He opened his mouth; he had no teeth. Where teeth might have been, he had fine, multicolored filaments; they moved in a wave that appeared to reflect light. She could see that the form and shape he now wore was diffuse, amorphous; that it suggested life—or rather, life as Kaylin knew it—without actually being it. She tried to concentrate on it anyway, because everything else screamed wrong to her. And he wasn’t the one who had his hands in someone’s chest, wrapped around their heart.
If it was even his heart.
“Chosen,” he said. She could hear the word, could feel her body reverberate with the two syllables. The high-pitched, painful shriek was gone.
She opened her mouth to reply, but words deserted her; her mouth was too dry, her throat too constricted. She forced herself to breathe normally. Wondered what she was inhaling.
“There is danger, here.” He looked away, to Terrano. “I am...free? I am free. If you release me, I will not harm you, and I will not return to Ravellon.” The word he used was different; Kaylin could hear the clashing overlay of syllables, but it didn’t change the heart of what he’d actually said.
Terrano hesitated.
“It is safe,” Alsanis said quietly. “They will do no harm to me.”
Terrano let go. As he did, Kaylin saw that his hand was bleeding. The person that he’d caught and held in its insect shape remained standing; he made no further attempt to flee. But he turned to the Avatar of the Hallionne, and lifted his hands in a complicated dance of motion that seemed deliberate, graceful.
It took a moment for Kaylin to realize that this was his version of a bow: a gesture of respect. What surprised her was Alsanis; he lifted his hands in a motion that, while far less fluid, appeared to be almost the same.
“It is a greeting,” Alsanis said, glancing at Kaylin. “An old greeting. Words once had different meanings, different textures, and to speak them at all required power and will, focus and certainty; they were not unlike bright, beautiful cages. There are reasons why you cannot speak that ancient language. And no, Lord Kaylin, it does not come easily to even one such as I.”
She wondered where he’d seen that greeting, where he’d learned it, what etiquette schools—and here, an image of angry Diarmat, not that there was any other kind, filled her mind—he had been forced to attend.
Alsanis laughed.
“I come from the east,” the stranger said. “I was sent out to gather information. They will know that I am lost to them.”
“Who sent you?” It was Kaylin who asked. Terrano was staring at the stranger, his forehead creased in a deepening frown, as if he couldn’t quite bring his gaze into focus. There was no enmity in it, no hostility.
The stranger’s eyes lit up. Literally. The facets that made the eyes look insect-like began to flash, to spark; he lifted his hands, and his fingers once again did a strange, deliberate dance through air. But what had she expected? That he somehow dislodge a name, an identifier, something that Kaylin, as a Hawk, might hope for when questioning the witness to a crime? He was a Shadow.
But he’d said he was free. Free, now.
“Alsanis, what the hells is Shadow?” It was a question she’d asked before, sometimes in desperation, sometimes in fear, but she’d never asked it like this.
There was no response. From out of the eyes of the stranger, bleeding into the air, came something that looked like multi-colored smoke, if smoke were liquid. That smoke dribbled in all directions, spreading and meshing until it resembled something solid. Kaylin tried to think of it as a Records display, because those changed from mirror to mirror. She mostly succeeded, until she stopped having to try.
What she had expected to form was some envoy of Shadow; something that was a mishmash of body parts in the wrong places, and in the wrong quantities. Or a Dragon. A big black Dragon. Neither would have surprised her.
What she got instead sucked all the air out of her lungs—and everyone else’s as well.
It was a Barrani man. He wore Court robes and a very slender tiara; his eyes were Barrani blue, his skin flawless, his posture elegant, his expression forbidding.
Lirienne shut down instantly. She could not hear his thoughts, could not feel any of his emotional reactions. Kaylin held his name, not the other way around. In theory, Kaylin could force her way in. But that would be costly for both of them.
More costly, by far, for you. It was Nightshade. His interior voice was ice. She was almost surprised to hear from him, given she was in the Hallionne; Helen seldom allowed his voice to penetrate her barriers.
You recognize him.
Yes. So does your kyuthe, if I am not mistaken.
He’s Barrani.
Oh yes, Kaylin. He is Barrani, and a Lord of the High Court. If your Shadow is truly free, if it does not lie, there is a compromise in the structure of the High Court itself, and a failure in the tower.
Bellusdeo did not recognize the man, but recognized the significance regardless, and her eyes were already almost red. She turned instantly to the Lord of the West March. He did not appear to notice.
You are aware of the ways in which such a breach might occur.
She nodded, although Nightshade wasn’t there to see it.
“He sent me,” the Shadow said, his words almost superfluous.
* * *
Alsanis reacted first. His hands moved, all grace lost to urgency. But the stranger was looking, almost expectantly, at Kaylin.
She struggled to find her voice; it came out thin. “When did he send you?”
The concept of when clearly caused some difficulty, which wasn’t entirely a surprise. But he said, “I traveled directly when word reached him of your arrival in this place.”
There was cacophony in her head, then. Ynpharion spoke. Nightshade spoke. Lirienne was silent, but it didn’t matter; the imperative, the concern, the anger, fell into her mind like a bad traffic accident on a busy, busy street. Guys! she shouted internally. Can you please just shut the hells up for a minute?
“My arrival? Our arrival? Or Terrano’s arrival?” As she spoke, she pointed; she was aware that his sense of people as individuals might not be the same as hers, but his answer, if it could be extracted, was important.
“Yours, Chosen.” He frowned. “Yours and the Dragon’s.”
She needed a measure of time, now. She needed a way to ask how long ago was this and have it be both understood and answered.
Alsanis spoke. She didn’t understand the words. The stranger, however, frowned. Beside the image of the Barrani Lord, a second image began to form; at first Kaylin thought he was adding color and setting to the former; sky appeared, and beneath it, something that might have been grass or weeds.
Alsanis nodded, and Kaylin watched. Nothing changed, to her eye, except the color of the sky itself. She knew roughly when she’d left Elantra; she didn’t know exactly when she’d arrived at the Hallionne Orbaranne. She knew that she’d lost time trying to walk through a portal, but not how much time. But to her the sky was a night sky, shading into morning.
Alsanis, however, saw more, or understood more. He frowned. “Lord Kaylin.”
“Please translate,” she said, in High Barrani.
He closed his eyes. Unlike the stranger, his eyes had lids. The silence was tense; seeds of fear and suspicion had taken root.
Kaylin. It was Severn. Severn who almost never approached her this way. Severn who held her name. She realized, hearing his voice—the actual weight of it, the pronounced word, that she wanted him here. This was an investigation. If her partner were by her side, she’d feel like a Hawk, and not a floundering incompetent in dangerous, diplomatic waters.
Next time you go to speak with Evanton, I’m going with you.
She almost smiled. Have you been watching?
She felt his nod. Since you landed. I lost you briefly—that was bad.
Where?
I’m going to guess it was when you heard Sedarias. Orbaranne didn’t shut me out. His internal voice changed tone. For the worse. We have a problem.
We’ve got more than one. What’s yours?
The Barrani High Court. No, some members of the Barrani High Court.
Kaylin stared at the image of the Barrani Lord.
Possibly. I wasn’t there in person when a delegation was sent to the Emperor. And when I say delegation, I mean war band.
What?
According to the delegation, a Dragon has attacked the stronghold of the Lord of the West March.
Kaylin turned to stare at Lirienne.
Words are being exchanged; at the moment, no one is apparently ash. But the Halls of Law are a mess; the Lords of Law have been closeted away; the Imperial Mages are on alert. Technically, the West March is outside of the Emperor’s domain.
So...someone is saying Bellusdeo is attacking the West March. Kaylin folded her arms.
She hasn’t been mentioned by name. Just color. They’re mobilizing a war band in the West March. They intend to either capture or kill her as an act of war.
Kaylin’s Leontine was vehement, extended, and very, very rude. It caused the golden Dragon in question to raise both brows; clearly Mandoran had been teaching her.
The Emperor is...not pleased.
I’ve got the Lord of the West March here. And if he’s somehow responsible for this...
Don’t do anything stupid. But...if you’re in the Hallionne with Bellusdeo, do not leave it. Not by the doors.
She thought of the portal paths, which had swallowed Sedarias and the rest of the cohort.
“Is there a problem?” Lord Barian asked.
“Yes.” Kaylin folded her arms, trying to dig up High Barrani in place of her very inappropriate Leontine. Look—can you tell them it was a misunderstanding? My familiar kind of winged his way out here in very large Dragon form. Maybe—maybe they’re just confused.
You don’t believe that.
She didn’t. She wanted to, though. She really, really wanted to.
Alsanis was watching her; the stranger was watching her. Bellusdeo was now watching the two Barrani lords; until Kaylin’s loud outburst of Leontine, she had been watching the stranger.
“Lord Kaylin?” Lirienne said.
“Just one minute.”
Ynpharion.
Lord Kaylin.
Oh, cut the crap. I mean it. Just cut it. What in the hells is going on over there? What is the Consort doing? No, she thought, that was unfair. What is the High Lord doing? Bellusdeo is not attacking the West March in any way.
The Lady is aware of that, was the cool reply.
And the High Lord isn’t?
The politics of the High Court are not entirely in the control of one person, was the even more frigid response. There have already been upheavals due to the simple existence of your friends. The Consort’s planned visit to your domicile was an attempt to allay the fears that are the source of those upheavals. There was a very faint—and extremely unfair—hint of criticism in his reply. The Lady bids me tell you that the High Lord was not a member of the delegation sent to the Imperial Palace.
But he didn’t forbid it.
It is my suspicion—and the Lady has not confirmed it—that he did not know.
Leontine was becoming her new best language.
“While rudimentary exposure to foreign languages might, at another time, be informative, I believe this is not that time,” the Lord of the West March said.
“Fine.” The single word was Elantran. It was followed by more of the same, and Kaylin considered it a triumph that she did not sprinkle the whole with Leontine additions. “Apparently, a Barrani war band got together and entered the Imperial Palace.”
Silence.
“They informed the Emperor that Lord Bellusdeo—no, sorry, a ‘gold Dragon’—had attacked the West March. A war band is apparently being gathered in the West March as we speak with the intent to either capture or kill the hostile intruder.”
Lord Barian and the Lord of the West March exchanged a glance that could have ignited large bonfires. Neither spoke.
Kaylin then turned to the Hallionne. “If we don’t accept your hospitality—”
“I understand, Lord Kaylin.” The Avatar turned to Lord Bellusdeo. “While you are guest within my boundaries, no harm will come to you.”
Only, Kaylin thought bitterly, if she remained. And they couldn’t remain here forever.
Ynpharion continued. The Lady says the information arrived upon your arrival in the West March. It does not coincide with your arrival in the Hallionne Orbaranne.
Well, that was something. On the one hand, Kaylin was glad, because had it gone the other way, it would have left only two obvious suspects: Lirienne and the Hallionne herself. On the other hand, suspects were littered everywhere in the West March, and narrowing it down was going to take a lot of work, work that her lack of experience with both the customs of the West March and its general terrain would make extremely difficult.
Add to that the reason they’d been sent here was to find Sedarias...
I do not believe that was the water’s intent, Severn said. She reached for the words.
You spoke to Evanton.
Evanton sent Grethan to Helen; Helen used the mirror to contact me. I was, he added, with a hint of wryness, already on the way to Evanton’s.
Which meant Evanton had no apprentice to snarl at.
The wryness deepened, becoming warmth. Evanton’s concern at the time was the outlay of power the water used. That, and the fact that water used it in the fashion it did. It is his opinion that, had you not been in the doorway, the water could not have transported you; the enclosure of the garden would have prevented it. But the water—and he finds it difficult to commune with it at all at the moment, although he has been trying—acted entirely on its own, without any offered warning.
Ybelline said the same thing, but differently.
Evanton probably had better luck. The water didn’t send you specifically to find the cohort.
But—
She sent you because there was something in the fabric of the physical world that was, that felt, entirely wrong. She sent you because her own interactions with the world are limited by location. It’s likely, in my opinion, that what the water sensed on the periphery of her awareness is the reason the cohort are gone, but the cohort disappearing is ancillary to the water.
Ummm.
Yes?
The fire? The earth? The air? Do they not sense the same thing?
She felt his smile again; felt appreciation or approval travel through it. Yes, but to a lesser extent. The water’s interaction with the living has grown stronger because of the Tha’alani. But the earth, of the three remaining, was most disturbed.
I don’t suppose any of them offered any pointers, any advice?
Not precisely. I think they fear the Shadows. They did not use the word Ravellon; Evanton is attempting to interpret what they did say. What will you do?
We can’t leave if the Barrani intend to kill Bellusdeo. I’m not at all sure they’d succeed, she added, but the attempt will enrage the Emperor. And to be fair, will probably enrage Bellusdeo as well. I don’t want the West March reduced to ash.
Or the Barrani?
I’m not sure I care what happens to the Barrani at this point. And I’m not even sure why you’re asking. You can guess.
You want to leave by the portal paths.
I want to examine the portal paths. Frankly, if the cohort could be somehow blown off them, I wouldn’t give much for our chances. And, she added morosely, we’ve got Terrano. If he’s anything at all like Mandoran and Annarion, he’ll have Shadow swarming around him. She stopped, then. I think he already did. He just wasn’t paying enough attention to what they were.
Be careful. The Consort has left the High Halls.
I told Ynpharion to tell her—Leontine left her mouth. I’m not sure we have the leisure to wait for her arrival.
What choice do you have?
She didn’t answer.
* * *
The stranger who was no longer enslaved did not evaporate or disappear. He remained standing in the Hallionne’s hall. When Kaylin pushed the familiar’s wing away from her eyes, she saw him as a diffuse, spiked ball. A floating one.
“His function,” Alsanis said quietly, “is analogous to Records.”
“Pardon?”
“He was considered a historian, a receptacle of information. He was sent to regions in which others might have difficulty surviving; it is why his form is inexact. It extends into the world in which you live, but it does not reside entirely in that world.” He frowned. “Before the fall—those are his words—he...reported?...to—the word is librarian, I think. I am sorry. His mode of communication is almost archaic.”
“Meaning?”
“It was archaic before I was born.”
“Born? Or before you became the Hallionne?”
“The latter. He has served in Ravellon in a similar capacity. He has, until now, had no ability to breach the Tower barriers.”
Bellusdeo seemed far more concerned with this statement than she had the information about the Barrani war band and their politics. “What changed?”
“He was carried out,” Alsanis replied. His eyes had lost the appearance of living eyes as he spoke. “Someone entered Ravellon, bypassing the Tower defenses, and absorbed him as a passenger.”
Kaylin’s hands became fists. “Let me guess. The Tower that was breached was in Candallar.”
Alsanis, however, did not reply immediately. He spoke to the Shadow, and eventually turned back to Kaylin. “The name has no meaning to him.”
Kaylin turned to the spiky, floating ball. “I don’t believe you.”
“He does not understand.”
“The Towers take the name of their lords.”
“They do not,” the stranger said. She could hear his voice, even if he in theory had no mouth with which to speak. The screeching had diminished, although she continued to hear a faint buzz. “They do not change. They are like this place. It is quiet here. It is not so quiet in Ravellon; a hundred thousand mouths speak in all places, all directions. I was sent to the border, the boundary, and I was told to accompany the one who would meet me there without absorbing his essential information.”
Kaylin let that sink in for one long minute. “Fine. Tell me—show me—what you saw when you met the person there.” She folded her arms and waited. Nothing happened. It was Terrano who interrupted; the tenor of his voice rose and fell, but the words were not words that Kaylin understood.
Clearly, the ball did.
The image of the Barrani noble did not fade. The clothing he wore, however, transformed as they watched, as did the ground beneath his feet. When the transformation was complete, the Lord of the High Court resembled one of Nightshade’s thugs.
Kaylin understood that this disguise would be necessary if the Lord wanted to head into the fiefs without drawing attention to himself. What she needed to know, however, was not the how, but the where.
Instead of addressing the spiked ball, she turned to Terrano. “I need to see more of his surroundings. If he met the man on the borders of Ravellon, those borders are physical. I want to know what they looked like.”
“If it was Shadow—”
“The Barrani lord didn’t stay in the shadows, or Spike wouldn’t be here.”
“Spike?” Terrano interrupted.
“We have to call him something,” Kaylin replied, adding a fief shrug. Spike did not seem to notice. Or mind.
“He does not mind,” Alsanis said. “But I am uncertain that he understands the purpose of the word or your version of an identifier.”
Kaylin, responsible for the digression, cleared her throat. “Anyway. He walked through the streets of the city; he walked through the streets of a fief.”
Terrano spoke again, and this time, the ball surrendered a detailed map. It took Kaylin a moment to realize that’s what it was; it was an amalgamation of the literal view of the street, with the wrong colors—too many, too spread out—and overlapping buildings. No, she thought, they weren’t overlapping, not exactly; it was as if each building had been viewed a hundred times, over a decade or two, and the composite of each viewing had been laid over each other.
Candallar, Severn said.
“You think?”
Everyone glanced in Kaylin’s direction; she flushed, realizing she had spoken out loud. Severn’s presence was so much a given during investigations of any kind, she’d responded automatically.
I’ll pass that information on immediately.
This time, she nodded; she was, for the moment, grateful that he had remained in Elantra.
That makes one of us.
That’s the fief, Kaylin said, confining her words to the inside of her head, but not the fieflord.
Concur.
You know who he is?
I’d like to make certain before you speak with the Lord of the West March.
The Lord of the West March and I are going to be speaking about war bands, Dragons and politics.
She could almost see him cringe—and he rarely did that. Avoid politics, if possible. If the Consort and the High Lord were unaware of the gathering of the war band, it’s likely the Lord of the West March was unaware.
Kaylin thought of the Consort’s warning, passed to her through Ynpharion.
If he wanted you—or Bellusdeo—dead it would be almost trivial for him.
Not if he didn’t want to add political complications for his brother, the High Lord. Not if he didn’t want to piss off his sister. I don’t know why, but the cohort’s freedom is causing, or has caused, political difficulties for him, personally. She grimaced.
“Kitling,” Bellusdeo said, “you even think loudly.”
“Says the woman whose racial voice could deafen the entire Halls of Law—which is why it’s not generally legal to use it.”
Let me inform the Hawklord of our current information in regard to Candallar.
Tell Teela.
Teela is currently in residence in your home. She is keeping Annarion and Mandoran in check, but only barely. It’s good they’re here. If they weren’t, she’d’ve joined the Consort.
She’s worried.
Understatement.
Ugh.
Don’t leave the Hallionne unless you have no choice.
Don’t leave the city. I’ve got a Dragon and a familiar for backup. They’re not you, but in a pinch, they’ll do. And I need you there. If we manage to get out of the Hallionne and the West March, in more or less one piece, I’d like any welcoming party to be jailed or disrupted before we arrive. Oh—and can you mentioned Terrano to the boys?
Not if you don’t want Teela to know.
Did she? Terrano never, ever tried to hurt her.
He did try to hurt you. Has Teela ever struck you as the forgiving type?
No—but he didn’t hurt me, and the only reason he’s here is to help the rest of the cohort. I’m willing to trust him.
I am not telling Teela that.
Darn. I was hoping you’d get the lecture out of her system before we get home.
Willing to die for you.
But there are fates worse than death?
Pretty much.
* * *
Bellusdeo was not angry. She was—to Kaylin’s eye—both alert and amused. The former made perfect sense. The latter, not so much.
Although both Barrani lords were blue-eyed, they seemed to take their cues from the Dragon; they were as relaxed as their eye color indicated they could be. Terrano appeared to be clueless, but that might be unfair; he was keeping Spike company. The familiar was draped, once again, across Kaylin’s shoulders. He looked, if anything, bored.
Alsanis opened the doors at the end of the great hall, and led the small delegation into the Hallionne’s interior. There, he escorted them through arches that seemed too slender to actually bear the weight of ceiling for long, and into a small dining room. Or parlor. If the latter, it was a Barrani space; it opened to sky. It didn’t open to the sky of the West March, however.
“I don’t know why you’re so annoyed,” Bellusdeo said to Kaylin, as she took a wide comfortable chair.
“I don’t know why you’re not.”
“Dragon. This is not my natural domain, and the Barrani here are, in theory, somewhat old school. We’re all Immortal, and we all have long, long memories.”
“Someone wants you dead.”
“And this is news how? It won’t be the first time an attempt has been made. Oddly, I find it refreshing.”
Kaylin stared at her. On her shoulder, the familiar snorted.
“It isn’t subtle. It’s full-on, out in the open, hostility. It isn’t my fault, and it isn’t my responsibility. It is also, you must admit, somewhat clever; they had little time to craft a response to my arrival—and although forced to react with speed, they also did so with intelligence.” She smiled, showing elongated teeth, a sign that she wasn’t as sanguine as she sounded. “My own kin would just fly down and scorch the earth and everything that surrounded it.”
“The Emperor—”
“My kin, not his.” Tea appeared; it was the tea that Helen habitually made. Although the decor was nothing like the interior Helen had created—at least for the rooms Kaylin had free access to—Alsanis was attempting, as he could, to make them feel at home. Given the situation, she appreciated his attempt, but felt it was misguided.
“Look,” she finally said, turning to Lirienne, “was this your idea?”
His smile, like Bellusdeo’s, was martial but otherwise undisturbed. “Were it, do you think I would have escorted you to Alsanis? He is the only guarantee of Lord Bellusdeo’s safety in the West March.”
“That’s not a no.”
“If it will calm you at all, no. This was not my idea. And while I admire Lord Bellusdeo’s point of view, I myself feel far less sanguine about it.”
It was Nightshade who spoke next, not Ynpharion, as Kaylin had almost expected. He will not be sanguine. To summon a war band is the act of a lord, not a liege; If this truly did not originate with the Lord of the West March, someone has attempted to usurp his authority.
You wouldn’t be as calm?
Ah, you mistake me. I would, of course, appear to be as calm. There is nothing to be gained by exposing either anger or pain; were there, we would do so. Bellusdeo is not, in my view, actually angry; she is resigned and even amused. Lirienne is angry.
And Lord Barian?
I am...less familiar with Lord Barian.
Kaylin glared at her shoulder. “You didn’t have to show up as a giant Dragon, you know.”
“It is perhaps a blessing,” Bellusdeo said, before Kaylin could launch into a lecture.
“How?”
“He is your familiar. To those of power, in both the High Court and the West March, his status is understood. He took the form of an actual Dragon with his own unusual coloring, and if you recall, caused quite a stir. If politics with words alone are to be effective, there is now room to explain a possible ‘misunderstanding.’ Everyone involved can, if it is desired, save face.”
“He wasn’t gold.”
“No. He wasn’t a Dragon at all. And the downside, as you say in Elantra, is that the responsibility for the misunderstanding and possible war will rest entirely on the shoulders of his master.” Bellusdeo laughed as Kaylin’s jaw practically hit the table.
“There is merit to the Dragon’s suggestion,” Lord Barian said. He then looked to Lirienne, his expression making perfectly clear that the decision in its entirety belonged to the Lord of the West March.
“Pardon. My manners are somewhat lacking.”
Nightshade was right: Lirienne was angry.
“I don’t suppose this is the time to interrupt,” Terrano said, interrupting anyway. Five sets of eyes immediately turned toward him.
Kaylin spoke first. “Unless you’re about to tell me that I’m unexpectedly rich and everyone around me is safe and happy, no.”
“Alsanis has guests.”
“No,” the Hallionne’s Avatar said, “I do not.”
“Fine. Alsanis has visitors.”
“Please tell me it’s not the war band.”
Terrano frowned. “Why? I mean—I understand the concept of a lie, and I understand its uses. Sedarias made very sure that we all did,” he added, with a grimace of distaste. “But I don’t see much point in a lie that serves no actual purpose.”
Bellusdeo shook her head. “You really are Mandoran’s brother. It’s a wonder to me personally, given what’s said about Sedarias, that either of you survived her.”
He winced. “She likes us, mostly. But, yes, there’s a war band. Well, no, there’s a delegation of three men, impressively armed and armored. If you want, I can go outside and see how many people are waiting behind them.”
“That will not be necessary.” Lirienne rose. So did Lord Barian. They exchanged a single glance; it was Barian who nodded, bowed and waited until Lirienne left the table. He then followed.