Cast in Flame (16 page)

“Remember what I said about your face getting stuck that way.”

“I remember Tain said it wouldn’t look any worse, if that helps.”

“I suppose he had a point. Why are you frowning?”

“The walls are made of wood.”

Teela nodded. “And?”

“It’s rough, or seems rough from here.” Kaylin hesitated again. “It looks like the inside of a cheap coffin.”

“What on earth makes you choose that particular metaphor?”

“It’s not a metaphor, Teela.” Kaylin looked up at the ceiling. It followed the design of the building, in that it was high—probably ten or eleven feet off the ground. “It’s a hunch. I think the Castle is trying to communicate with Annarion.”

“Or lay him to rest?”

“Or that.” Kaylin had to lengthen her stride to keep up with Teela as Teela began to jog.

* * *

Annarion was inaudible, but Kaylin didn’t need to hear him to know that he was near. Small and squawky sat up on her shoulder, spreading his wings. He lifted his neck, drew his head back, and opened his tiny, perfect jaws.

“No, do
not
breathe here!”

He also smacked the side of her face with a wing. If this wasn’t enough, the marks on her arms had brightened; she no longer needed Teela’s light to see by. She wasn’t terribly surprised when the marks separated themselves from her skin as they sometimes did; she was surprised, this time, to note that the shadows of their base shapes remained, flat and gray, against her skin. Had this always happened?

“The reason there are stairs,” Kaylin said, to Teela’s back, “is that Annarion is in a bedroom. Or a room. Someplace small.”

“The Barrani don’t separate rooms by level in that fashion.”

“I know. Barrani don’t require sleep.”

“Neither do Towers, that I recall.”

“The Hallionne have some memory of what they were before their transformation. I’m guessing the Towers of the fiefs do, as well.”

“You’re making the assumption that the Towers were created the same way as the Hallionne.”

It was Kaylin’s turn to shrug. “If you can think of other sentient buildings—”

“The High Halls.”

“They don’t change
shape,
Teela.”

“You saw the heart of the High Halls.” It wasn’t a question. “In theory, the journey to it differs, depending on the word seen before it begins. What the High Halls contain is not content to be captive. It is not stupid, slow or weak. It has never ceased its attempts to escape. The jail itself requires flexibility and fluidity.”

“And a Lord.”

“A High Lord, yes.”

“The Hallionne don’t.”

“No. But the Towers in the fiefs do. I do not think it a coincidence that the Towers and the High Halls are located in the same geographical area. Your assumption is that the Tower remembers...sleep?”

“It makes sense, given the layout. Which probably means that that’s our door.”

“And the coffin metaphor?”

“I don’t think the Castle
wants
to be asleep.”

Teela thought about this as she came to a stop outside a modest, single door. After a pause, she nodded, the set of her lips somewhat thinner than usual. “If the Castle is waking, what are the chances we see its Avatar?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’d be more interested in the chances that it will happily go back to sleep again.” The small dragon bit her ear. “...or not.” The runes that had lifted themselves off Kaylin’s skin began to expand. They moved slowly, and came to rest when they filled a volume of space that looked like a translucent sphere. Kaylin stood at its center, but it also encompassed Severn and Teela.

The small dragon bit one of the words; Kaylin let him know, in terse Leontine, that this was not acceptable. He hissed. She rolled up her left sleeve to her elbow. The marks were still on her arm. But they were also brilliantly visible above and around her.

Squawk.

“He wants me to open the door,” she said.

Teela’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t understand a word he’s saying.”

It was true. She had a history of lying to Teela—and Tain, if it came to that—but no history of doing so
successfully.

“Honestly. It’s not the attempt at a lie that I begrudge.”

Kaylin grimaced. “I know, I know. It’s the quality of the lie and the insult it does to your intelligence.”

“Exactly. You can’t possibly think much of me if you expect something that pathetic to be successful.” She lifted a hand as Teela opened her mouth, and to Kaylin’s surprise, the Barrani Hawk’s eyes were a lighter shade of blue than they’d been all evening. They weren’t green by a long shot, but you could imagine, looking at them, that they could be, some day. “But yes. In this case, I’ll let you play point. I don’t imagine the shield that surrounds you is that easy to penetrate—even for a Tower. I’ll be right behind you,” she added. “With apologies to the Corporal.”

“I hate it when you call him that.”

Teela chuckled. “I know. If I attempt to leave this shield, I’ll try to give you warning.”

“Don’t leave it.”

“I reserve the right to do so if it proves necessary. Annarion is in that room.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

* * *

The small dragon added claws to his stiff, readied posture. They probably hadn’t pierced her skin, but they weren’t doing her clothing any favors, and clothing was more of a problem, since skin healed naturally and didn’t cost anything. He didn’t offer to cover Kaylin’s face with his wing. She didn’t offer to smack him.

Instead, she reached for the doorknob. It wasn’t particularly fancy, but she was grateful it was there; she had no intention of touching any door ward found on the inside of this Castle. The handle turned. She heard a faint click, took a breath, and pushed the door open.

* * *

She couldn’t see Annarion.

“Teela?”

When Teela failed to answer, Kaylin turned to look back over her shoulder. “You can’t see him, either.”

“I think your protections must be preventing it.”

“That’s not promising,” Severn said, joining the conversation quietly as he sometimes did.

“No, it’s not,” Teela replied, staring intently ahead. “Because Annarion can see us.”

“Why would the protections stop us from seeing him?”

“Think about the question you just asked,” Teela replied, with just a trace of her familiar annoyance.

“I am. The only possibility I can come up with is—”

“Yes?”

“He’s not in a physical form the small dragon considers safe for the more corporeal among our number.”

Teela nodded. “Don’t waste your breath asking me how he might be considered a purely physical danger, or what his current form is. I can answer neither.”

“And the rest of your friends?”

“They can’t answer it in a way I can understand.” Her expression softened. “And to be fair, not everyone does understand it.”

“Is this because they spent so long trapped in the heart of the green?”

“It’s because they spent so long trapped there without the anchor of their names, yes. There’s a reason the ancients gave us the Lake, and the names.”

“But they have names, now.”

Teela nodded.

“The names they were awakened with.”

“Yes. I believe your Arkon would find this fascinating.”

“Not my Arkon, Teela.” She hesitated. The Arkon had, in fact, left his library to offer her a warning about Annarion. She considered mentioning this to Teela, and decided against it. “Is Annarion even in control of the form he takes at the moment?”

“That would be the question.”

“Does he understand that we can’t see him?”

Teela nodded, frowning. Her eyes narrowed; her forehead creased. She was staring at a spot just to the left of Kaylin, and about two feet higher. Kaylin could see nothing but the room. The ceiling of this room was of a height with the hall’s ceiling: high. Exposed, dark beams traveled from the left of the room to the right; curtains ran the length of the wall facing the door. There was no bed in the room, no closet; there was a chest of drawers against the left wall, and a large, plain cedar chest against the right. There were no chairs.

The only other piece of furniture in the room was a desk tucked into the leftmost corner. It wasn’t particularly impressive—it was, in fact, the type of furniture that Kaylin would own. To her relief, it wasn’t an exact replica of the desk she
did
own.

The small dragon hissed.

“He understands it now,” Teela replied, her voice much softer. Soft in Teela was never a good sign.

The shield that surrounded them brightened as it grew—to Kaylin’s eye—more solid. “Is he trying to change that?”

Teela nodded.

“He’s Barrani,” Kaylin said, voice flat.

Teela raised a brow.

“The problem
can’t
be with him. Of course not. If he has the power, he has to rearrange everything
else.
”

Teela surprised her. She laughed and slid an arm around Kaylin’s shoulder. The small dragon hissed in the Barrani Hawk’s face. “Oh shut up, you. How far can you extend this sphere?”

“I don’t know.” Kaylin frowned. She closed her eyes; she could still see the runes. She could no longer see the rest of the room. All the words hovered beyond her physical reach.

Squawk.

“I’m
trying,
” she snapped.

He nuzzled the side of her face, muttering as he did. She was used to the squawking, the hissing, and the warbling. Mostly, they sounded like animal noises. Today, she heard the echoes of what might have been syllables in the thin, high voice. There was a very odd cadence to the sounds emitted by his translucent throat; it was deliberate and measured. It sounded, for the first time, like language.

It wasn’t a language Kaylin could understand. But as she began to pick—and repeat—the syllables she heard—corrected by an indelicately applied wing when she didn’t quite mimic the sound to the small dragon’s satisfaction—she felt it was a language she could understand, if she really worked at it. And it was a language that hovered on the edge of the familiar: it felt like she
should
recognize it and should be able to speak it.

Then again, having a grammar teacher who didn’t speak any of the languages she
could
understand would make learning really, really challenging. At the moment, it didn’t matter. The marks that were so much a part of her skin she’d almost feel naked without them at this point began to brighten. And to move.

“What are you doing, kitling?”

“I told you. I’m trying to extend the sphere.”

“I’m not sure Annarion is going to appreciate the attempt.”

“Annarion can just learn to live with it. You know I’m not trying to attack him or injure him—he’ll pick that up from you.”

“Our communication is not perfect at the moment.”

“It’ll be good enough.” Kaylin frowned and opened her eyes. “Is he speaking with the Castle now?”

“I believe it more accurate to say the Castle is in communication with him.”

“Let’s hope he can make it clear to the Castle that protecting myself isn’t an act of hostility.” She closed her eyes again. Teela fell silent. The only sound Kaylin could hear was squawky dragon voice; she joined it with her own. Each word had an associated sound. She was aware that there was more than simple sound to the act of speaking this particular language, just as there was more than simple sound when she spoke Nightshade’s name.

But that hadn’t always been clear to her.

Hearing the Consort call him
Calarnenne
had been a bit of a shock. Hearing the rest of the High Lords who were forced to address him do the same made clear that the sound of the syllables had meaning to those who spoke them—but the meaning was superficial. It was anchored to the speaker and not the person to whom they spoke.

The name Nightshade had revealed to her what felt like years and ages ago was part of
him.
When she spoke the name, the syllables contained more than sound, although the sound felt just as superficial unless she attempted to give him orders or force him to do something he had no desire to do. Attached to her understanding of the syllables was some hidden part of Nightshade himself.

These words were like that.

They were like Nightshade’s name. Or Lirienne’s. Or Ynpharion’s. What she spoke was not simply what she heard: these words were rooted in her, part of her. They were like true names.

But...they weren’t. If someone else spoke them, they sounded familiar, musical; their voices caught and held her attention. But they couldn’t be used—as true names could—to control her. The binding went one way.

She had a freedom that the Barrani didn’t.

And she paid for it by being mortal.

She caught the sounds of squawky voice and folded hers around it and tried, as she did, to match sounds to runes. Every time she managed this, the light the specific rune cast grew more solid. She reached out and the rune moved—forward or back—as if it were beneath her fingertips.

“Yes,” she said to Teela. “But it’s not perfect control.”

“It’s good enough.” Teela’s tone implied the opposite.

“He can see what I’m doing.”

“Yes.” Teela hesitated and then added, “He can hear it. I’m not sure he likes what you’re saying.”

“I don’t even
know
what I’m saying.”

“I’m trying to convince him that’s true.”

The air in the room dropped twenty degrees over the space of Teela’s very curt sentence. “Try harder.” Kaylin frowned, and added, “What does he think I’m saying?”

“I don’t have words for it,” the Barrani Hawk replied. “But it’s protective and he’s confusing protection with containment.”

Kaylin frowned; Teela, concentrating, probably missed it. “I’m not sure it’s confusion.”

“I’m not sure I want to hear this.”

“Lack of containment—for me—probably means death. I don’t have a convenient physical container I can hop in and out of at will. Neither,” she added, “do you or Severn.” Her frown deepened. “The Castle isn’t contained the same way in its own space. Teela—is Annarion?”

Teela exhaled a couple of inches of height. “I don’t know. My suspicion at this point isn’t comforting. It’s my belief that destroying his physical form would destroy him. Finding his physical form, on the other hand, would be difficult.”