“And the boy?”
“If Grethan is even still alive—and I have some suspicions about that—he’s done his part. Idis couldn’t get near the Tha’alani quarter, and the Tha’alani children don’t venture out much.”
“Why a child?”
“I don’t think it mattered to him one way or the other—but a child is easier to intimidate and haul around. I’ve been one. I know. Anyone else would have been smart enough to stay put.”
“You keep your secrets now, Kaylin.”
She met his measuring gaze, and held it. “I have a lot fewer of them than you do.”
“And perhaps with less reason. Finding Donalan Idis, however, should not pose a problem for you.”
“Oh?”
“If you know what he intends, you will know where to find him.”
“But I don’t know what he intends.”
Nightshade said nothing. After a moment of silence, he rose. “It is late,” he told her softly. “For you. The Ferals will be out. Will you tempt them?”
She hesitated, her hands around a mug of steamed milk, her arms entangled in a cloak that was being used in a way its maker certainly hadn’t intended. The mark on her cheek, delicate curls and lines, was warm. She closed her eyes, and opened them the moment she felt his hands brush the sides of her face; she hadn’t heard him move at all.
He had cupped her face in those hands, and now tilted it up, forcing her gaze to meet his. His eyes were a shade of…violet. She’d never seen that one before. But she was seeing it too damn close for the first time.
She yanked her face away, hard, which sent warm milk in a spray all over table and floor. And her legs.
He stepped back instantly, watching her.
“I—”
I have time, Kaylin. I have learned how to wait.
“I’m sorry,” she said, standing in a hurry, and setting the cup down on a flat surface that didn’t shake so damn much.
“For what?”
“For—for—spilling the milk.” It sounded lame, even to her. Her toes were curling.
He shrugged.
“I’ll clean it up—”
“Kaylin. Kaylin.”
She forced herself to meet his gaze, and was comforted by the cold of blue. Not in general a comforting sign, among the Barrani.
“You are safe here tonight. This was not always true. It will not always be true. But tonight, if you wish to stay, I will leave you. I have, however, one question to ask.”
She said nothing.
“You left the fief of Nightshade when you were thirteen years old. You appeared in the Halls of Law some six months later. Where did you go in between?”
“Away,” she said woodenly. Away. And her thoughts were spiraling out of control, out of even her own control. She would not let that happen here. Or ever. She had been marked by Nightshade; she had given Severn her name.
“I…see.”
I doubt it. She suppressed an urge to scream—because she wasn’t sure what it would sound like if she did. Raw, yes—but with rage? With fear? “I can’t stay.”
“No.” He lifted his head, his perfect face, and spoke three words. The mirror shivered, even though the words were so soft Kaylin couldn’t catch the syllables.
But five minutes later, the door opened again, and this time, the guard standing in it was one that she recognized.
“Lord Andellen?” she said.
“Lord Kaylin.” He bowed.
“Escort her to her home,” the fieflord said. “I will be in my quarters should anything go amiss.”
The Castle was obliging enough to spit her out the normal way. Her stomach was obliging enough not to humiliate her in front of Andellen, but her knees were wobbly for about ten minutes. Andellen did not, however, offer to help.
They began to walk toward the Ablayne, and Kaylin, still off-kilter, was happy to follow Andellen’s lead. She could hear the howl of distant Ferals, and wondered if they were hunting, or just roaming. With Ferals, it was hard to tell—but distant was far better than the alternative.
“That was unwise,” Andellen said when they were a good distance from the Castle, but not yet in sight of the riverbank.
“What was?”
“I do not know what you said, or what you did,” he replied, “but…it was unwise.”
She shrugged. “I’m not known for my wisdom,” she offered bitterly.
“I do not know if my lord could kill you. I would not suggest you force him to try.”
“Believe that I wasn’t trying.”
“Kaylin—”
“Andellen, I’ve been swimming in the river far beneath the Castle. I’ve been roared at by dead Dragons. I’ve been dressed in something that hardly qualifies as underwear by something that tried to kill me. I’ve—I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“The High Lord sent you?”
“No.” She paused, and then said almost guiltily, “Not directly. He sent a message through Teela.”
Andellen nodded. “He would. He is not his father.”
“He’s not. But he’s not—”
“No. Lord Nightshade will never be summoned to Court, and if it were to happen, he would decline the invitation. He will not trust the High Lord.”
“Because he’s outcaste.”
“Yes.”
“Why is he outcaste?”
Andellen raised a brow at the question, and Kaylin reddened. “Do all mortals speak without thinking?”
“All of them do it some of the time.”
“As often as you?”
“Probably not as often as me,” she conceded. “I’m sorry. I meant no insult.”
“No. I think you seldom do. But what you mean and what you achieve are often separated by knowledge.”
“Knowledge?”
“Of you, Kaylin. Of who you are. Lord Nightshade tolerates far more from you than I would have thought possible—but he will not be so tolerant indefinitely. You’ve been to the High Court. You’ve passed the test of Lords. You’ve been called kyuthe by both the Lord of the High Court and his brother, the Lord of the West March. If you are too tired or too preoccupied to think, do not speak.
“You must learn, Kaylin.”
She said nothing, listening to the steady sound of his steps. They were lighter than his armor should have made them, but she found it comforting. Nightshade by moonlight, the sound of Ferals a distant lullabye.
“You have been called Erenne by those who serve my lord. You may never become the truth of that word—but were it not possible, were it not desired, you would not now bear the mark that grants you safety from those who serve him. But, Kaylin, he will kill you if it becomes necessary. He is accustomed to power—accustomed to its form, its shape, the obedience that comes with it.
“Understand that that power is gained, in part, because those who serve him defer to him. If you—one merely mortal—”
“I bear the marks,” she said wearily, lifting a bare arm and wondering what the hell had happened to her armor. Wondering why she hadn’t even thought about it until now.
The glaring face of an angry Quartermaster flashed before her eyes in a proverbial near-death way.
“Very well. You see at least that clearly. Yes, you bear the marks, and yes, it changes what you are in the eyes of the Barrani. I am not sure that this helps you, however. He cannot be seen to be challenged.”
“No one else was there.”
Andellen was silent for another five minutes. She dared a glance at the side of his face and saw that he was smiling. It wasn’t what she expected.
“As you say, Lord Kaylin.”
“You’re trying to tell me something else, aren’t you?”
“No. I am merely trying to tell you that angering Lord Nightshade is not in the interests of the High Court you nominally belong to. Nor,” he added, lifting a hand to forestall the torrent of words that were sure to follow, “is it in the interests of the Hawks you do serve.”
But something else
had occurred to Kaylin. “Why do you serve him?”
“I don’t understand your question.”
“You passed the test of the High Halls. You saw what lay beneath them. You found your way back from whatever path you walked. Why do you serve him?”
“Ah. That is not a question that my kin would ask.”
“I’m not Barrani.”
“Believe that this fact could not possibly escape my attention. And believe, as well, that I take no insult from what would be considered a deadly insult otherwise.”
She had the grace to redden. “Sorry.”
He stopped walking, and turned, slowly, to face her.
“Kaylin Neya. Lord Kaylin. You dared the High Halls because I took you to the arch of testing on orders from my Lord. But you did more. You saved the Barrani. Your interference, your endless meddling, preserved the Lord of the High Court. And you returned, to one such as I, outcaste by association, the title of Lord. I do not think you understand what you could have asked for. But I also believe that if you had, you would have asked for the same thing.
“Don’t look so impatient. This is the polite way—the deferential way—of telling you that I am in your debt. You repaid my act of subterfuge in a way that no Barrani, past or present, would have done.
“So I will answer the question you had no right to—and no sense not to—ask. All Barrani who wish to be Lords take the Test of the High Halls. The Barrani see, upon the ancient stone walls of the Tower, a word. It is in the oldest of our tongues, and there is some argument that it is not in our tongue at all. But when we first approach the arch, we see—as you did—a measure of what our test will be. It is said to define our lives. Some believe that we come from, and return to, the river of life, over and over again, and each time we arrive, we must find the strength to confront something new, and something difficult.
“My sigil—the sigil that began my test—was old enough that I accepted it, but did not fully understand its meaning.”
“How can you accept a test—”
“Kaylin, has anyone ever had a conversation with you that is not a continuous stream of interruption?”
“Sorry.”
He began to walk again, while she practiced biting her tongue.
“The word that began my test, the word that defines my life, was a word that you would use with ease.” He paused for a moment, as if waiting for her interruption. He nodded slightly when she managed to remain silent.
“Friendship.”
“But—”
And he laughed. “No, it is not the Elantran word. But that is the closest word that I can think of. It holds some measure of equality, some of loyalty, some of trustworthiness—but it is all, and none, of these things.”
“So you left with him because—”
“Yes. And no. I serve him, Kaylin. There is no Barrani relationship that is so simple or easy as your friendship. Two lords cannot live in one castle. Ah. There is the bridge. I believe we have bypassed the Ferals for this night.”
“You still have to go back.”
“I am faster than a hunting Feral.”
“Not in that armor.”
“Yes, Kaylin,” he replied, speaking as if to a child. “In this armor.”
“Oh.”
He walked her all the way home, but she didn’t object; she’d heard what Nightshade had said, and she understood that her personal preferences—and her dignity, what little there was of it—meant nothing compared to the fieflord’s command.
When they stopped outside of her apartment, she discovered that she didn’t have a key. It had been in the trousers that she was no longer wearing. Andellen waited while she came to that realization, and then waited while she relieved herself of a few choice phrases in every language she knew.
But if he had noticed the odd form of dress, he said nothing. Nor did he say anything when she glared murderously at the locked door. He simply lifted his hand, and, placing it against the lock, spoke a single white word.
And it was white—she could almost see it.
The door slid open when he pushed it.
“You didn’t break the lock, did you?” she asked, running her hands through straggly—but dry—hair. “I can’t afford to piss off the landlord.”
“I did not break the lock. Do you have another key?”
“Teela does.”
“I think you will need to retrieve it.”
But Kaylin was now busy swearing at the other things she was missing: her daggers. Gods, they had cost so much damn money to have enchanted! A distant second was the fact that they were departmental gear and the Quartermaster would have her skin for leathers.
“Kaylin.”
“What?”
“Believe that we are concerned about the fate of the city. We are doing what we can, as we can.”
She had the good sense not to tell him that at the moment she was more sickened by the loss of her knives than she was by whatever horrible fate awaited them all.
He left her at the door to her apartment because he happened to be the only key she had, and knew it. She also knew that had she lived somewhere expensive, she wouldn’t have had to fuss with keys—her door would have a door-ward, and it would open for her whenever or however she managed to touch it. Then again, part of the appeal of living in this particular building was its extremely cheap—Caitlin used the word frugal—landlord. Kaylin hated door-wards.
But had to admit, as she wearily trudged across the threshold of a home that had been entirely closed to her until Andellen had used whatever magic he usually claimed not to posses, that those damn wards did have their uses. And compared to the portal—or the long drop down the well of the Castle that Nightshade lived in—they were downright pleasant.
She was tired enough that she’d made it almost to the mirror before she realized that someone else was in the room. But she knew who it was, even in the darkness, and while she fumbled for light—and in this, the frugality of the landlord was curse-worthy—she paused to glance at the mirror. Its face was entirely reflective, which meant that she hadn’t missed any emergencies while she’d been gone.
In the lamplight that she managed to coax into existence, she unwrapped the cloak from her shoulders and took a good look at herself. Her hair was a mess—it usually was, but she’d managed to top her personal best tonight—but the dress was flawless and spotless.
No, wait, not spotless. She drew the lamp toward herself, and light glittered across delicate beadwork. The Hawk, she thought. Evanton’s Hawk. Whatever transformation the elemental magic had made, it had not been able to change the patch he’d given her as a type of gift. She was still—in some fashion—in uniform, but she could pretty much guess what Marcus would say when he saw it. On the other hand, it would be a lot easier to expose her throat and have done.
She touched the beads for reassurance. Something was the same. Something hadn’t changed. And it was the Hawk.
It comforted her, and gave her strength enough to turn at last to the darkness. “Severn,” she said softly.
Severn, seated in the room’s chair—which meant he’d upended her clothing pile—nodded quietly. He reminded her—for just a moment—of Nightshade on his throne.
Except that this was her damn apartment, not his. She started to tell him that, but what came out instead was, “I lost my keys.”
“You lost your keys.”
“Sort of.”
“And you found a dress.”
“Sort of. Look, why are you here, anyway?”
“You lost your bracer,” he replied, and held it out. The lamplight was almost perfectly reflected in the sheen of unmarked gold.
“Oh.” She walked over to the chair and stood in front of his outstretched hand. “I can’t wear it,” she told him softly. “Not yet.”
“Lord Grammayre?”
“I think he’d understand.”
“Iron Jaw won’t.”
“Probably not.” She turned away from him, walked over to th
e bed, and sat on it heavily. “It’s been a very, very long day,” she said, falling over.
“I won’t add to it.” He was stiff as he rose, and his expression was cool. “Did you gain any useful information from Ybelline or the fieflord?”
She laughed. It was a bit higher and a bit longer than she would have liked, but she really was tired.
His stiffness dissolved slowly; she didn’t see the change as much as feel it. He came and sat on the foot of the bed, saying a lot of nothing.
“I’m sorry if I worried you.”
“Apologies are usually only offered when one is going to change the behavior that necessitates them.”
“Gods, you sound like a bloody teacher.”
“And you sound like a bloody student.”
She laughed again. “Yes. There was useful information. Sort of.”
“Kaylin.”
“Idis is an elemental mage.”
“I see.”
“Nightshade thinks his sole concern is the usual boring variety.”
“Power?”
“Power. Which means he doesn’t intend to destroy the city.”
“It’s the usual dabbling in ancient magics which are too powerful for man?”
“Something like that. It doesn’t matter, though.” She forced herself up onto her elbows. “Because I know what the Tha’alaan is, and I know that he’ll destroy it.”
“And the dress?” The edge was back in the words again.
“This? Oh—no, it’s not what you think. More’s the pity.”
A dark brow rose into invisibility.
“I kind of—I had a little trouble getting into the Castle, and the end result was the dress. The damn thing appeared in place of my armor, my shirt, and my damn knives. It has nothing to do with Nightshade.”
“Have you tried to remove it?”
“What, walking back through the fief? Have you lost your mind?”
“You could try now.”
She said nothing for what seemed like an hour. But she remembered to breathe. She also remembered to avoid his gaze, to look at anything in her home that wasn’t Severn. Given everything, it was surprisingly difficult.
“No,” she said at last, but softly. “I don’t think I can take it off yet. The water—the elemental water—made it. Nightshade said it was…like a temple dress.”
The Chronicles of Elantra Bundle Page 107
