Cast in Honor (The Chronicles of Elantra)

by Michelle Sagara

  “I have come in search of your Gilbert” was his rumbling reply. His eyes were orange. Of course they were. “And it was decided that his presence within the Palace at this time constituted too much of a danger.” His nod to the Hawklord was perfunctory, and Marcus might as well have been invisible; he did offer an extended nod to Ybelline.

  Ybelline said, “I must return to my own kin.” She offered the Dragon Lord a much deeper bow than Kaylin felt he warranted, and turned toward the Tower doors.

  It was Kattea who stopped her.

  To Kaylin’s surprise, she stopped her by grabbing the Tha’alani castelord’s arm. This shocked Ybelline enough that she stopped moving; she looked, with concern, at the two shaking hands on her sleeve. Kattea swallowed and tightened her grip.

  “You’re leaving because of me.”

  Ybelline did not deny it. Kaylin seldom used the word love; it was a word she felt was meant for babies and young children. But as she realized Kattea was right—that Ybelline was, in fact, leaving before she could be ordered to examine Kattea against the younger girl’s will—she resented, deeply, the lack of an adult word that was equivalent, but less embarrassing.

  Ybelline smiled sadly at the girl. “We have not yet fulfilled our part of the bargain.”

  “You won’t. You won’t be able to. He’s out there—he’s in the streets, on the Winding Path, trying to keep people from panicking. That’s what my mother told me. That’s what he did—because this is when it started.” She swallowed. “I don’t know anything. I was a baby. I don’t remember.

  “But they talked. They told me things. If you—if you can find things in my memories that I can’t—” She swallowed again. “My dad lives. He’s going to live. My mom, too. But he hated that so many people died. He felt like he’d failed. Like they’d all failed. The Swords. The Hawks. The people whose job it was to protect everyone.

  “Maybe that’s why I’m here. Or why Gilbert is here. I don’t know.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I was mad at my dad. When he left. When they left to look for whatever it was they were looking for. I—I didn’t say goodbye. I wouldn’t talk to him. He wouldn’t take me with him. And I knew—he was just going to die. I just—” She fought back tears. “I was a terrible daughter. If I could go back—if I could change one thing—I would say goodbye. I would tell him that I loved him. I would tell him.

  “...But I can’t. Gilbert wasn’t afraid of you. Kaylin’s not afraid. If—if you can find something in me that can help...do it.”

  * * *

  Kattea was almost white, and white did not look good on her. Neither did red-eyed terror. But she held her ground, looking back to Gilbert only once, as if she needed his approval. Given that Gilbert wasn’t even passably human, and that Kattea knew this very well, this said something to Kaylin.

  Breathe, Severn told her.

  She reddened.

  Ybelline knelt. Kneeling, she was shorter than Kattea. She opened her arms, but held them wide, to either side of the girl, and waited.

  The Arkon rumbled. Kaylin desperately wanted to give Ybelline as much time, as much space, as she could, because Kaylin understood the effect Kattea’s fear would have on the older, wiser woman. It was a type of poison.

  It was a poison Ybelline accepted, because in the end, she had little choice; if she did not do it, another member of her caste would be forced to it.

  Kaylin walked over to Gilbert, caught him by the arm and dragged him over to where the Arkon stood. The Arkon’s face, hair and eyes were familiar, but he had chosen to wear the armor available to all of his kin in their mortal form. It was either that or nudity.

  “This is Gilbert,” she said. “Gilbert, this is a Dragon known as the Arkon. I’m not sure what that means, since he has a name. But—call him the Arkon unless your name is Bellusdeo.”

  The Arkon, in golden plate armor, raised a brow at Kaylin. Gilbert looked confused.

  “Bellusdeo, as you are aware, filled me in on many of the details of the past few days.”

  Kaylin nodded. She had expected rage. The Arkon’s eyes were orange, but he was, unlike Marcus, his usual self otherwise.

  “I do not hold you responsible for Bellusdeo’s disappearance. The Emperor may, but he has not—yet—chosen to fly. Sanabalis is vastly more competent and resourceful than you are, in general, as is Bellusdeo. They are together. If they have not been instantly obliterated, it is left to us to find and retrieve them. I believe it is possible your Gilbert may be of assistance.”

  Gilbert said, “I must go to the Winding Path.”

  “Yes, that was my thought, as well.” He glanced at Ybelline and Kattea; they were now locked in an embrace—but Kattea had stopped trembling and appeared to be leaning into the Tha’alani woman. And, from the sound of it, sniveling. Kaylin could only see her back. “Is the child necessary?”

  Gilbert said “Yes” at the same time as Kaylin said “No.”

  The Arkon, predictably, was annoyed. And just as predictably, he was annoyed at Kaylin. “Do not let sentiment blind you. At this juncture, we cannot afford it.”

  “Sentiment? I barely even know her!”

  The Arkon ignored the comment; he spoke to Gilbert.

  Gilbert replied.

  Neither used a language she understood. She thought it might be the same language that the Arkon had spoken to Mandoran in the library. “Time is of the essence,” the Dragon told them. “Castelord, I regret to have to interrupt you, but I require the young woman’s presence.”

  Ybelline did not appear to hear him.

  The Hawklord however, placed a staying hand on the Arkon’s shoulder. “She will require some minutes, yet. Kaylin, please fill the Arkon in on the details of the rest of your day while he waits.”

  * * *

  The Arkon’s eyes had shifted toward gold as he listened, although the predominant color was still orange.

  “You are from a different time? And so is the young girl?” He threw a narrow-eyed glance at the Tha’alani castelord as he asked.

  Gilbert hesitated. Hesitation was his most frequent conversational tic. “Kattea is.”

  “And you are not?”

  Gilbert turned to Kaylin, of all people, as if she could somehow answer the question the Arkon had just asked.

  The small dragon lifted himself off Kattea’s shoulder, pushed himself gently into the air and then squawked. Loudly. Had he been sitting on Kaylin’s shoulder, he wouldn’t have bothered to put distance between his mouth and her ear.

  The Arkon frowned. “That is hardly an answer,” he said to the familiar.

  Squawk.

  “Very well. Kattea is from the future as it exists if the present continues. Gilbert is a question mark. What happened with the Keeper?” When Kaylin failed to immediately answer, he said, “You are aware that the Keeper is under surveillance. It is...unusual...for rain to fall only within the Keeper’s storefront.”

  “I was getting to that part.”

  “My apologies for the interruption,” he replied. Not that there was any chance this would stop him from interrupting her again. She continued, speaking about the rain in the store, the flood and her eventual discussion with the elemental water.

  “The water is aware of the time shift?”

  Kaylin nodded.

  “Kaylin—”

  “I think it’s only aware because of the Tha’alaan.” As she said this, she realized it was fundamentally true. “I’m not sure the fire or earth or air notice—or care. But the Tha’alaan exists the way the rest of us do, because it’s part of the way we live. I mean—it’s like organic Records for the race itself, so it’s built of our lives.”

  The Arkon seemed surprised, but nodded.

  “What I don’t understand is why the water was raining on the inside of the store. The water does
lose its temper from time to time, but—it’s usually confined to the Garden.”

  The Arkon’s nod was slower to come this time, and his eyes shaded to a much stronger orange by the time it had finished.

  “Do you think whatever’s eating the city eats the Keeper’s Garden? I mean, in the future, where the water comes from?”

  “Thank you for adding a worry I had not considered to those already on the table.” The Arkon turned to Gilbert again.

  Gilbert said, “...Yes. I think that’s likely. I believe I must return to the Winding Path.” He glanced at Kattea. “Will you take care of her?”

  “You’re not leaving here without her.”

  “Kaylin—”

  “I mean it.”

  “You do not have much time left.”

  “We don’t even know that it started there—has anyone been to the Arcanum?”

  “Lord Diarmat and Lord Emmerian are currently at the Arcanum,” the Arkon replied.

  That seemed backward to Kaylin. “You’re probably the Dragon with the most knowledge of ancient magic—why didn’t they come here?”

  “Because I am, as you state, the most learned. I am going to the Winding Path. I am apparently going to the Winding Path without the benefit of mirrored information.”

  “Do you understand why the mirrors are so integral to the problem?”

  “No. The Imperial mages are now considering the difficulty. Because of the water, you chose to visit the Tha’alani directly.”

  Kaylin took the hint, picking up the very interrupted thread of the story. By the time she’d finished, he was no longer glaring at Ybelline. “Please plug your ears,” he told her. He lifted his voice and repeated this request.

  Kaylin had a good idea of what he was about to do, but covered her ears anyway. Covering her ears never really stopped Dragon roars from being deafening.

  Her instincts were right: the Arkon roared. It was not a short roar, either.

  He had the grace to wait until the roar had stopped echoing before he spoke again. “I am confirming, for the Dragon Court, that the mirror network’s usage can—or will—be deadly. I have also passed word about the shielding the Tha’alani used to some effect in their last stand. The latter, I feel, will buy us essential time.”

  “Any idea what the Arcanum was trying to do?”

  “The Arcanum is composed of men and women with great ambition and power. They seldom work in concert. It is highly unlikely that individual members are aware of the full extent of the research of their various colleagues. Those that survived the internal difficulties of the morning claim ignorance; I am inclined to believe them. At the moment, the Arcanum is attempting to preserve the city—which they happen to reside in. They will not sabotage our efforts.”

  This was not an answer. “If we understood what they were attempting, we might have some chance—”

  “Thank you for stating the completely obvious.”

  Kaylin shut up. Gilbert, however, did not. “If possible,” he said, to Kaylin, “I think your Mandoran and Annarion might be of assistance in a way that none of the rest of you can be.”

  Kaylin nodded.

  Stopped.

  Nodded more emphatically. If mirrors were not forbidden, Kaylin would have been on them instantly. Severn understood why. If Teela had died, Mandoran and Annarion would know. If she hadn’t—and she had been pushed forward or backward or sideways in time, they would only know that she’d disappeared.

  Just as Nightshade had disappeared.

  “Private,” the Arkon snapped. “Your fidgeting makes me almost motion sick. Be still.”

  The Hawklord gave her a Look, which implied that she was embarrassing the entire force in public, and she stopped rocking on her heels. “How do you think Annarion and Mandoran will be helpful?” she asked, to distract herself.

  “They see in a way that you can’t. They see in a way that I can’t—or rather, they see less, and see it from a different vantage. I do not understand the whole of what is, or is not, inimical to your kind. Kattea has taught me much, but she is not aware of everything I do, and some of what I have done, she considers hostile.”

  Kaylin frowned. “The Arcanist visited you, the night before the murders.”

  “That is what she maintains.”

  “She saw him. You...didn’t.” Kaylin’s frown deepened. “The night after the murders, he came again. That time, you saw him, and she didn’t.”

  Gilbert didn’t reply; he was now as silent as Kaylin couldn’t be.

  “It’s like the corpses or the stones, isn’t it?”

  “It is not,” he finally said, although his frown had deepened. “I could see the corpses in question. I could see the three stones.”

  “You could see the words. You—” She turned to the Arkon. “Did Sanabalis manage to get that information to you?”

  “No.” He turned to Gilbert. “It is, in part, to speak of these so-called words that I came.”

  Squawk.

  “Ah. I am not certain that I can duplicate them.”

  Squawk.

  “I do not see how it is skirting the rules. They have been seen. Their presence was not revealed by you. I am not certain you were aware of them at all.”

  SQUAWK.

  “He has a bit of an ego,” Kaylin said. “What does he mean by rules?”

  “I believe he expects you to understand what he means; it is irrelevant. I am not...as he is. It is difficult for me to manifest the words I see in a way that makes them accessible to your kind,” Gilbert said.

  “He means anyone alive in the city,” Kaylin told the Arkon, “not mortals. And frankly, I’m not certain it would be a good idea to have Gilbert attempt to re-create what he saw.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think he’d do anything to harm us deliberately—Kattea’s here, if nothing else. But I don’t think he’s always aware of what might cause harm. Kattea seemed to feel there was actual, magical conflict; Gilbert seemed to genuinely feel there wasn’t. He’s not an Arcanist. He’s not trying to live forever or rule the universe or whatever it is that drives the Arcanists.

  “I just don’t think he truly understands what life is. Our lives, anyway.”

  “I will take that under advisement.” The Arkon spoke as if he meant it. “But at this point, I do not feel it is Gilbert who is responsible for the state of our city, and any information is not only relevant, but urgently required. I am therefore willing to have that risk taken.”

  Kaylin turned to Lord Grammayre, who nodded. The Arkon was not, in theory, in the chain of command—but theory could be stretched in emergencies.

  Gilbert glanced, once again, at Kattea. “Very well.” He lifted his hands slowly, held them in front of his body, at elbow level, and turned them, palms up, as if he was carrying something no one else in the room could see.

  His eyes began to glow.

  Chapter 23

  Kaylin was accustomed to seeing eye colors change; glowing was another thing entirely. When Gilbert’s eyes glowed—as they were glowing now—it looked as if his head had been hollowed out and was being used as a lamp. It was not a comforting sight.

  Kattea was still wrapped around Ybelline; if warning needed to be given to—or about—Gilbert, it wouldn’t come from her. Kaylin opened her mouth and closed it again as the familiar came to sit on her shoulder. His claws dug through her tunic. Clearly she wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

  “I don’t suppose,” she whispered to the familiar, “you could tell me what he’s doing?”

  Squawk.

  The glow of Gilbert’s eyes brightened so much, it was hard to look at his face. The Arkon’s inner membranes rose, and he lifted a hand; Kaylin felt a wash of unpleasant stinging settle across her arms, her legs, the ba
ck of her neck—anywhere that was marked. She even approved of it, although she gritted her teeth.

  The light seeped out of Gilbert’s eyes, as if it were crawling. This was very disturbing to watch. He was apparently in control of its destination, though; it fell into his cupped palms, curling in and around itself as if it were a dozen small snakes.

  Could have been worse, she told herself. Could have been cockroaches.

  Squawk.

  “I know. Sorry.”

  The snakes began to separate, and Kaylin watched as they hardened and shed parts of themselves. She looked up to Gilbert’s face; his eyes were once again obsidian. They did not reflect the glowing light she could clearly see taking shape in the palms of his hands.

  The Arkon’s expression stiffened as the runes took form. They were not, to Kaylin’s eye, true words, not the way the marks on over half her skin were—but they seemed similar. She frowned and approached Gilbert. She saw magic’s aftereffects as sigils—usually blue, and usually much larger than these. But she had seen such sigils as dark shadows, dark smoke, before.

  These were similar, in the end, to those, although they were much more solid.

  “Arkon?”

  “They are not,” he said, “a language I recognize.”

  “Not true words, then?”

  “No.” He replied without obvious disgust, which was unusual. “Do they look like your marks, to you?”

  She shook her head. “They look—this is going to sound strange—”

  The Arkon coughed.

  “Sorry. They’re brighter and more consistent, but—they remind me of the sigils left behind in the Leontine quarter.”

  “When?”

  “When Marcus was accused of murder.” It felt as if it had been years ago. It hadn’t; objectively, it had been months. Maybe a year. “Someone tried to kill us—Severn and I—and a black, smoky sigil rose in the wake of the spell.”

  The Arkon’s expression shifted, and not in an entirely natural way. “Does this aperture widen?” he asked the Hawklord.