“You’re panicking,” Bellusdeo observed, in a tone of voice more suited to mild criticism of bad posture. “I take it that means you have some idea of where we are?” She straightened her skirts, frowning. “If I had known that we were to travel, I would have dressed appropriately.”
“I didn’t intend to travel.”
“Also: ‘It’s not my fault’?”
“Should I repeat it?”
“You should never repeat it again. Honestly, how can you waste breath—when breath might be in strong demand—on something like that? Would you like your last words to be ‘it’s not my fault’?” Bellusdeo’s eyes were on the orange side. Given that they were not in the Keeper’s Garden, this could have been a sign of natural caution, but Kaylin doubted it.
“...No.”
“It also implies that you believe I’m likely to blame you for the actions of others—elementals, in this particular case—and I find that almost accusatory. I would go on in greater detail, but it’s only likely to annoy me. So. Where are we, exactly?”
“I think we’re in one of the Hallionne?”
Bellusdeo’s eyes went full orange, and Kaylin didn’t blame her.
“It wasn’t—the Hallionne are like Helen, but stranger.”
“Helen is a unique case.”
“I think all of the Hallionne are unique. I mean, they’re all one of a kind. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Towers in the fiefs are, as well.” Kaylin exhaled. “But, ummm.”
“They were fortresses during the wars.”
“...Yes.”
“Impenetrable, deadly fortresses.”
“I tried to ask the water to take you back—”
“Oh?”
“You’re a—a...” She couldn’t make herself say the word out loud, which was stupid. It wasn’t like the Hallionne wouldn’t notice.
“We’re not at war, now.”
“No,” a new voice said. “Our people are not at war. And if you are willing to remain within my borders, you will come to no harm.”
Kaylin turned to see the Avatar of the Hallionne. It was, as she had half expected, Orbaranne. But this Orbaranne was not the Avatar she had seen the last time she’d stepped foot in her domain. That Avatar had looked like a frightened young woman.
This one looked like an ageless, terrifying monarch. Her words reminded Kaylin that the Barrani themselves often chose to remain outside of the Hallionne’s doors in all but cases of emergency. Even in an emergency, Kaylin suspected that many of the Barrani would be uncomfortable. They had no desire to have their minds read, even if the reader was an apolitical building.
“Of course,” the Hallionne said. “They are a people who depend upon the secrets they keep from others—and no secret is safe from the Hallionne.” She tilted her head to the side as she studied Bellusdeo.
“I live with Helen,” Bellusdeo pointed out.
“Yes, I can see that.” Orbaranne’s Avatar frowned. “Helen is unusual, as you stated. She was not built as we were built, and not for the same purpose—but she has perhaps gone further than we would, or could, in pursuit of independence. Should you attempt to harm other guests, we will be forced to act—but not until then. I welcome you both.” She hesitated.
“Blood?” Kaylin asked, remembering the demands of her own first entry into one of the Hallionne.
“It is not essential.”
“Then why do you make it a condition of entry?”
“I do not. The Barrani demand it as a token of surety.” She had not looked away from the golden Dragon, although it wasn’t necessary. Nothing happened within the Hallionne that escaped the Hallionne’s notice.
“I have nothing to offer as surety,” Bellusdeo said.
“No. Nor would I demand it. I am gratified, however, to accept you as a guest. You are my first—my very first—Dragon.” Hesitation again. “Not all Hallionne will view this as a privilege, but all will accept you if you travel with Lord Kaylin.”
“Oh?”
“The Consort has asked it of us.”
Kaylin’s jaw would have hit the floor had it not been attached to her face. “She asked you to accept Dragon guests?”
“No, Lord Kaylin. She asked us to accept you and those who travel with you. I do not believe she intended your companion to be a Dragon. I believe she spoke of your familiar.”
Kaylin reached up to her shoulder. The familiar was not there.
“We can, as your Helen does, stretch rules. We cannot break them.”
“But—”
“And the Consort is precious to us, as you have perhaps noticed before.”
“When? When did she ask this?”
“Yesterday. Ah.” The Avatar’s expression shifted and softened, lending a hint of youthful vulnerability to her intimidating perfection. “He is here. Pardon me. If you follow the lights, you will reach the grand hall, and we will meet you there.” She vanished in the blink of a very slow eye.
“I hope,” Kaylin said, as she turned toward the floor with the brightest lighting, “that she remembers to warn her visitor that he has a Dragon in his domain.”
“Who are you expecting?”
“From her expression, I’d guess it’s the Lord of the West March.” Kaylin reddened. She was not, as it happened, wearing the ring that he had given her—the most obvious public symbol of his claim of chosen kinship. It was safe at home. Of course it was.
It is not required. I believe I would recognize you without it. But why do you leave it at home? It is not so plain or so poorly made that it would be an embarrassment to be seen wearing it, surely? Even among your mortal kin, who would not recognize its significance.
She had forgotten—she always forgot—what his voice was like. It was not Nightshade’s, and it was certainly not Ynpharion’s; it was warmer, somehow more open than either.
It is meant for those of my kin who might otherwise fail to understand your significance. It leaves them without the pathetic excuse of ignorance, should they decide to harm you. You have heard that there has been an...incident.
I’d heard something, yes. She exhaled. Out loud, she said, “The Consort told me the cohort were traveling along the portal paths.”
Cohort?
“You are speaking to someone who is not me, I assume,” Bellusdeo said.
“Yes, sorry.”
“The Hallionne?”
“No. The Lord of the West March.”
Bellusdeo smiled. “I really did resent being left behind, you know.”
“When I was sent out here the first time?”
The Dragon nodded. “I feel almost grateful to the Keeper for the opportunity.”
“The Emperor is going to kill me.”
“I imagine he won’t be pleased, no,” Bellusdeo said. Her eyes were almost gold. “But he is a Dragon, not a mortal. I would be more concerned about your sergeant, in this case.”
“Sergeant?”
“The Dragon Court understands both the function and necessity of the Keeper. The Emperor is therefore unlikely to blame you for anything that occurred. Your sergeant, however, might see it differently when you take a sudden leave of absence without permission.” At Kaylin’s expression, she snickered. “I have to admit, I’ve grown almost fond of him. I did not care for him when we first met.”
“He doesn’t care for the Dragon Court.”
“Yet he devotes his life to defending and upholding the Emperor’s Law.”
“The laws are mostly good. And we owe allegiance to the laws, not the Emperor directly.”
“They are not different.”
“They are.”
“In the worst case, the Emperor could merely change the law, and you would be honor bound to defend it.”
“It’s still different,” Kaylin insisted.
“It is indeed different,” Orbaranne said. Kaylin looked around for the source of the voice, but stopped herself; she should be used to it by now. After all, Helen’s voice was frequently completely disembodied. “But these lands are not Imperial lands, and the laws are different here. The Emperor does not rule them. The Lord of the West March does.”
“But...”
“Yes?”
“The High Court is in the heart of the Empire.”
“Yes.”
“And the High Lord is therefore expected to respect Imperial Law. He’s part of the Empire.”
“Yes.”
“And the High Lord is the man the Lord of the West March serves.”
“Indeed. But Lord Kaylin, the fiefs are also in the heart of the Empire. And the fieflords are not considered citizens.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know it because you know it, and you once took shelter here. No,” Orbaranne said, her voice softening. “You did far more than take shelter. Were it not for you, I would not be here now. The Hallionne Orbaranne would be gone. Come. The Lord of the West March is impatient.”
Given Kaylin’s prior experience of the Lord of the West March, she doubted that the impatience was his.
Indeed, kyuthe, it is not. I have not visited Orbaranne much since you left, and this is not a social call. She is lonely, he added, his internal voice soft as well. Although you did much to alleviate that in your time.
I don’t get it. Isn’t she with you?
Yes and no. She is in all places, as the Hallionne naturally are, but she wishes to simply be in one. Tell me, did you truthfully bring a Dragon?
Not on purpose, and no I didn’t. Remembering what Bellusdeo had said about the phrase it’s not my fault, Kaylin refrained from using it. The water sent us here.
His inner voice stilled completely. After a pause that felt long and significant, he said, I have asked the Hallionne to shorten your walk significantly.
Kaylin knew that the buildings could rearrange themselves to suit their guests, and guessed that Orbaranne would probably turn herself into a pretzel for the Lord of the West March’s convenience. She therefore expected that the halls would shorten or even disappear.
She was very, very disheartened to see the portal that shimmered into existence three yards ahead of them. She managed a very politic “Ugh, portal,” which probably hid nothing given the internal Leontine phrases she was picking between.
“It is safe,” Orbaranne said. “And the Lord believes it necessary, now.” Her voice was heavier, less polished with silent enthusiasm. “It will harm neither you nor Bellusdeo.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Bellusdeo said to the empty air. “I don’t have a problem with portals. Kaylin, however, finds them very, very difficult.”
“Oh?”
“They make her nauseous. Nauseated? I’m uncertain which is the correct word.”
“It doesn’t matter,” was Kaylin’s grimmer than necessary reply. “Let’s just get this over with.”
* * *
There were certain phrases Kaylin had learned never to use, chief among them: How bad can it be? She was ready to add let’s just get this over with to the list of forbidden sentences. She was braced, had been braced, for the dizziness caused by swarming lights, the instability of visible floor, and the sudden shift in temperature between one step and the next. She was prepared for a great, long tunnel, with an end that could be seen but could not be reached, because while other people apparently stepped into portals as if they were open doorways, that did not happen for Kaylin.
But this time, it was worse. Magical theory held that portals were created by stitching two patches of reality together with binding magic, as if each segment of the real world were just a chunk of cloth that could be manipulated that way. This was almost exactly the explanation that Kaylin had been given in the magical education classes she’d received after her application to become a real Hawk, not just an official mascot, had been accepted.
Mascot. Ugh.
Sanabalis, in his personal lessons, had been more expansive, but as far as Kaylin could tell, his answer was essentially the same thing—just more easily interrupted with questions. She didn’t have to pass his lessons to be a Hawk. But she’d never really understood what that “magic” was. Not until she’d entered the portal paths that existed between the Hallionne. Unlike these portals, or the horrible one that led into Castle Nightshade, the paths were exactly that: paths. But they crossed through a very strange dimension in which geography was fluid: it could be a forest. It could be a desert. It could be shimmering, ugly landscape that was just one step away from the Shadow that devoured the living who dared to enter Ravellon, the heart of the fiefs.
This space was not those paths. It was, in theory, very like the portal that led to Nightshade’s interior domain.
Or it should have been. But to either side she could see what she could only describe as the ghosts of trees—majestic, tall, haunting and ultimately...lost. She could see spires, shimmering as if stone had brilliant color, in the distance beyond and above those trees. She could hear the faint, attenuated echo of birdsong—birds that were as insubstantial as these trees.
The ground beneath her feet rumbled, as if in time to her unsteady steps. She couldn’t see Bellusdeo. She reached out to the Lord of the West March and heard...nothing. Nothing but birds.
Portals had tunnels that one could follow; there was a beginning and an end, no matter how wobbly they became. This was therefore unlike those paths. The trees weren’t solid enough to be real landscape, but as she looked at them, she realized they weren’t lining a path. It was as if she was lost in the dream of a long ago forest.
She did not want to be lost here. She took a step forward, and again, the ground rumbled, swaying beneath her feet. The motion transferred itself up her body and into her head; she clenched her jaw, took two more steps, and stopped. She gave up on walking on two feet. Placing her hands on the ground, she swore—but this was not the first time she would emerge from a portal she had traversed on her hands and knees.
And at least the ground here wouldn’t wear out her clothing.
She regretted eating lunch. Or eating anything, ever.
Not that way. Not that way, Kaylin.
Had the voice not been distinctly feminine, Kaylin would have assumed that it was the Lord of the West March. Maybe it was the Hallionne Orbaranne. But no, that seemed wrong. Something about the voice was familiar, and she lifted her head, turning to see where the voice had come from.
No. Close your eyes. You shouldn’t be here. You have to leave.
“Who is this? Who’s speaking?”
We will make our own way out. Or—
“This is a portal. It’s meant to take me from one part of Orbaranne to another part. It’s a shortcut.” She spit the last word out with venomous sarcasm worthy of a Dragon.
It is not, Chosen.
Chosen.
It is not a path that we can follow. To even approach it is costly, and I cannot remain stable for long. But you are going the wrong way. Close your eyes. Close them, and your world will reassert itself. Move forward, Chosen. It would kill Teela to lose you.
She opened her eyes. “Sedarias? Wait! Sedarias—we’re here because of you! What happened? Where are you?”
But there was silence. Kaylin waited for an answer on her hands and knees, but the voice did not come again. And after what felt like an hour, she closed her eyes and began to move forward, pushing against the viscous air.
* * *
Sedarias had not lied. Kaylin managed to crawl her way across the shifting nothing, and that nothing suddenly resolved itself into wood that was cool but not cold beneath her hands. Her palms were wet; her arms were shaking.
“Kaylin,” Bellusdeo said, her voice accented with worry.
“Give me a second,” Kaylin replied, struggling to maintain her grip on whatever it was she’d put in her stomach hours ago. She took several deep breaths, filling her lungs in an attempt to drive back the taste of salt and water that almost flooded her mouth.
“This is why you don’t like portals.”
“No—this is worse.” She took deep, even breaths while she waited for the nausea to pass.
“Lord Kaylin.”
Great. What she really wanted was to throw up on the feet of the Lord of the West March. At least she assumed they were his feet. She didn’t lift her head to find out. As if he could hear that thought—and damn the True Name, he probably could—he crouched down.
“I’m not good with portals or certain types of magic,” she told him. “Just give me a couple more minutes. We have a problem.”
“More of a problem?” Bellusdeo asked.
“Yes. I think Teela’s friends are trapped in the portal space.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Kaylin was seated at an otherwise unoccupied dining table. It was far too large for four people—the fourth being the Avatar of Orbaranne—but much more modest in size than any table that had appeared before the delegation from the High Court. Food had been laid out, but not even the lessons of early years of near starvation could compel Kaylin to eat any of it.
The warmth of concern on the Lord of the West March’s face had been obliterated by an entirely different type of concern. “You are certain?”
“I’d bet my own money on it.”
He raised a brow.
“Yes, I’m certain.”
“All of them?”
“At least one of them. I almost got lost between the opening of the portal and the dining hall.”
“Pardon?” he asked, as Bellusdeo said, “How did you manage that?” The Barrani Lord and the Dragon eyed each other warily.
“The usual way. I entered the portal.” She exhaled, still feeling shaky. “Portals, for me, have almost never been like stepping through a door. I think that’s the way they work for most people. I don’t know if it’s the marks of the Chosen, or if I’m just naturally incompatible. When I step through a portal, in the best case, I step into a long tunnel. Often a long, ugly tunnel with a very unstable floor. At the end of the tunnel, however long and punishing it is, there’s the other side of the portal, and the exit. I just have to get there.” Sometimes by crawling.
“And this time?” the Hallionne asked. Both Bellusdeo and the Lord of the West March looked at her, but she failed to notice. Or failed to react.
“I don’t know how to describe it. But you can see what I’m thinking of, can’t you?”
“It is very disjointed.”
“So are portals.” Kaylin exhaled. “I think we’re here to find Teela’s friends, and I’m almost certain that the person who spoke to me—”
“Someone spoke to you?”
“Yes. When I was trying to find the way out. They told me I was going in the wrong direction.”
She turned toward Orbaranne, who was likewise standing. “What happened?”
“I am uncertain. How did you arrive?”
“I’m not talking about us. I’m talking about Teela’s companions. Were they headed here?”
There was a marked hesitation before Orbaranne said, “Yes.” Her eyes widened. “You did not learn of the incident from the Consort.”
“...No. We learned about it from Annarion and Mandoran.”
The Lord of the West March tensed. “How did you come to learn about this from them?”
“They live with me.” Her gaze narrowed.
“Your pardon again, Lord Kaylin. You have been remarkably silent since your departure. This is the first time I have heard your thoughts so clearly since you returned to Elantra.”
“But the name. The True Name...”
“Yes. But I do not hold your name; you hold mine. It is fine,” he added, to the Avatar. “I surrendered the name willingly, and all she has ever done with it is preserve my life.”
“My house doesn’t let a lot through her protections.” But Helen was willing, on occasion, to let Nightshade in, both literally and figuratively. Kaylin wondered why, then, and she didn’t like the immediately obvious answer, because there was no way anyone intelligent would trust Nightshade over this man.
The Consort bids me remind you, Ynpharion suddenly said, that the Lord of the West March is a power. You believe, because he would never have raised his standard against his brother’s, that he is decent and honorable. And measured against the rest of his kin, that is even possibly true. These last words were said with so much distaste it was a wonder he bothered at all. But he is a power. Very little occurs within the West March without his knowledge.
But not nothing, Kaylin shot back.
No. She is not saying that her brother is responsible for the mishap. She is, however, saying that she believes it is possible he could be.
Can’t she just ask him?
Yes.
And?
She would have to do it through the regular channels. She has been attempting to contact him since word of the possible disappearance was carried to her. He has failed to reply.
Maybe he’s too busy because he considers it an emergency?
There are very few emergencies that would cause him to deliberately ignore his sister. Or so she believes.
You believe it, too.
Yes, perhaps. My life would be immeasurably more comfortable if you were not in it, but the Lady would find your death or disappearance unexpectedly upsetting. Therefore, treat your life as if it has value.
Kaylin really disliked Ynpharion.
“Your house?”
“Yes. Her name is Helen. She’s not a Hallionne; for one she’s much smaller. But she’s as close to Hallionne as any building I’ve ever lived in.”
“Are you perhaps living in a fortelesse?”
Kaylin shot a glance at Bellusdeo, who shrugged. It was a High Barrani word, given inflection and pronunciation, but Kaylin had never heard it before.
“I would say yes,” Orbaranne interjected. “But if so, the nature of the building is unusual.”
Kaylin decided that discussion of Helen’s faults, flaws or strengths was not on the table. Talking about Helen this way made her feel slightly disloyal.
“I see.” The Lord of the West March began to pace. Fair enough; it was what Kaylin unconsciously did when she was thinking. But Kaylin was a private, not a ruler. “How did you arrive? Or rather, what was your perception of events?”
“We went to the Keeper’s Garden, at the direct request of the Keeper himself.”
His eyes darkened a shade, but they were already blue. “Does he regularly make such requests?”
“Not regularly, no. Only when he has information he wants to share.”
“And he had information about this cohort.”
“No.”
“I begin to see why some of my kin find conversation with mortals so vexing.”
Given that the Barrani form of verbal directness involved weapons or armies, Kaylin thought this a tad unfair. “He said that the elemental water was upset. I don’t know how much you know about the Keeper’s Garden—”
“I understand what it houses.”
“The elemental water was...upset. Evanton—the Keeper—thought that the water would talk to me in a way that would help him make sense of her upset.”
“And?”
“She did talk to me, sort of.”
“It told you to come to the West March.”
“Not exactly, no. She brought us here. She grabbed us and brought us here. The Consort has been in communication with the Hallionne—I think perhaps with all of them—and asked them to house me and my companion.”
Barrani brows rose slowly and deliberately. “I am certain my sister did not ask the Hallionne to house a Dragon.”
“Not exactly in those words, no. But she said companion, and Hallionne Orbaranne felt that Bellusdeo—oh, sorry. Bellusdeo, this is the Lord of the West March. And this is Lord Bellusdeo, of the Imperial Dragon Court.”
Bellusdeo bowed. It was a stunning, graceful motion that made her appear almost Barrani. If Diarmat could see this, he’d either be gratified at the success of his lessons, or enraged that she chose not to make such perfect gestures when she was clearly capable of it.
On the other hand, if Diarmat could see this, Kaylin would be a pile of smoldering ash for her absolute failure to start with the proper introductions, so perhaps it was for the best.
The Lord of the West March tendered a bow as elegant and graceful as Bellusdeo’s, which the gold Dragon appeared to take as her due. If he was ruffled by this, it didn’t show.
“Anyway, Bellusdeo accompanied me to the Keeper’s Garden. She was with me when the elemental water, uh, intervened.”
“And at great cost, to the water,” he said softly. “It has been a long, long time since we have seen such a direct intervention, and it is never done for something as simple as war.”
War did not seem that simple to Kaylin, unless by simple, he meant stupid. She kept this firmly to herself. Or tried. “This has happened before?”
“Yes. But Lord Kaylin, it was done at the command of a sorcerer. It was not done by the volition of water alone.”
“Believe that we didn’t ask the water to dump us here.”
His smile was slight, and it vanished as he glanced at the Dragon. “I do. The Hallionne has her concerns, but in this particular case, they are unnecessary. My concern, however, is not. Why did the elemental water bring you here?”
“Can we back up a bit?”
“Pardon?”
She switched to High Barrani. “Do you understand how the water brought us here?”
“Ah. Yes, and no. I have little personal experience with summoned water. As most of my kin, I am adept with fire, and with earth. Water is more elusive. My sister, however, is adept at speaking with the water when it proves necessary. And no, Lord Kaylin, I do not believe my sister responsible for your arrival. Had she been, she would also be here.”
“There was no water, where we arrived.”
“There was. There is no water there now, unfortunately.” The Lord of the West March and the Hallionne shared a glance.
“...Is there any large body of water here?”
“There is no body of water with which you could commune, if that is your desire. Should you repair to the Hallionne near the heart of the green, there is the fountain. Or if you wish to visit my home, you might also make the attempt.”
The Consort is getting annoyed, Ynpharion said.
At me? Or at her brother?
Very reluctantly—or so it felt to Kaylin—Ynpharion said, at her brother.
Does she—does she think he had something to do with whatever happened to the cohort?
I do not know.
Just ask her!
Lord Kaylin, what she tolerates from you, a mortal with terrible manners even for your kind, she will not tolerate from a Barrani Lord who serves her. She has not said that she does, and if she has not said it, she does not mean for me to convey that opinion.
You can’t tell?
She holds my name. I do not hold hers.
But—Nightshade can tell what I’m thinking, and I hold his name.
That is because you lack will and strength. Truly, if the outcaste desired it, he could wrest control from you with very little effort. And that is true, as well, of the Lord of the West March. I understand the inhibitions placed upon the Lord of the West March; there would be consequences should he do so. I fail to understand what prevents the outcaste from regaining control of his name. Regardless, I cannot answer your question because I cannot repeat it.
The Lord of the West March turned to the Hallionne Orbaranne. “If it will not trouble you overmuch, we will perhaps entertain our guests in the hall here.”
“Good,” Kaylin said, deciding. “Perhaps you can tell us what happened to the people who made their way to Orbaranne.”
He met her gaze and held it in uncomfortable silence.