice its size, but the idea was still appealing.

  “I don’t like Evarrim. I think I wanted to believe he was somehow responsible for—for the Lord of the Green.”

  “Why?” There was honest curiosity in the question. At times, Teela could be too Barrani.

  “Because he’s too fond of his own power, and maybe there was some chance he could increase it here.”

  “Not now, Kaylin. During any other Festival—but the High Festival? Leoswuld? There isn’t a Barrani alive—not even the outcaste—who would play death games now.”