“I know you don’t really consider the High Halls home. None of us do.” Sedarias cleared her throat. “Fine. Most of us don’t. At least half. But...we’re still Barrani. We still want to be Barrani.”
Terrano said nothing.
“The Lake is here. If the creature beneath the High Halls breaks free somehow, there will be no Lake. No Lake and no Barrani. Even if I hated every living member of the Court, I don’t hate the idea of my people.”
“You sound like Annarion.” Clearly this was not meant as a compliment.
“What did you expect? You left. He stayed. Of course he’s going to have undue influence. Look, there’s a place for you if you want to come back. Some of us have missed you.”
“Some.”
“Some.”
Terrano shuddered in place, a wave of exaggerated motion cresting through his body. He bent his head for one long beat, and when he raised it, his eyes were blue. But they were a normal variant of Barrani blue, and they possessed both pupils and white bits. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.”
Mandoran relaxed, as well.
“But...even if I wanted to, I can’t come home. I could live with you, yes—but not the way I once did. I can’t hear you. I never thought I’d miss the noise.”
“Noise?” Sedarias arched a brow. But as if to soften the edge of the single word, she also raised an arm. The gesture was pure Sedarias—or at least Sedarias with the cohort. There was welcome in it, warmth, but also command. And Terrano, like the rest of the cohort, obeyed Sedarias. He walked toward her, his feet on the ground, and she enfolded him tightly in a hug that looked like it might never end.
But she also lifted her head and turned her face toward the Consort. “How long do we have?” Even that, Kaylin thought, was Sedarias. She took command because she wanted to divert attention from Terrano. Possessive and protective.
The Consort turned away from Sedarias, toward the basin of her fountain. She spoke three words; Kaylin’s arms—which were still glowing—began to ache. The water in the fountain stilled instantly, the surface frozen in place, although it still appeared to be liquid. “I would give you all of the time you felt you required,” she finally said, although her eyes remained on the not-quite-liquid water. “But given the complications introduced by your brother—and his followers, not all of whom are known to us—the risk of waiting is high. We assume that he can see the existence of names, but cannot touch their substance as the Chosen can.”
Sedarias nodded.
“Lord Kaylin—Kaylin, if she prefers—has no desire to understand the mechanisms of the power she does possess. It’s almost as if she’s afraid that understanding will lead inevitably to responsibility, or rather, fault. She wants nothing to be her fault. Regardless, she lacks the ambition of Mellarionne. I do not know if the ability to see names will lead, with effort, will and research, to the ability to take their essential nature and control it; in the case of the creature beneath the High Halls, I think the answer must be no.
“But he is not a creature that was born to house a True Name—Spike, please correct me if I am mistaken. Coravante, however, is. And Coravante and his allies are, even as we speak, on the move.”
“Does my brother still have his name?”
“I cannot answer that question,” the Consort replied. She turned to Kaylin. “Does he?”
* * *
“Ynpharion still has his,” Kaylin replied, which was a bit of a dodge. “Knowing a name doesn’t remove it.” Her tone implied that the Consort already knew this, because, of course, she did. “As far as the Barrani are concerned, knowing a name gives someone ultimate power over someone else. Removing the name? You might as well just kill them.” Which the Barrani were good at.
“And yet,” the Consort said, her eyes still focused on the water, “Terrano is here, and Terrano has no name. I cannot look at him and see the name’s absence, and if I cannot, no Barrani should be able to do so. But Coravante did.”
“Maybe,” Terrano said, “because I told him I wanted to be free of it.”
“As do many of our kind. Mortals have cautionary tales about the fates of those who seek immortality; none of them end well. Barrani have cautionary tales about those who attempt to be free of their name, and oddly, none end well, either. Perhaps it is the nature of sentient life to struggle against the thing that most defines their existence.”
“I told him I wanted freedom,” Terrano said, speaking more clearly. “And when Alsanis was once again safe to offer hospitality, it was clear that I wasn’t there. Maybe he attacked me because he guessed.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I’m uncertain, Lady. But the form of attack he used against me isn’t one that would work against you or Tain.”
“Would it work against Kaylin?”
“Hard to say. I think it would affect mortals—but no one really understands how they’re alive at all. It would definitely affect animals.”
“It would work against Mandoran,” Kaylin said.
Terrano’s hesitance was marked. “It would probably work against any of the cohort. I think it would be most effective—” Here he stopped. “It would be most effective against creatures in the outlands.”
“You do not use the word Shadow.”
“No. I think that’s too broad a word. Spike was in thrall to Shadow. His physical form makes that much easier. But free of that control, he is not Shadow. He’s not like us—or like you—but he’s not Shadow. I’m not Shadow,” he continued into the uneasy silence. “I can see Shadow, and I can see some of its fetters. I’m not like you; I’m not even entirely like the rest of my cohort—but I’m not Shadow. You might not like the choices I’ve made, and I sympathize; I’m questioning the wisdom of a lot of them right now.
“But this type of attack would work better against Spike, at least when he’s not mostly buried in Kaylin. And Mandoran said that you’ve seen a similar style of attack before the rest of us arrived.”
Kaylin nodded contemplatively.
“It wasn’t Coravante who launched it.”
“No, of course not. It happened in the Southern Reach, and Coravante couldn’t get there without an invitation.” Her silence, like the rest of her, became sharp and focused.
“You’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking that the attack was launched by an outcaste Dragon, who did reach the Aerie on his own wings. But they were Aerian wings, not draconic. There was an Arcanist in the Aerie—I’d assumed this was his doing. It wasn’t. He was just terrified for his own survival. But... I’d swear the outcaste wasn’t, and isn’t, under anyone else’s control.
“Spike, when we first encountered him, was definitely under someone else’s control. Distance didn’t matter. We managed to break that, but until we did, he was enslaved to something that exists in Ravellon.”
* * *
It was Sedarias who asked the obvious question. “Is the Adversary at the heart of this Tower now in contact with Ravellon?”
“Assume,” Spike said, “that that contact has never ebbed. It is like—very like—the contact you have with your chosen kin.”
“Helen can block that contact, though,” Kaylin pointed out.
“No, Chosen. Helen can stop others from contacting you. She is not at all certain she can untangle the bindings of your guests. I believe she has said as much; we have discussed it at length. The binding upon me,” he continued, “was stronger and more heavily layered. There are ways in which layers can be prohibited or cut off, but I do not believe even the Towers can completely isolate those who are bound to Ravellon. It is why their defenses are built to prevent us from breaching their boundaries.”
Kaylin thought of Tara.
“And,” Spike continued, “to destroying us if we have.” He was silent and still for a long moment, but that was, apparently, a thinking silence. “It is much m
ore difficult if those such as you attempt to contain some part of that Shadow.”
“You were part of that Shadow, though.”
“I was bound to it; I was not of it. It is a distinction that, for the purposes of understanding the Towers, must be preserved. Helen would notice Terrano if he attempted to enter your home, with or without your presence. Terrano is not like you. He is not quite like the cohort, although the resemblance is closer. But he is not like I was; he is not bound. Nor is he like I am. My form, my shape, exists in places that Terrano cannot go. But it exists in those places in the same fashion that you exist in yours.
“Those shapes overlap. In a place you cannot see without great effort, I am moving a limb. I am breathing a different quality of air. I am terrifying the tiny creatures that exist only in that plane, that place. I do this while I am speaking to you, but I am cohesive.”
“Was the connection—the binding—to Shadow active on all of those planes?”
“No. Not all.”
Terrano said, “It doesn’t matter.” He met, and held, Sedarias’s gaze; it was Sedarias who looked away. “The Hallionne were meant to house you,” he said to the Consort. “Or people like we used to be. Even after the disaster of the regalia, we started out the way you did, just...frayed at the edges.”
“According to our records, that is not the case.”
“Your records are wrong. But we learned how to begin to speak across the layers that the Hallionne didn’t occupy. Or at least to try to find them. Some of us learned more quickly than others.”
“You used that knowledge to escape Alsanis.”
“Yes.”
The garden grew chillier as Kaylin listened. “You think the Adversary is trying to do the same thing.”
“From the other direction, yes.”
“Spike,” Kaylin said in the same tone she used to invoke Records recall in the Halls of Law, “is the Adversary bound the way you were?”
Click, click, whirrrrrrr, click. “Not the way I was, no. The Adversary is part of Ravellon, the way your arm is part of you. It does not have specific functions; it was not created in the same fashion. If you mean to ask if you can set it free, the answer is no. You cannot set your arm free by severing it.”
Fine. “The Adversary has kept the names—or the people that contain them—in its cage.” She looked to Terrano. “The people that attacked the heart of Orbaranne were trying to reach her name to invoke its power. Is that the point of the Adversary’s attacks? Can it somehow use those names?”
“Names,” the Consort said with a touch of impatience, “are True Words. But they are words given us for life. They are meant for the living.”
“In this plane,” Spike helpfully added. “If the Adversary desired power in this plane, it is theoretically possible that those names could provide that power. But they would not provide power in other planes, not in the necessary manner; they would be too slight. It is the difference between a painting and the object that one is painting. The former is flattened; it exists on a single plane.
“You and your people exist on this plane, and the power you accrue here has a subtlety of use that is not best understood by those who do not live here. Helen has explained much of it to me—but again, it is the equivalent of studying the painting, rather than the object. Much of that subtlety is lost to me; I can understand the analogies she employs. My vision can now resolve the intent of the painting. I am able to understand what that painting represents. But you and your kind interact with the object itself; I am left to attempt similar interactions with something that is essentially flat.
“When you carry me,” Spike continued after a brief pause in which no one spoke, “I can more easily see the world as you see it. Observation is not difficult. It is, in some fashion, my core function; it was a function I could serve in multiple fashions. Interaction, however, was not. It is extremely difficult to do more than observe.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
“Is that why you could be so large in the outlands?”
“Yes. But these High Halls are not that space. It is possible that the cavern in which the Adversary is trapped will allow for more flexibility.”
“But you doubt it.”
“Highly. Were it to allow that flexibility, the Adversary would not remain trapped.”
“Can you speak to him?”
Silence.
“I’m not asking you to speak to him—I’m asking if it’s possible.”
“I believe it is possible. But I am contained here, and I do not believe your enemy is aware of my presence. If Terrano can hear what I hear in some fashion, I do not think he should accompany your friends.”
* * *
That started a round of conversation among the cohort, which meant they were silent. Kaylin found it interesting only because it meant some of them agreed with Spike. She guessed that one of that some was not Sedarias, or there’d be much less discussion—but maybe that was unfair. Sedarias didn’t attempt to exert will or power over the cohort; that was just her base personality. They accepted it, whined about it—or at least Mandoran did—and responded as if she were a friend, and not a natural disaster.
“Terrano,” Sedarias finally said, “is going. We understand Spike’s concern, and some of us share it—but we feel that forewarned is forearmed. It is possible that we will be more, and not less, susceptible to the Adversary’s demands or influence, although we cannot hear what Terrano hears; his perception may help us sidestep that difficulty before it becomes nonnegotiable.
“If Kaylin could accompany us, we might agree that Terrano is too much at risk—but she can’t. If we understand correctly, Kaylin will be led to the Adversary by another route entirely.”
“So will Teela,” Teela said. She failed to glare at Tain, because she failed to look at him at all.
It was funny, in a completely unhumorous way. All of the cohort knew her True Name, although Terrano couldn’t use it anymore, but it was Tain who was her biggest concern. In some ways, that made sense—he was her partner, after all. But being a Hawk didn’t define Teela the way it defined Kaylin, and the cohort had done more to shape the course of Teela’s life than the Hawks had, or could.
“An’Teela will accompany us,” the Consort said.
Us.
Everyone present turned toward her then, except Ynpharion.
“I do not believe that is wise.” It was Sedarias who spoke. Of course it was.
“And I value your opinion and your assessment,” the Consort replied in a tone that even suggested she wasn’t lying. “But it is not the first time I have ventured into those depths. To reach the Adversary is not a simple task, and permission is granted to very few by the Tower itself. Perhaps there are some who have managed to elude that permission and reach the place Kaylin calls a cavern; I believe that must be the case, and it troubles me. That trouble, however, is—unless it kills us—my brother’s problem. The Adversary is not.”
“It’s personal, for you.”
“Yes, Sedarias. It is personal. You are here—all of you are here—to take the Test of Name. But you are here at my invitation. If I have handled the situation poorly—and I have—I ask your tolerance and your forgiveness. You,” she added when Sedarias failed to reply, “did not handle your attempt to free yourselves from captivity with complete wisdom or grace, and I have chosen to accept your earlier actions.”
“If we fail—”
“If you fail, the lives of the Barrani who occupy the High Halls will continue as they have always continued. You will all be lost, of course, but that is the fate of all of our kind who fail.”
Kaylin wondered if she believed that.
Of course not, Ynpharion snapped. She is aware of the risk. We are all aware of the risk. It is you who fail to understand. If what you suspect is true, if the Adversary has Barrani agents, it is l
ikely those agents have found a way to circumvent the protections the Tower of Test has always maintained.
He mastered his annoyance. Barely. They desire the cohort’s failure. If there is any chance that the cohort can pass the test, they are likely to attempt to interfere where the High Lord—and indeed the Court itself—cannot intervene.
You think we’re going to run into trouble on the way down.
Down is not the correct description, according to the Consort. My opinion is all but irrelevant. What do you think?
Kaylin glanced, once, at Severn. She wanted to leave him behind, not for his own safety, but as an emergency relay. He was technically a Lord of the High Court, just as Kaylin was, and for the same reasons. He could, if necessary, approach the High Lord. And if the Consort was involved, if the life of the Consort was under threat—
Take Lord Severn with you, Ynpharion finally, and grudgingly, said. The Consort has other ways of communicating with the High Lord should things go dangerously awry.
Chapter 19
To Kaylin’s surprise, they did not see the cohort to the Tower. After the cohort and the Consort had finished what was a very, very sparse meal, the Consort led them out of the garden. It was necessary; entry and exit relied on the Consort, a fact Kaylin had not realized until that moment.
It is not always so, Ynpharion informed her. And it is taxing. It would be best if we were all quit of this place; while she is in it, it draws power.
Given Coravante’s unexpected attack, Kaylin understood both the desire to preserve the Consort’s power, and the necessity of spending it. But she had not hurried the cohort to their destination. She had provided them a moment of shelter, and she had allowed them the time to formulate entirely new contingencies based on their discussion.
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