Cast In Secret (39 page)

He said nothing, but she had a suspicion that anything else would have been dripping sarcasm.

“There are many ways to kill with water,” he told her, voice almost gentle. “This is one.”

“Your castle tried to kill me with water?”

“No.”

“But – ” She stopped talking and actually
looked
at the dress. At her arms, which were bare. At her shoulders, which were
also
bare. No damn wonder she was so cold. “I’ve seen this dress before,” she said in a flat voice.

“Ah.”

“Talk to me,” she added, taking an experimental step forward. Her knees wobbled. Nightshade’s hands were warm. “And either carry me or let go.”

He carried her.

She’d carried children before in the Foundling Halls, sometimes at a run, but never with such graceful ease. Lord Nightshade spoke as he walked, and he walked slowly, the cadence of his words matching the rhythm of his step. She lost the words, sometimes, her lids drifting toward her cheeks, her head nodding forward. But when she opened her eyes again, he was still speaking softly. His voice was not the voice of the Tha’alaan, not the voice of the water. But accompanied by footsteps and breath, it was calming. Soothing.

But he didn’t carry her to her room – or the room that she had stayed in before; he carried her to a long, empty room that was clearly meant for greeting guests. He paused in front of a tall, oval mirror and set her on her feet. Hands on her shoulders, he said, “Look.”

She disliked mirrors on principle. They showed what there was to see, and not what she wanted to believe she looked like. Either that or they interrupted her sleep with the ill-tempered snarls of a disgruntled Leontine.

“It isn’t necessary,” she said, her eyes sliding away from her own gaze. “I know the dress.”

“Where have you seen it before?”

“In the Oracle Hall,” she replied. She turned, slowly, to face him, forcing him to let go of her shoulders. Or to shift position, which was what he chose to do instead. He was much, much taller than she was.

“Where have you seen it before?” she asked him.

His smile was slight, but she thought it genuine. “You are guessing.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No.” His hands lingered a moment on her shoulders, and she didn’t even mind – they were warm. She seemed to have swallowed the ice that had failed to kill her – if that was its goal – and it was hard to stand straight without shivering.

The far doors opened, and a Barrani in armor let himself into the room, carrying, of all things, a tray. Nightshade gestured, and the guard put the tray down on a table near the mirror. He bowed deeply and then retreated, his face entirely free of expression.

“We will eat,” Nightshade said, leading her to a long couch. “And while we eat, you may ask the questions you came here to ask, if any remain to be answered.” But he lifted the cloak from his shoulders as he spoke, and draped it around Kaylin’s, and although he turned it sideways, it settled there as if it had been made for just this moment.

Her hair, however, was still a bedraggled mess.

He sat in a high-backed chair opposite her, pausing only to pour something steaming out of what was, after all, a very shiny, very fancy kettle. Nor were the crystal goblets, or the silver, anywhere to be seen; instead, round and stout earthenware mugs with a handle on either side. He passed one to her; he took nothing for himself.

This should have made her suspicious, but she was tired of suspicion. Tired, in truth, of everything that didn’t involve a few days of solid sleep. And in the mug, steaming, was… milk. Goat’s milk, she thought, although it was hard to tell without drinking it.

Her brows rose when she brought the mug to her lips. “It
is
milk.”

“I am informed that you drink it.”

“Once in a while,” she managed to say. “When I was young.” Before her mother had died in the fief of Nightshade. Before Severn. She cupped her hands around the sides of the mug and sat there, dwarfed by yards of expensive, sturdy cloth.

“I used to be so afraid of this place,” she told him softly.

“And now?”

“I think… other fears have crowded it out.”

“Your missing child.”

She nodded bleakly.

“You understand that saving this one child will not bring the others back?”

“It won’t add to their voices.”

He nodded. “You came to ask me about Donalan Idis.”

“Yes. Where is he?”

“I am not entirely certain.”

“I was afraid of that. Let me ask you a different question. You had him here – as a guest, since apparently he did walk out. What did he study?”

“Besides the Tha’alani?”

She kept her face carefully neutral. Unfortunately for Kaylin, the less appropriate words were very loudly thought.

Nightshade raised a brow.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. She let the steam rise from the milk, breathing it in as if it were the only air in the room. “Yes, besides that.”

“He was – and is – an elemental mage of some note.”

“Water?”

“All of the elements of which he is aware.”

She nodded. She understood now how he could cut the Tha’alani off from the Tha’alaan – but she wondered if he understood it himself. “And he was invited here because of that?”

“That? No.”

“Then
why?
”

“He is powerful, Kaylin. The Imperial Order of Mages is beholden to the Emperor, and it is winnowed by the Dragon lords. No one who is interested in power will cultivate associates from the Imperial Order.”

“But what does he have that you want?”

“Ah, a different question.”

“You’re not going to answer it.”

“No. But it is pointless, now. I understand your presence here, at this time. I understand less well the route you were forced to take to enter the Castle – but the water spoke with you. Do not look so surprised – you were still dripping when I met you.

“Whatever it is that was of… interest in Idis is no longer of import. He is too great a threat at the moment, and I cannot see any meeting between the two of you that does not end in either his death or yours.”

“If it’s mine, the city goes with me.”

He raised a dark brow. “You’ve grown arrogant.”

She shook her head. “The Oracles,” she told him.

“And the Dragons?”

She burrowed farther into the folds of his cape, aware that the cloth smelled of him, that it was warm. That it was not a defense. “I can’t answer that.”

“No. But you also visited the Keeper, twice to my knowledge.”

She said nothing because it seemed safest.

“I do not believe that Idis would deign to visit Castle Nightshade at this time.”

“No?” She hadn’t realized that she’d been hoping for precisely this until he took the hope away.

“He cultivated my association because he desired power or the friendship of the powerful. If he is what you fear, then he no longer labors under that desire.”

“But you knew how to reach him?”

“I knew how to reach him.”

“And now?”

“I do not believe he is ready to be found.”

“In as much as an Arcanist is sane, he wants power for a reason, yes?”

Nightshade nodded.

“How does destroying the city we’re pretty certain he’s still living in count as gaining power?”

“It is not clear to me that his desire is Elantra’s destruction.”

She frowned. “That was my next question. What does he stand to gain by it?”

“If it were sacrificial magic, a great deal of power.”

“I don’t think it’s that.”

“I would not be entirely certain. But his past history does not indicate magic of that nature.”

“Then why – ” She hesitated, studying what little there was of an expression on his face. “You think he doesn’t
intend
to destroy the city, but that’s what he’ll accomplish.”

“I have not visited the Oracles,” Nightshade replied gently. “But at this moment, that is what you are beginning to think, and I will not gainsay you. Summoning elementals is tricky, even for the powerful. History is littered with the corpses of those who have made that mistake. If that is the case, I am not certain you will be able to control what Idis cannot. Even given your entry into the Castle. In time, Kaylin, I think such control would not be beyond you – ”

“We don’t have time,” she said flatly.

“No.” He paused. “The dress you wear – ”

“What there is of it.”

“As you say. It is in a style that you will not be familiar with, and even when it was worn, it was worn by very few. But those who did wear it were those who were sensitive to the elemental forces.”

“And this one?”

“The dresses were not coded. What the adepts did is not clear to me, even at this remove. Kaylin – what happened when you touched the water?”

She shook her head, and thought about the midwives for a while. It was easy to think of them; they were always at the back of her mind.

“Very good.”

Her smile was brittle.

“You are a mystery to the wise,” he told her. “Even your gift is not clear. I offer you this, then, and in spite of yourself. When you showed yourself capable of standing against one form – not an inconsiderable one – of water’s death, the Water formed the robes you wear.”

“What? But – but how?”

“I do not know. But the robes are yours, and they were meant for you. It is some sign of the water’s choice,” he added, “and the robes will not save you, if it comes to that – but you have impressed the elemental force in some way, and it has granted you the equivalent of a title.”

Which of course made no sense.

“This isn’t magic,” Kaylin said forlornly. “This is… gods.”

“In a manner of speaking.” He was quiet for a moment. “Do you know what Donalan Idis intends for the child?”

“Most likely? To finish the experiments that were dropped.”

“And the boy?”

“If Grethan is even still alive – and I have some suspicions about that – he’s done his part. Idis couldn’t get
near
the Tha’alani quarter, and the Tha’alani children don’t venture out much.”

“Why a child?”

“I don’t think it mattered to him one way or the other – but a child is easier to intimidate and haul around. I’ve been one. I know. Anyone else would have been smart enough to stay put.”

“You keep your secrets now, Kaylin.”

She met his measuring gaze, and held it. “I have a lot fewer of them than you do.”

“And perhaps with less reason. Finding Donalan Idis, however, should not pose a problem for you.”

“Oh?”

“If you know what he intends, you will know where to find him.”

“But I
don’t
know what he intends.”

Nightshade said nothing. After a moment of silence, he rose. “It is late,” he told her softly. “For you. The Ferals will be out. Will you tempt them?”

She hesitated, her hands around a mug of steamed milk, her arms entangled in a cloak that was being used in a way its maker certainly hadn’t intended. The mark on her cheek, delicate curls and lines, was warm. She closed her eyes, and opened them the moment she felt his hands brush the sides of her face; she hadn’t heard him move at all.

He had cupped her face in those hands, and now tilted it up, forcing her gaze to meet his. His eyes were a shade of… violet. She’d never seen that one before. But she was seeing it too damn close for the first time.

She yanked her face away, hard, which sent warm milk in a spray all over table and floor. And her legs.

He stepped back instantly, watching her.

“I – ”

I have time, Kaylin. I have learned how to wait.

“I’m sorry,” she said, standing in a hurry, and setting the cup down on a flat surface that didn’t shake so damn much.

“For what?”

“For – for – spilling the milk.” It sounded lame, even to her. Her toes were curling.

He shrugged.

“I’ll clean it up – ”

“Kaylin.
Kaylin
.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze, and was comforted by the cold of blue. Not in general a comforting sign, among the Barrani.

“You are safe here tonight. This was not always true. It will not always be true. But tonight, if you wish to stay, I will leave you. I have, however, one question to ask.”

She said nothing.

“You left the fief of Nightshade when you were thirteen years old. You appeared in the Halls of Law some six months later. Where did you go in between?”

“Away,” she said woodenly. Away. And her thoughts were spiraling out of control, out of even her own control. She
would not
let that happen here. Or ever. She had been marked by Nightshade; she had given Severn her name.

“I… see.”

I doubt it
. She suppressed an urge to scream – because she wasn’t sure what it would sound like if she did. Raw, yes – but with rage? With fear? “I can’t stay.”

“No.” He lifted his head, his perfect face, and spoke three words. The mirror shivered, even though the words were so soft Kaylin couldn’t catch the syllables.

But five minutes later, the door opened again, and this time, the guard standing in it was one that she recognized.

“Lord Andellen?” she said.

“Lord Kaylin.” He bowed.

“Escort her to her home,” the fieflord said. “I will be in my quarters should anything go amiss.”

The Castle was obliging enough to spit her out the normal way. Her stomach was obliging enough not to humiliate her in front of Andellen, but her knees were wobbly for about ten minutes. Andellen did not, however, offer to help.

They began to walk toward the Ablayne, and Kaylin, still off-kilter, was happy to follow Andellen’s lead. She could hear the howl of distant Ferals, and wondered if they were hunting, or just roaming. With Ferals, it was hard to tell – but distant was far better than the alternative.

“That was unwise,” Andellen said when they were a good distance from the Castle, but not yet in sight of the riverbank.

“What was?”

“I do not know what you said, or what you did,” he replied, “but… it was unwise.”

She shrugged. “I’m not known for my wisdom,” she offered bitterly.