Cast in Oblivion

by Michelle Sagara

  “Or I could go back to Court to confirm our unspoken fears: that you are other, you are corrupted, you are a threat to the Barrani. If, upon my return to that Court, I offer the latter opinion, you will never face the Tower as Barrani. You will never be Lords of the Court.”

  The wisdom of threatening the cohort, however obliquely, was highly questionable. Kaylin managed to keep this to herself. There was something about Sedarias that had snapped into place; she was, for the first time, at home.

  “If we are never to be Lords of the Court,” she replied, her eyes a blue-green at odds with her expression, “we will never encounter your enemy. We will not enter the High Halls; if you return with the latter report, we will be outcaste, all of us. That is not, of course, our desire. You have your duties and responsibilities—to all of the Barrani—and we have ours, to our families, our history.

  “We have no desire to interfere with, or denigrate, your duties. We are all aware of your import to the Barrani. Nor do we have any desire to remain sundered from our homes. You did not breathe life into us—but your predecessors did.

  “But we have our own—smaller—duties and responsibilities. And we’re not about to turn and walk away from them. Even if you tell us it’s for the betterment of our race, we don’t choose to accept that. You know what we want.”

  “I do now,” the Consort replied, and her eyes, like Sedarias’s, lightened, shading toward the green that was their primary color. “Over the course of the evening, I have come to understand that you are not one mind, not one being; you are Barrani, with the variety of individual reactions that any such gathering of our kin might contain. You were the only one of the twelve chosen to go to the green who was designated as the probable heir of your line.”

  Sedarias nodded.

  “I will swear a blood oath, a binding oath, if it will put you at ease. I will ask that you swear the same, because I require it. And because we are in Lord Kaylin’s home, I will be honest—and honesty has often been very poorly respected among our kin. I understand why you are feared. I understand the reasons that your presence at the heart of our ancient stronghold might break far more things than they fix. I understand that not all of the voices raised in concern are raised for purely political reasons.

  “In other circumstances, my voice might join those who speak against you. There has been much made of time, in those heated sessions; they wish you to live among the Barrani while they gauge the actual dangers you present. And this is wise; time will often tell.

  “But Lord Kaylin is mortal. The time they wish to take—the cautious, perhaps necessary time—will see her years dwindle. Given her remarkable lack of caution in the face of her own ignorance, those years might be far fewer than the expected mortal tally.

  “I cannot afford the time, and it is time you yourselves are unwilling to grant.” She then turned, not to Kaylin or Sedarias, but to the Arkon. “I am not a scholar of note. I studied only those things that interested me, and in the end, very little interested me for long; I wearied of the lessons that history taught, and I wearied of the conclusions that seemed to be drawn from those lessons by those who were considered much more focused, much more intelligent, than I.

  “Even so, I understand that knowledge is necessary, that the wisdom that comes from experience must at least be respected. None here—not even myself—have your breadth of knowledge and experience. If you speak against this, I will be forced to listen.”

  “I will not force you to listen,” the Arkon said; his smile—and his eye color—implied that she had amused him. “Although I have come with my own guard, I do not believe any attempt at coercion would be met with tolerance from the two you yourself have brought. That young man has eyes that are almost—but not quite—black. I believe you have alarmed him.”

  Kaylin did not snicker, but that took effort. Ynpharion was embarrassed, because the Arkon was, of course, referring to him.

  “And starting a battle of that nature while under Helen’s protection would be very, very poor behavior for anyone she consents to receive as a guest.”

  “Thank you, Arkon,” Helen said.

  “You have given me little time to consider the ramifications of the problem for which you seek my counsel.”

  This time it was Bellusdeo who snorted. There was smoke in it. This seemed to amuse the Arkon, as well. Whatever had caused his shift in eye color had subsided. “Lannagaros, honestly, you are dissembling.”

  “Is he?” the Consort asked. Her eyes were still martial, but the line of her shoulders was once again fluid and graceful.

  “He accepted the invitation to dinner because I was to be present and I desired it.”

  “I will, with a few exceptions, grant Bellusdeo anything she desires.”

  “And she knows it?”

  “And yes, she knows it. I am considered far too indulgent—it is one advantage of old age. I am allowed to be.”

  “She is likewise allowed to be critical?”

  “If there is affection in it, yes. But, Lady, so are you. You are allowed a much wider range of emotional expression than any other member of the High Court. You are indulged. It is why no mention is made of her use of a name that is no longer relevant.” There was a subtle warning in this that even Kaylin couldn’t miss.

  Then it isn’t subtle, Ynpharion snapped. He was still smarting.

  “She knows that I have considered all information that has been presented to me, as I always do before I venture out of my humble abode.”

  This caused Kaylin’s snort to join Bellusdeo’s. The Consort, however, was polite.

  “My initial position would match more closely the High Court’s. Time—and caution—are critical. For our peoples, the passage of time—a paltry century—should not be telling. But your people, being far more numerous, tend to play games in which survival is not guaranteed; there is a risk to the cohort should they take that time. I am certain they understand this, and I will not insult your intelligence; I’m certain you do, as well.

  “If they intend to make their home the Barrani High Court, they will be familiar with those dangers. Time, therefore, is irrelevant. The next decade, however, will intensify those games, regardless of the outcome of the Test of Name. There are three elements that come into play now. One, you’ve already mentioned: Lord Kaylin. I will agree that she is reckless—even for a mortal, she is young, and mortals who survive do gain wisdom at an astonishing rate.

  “The second, linked to Lord Kaylin, is her familiar. While he is willing to converse, he does so in a limited and unpredictable way. With his aid, Lord Kaylin is capable of perceiving things that you or I would have difficulty perceiving without great effort and exertion. And the third, which I did not expect, and have not fully factored in, is Spike.

  “I now understand what is at stake for you. What you have shared with me—and I believe it to be the truth, given Lord Kaylin’s excessively open reactions—the Imperial Court did not fully comprehend. I believe that there is some merit to taking the risk at this present time.”

  “If you wanted a short answer,” Bellusdeo added, “you’ve asked the wrong person.”

  “I would ask him many other questions, and listen to his lengthy response, were I in a position to do so. I envy you,” she added, her voice softening in such a natural way Kaylin believed her. “But especially at this time, interaction with the Imperial Court would cause difficulties for the High Lord.

  “My presence here has caused political waves—but given the war band and the possible attack, by Dragon, in the West March, waves are the order of the day. You believe that I am correct?”

  “I believe that this may be the best chance you have.”

  “And our chances of success?”

  Before the Arkon could answer, Annarion did. “Our chances of success. Not yours. You have played your part here—and played it well, if perhaps unconventionall
y. But you are not coming with us.”

  “You do not seek, surely, to give me orders?” Her words were cool; her tone was warm. She looked at Annarion in the same way she sometimes looked at Kaylin, and Kaylin realized, with some chagrin, that it was because she thought of them both as children.

  It’s taken you this long to realize that?

  “Lady,” Annarion said, bowing. “You have said that you are the mother of our race. We will—should we survive—bring our children to you. Without your presence, they will not wake.”

  “No. Without the presence of the Consort, without the presence of someone to whom the Lake speaks, they will not wake. But I am not the first, and I will not be the last.”

  “You are too important to risk,” he insisted.

  “And do you all feel that way?”

  Silence. Kaylin realized, belatedly, that this was a test—of Annarion, of his honesty. And Annarion was honest. He didn’t answer.

  “I don’t,” Sedarias said, speaking in Elantran, as if this were a test of her, as well. Kaylin couldn’t decide whether or not she had failed it or passed it; Annarion and Sedarias were not the same people, and the tests they faced would be different. Ynpharion considered it a decided fail, however. “As you must have inferred. I don’t believe that we will be able to accomplish what you require without some interference from you.”

  “And you say this as a member of Mellarionne?”

  Sedarias’s smile was sharp, edged, infinitely unkind. “So you have heard.”

  “Of course I have. I am not concerned, however, with the Mellarionne candidate. You could never pass the final, and most determined, of the Lake’s tests. Nor, I believe, can she. You fail to understand the nature of the Lake, and its sentience; you therefore fail to understand the nature of the Consorts. I have no children, but in the future, I will. And yet, even if some terrible fate were to befall me, if someone could pass that final test, I would have an heir. An heir that would be true to the responsibility that has devoured the whole of my life and thought. There is peace in it, Sedarias. I do not fear being irrelevant.

  “Should the Mellarionne candidate pass, I would feel gratitude, not political tension. Families push their daughters—their competent, powerful daughters—into taking the tests of the Lake. They do it constantly. They see the position of Consort, and they see the tangible political benefit; they may even believe that the Consorts will choose only names of great power and significance when bestowing those names upon the chosen, favored few—those favored being, of course, of the line that birthed the Consort.

  “History could teach them better lessons, had they the will to learn them. No one who could use the position in that fashion would ever be granted the position. Daughters of the powerful have become consort, or heir, throughout our history—and yet, they have failed to become pawns of the families to whom they were birthed. If your candidate succeeds, so, too, will she.”

  “But there is no heir,” Annarion continued, dogged now. “The High Lord himself would surely forbid it.”

  At this, her eyes did darken, although her lips turned up in a smile. “He would not dare.”

  Ynpharion wasn’t shocked; he was chagrined. He didn’t condescend to confirm the Consort’s opinion, but it was clear that he agreed with her assessment.

  “You are perhaps laboring under a misconception,” she continued when no one spoke. “You are responsible for your choice. You can elect to take the Test of Name and face what waits below the Tower. Or you can refrain. You cannot make choices for me; nor can you direct my actions in this regard. I have assessed the risks I am willing to take, and the choice of those risks resides entirely with me. As do the consequences. No blame or guilt accrues to you—to any of you—should you deign to fulfill my request.”

  “Of course,” Sedarias said, inclining her head. Annarion looked far less accepting. “You are Consort; we are not even Lords of the Court. In no wise would we be up to a task that was beyond your reach.” She looked at the maps that were laid across the table. “Shall we now discuss what you feel we need to know?”

  “And your oath?” the Consort asked.

  “If you feel it necessary, we will undertake that oath and its ceremony when we arrive at the High Halls. I do not believe Helen is equipped to perform it.”

  “It is not,” Helen said quietly, “an oath one would demand of anyone invited as a guest.” Which was not entirely agreement. “If it is acceptable to you, I will have food brought in and placed on the sideboard; you may eat in a way that does not disturb either your maps or your discussion. It is not a formal dinner, and for that, I apologize, but I feel that some food is necessary.”

  “Your hospitality is not in question,” the Consort replied, “and it will receive no complaints.”

  * * *

  The rest of the meal—such as it was—involved maps and discussions about the nature of Shadow, and the possible nature of the one that existed at the base of the High Halls.

  Spike was a ball of nerves. While he was reasonably certain he knew who—or what—that Shadow was, he was not entirely certain, and the thought that everyone present intended to stake their lives on what was, in part, his opinion appeared to be giving him hives.

  Helen did make changes to the room to accommodate what she called a sideboard; food appeared as if by magic, because it was magic. Plates and smaller standing tables also materialized, and if the furniture itself hadn’t been so perfect, Kaylin might have been in the Halls of Law at the height of planning an action that involved the full force.

  Even with the topic of discussion—and there was no secondary topic—Kaylin felt far more relaxed than she had while considering the Consort’s visit; it was far less stressful, somehow, than the Emperor’s had been. This work, even dressed up as it was, was work that she knew.

  Spike was less sanguine. She didn’t know what he’d done for a living—and the idea that Shadows had to do something for a living was a new and foreign one to her—but clearly, it hadn’t been police work. Maybe his entire existence had been bound up in being portable Records; maybe his function was to be what memory crystals—those expensive and magical intrusions that were costly, and therefore, thank whatever gods existed, rare—were to the Hawks.

  Her entire arm felt numb because Spike was vibrating so much while sitting in place. She thought it was nerves until she glanced in Helen’s direction. Helen was rigid. She might have been made of stone.

  “Helen?”

  “Spike’s concerns are twofold,” Helen said, although Kaylin hadn’t had time to frame a question. “You are right; he is concerned that you are making a plan of action based in part on his information, which is not one hundred percent correct. But that is the lesser concern.”

  Everyone poring over maps and discussing dates of arrival froze and looked up. Everyone except the Arkon, who would have no role to play; the Arkon had never fully taken his eyes off Helen.

  “What’s his major concern?”

  “That he is, in fact, correct in his assumption.”

  “He’s afraid he’s right?”

  “Yes. I have been attempting to explain this evening’s discussion. Spike’s understanding of politics—of living politics—is, of course, in keeping with his personal experience.”

  “Meaning none of this makes any sense to him.”

  “He can understand that there are variances in your positions—he sensed conflict clearly—but cannot understand why; the two positions, in his view, are so remarkably close together they should engender no difficulties.” Helen’s smile was brief and wry.

  “He probably can’t see much difference between the Barrani and the Dragons.”

  “He does see qualitative differences between the two species. Races,” she added, grimacing slightly. “But they are very like the difference between types of grass to Spike—and in this analogy, Spike is not a ga
rdener. He sees that you are, effectively, planted in the same soil, and you require the same sustenance—water, sunlight. I have attempted to explain the concept of weeds, but that has not gone well. It is all weeds, to Spike. He now wishes to know why some plants are desirable and others are not.”

  “Well, I’m kind of with Spike there. Except for poison ivy. And the things with the sharp thorns. Oh, and the things with the burrs that you can’t get out of your hair.”

  Helen lifted a hand, and Kaylin stopped. “If you continue in this vein, Spike will fall back to cataloging your various complaints, and while he is likely to ask you questions, I feel it would be best to have that conversation later. Spike’s concerns about the present situation are far more pressing.”

  “To Spike?”

  “Yes, even to Spike.” Helen paused, and then added, “Because they are pressing concerns to you, and he is attached to you until you detach him.”

  “I can leave him here when we go to the Halls.”

  Both Spike and Helen said “No” at the same time; Spike’s contained more outrage. It was clear from Sedarias’s expression that she felt the same as Spike. But Sedarias had seen Spike in the outlands; she’d seen the form he’d taken—and if he now fit in the palm of Kaylin’s hand, albeit not entirely comfortably, she couldn’t have lifted or moved him then.

  He had agreed to serve Kaylin, in some fashion. She didn’t entirely understand why.

  “You will need help,” Spike said. “You will need all the help you can get. Is that the right phrase?”

  “It’s the right phrase,” Kaylin replied, although she suspected he was speaking to Helen. “Fine. Spike is very concerned and I’m not leaving him here. But if I take him to the High Halls, he’s likely to cause concern to the Barrani Court.”

  “He will not cause as much concern as your familiar does and has,” the Consort pointed out. “And I imagine asking you to—”