Cast in Flame (47 page)

His hair was black; it reflected nothing. His skin was alabaster, his lips both perfect and cold as they turned up in a smile of recognition.

She heard roaring, felt wind rush past her, and tightened her legs as the familiar banked sharply; white fire—fire, not lightning—raced from the ancestor’s hands toward the spot the familiar had occupied scant seconds ago. He was, in spite of his bulk and his shape,
not
a dragon. He moved with the speed of a sparrow. Or at least the maneuverability.

Her arms suddenly began to burn.

Given the magic being thrown around, this wasn’t surprising. But it was new.
The Arkon,
she thought. She said nothing.

He is important to you.

Yes. He is.

Then tell me what you wish me to do—and what you are willing to sacrifice for it.

Help him,
Kaylin said, as white fire sizzled past her hair.
Buy him time.

The familiar continued to dodge white fire—and if nothing else, the target he provided spared some of the Dragon Court. Kaylin knew that Diarmat and Emmerian had landed because they could no longer maneuver in the air. A dark shadow cut across her—from above; it was the Emperor. It couldn’t be anyone else.

And the sacrifice?

Kaylin almost said:
anything.
But there was a gravity to the question, a weight, that gave her pause. The familiar was not an enemy. But he was not, perhaps, a friend, either.

No. I am yours, and I have chosen to serve you—but there are rules in all things, and those rules define both you and my place in your world. I can interfere, Kaylin. As I can, I do. But this intervention is not interference; it is an act, and it is not, cannot be, free. What will you surrender to me in return for the intervention you desire?

Can you stop the ancestor?

Yes.

How?

Silence.

What do you want?

I? I want nothing. This is not about what I want; it is defined, entirely, by what you want. Will you sacrifice the lives of one of the Dragons? Will you sacrifice Teela, or Severn, who are closer? Will you sacrifice some of the people in the city you are sworn to protect?

No!
And no, and no, and no. She stared at the marks on her arms, willing them to
come to life
when she needed them. She would give him the words. She would give him
all
the words. But...without them, she wouldn’t be able to heal.

Nothing comes without cost, Kaylin. Even were I to want what you want—and I do not disdain it—there are actions I cannot take if you are unwilling to make the sacrifice required. I am sorry. If you will save your Arkon, if you will save your city—

She almost plugged her ears, but it wouldn’t have stopped the words.

The words are not yours to offer.

She had named the familiar. She had seen the shape of a name at his heart. Even thinking it, she knew that she couldn’t contain the whole of it—not to use against him; not to demand obedience.

You are wrong,
he told her.
Is that what you will sacrifice?

She had made the attempt to force someone to do something against their will by use of their name only twice, and it had caused her intense, visceral pain. And she knew, as the familiar flew, that this is not what he meant. She could live with pain. She
hated
it, but she could live with it—as long as it was hers.

Pain wasn’t the reason she hesitated. It had never been the reason she hesitated. To use the name—given or taken—was to use the person; it was to reduce the people described by the name at their core to the level of a weapon, a fancy dagger, no more. They became tools, without will or decisions of their own.

She was
willing
to do this when she believed she was working to save
them.
She was willing to do it when the alternative was death—hers or theirs. But even then, the memory was something she shied away from; it burned. It burned the way all her memories of life in the fief of Barren did, even at this remove.

It made her hate herself.

Yes,
the familiar said.
But that, Kaylin, is a powerful sacrifice. What you might achieve, should you make it, would be of note to any of the sorcerers of your world. What you lack in self-respect as a consequence would be given you by every other person of power or note.

Kaylin wasn’t religious—but time in the midwives guildhall had exposed her to a variety of mortal religions. The familiar— dodging flame and
buzzing
the damned ancestor as he did—was giving her the same choice that devils and demons and gods offered some poor, hapless, desperate fool as a test.

To refuse was to pass the complicated test. It had always been clear to Kaylin, in the stories. To refuse was to
win.

It was
not
clear now. She heard the Arkon roar. It was defiant, that roar, and laced with pain. She heard Bellusdeo roar in frenzy, and she knew, Maggaron or no, the golden Dragon would take to the skies. She would join the Arkon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Severn’s arm tightened around her waist.
Kaylin.

He was aware of what she felt. He might be aware of the entire conversation.

Yes.
She felt his breath against her cheek; it was warm and silent.
The Arkon would not have landed without cause. The Emperor would not attack without intent; they are aware of the Arkon’s presence. They must understand what he plans; Sanabalis asked that we support the Arkon.

But—

The city has survived for centuries without you. It’s possible it would have perished to the Devourer had you never been born—but even that, we can’t know. The Dragons are not foundlings. They are not lost children. They are not—they have never been—as powerless as we were.

Severn—the Arkon—if he—

Dies?

Yes!

Do you think he’s not aware that that’s the risk he takes? I’ve told you before: you can’t save everyone. You can’t
ever
save everyone. Do what
you
can do. Push yourself to do more, and you will break.

Loss would break her. Loss would break her in a hundred different ways. She meant to tell him as much, although it wasn’t necessary; he knew.

This is the only way out of the past,
he continued, arm around her waist, chin in the crook of her neck.
You are measured by the choices you make when it’s
hard
. It’s never as hard as when you’re afraid. It’s never as hard as when you have something to lose. You’ve made choices you still hate yourself for—it’s only in the past few months that you’ve been able to even think of them without self-loathing.

Fire. White fire. And red. Kaylin’s arms were in so much pain she thought the skin had been flayed off them—slowly. Her legs weren’t much better. But the back of her neck, which mostly had Severn’s face in it, was numb.

It’s the choices you make when it’s
hard
that define you. And when it’s hard, all choices seem bad. The familiar asked you—

You heard that?

Yes. I think he meant for me to hear it. He asked you what you were willing to sacrifice.

Yes.

Sacrifice the things you can. Sacrifice only what you can look back on with pride—or at least acceptance. It’s not easy—it’s never been easy—but we’re not children, anymore. We can live with the choices we’ve made because we can—barely—believe that we
had no choice.

Kaylin said nothing.

You won’t believe that, here. The Dragons and the Barrani have choices. They’ve made plans. This is their fight.

It’s my city, too.

Yes. It’s our fight, too. But we do what
we
can do.

I can do this—

He shook her. And then, he loosed his hold on her waist.
Can you?
he asked.

Can you?
the familiar asked. His voice was deep; it was calm. She had no idea if he would fight her should she attempt to take control of him. And she knew that if she somehow managed what seemed monumental—holding enough of the name she had seen and only vaguely remembered in mind for long enough to
use
it—something would break.

She didn’t really love the small dragon the way she loved Teela. She considered him mostly a pain, with built-in advantages that only barely outweighed the negatives.

Negatives?

Attacking a sleeping Hallionne? Destroying Severn’s favorite knife while
I
had it?

He snorted. It was loud.
You wouldn’t have made it to the West March without my intervention.

I said there were built-in advantages.

He snorted again.
You wouldn’t have survived to be
called
to the West March without my intervention.

Fine. Sorry. They
vastly
outweigh the negatives.

Snorting, apparently, was the gesture of choice in large dragon form.

But the point is—things will change. Unless you
want
me to do this.

No one who has will and thought and desire wants to be enslaved. I told you: this is not, in the end, about me: the path that we follow will be carved or worn smooth by you and the choices you make. That is true no matter what you decide. Your decisions define what we are. They have since we were first joined.

You mean since you hatched.

Do I?

She had more to say, but spent most of her breath cursing as she attempted to put out the fire that had caught strands of hair. Most of which was no longer pinned up.

I’d rather you bite off my arm.

Yes. Which is why it would be no sacrifice to you. Not in the moment in which you make the decision. If you want the power, there is only one way to obtain it.

But WHY?

Because that is the price you must pay for power.

Kaylin thought of Teela, of Bellusdeo, of the Emperor.

You misunderstand. The price they pay, they pay—but this is
your
price. What you want of me is inconceivable levels of power and strength, instantly. It is not power you have gained through use and growth and experience; it is not
of
you. But it is within your reach—and it is only, in this place, within
your
reach. Decide.

Severn’s arm tightened again.

And she knew that she could not do it. She could not surrender her friends—any of them. She couldn’t give over the responsibilities she had toward the citizens of Elantra—even the ones she despised.

They’re going to die anyway,
a treacherous part of her mind said.
Why not make those deaths
count
for something?

Because, she answered, even if they were strangers—or worse—they meant as much to someone
else
as her own friends meant to her. She wasn’t preventing pain—she was just passing it on as if she were playing a game of hot potato. And maybe that’s all anyone really did in the end—avoid things, and pass them on. But Kaylin had struggled to reach a place in her life where she no longer believed that, and she wanted to
stay
there.

Even if people die?

Yes.
It felt like no.
Yes, because I could never tell people how I’d saved them, or why. They’d resent me.
She inhaled.
I’d resent them if our positions were reversed. I’d resent them if they deliberately, knowingly, sacrificed others to save me.

Barrani will die here, tonight. Barrani
have
died.

Yes. But they
chose
that death. Theirs isn’t the same kind of sacrifice. It’s not
certain.
There is always the chance of survival. Always. If
I
die here, I’m not going to be happy—but I chose to be here. I demanded it.

Yes.
Yes, Kaylin.
The familiar came to an unexpected stop a yard above the ground. It was sudden enough that both Severn and Kaylin lost their seating. They managed to slow their fall against the familiar’s body, and spilled onto the ground. Even before they’d come to a stop, they were both rolling out of the way; Severn was up first.

He was spinning up his weapon chain at the edge of molten rock. What had once been solid dirt was now a pit in the ground, with glowing orange practically floating on top of it. It would kill either of them to touch it.

It was agony to walk; it was worse, to run. If Kaylin had had the time, she’d’ve ditched all her clothing, the friction was so bad. She heard Bellusdeo roar somewhere above her head, but didn’t pause or look up; she made a beeline for Severn’s back, because she knew what the spinning chain could do.

She just wasn’t certain it would work against the ancestor.

The Arkon didn’t even bark at her. He didn’t have the voice for it. He was—to her ear—intoning words that sounded painfully familiar, even if she couldn’t understand a single one of them. She kept her eyes on the ancestor, although she wanted to look back to see if what she suspected was true.

The Arkon was speaking true words.

“Go, Kaylin!” Severn shouted, without looking back to her. “Go to the Arkon!”

She hesitated; it was very brief. Fire once again shot up in a blinding, brilliant white column; she couldn’t see what it hit, if anything. The Dragons could resist it, although they clearly weren’t immune; she recognized Diarmat’s commanding bellow. He spoke Elantran; some of the Palace Guard must have arrived.

Or the Swords and the Hawks.