They were beautiful. They were nothing like her eyes.
And they were a shade of purple Kaylin seldom saw. Purple was the color of loss, of funereal grief; the Barrani offered it to very, very few.
Grief.
As his eyes widened, as his face took on lines of expression, they darkened as well, becoming a much, much more familiar midnight. She might have taken an involuntary step back—in part because it was the only smart thing she could do—but he began to fade from view almost before the color of his eyes had fully made the transition.
* * *
Kaylin. She felt the same visceral pull she’d felt the first time, but this time, she obeyed it. She had nothing left to fight with, and even if she did, she had no desire at all to fight.
* * *
She couldn’t see. She couldn’t see, and if she’d had the strength, she would have panicked. But Severn’s voice—no, all of the voices she’d gathered and touched—came rushing in, to fill the void left by darkness.
She could hear.
She felt heat above her upturned face; she felt stone—suspiciously warm stone—against her arms and chest, and remembered the stone bell. It was still now. It did not vibrate. Nor did she hear the oddly staccato voices of the three men.
She heard blades clashing, and then she remembered.
She remembered the eyes of the Barrani Arcanist. He would die here, no matter how powerful he was; she was certain of it. If he was forced to actually face the people in this room—the least of whom was exhausted to the point of diminished vision and apparently clinging blindly to a rock—he wouldn’t last five minutes.
But his grief—grief, not rage—cut her. She knew what would have happened had it not been for Gilbert, but she thought that maybe, maybe, the destruction the Arcanist had caused was unintentional. And maybe, if his only desire was to somehow be free, if he had somehow met Gilbert on his own, he might be at peace.
It was a stupid thought, and pointless, because he’d be at peace now, regardless.
“Kaylin.”
She tried to speak, but apparently she’d been screaming, because her throat felt raw and scraped, and she could barely hear her own voice over the rest of the almost overwhelming noise in the basement.
“Kaylin, you need to let go.” She recognized Annarion’s voice.
“Are my eyes open?” she asked him.
“...Yes.”
“I can’t see you—”
“Let go, Kaylin.” Pause. “Your cheek.”
She smiled. “Yes. Your brother is...in his Castle.” She groaned as Annarion apparently attempted to remove her arms—or her skin.
“You need to let go. The Arkon says we need to break these stones.”
She looked, tried to look, at Annarion’s face, which she assumed was in roughly the same direction as his voice. And she saw one thing: Gilbert’s eye. Gilbert’s only remaining eye; the others, she could no longer use. She couldn’t really see out of this one, either, and realized that it was probably still embedded in Annarion’s forehead.
He lifted her. He carried her. She cried the whole way because her skin hurt so much. She wished she’d removed all her clothing before she’d arrived in the basement, which was not technically legal.
The eye began to move. She could see no word in it; it was a simple, and small, golden orb, with a pupil that seemed to have depth; it reminded her, in a tiny way, of the small pond at the heart of the Keeper’s Garden.
She tried to speak, but failed. She closed her eyes. She wanted to beg Annarion to put her down, but before she could, he did—and she watched this lone part of Gilbert, whose Shadow, whose presence, she couldn’t otherwise see, move to what she assumed was the exact spot on which the Arcanist had been standing when he’d cast his spell.
She didn’t know what Annarion was doing. She’d have to ask him, later.
But the sound in the room grew sharper and more distinct—which was not, in her present condition, a gift, exactly—as Gilbert’s remaining eye grew less distinct.
She could hear Dragon roaring. She’d learned to differentiate between “discussion” and “argument” while living in the Palace. Most native draconian spoken in the Palace, on the other hand, was the latter.
And she thought, with increasing confusion, that one of the two voices—three voices—raised in argument was the Emperor’s, which made no sense.
It was the last thought she had before she slid into a very blessed unconsciousness.
Chapter 30
Afterward, she heard the rest of the story, because she didn’t really make it back in a condition to witness it for herself. The Arcanist had appeared in the center of the room. The fighting nearest the stairs stopped instantly, which did not mean that the fighting had stopped entirely. Given the other occupants of the room, the rest of the fight wasn’t particularly long.
It was Mandoran who told Kaylin that Gilbert’s eye—the one remaining eye, in Annarion’s forehead—had left Annarion. And it was Annarion who told Kaylin that he thought Gilbert had used what power he could summon, through that tenuous connection, to patch the rend in time. To change the things that had happened. To bring the rest of the city back.
Annarion very deliberately ignored Kaylin’s face for twenty minutes—or longer—of their first visit. When he couldn’t keep that up, his eyes were drawn instantly to her cheek. Which was blistered and puffy. Nightshade’s mark was, of course, still there—and Annarion understood exactly why her skin was blistered, and it reminded him of the very core of his anger at his brother.
Since his brother was actually alive, worry had given way to the usual resentment. The two of them were going to have to talk, but Annarion was unwilling to risk visiting Castle Nightshade again.
“I called him,” she said quietly. “I needed his help to keep myself...here.”
Mandoran said, “That’s better than your usual attempt at lying. Half of it is probably true.” When she winced, he added, “You’re not going to make anyone believe that he burned part of your face at your request. Except maybe yourself. The rest of us are actually Barrani. We know how it works.” She realized, with some surprise, that Mandoran was almost as angry as Annarion.
* * *
Tain had cracked ribs and a pierced lung. It was Teela who passed that news on. Tain was apparently recuperating in a building that wasn’t sentient and didn’t also contain Mandoran and Annarion.
“Did I really hear the Emperor?” Kaylin asked the Barrani Hawk.
“I’m certain even the dead heard the Emperor. That’s a yes, by the way.”
She wilted. And fell asleep.
* * *
She slept on and off for three days.
During that time, Helen visited frequently with food. Marcus’s wives, led by the indomitable Kayala, visited, Marcus in tow. It was always funny to see Marcus surrounded by his wives; he was like a kitten. She was never stupid enough to say this in his hearing, though. Moran visited while Marcus was present, chatted amicably with his wives and gave Kaylin a very, very thorough medical inspection. She treated the burn on Kaylin’s cheek, as well.
Since she was not actually in the infirmary when she did this, Kaylin had hopes that her demeanor would be substantially different. Clearly, exhaustion had made her stupid. Moran told Kaylin—and Helen—in no uncertain terms what she expected of Kaylin’s convalescence. Kaylin didn’t pay much attention to most of it, but Helen certainly did, and Kaylin tried to remember that she had wanted Moran to live here.
Caitlin visited, with food. And flowers for Helen, just because. The Hawklord did not visit. The Arkon did not visit, either, but that was probably for the best.
Kattea, drawn and silent, her expression the forced smile of a child who has nowhere else to go and knows it, visited; she came in with Helen and
left with her. Helen informed Kaylin that Kattea would be staying temporarily. Well, technically, Helen asked if Kattea could stay. But she asked in a tone of voice that made it clear there was only one acceptable answer.
Since it was the answer Kaylin would have given regardless, this was fine. Kattea, however, was not—and Kaylin could not force herself to stay awake for long enough to do anything about it. She did ask Kattea about Gilbert, heard Helen’s very sharp intake of breath and let the matter drop.
Bellusdeo came by with, of all people, Sanabalis—who was not dead, but looked almost as if death would be a mercy, his color was so bad. Bellusdeo’s eyes were a shade of orange that shifted perceptibly to gold when she saw Kaylin. “This is the first time you’ve been awake while we’ve been here,” she said, by way of explanation.
Kaylin deliberately didn’t ask her about the Emperor. She did ask about the Arkon, and both of the two visitors winced.
“Lannagaros is not, perhaps, in the most social of moods,” Bellusdeo said. “I am sure he will recover. Lord Diarmat inquires after your health.” Her smile was slightly edged as she added, “His concern almost appeared to be genuine.”
“He just wants us back in class.”
“Of course.”
* * *
Severn didn’t visit, and that was worse.
* * *
On the morning of the fourth day, she had a visitor she hadn’t expected.
You should have, he said, standing on the steps leading to the front door.
Yes. Maybe she should have. The mark on her cheek was no longer quite as puffy and sore. All the rest of the pain caused by magic faded when the magic itself did. Trust Nightshade to be an exception.
She was more or less on her feet. Although Marcus had told her not to come into the office for a week—with pay, even—she was restless, and therefore chose to dress for work. If work clothing wasn’t exactly lounge-around-at home clothing, she took comfort in it anyway. And it wasn’t as if Helen was going to judge it.
“I should hope not.” Helen’s voice was not accompanied by her Avatar.
I do not think I will be allowed entry without your direct intervention. Which made it pretty clear where Helen’s physical representation actually was. Kaylin moved, crossing the floor and the halls to reach the stairs almost before she took the time to think. The small dragon flew from the left side of the pillow—his de facto perch for much of Kaylin’s convalescence—to her shoulder; he wrapped his tail lightly around her neck.
Squawk.
Her home was not a place she’d ever expected to see the fieflord. Home wasn’t a place she’d ever intended to invite him. But she didn’t want Helen to reduce him to ash or send him to another dimension, either. They’d gone through a lot to actually bring him home.
Which was not, of course, his experience of events. He had lost a month to the defense mechanisms of Castle Nightshade. He had not lost decades—if, indeed, Gilbert’s approximation of the time they had spent together had been accurate—in the heart of Ravellon. Whatever had happened in some future, it was gone; it was in the past. And that was ironic.
She wondered if that was what had happened to Gilbert, but shook her head as she looked down the stairs. If Gilbert was gone because things had been changed, Kattea wouldn’t be here. And Kattea was here, waiting for Gilbert with increasing impatience—which everyone expected—and diminishing hope. Which was heartbreaking.
Helen was standing in the doorway. The door was open, but Helen hadn’t actually moved aside to allow Nightshade entrance. Kaylin could see her back. She could see the delicate lines of shoulders that were not quite elderly; she could see the stiff, straight fall of Helen’s arms.
“Helen.”
Helen didn’t turn.
Kaylin came all the way down the stairs. She intended to join Helen, or to at least stand beside her—but Helen lifted an arm to prevent this from happening.
What did you say to her? Kaylin demanded.
I merely told her I wished to pay my respects to both you and my brother. There was a glimmer of dark amusement in the words. That and anger.
“Helen,” Kaylin repeated. Even when the ancestors had attacked them all, she had never seen Helen behave quite like this.
Helen turned her head—only her head. Her eyes were jet-black. Her face had lost most of the lines that implied smile or laughter.
Is that really all you did?
Helen turned back to her clearly unwanted visitor.
I am not unwise enough to attempt to cause harm in a building of this type. I was perhaps under a misapprehension about the building’s exact nature, as all of my knowledge comes—indirectly—from your first encounters with it.
Her name is Helen.
Silence.
Kaylin folded her arms. “Helen, please. He is not going to hurt me. He’s not even going to try.”
Helen did not appear to hear her.
“Annarion lives here. Nightshade is—as far as I know—his only surviving family.”
“Did I not tell you,” Helen replied, relenting enough to speak, “that I would not allow those who intended you harm across this threshold?”
“Yes. Yes, you did. But he has had plenty of opportunity to cause me harm in the past, and he’s failed to take advantage of any of them. I don’t know what he’s done—”
“You do not understand the nature of the harm. Would he kill you? No. He would no more destroy Melliannos, his sword. Both you and the sword are of value.”
Nightshade stiffened; his eyes were as dark as Barrani eyes could get.
“I do not intend to destroy him,” Helen continued. “I do not wish to hurt Annarion, and his anger with his brother stems, at its base, from attachment.”
“Annarion can’t visit his brother in Nightshade.”
“I fail to see how that is my problem.”
“It’ll be my problem if Annarion leaves the house. He’s been able to move freely only when I’m physically with him. If you want me to see less of Nightshade, this is the safest place for me to be. I don’t ask that you let him do whatever he wants solely because he’s a guest.” Which, to be fair, Kaylin knew would never happen. “But you’re here. There’s nothing you’re not aware of.
“And he did help me,” she added.
Helen’s eyes narrowed as she glared at Kaylin’s blistered cheek.
“...We had different ideas of what I was supposed to be doing during the confrontation.”
“And his ideas were clearly of more value to him than yours.”
“...Helen, he’s Barrani. He’s a Barrani Lord.”
“So, if I recall correctly, is your Teela.”
“You didn’t see Teela when I was in training.”
“It is in no way the same, as you are well aware,” Annarion said from the top of the stairs. Kaylin had no idea how long he’d been standing there. He spoke in very stiff High Barrani, and his eyes were as dark as Nightshade’s, if for entirely different reasons.
Kaylin placed a hand on Helen’s shoulder. “Helen, please.”
Nightshade was, if anything, more annoyed. Do not beg a building such as this. You are Lord here, or you are prisoner. Choose.
“That’s not the way Helen—or I—work. It’s not the way we need to work.”
Then you are subject to its—
Her.
...her whim. His eyes narrowed, and he turned away from the door. This was an abominable idea. I have no idea why I am here. I almost cannot believe the centuries I spent attempting—in some small way—to retrieve the brother I could not believe was dead. He headed down the stairs.
“Helen, please.”
Helen exhaled. It was a sound that was vaguely reminiscent of Dragon.
“Nightshade!” As he continued to
walk away, she said, “Calarnenne.” She spoke without force, as if it was merely a mortal name. He stopped.
Annarion had come down the stairs; he’d reached the doors. Helen’s ability to shield his presence extended to the fence line, but he was understandably reluctant to test this. Kaylin glanced at his expression. It was nowhere near as shuttered as Nightshade’s, and yes, there was anger in it.
Anger, she thought, and bewilderment.
“They need to talk,” she told Helen. She spoke very quietly, but without hope that either of the two men would fail to hear her.
“Then perhaps it would be best if they used the Twilight Room. I do not like this, Kaylin. I understand that you accept certain attitudes as inevitable cultural behavior. But Lord Nightshade is unlike the other Barrani you have invited as guests.”
“I am not more of a danger than Lord Teela,” Nightshade said, voice sharp, eyes narrow.
Helen’s eyes rounded. They were still obsidian, but the expression itself was more human.
“Lord Teela,” Helen replied, in a voice that was about as soft as her eyes, “does not trouble herself to hide her thoughts when she enters Kaylin’s home.”
“My thoughts,” Nightshade said, “are not your concern.”
“No. But Kaylin is.” Before Kaylin could move, Helen reached up and gently touched the mark Nightshade had placed on Kaylin’s cheek.
Kaylin was surprised. It no longer hurt, and she didn’t resent it nearly as much as Annarion, Mandoran and Helen did. “No, you don’t,” Helen said.
At least teach your Helen that she is not to reveal the thoughts you are wise enough not to put into words.
“But none of our anger is as deep as Teela’s.” Helen shook herself, and as she did, she resumed the most familiar of her forms. “Annarion? The Twilight Room?”
Annarion nodded grimly.
“Will you require refreshments?”
“I’m not sure, yet.”
“Should I inform Mandoran that the meeting will be private? I believe he is...concerned.”
Cast in Honor (The Chronicles of Elantra) Page 44
