Cast in Oblivion

by Michelle Sagara

  The familiar in question squawked in pure outrage.

  “—leave him behind will be singularly ineffective.”

  “Well, it’s different. Hope’s not worried.”

  Helen’s brows rose. “Is that what you truly believe?”

  The Arkon cleared his throat. Loudly. “I would appreciate two things,” he said as he rose.

  The Consort was instantly attentive. “And those?”

  “That you give me some warning before you depart,” he replied. “And that Bellusdeo not be involved in any of your plans.”

  “It’s Shadow.” Bellusdeo almost spit the words out in fury. Clearly being left behind rather than charging into the Barrani version of hell was an outrageous suggestion to many of the people present. Kaylin, who had spent the formative years of her early life hiding from Ferals, didn’t viscerally understand why.

  “Bellusdeo’s presence at Court would cause a very unfortunate stir. And given the current tensions between the Court and the Emperor, I would consider her lack of presence a necessity. I will not, of course, be present. If I can find information that might be of aid to you, I will pass it on through the private. But I will need at least three days.”

  “I will give you two weeks. I would give you more time, but two weeks is all we will have before things become fractious.” The Consort’s voice was firm.

  He frowned.

  “It is better,” she said in the sweetest of voices, “to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, no?”

  Chapter 13

  “Of course the High Lord knows!” Sedarias said, six days later, while a tense cohort was considering—rather than eating—breakfast.

  She and the cohort were grouped in the dining room, which once again looked like a posher version of the mess halls, because the tabletop here didn’t have names or curses carved into its surface.

  Helen had given up on chairs for the cohort and instead created long benches so they could huddle together without chair arms getting in the way. Placing chairs on either side of the benches would have been awkward, so everyone got a bit of bench at breakfast.

  Severn was now living under the same roof as everyone else. Kaylin realized that she often thought about him as if he were Barrani: he didn’t appear to need sleep, or at least didn’t suffer visibly from lack of it. Kaylin did, and she looked very much like she’d spent the entire evening at either the foundling hall or the guild of midwives; there were circles under her eyes. There were circles under the circles. She looked like she had a hangover.

  But the house hadn’t gotten any quieter since that dinner. The departure of the Consort, which had come as a bit of relief to Kaylin, had not come as a relief to the cohort. They’d become grimmer and far more determined—which, at least in Sedarias’s case, Kaylin would have bet a lot of money against being possible.

  Bellusdeo—who was not allowed by specific agreement to accompany Kaylin and Severn—was very much an integral part of what Kaylin dubbed the council of war. And she suited it. Kaylin understood that the Dragon had once ruled a world—or its shrinking remnants. She had never doubted it. But seeing her with the Barrani cohort—and with Sedarias in particular—drove that point home.

  Bellusdeo had come alive. Kaylin had seen her fight, but the draconic form didn’t quite have the flexibility to express subtle emotions—at least not to those who weren’t Dragons themselves. All of the Dragon’s ferocity had been brought to the literal table. She took in everything, and when she did, she asked questions that were just shy of demands. She spoke as if she owned the table, the room and the battle itself.

  While this was a surprise to Kaylin, what shocked her was Sedarias’s reaction. A woman who was raised to rule a Barrani family that was, by implication, one of the most treacherous, deadly of houses took the questions that were almost demands, and focused her energy not on defending her turf, but on actually answering them.

  Bellusdeo insisted that the reports Diarmat had given Kaylin be brought to her, and she read them with care. This occasioned even more questions—and as the cohort had not lived through most of the actual history the Imperial service had preserved, it should have been difficult to answer any of them. Sedarias, however, made the attempt.

  It was Teela who provided most of the actual answers, and when she couldn’t, Ynpharion did.

  “Teela, did you or do you recognize the man in Spike’s replay?”

  Teela nodded. Every eye in the room swiveled toward the Barrani Hawk. Terrano was the only member present who didn’t seem annoyed.

  “Kaylin has guessed that the Adversary beneath the High Halls is actively involved with the Barrani and certain members of its Court,” Teela said. “But I am not so certain. I believe it is possible—but I believe that most of the Barrani who came into contact with Terrano might be moved to interact with Shadow for their own purposes.

  “No one who passed the test of the Tower would instantly believe that they could somehow ally themselves with the creature and come out on top. This allows for only two possibilities. There are Shadows with whom certain Barrani have clearly interacted, or the creature beneath the High Halls has finally discovered how to take a name without destroying its vessel.”

  “The man is a new Lord of the Court?” Kaylin then asked.

  “He is newer, yes.”

  There were things Kaylin was not allowed to speak about. One of them was the current High Lord and his history with that very test—because he had failed it. He had failed it, and were it not for the interference of his mother, he would have joined the rest of those who had failed. She had hidden her actions, just as she had hidden the truth about her son’s failure. But that failure had happened centuries ago.

  What if...what if in the intervening time, the Shadow itself had become more cautious, more subtle? What if—in seeing the almost-enslaved heir to the High Seat—he had begun to understand that he could somehow take the name and force the Barrani to do his bidding, to be his eyes, to reach into the world that the Tower separated him from?

  “How does it take the names?” she suddenly asked.

  Everyone turned toward her. Terrano snorted. “How did you take them?”

  “I didn’t—they were given to me.”

  Not all of them, was Ynpharion’s acid reply.

  I wasn’t going to tell them that.

  Oh? Why? You don’t want them to know that you’ve practically enslaved another person?

  You were trying to kill me at the time, and frankly, if there was any way to dump knowledge of a name—other than suicide—I’d do it in a heartbeat. But he was right. To Kaylin, it was a type of enslavement. And she’d done it. He hadn’t offered her the name; she’d taken it because she could see it so clearly.

  “Kaylin?”

  “I’m being reminded of something I’d rather not be reminded about. Names, and the taking of names. I mean, Barrani True Names.”

  Sedarias, blue-eyed, turned to Kaylin. The cohort now watched with interest. “When you look at me, can you see my name?”

  “No. Hope?”

  The familiar lifted a wing and laid it—far more gently than usual—across her eyes. The answer, however, was still no.

  “You’ve handled our names, but you can’t see them?”

  Kaylin shook her head.

  “Since you are so terrible at lying, I believe you. And I better understand why the Consort considers you an emergency replacement. You conveyed our names—returned them to us—and yet you do not remember them, and made no attempt to bind us with them.”

  “I—”

  “Yes?”

  “I thought they had to be given.”

  “In theory, they do. In practice? Barrani can be forced, on pain of death, to ‘give’ their names. It is like any other application of power.”

  “It’s worse.”

  “Agreed, but i
t’s a matter of degree. Terrano says you’ve taken names in a different fashion?”

  Bellusdeo, however, said, “Do you know my name?”

  Kaylin shook her head.

  “You’ve seen the whole of it. You’ve practically seen it built.” This caused the entire cohort to look toward Bellusdeo in something that might have been surprise—or shock. The Dragon noted the attention and shrugged—it was a decent variant of a fief shrug, too. “It saved my life.”

  Kaylin nodded again, a little bobble of motion that went on a bit too long.

  You see? Ynpharion said, sounding both smug and irritated, which was his usual voice. Ask yourself how you took my name. The how is probably very relevant to your immediate future well-being.

  Why are you telling me this now?

  Because the Consort holds my name, and if she cannot divest you of it, she is far more powerful, her will more steady, than you will ever be.

  So you’re safe with her?

  His laughter was hollow but genuine. No. I am far less safe with her than I would be with you. You will die in a handful of decades even if I lift no hand to hasten your departure. But I serve the Lady with everything that I am—and I offered her the name. It was my choice. And now, he continued, the pride of that truth fading, she is willing to take the risk of facing what the High Halls imprisons. And what we know about the creature is...almost nothing. If answering the question that you yourself posed is even slightly relevant, answer it. For her sake.

  But Kaylin didn’t have an answer. “Is there some way to make people offer you their name besides threats of death?”

  Ynpharion snorted on the inside of her head. Coward.

  Spike, however, said, “Yes.”

  “How?” Kaylin said, latching on to Spike.

  Spike whirred, clicking so much Kaylin thought he’d fall apart in her hand.

  “Spike is attempting to explain what—or who—he believes the imprisoned Shadow to be. Your experience in the High Halls was unique, which is to be expected; you are mortal and your existence does not depend on the blood of the Ancients. I cannot therefore speak to anyone else’s experience. Teela?”

  Teela’s lips were thinned enough they were practically invisible.

  “Ah, forgive me,” Helen then said before Teela could answer. Not that she was going to, in Kaylin’s opinion. “Spike says I am incorrect; he believes the experience was different for Kaylin not because she’s mortal, but because she’s Chosen.”

  “Why?” Sedarias asked. Her voice overlapped Bellusdeo’s.

  The question did not make sense to Spike, judging by his vibration. Helen’s expression shifted into one of focused concentration. Apparently, her familiar also had opinions; she lifted one hand to cup the ear closest to his squawky little mouth.

  The group gathered around the table waited for the outcome of the conversation—except for Terrano, whose brow was practically folding in half as he concentrated.

  “You can understand them?” Kaylin asked, which caused the frown to deepen, and added lines of extreme frustration to an already creased expression.

  “Not easily, no. But if I work at it—which is impossible when someone is babbling at me—I can catch the gist of it.”

  Kaylin was not the only person who was babbling in very short order. “Who taught you this? How did you learn?” Bellusdeo demanded. Hers was the loudest voice, although it wasn’t the only one; no one else had that thunderous rumble that implied imminent earthquake.

  “No one taught me,” Terrano snapped. “I listened. Which, can I point out, is impossible right now?”

  “Helen will tell us what was said. She’ll probably tell us more than you could if you were allowed to ‘listen,’ as you call it.” The gold Dragon folded her arms. “The rest of the cohort don’t hear what you hear.”

  “They would if they bothered.”

  “We wouldn’t,” Sedarias said.

  Mandoran, however, lifted a hand. “I might. I can hear noise in the background; it sounds mostly like buzzing. There’s a strange pitch to it. But we’re kind of wandering far afield here. What we need to know is how Kaylin can take a name that isn’t offered.”

  “What we need to know,” Bellusdeo shot back, “is that you—all of you—can walk slightly inverted roads without being afflicted by the Shadow’s control. And Terrano has walked farthest, longest. If I infer correctly, he’s probably a large part of the reason the High Court is now embroiled in Shadow arts, and possibly under Shadow control.”

  “You say ‘Shadow’ as if it’s one thing,” Terrano replied. “It’s not. Spike is Shadow. No, never mind. Sedarias is Barrani. I’m Barrani. The Consort is Barrani. Annarion is Barrani. How are we all one mind, one thing? Sedarias’s sister was Barrani. She tried to kill Sedarias. The Shadow is like us. Some of the things that exist in the layers outside of the one Kaylin lives in are like Spike—they’re bound. They’re trapped.

  “And some of the Shadows are like fire or water—they can be summoned, they can be invoked. They give power the way controlling fire does—if you mess up, you die.”

  “That is not all they are capable of,” Bellusdeo said, her expression cold, her voice the heart of fire. “I’ve experienced what happens when people are not cautious. I’ve seen a world die. You do not want that to happen here.”

  “I don’t want it to happen anywhere,” Terrano reasonably pointed out. It wasn’t the time for reason, though—not given Bellusdeo’s eye color.

  Sedarias was easily as unamused as Bellusdeo. Mandoran, however, was not; he looked uneasy, but made no attempt to ditch the meeting he’d contributed very little to.

  “It is everywhere,” Spike said, his voice quieter, his body almost—for Spike—motionless. “Because Ravellon is everywhere.”

  “Are you everywhere?” Kaylin asked.

  “I am here.”

  “Yes, but...where is here, to you?”

  “You’re confusing him, dear,” Helen said. “But his answer is largely correct. He is not Ravellon. He does not exist in many places at once. He occupies spaces you cannot perceive, but they are all here.” She paused. It was a thinking pause. “Think of a small hole in a wall. You can see very little through it from where you stand—but you do not doubt that what you see is only a part of what could be seen, if you were on the other side of that wall. What you see of Spike is the eye through that keyhole. What I see is what you might see if you were on my side of the wall.”

  “And the cohort?”

  “It varies. They are standing by a window in the same wall. They can, with a little effort, find and look through a window. You can’t, in this analogy. You’re too short. Terrano, on the other hand, is standing in the doorway.”

  “And Spike can see what I see?”

  “Yes. He can see what you see. He can see what you can’t see. For Spike, the wall in this analogy doesn’t exist. His difficulty is comprehending what you yourself can or cannot see. He understands that there is a wall, a separation, but the wall is entirely invisible to him. He sees that you are Chosen. You understand that that’s what you’re called by people who see or recognize the marks. But it’s as if the sign of the Chosen is attached in its entirety to the back of your head. It’s there, it’s real, but you can’t, without effort or the right equipment—mirrors, for instance—see it yourself.

  “He understands that you do not perceive what he perceives. And in his stay here, he has begun to painstakingly construct a sense of where the walls in my analogy are. But it is imperfect; it is hard not to see something when it is staring you in the face. To be fair to you, he doesn’t understand exactly how you perceive him, either. My attempt to explain has fallen short several times. Spike, in his fashion, is learning what the cohort is learning: how to exist in your world. But Spike doesn’t have even their experience as a guide.

  “And this is relevant to all
of the questions asked.”

  “Good. I was wondering,” Teela said. Her eyes were a shade of blue-green that was almost normal. “Not that I don’t enjoy watching Kaylin splutter on occasion, but Bellusdeo is definitely getting irritated.”

  This was true, except for the “getting” part, which implied a change of state. Bellusdeo had been sharp as a perfect blade all morning.

  “Spike assumes that because you are Chosen, you can see what he calls living names, and what you call True Names.”

  Everyone was now staring at Spike. This included Kaylin.

  “I have tried to explain that he is mistaken, but Terrano isn’t as certain.”

  “Terrano was talking?”

  “He was speaking to us, yes. He is not good at it—”

  “Thanks.”

  “—but his sense of what you can or cannot see is not my sense of it; I know what you know, and act on that. Spike’s contention is that True Names are True Words.”

  “Because they are,” Kaylin said, nodding.

  “He does not see the base difference between them.”

  “True Names are necessary—”

  “But, Kaylin, they aren’t. He cannot see those words in Terrano, and Terrano is demonstrably alive. He can’t see them in Severn, either.”

  “Severn’s mortal, like me.”

  “Very unlike you, in Spike’s opinion. Regardless, he believes that you can see the names if you try. And so we come back to the question of how you took Ynpharion’s name.”

  * * *

  Teela said nothing, loudly. The cohort said nothing verbal, but their eyes darkened to a man.

  “Yes, I knew,” Teela said, out loud.

  Sedarias frowned and turned to Kaylin. “Did you inform Spike of this?”

  “Not intentionally. But I don’t intentionally inform Helen of anything, either—she can hear what I’m thinking.”

  “Given your facial expressions, one doesn’t need to be able to read thoughts to know what you’re thinking,” Sedarias snapped. “Can you see our names now?”