Michelle Sagara (13 page)

“Would you have—would you have woken if I’d minded my own business?”

The Consort laughed again; it was a clear, high sound, and it had no edges. Kaylin leaned into it, and into the hands that still cupped her face. It was so easy to see Barrani women as young: they always looked youthful. But she realized that the Consort was far older than her mother had been when she died, and she took comfort from that; she wasn’t sure why.

“No.”

“What did the words
do?
”

“Do you not know? No, of course you don’t. You chose two. Why?”

“Because I couldn’t just choose one.”

“Why those two?”

“Could you read them?”

“In a fashion, and only here.”

“I can’t—you know I can’t—read the words on my skin. I don’t even feel like they’re mine. But I had to choose, this time.”

“You chose well, I think. Were I to choose, I’m not sure I would have made the same choice—but I am not Chosen. One of the two words was heavy; it was hard for you to carry, hard for you to bring here. The other weighed nothing. It is my belief that the heavier word speaks to the heart of Alsanis. It tells him that you understand some essential part of his plight. You are not Alsanis; you will never be Alsanis. At best, you might, in happier times, have been a guest.

“He has no guests now.”

“He has the lost children.”

“They are not guests. They might have been, once—but they have far outstayed even the most generous definition of hospitality.”

“The other word?”

“It, too, speaks to Alsanis—both words did. He could barely hear my voice. But yours—through the words—was clear. It is hope, Kaylin.” She had slid from Elantran into Barrani, and Kaylin had followed the seamless transition so easily she couldn’t recall when the switch had happened. “I do not know if it is his hope or yours, but I believe he found hope in it.

“It is scant hope,” she added softly. “And perhaps it will cause pain; hope oft does when it remains forever beyond our reach. But the hope, he drew into the depths, and the pain, he cast out. Come. I hear my brother, and he is
not
best pleased.”

“Can we just leave?”

“While you are in the West March, you will never entirely leave this place. I am sorry. I did not intend to embroil you in the affairs of the heart of the green.”

“But you—”

“Yes. But I am Consort, and I have seen the Lake of Life; it is my gift and my duty to touch the words that wait therein. And, Lord Kaylin, in ignorance, you have also done the same, and you survived.

“Many of my kin did not. Lord of the West March, have you chosen to convene a council meeting in my chambers?”

Kaylin’s eyes flew open. She was curled in a crouch beside the Consort’s bed, her hand—knuckles white—around the Consort’s. She was aware of the glares aimed squarely at the back of her neck, and worked to separate their hands, although the Consort’s tightened briefly before she let go.

Kaylin stood and met the Consort’s blue eyes. She looked far healthier in real life than she had looked at the end of the not-quite-dream, but she still looked pale and exhausted. Her eyes, however, darkened as she looked at Kaylin.

Kaylin looked down.

There was a small jagged
hole
in the dress. In size and shape it matched a shard of ice. Kaylin froze, her eyes widening in panic.

“Yes,” a voice said, and she looked up. There were now three eagles on the other side of the bed. The one in the middle was doing the talking. “Everything comes to an end, Chosen.”

Could it come to an end when I’m not wearing it?

“Endings and beginnings are often intertwined.”

As answers went, this one sucked. It had that street-corner dispensed-wisdom tone. Which would be fine, but she was the first mortal to wear this dress, and of course it would take damage while she was doing it. That it hadn’t so far was some sort of miracle, and Kaylin did not want to come to the end of miracles while still wearing it. She was almost afraid to turn around.

“Lord Kaylin.”

Kaylin blinked as the Consort held out an imperious arm. Kaylin realized that the Consort, at least, was still lying in bed. She immediately bent to offer an arm to help the Consort to her feet. It gave her something to do, other than panic, but it also made her feel almost ashamed of herself; she was hiding behind the Consort, who was physically far frailer at the moment than she was.

She was grateful anyway, because she turned, supporting the Consort’s weight, to face the room at large.

The Lord of the West March was at the side of the Warden. Nightshade was standing to the Warden’s left, Evarrim to Lirienne’s right. Behind them, stood Barrani in the livery of the Lord of the West March; they had not drawn swords, but their eyes were the color of midnight as they met Kaylin’s.

No one spoke. They looked at Kaylin, looked at her dress—and at the hole that wasn’t actually
all
that big—and said nothing. They said it really loudly.

“Warden,” the Consort said, nodding regally. “You have my gratitude.”

He looked genuinely surprised; the blue of his eyes was ringed by a slender, but visible gold.

“You brought the Chosen to my side. I do not think I would have escaped the nightmares of Alsanis, otherwise. Brother,” she continued, using the familiar term in a particularly emphatic way, “the nightmares have never been this strong or this cold; nor has he sent five, if indeed the nightmares are sent at all, before now. The Warden could not have known; the nightmares and the dreams of Alsanis have never been under his control.”

The Lord of the West March didn’t retreat into plausible denial. “I am heartened to know,” he told his sister, “that you retain some of the optimism of youth. I have not accused the Warden of deliberate malfeasance. Intent, or its lack, control, or its lack, are irrelevant. You are awake.”

“Yes. I will take a light meal in my outer chamber; this is not the room in which I would choose to greet guests.” She turned to Kaylin and raised a brow. Kaylin took the hint and accompanied her to the doors, which opened before she reached them. Kaylin would have rushed to get out of her way, as well, given her expression. She didn’t entirely understand the Consort, but she understood her expression: she was in charge, at the moment, and she was Not Pleased.

Kaylin didn’t have the option the doors had, being attached at the arm. Then again, the doors didn’t need the Consort’s regal disdain as a shield, either.

* * *

The outer chamber was pretty much a hall. It wasn’t a
small
hall, either, but the Barrani never did anything modest. There was a long table, visible through a broad, slender arch that didn’t look as though it could actually support the weight of the ceiling above it. Before the arch, there was a wide, sparsely furnished room, with a small font in the corner farthest from the bedroom door; natural light—during the day, which this wasn’t—would probably fill the room. Kaylin glanced at the Consort; the Consort looked straight ahead.

Dining room, then.

Although her guests were all men of power and import, the Consort headed straight for the exceptionally tall chair at the head of the table. Her hand tightened once on Kaylin’s arm before she slid into the seat. “Unless you enjoy stilted conversation and the suspicion that causes it, you may take your leave.”

“The dress—”

“I know. I would like to tell you it is the least of your worries, but that is unlikely to bring you much comfort. You are
not
in the Hallionne, Kaylin. Your role as harmoniste makes attempts on your life unlikely—but that is not now my concern.” She glanced, once, at the small tear in the dress. “I mean you no harm, but I am not certain I am...safe.” She looked pointedly at Kaylin’s shoulder.

Or rather, at the small dragon that was draped across it.

“I will not tell you to avoid An’Teela. I feel the opposite is almost necessary—but you are in the most danger while you are with her. Take your companion with you wherever you go.” She looked down the table as the rest of the guests entered the chamber. She didn’t rise to greet them.

Kaylin hesitated, but the truth was, her ankle was throbbing—so much for imaginary injuries—and she was exhausted. As usual, she was hungry, but a table full of political, angry Barrani wasn’t much of an inducement to stay. She offered the Consort the most perfect bow a groundhawk with a bum ankle could muster, and then backed out of the room—also an awkward maneuver, given the ankle.

For her part, the Consort accepted the obeisance as if it was her indisputable due.

* * *

Kaylin.

Great. She could hear two voices on the inside of her head. She wondered idly if they could hear each other.

Nightshade was amused.
No.

Lirienne didn’t answer.

When I was in the Hallionne,
she told them both—she hoped it was both—
I couldn’t speak to either of you. I couldn’t reach you.

No.
It was Nightshade who answered, but that made sense—she had never tried to speak to the Lord of the West March the same way.

You could reach me when I was in the void. You could reach me when I was in the High Halls, healing—
She broke off, not that it would make much difference.

Yes.

Why was this different? Did I—did I disappear?

No. To the eyes of all observers, you remained in the room.

Does this happen often?

No, Kaylin. I do not think it could happen anywhere but the green. When you leave, find your Corporal. If you encounter difficulty, call upon the eagles of Alsanis; I believe they will hear your voice.

What can they do?

He laughed, or at least, she felt laughter.

Kaylin.
A different speaker. Lirienne.
I am—
we
are—in your debt.

If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to skip the debt part.

He also laughed. If her ankle hadn’t been throbbing quite so badly, she might have smiled.
You would, I think, respect Lord Barian. Because you are not Barrani, I feel it necessary to remind you that trust is unwise. It is likely that we will convene a meeting of the Council of the West March on the morrow.

Can I—

No. You are the harmoniste, and given the appearance of the eagles, Lord Barian will request your presence even if I do not. You have seen most of Court, if you have not interacted with all of them; they were in the hall at dinner. There is very little you can do to disguise the damage to the dress, and it will cause distress. You may be called upon to explain it; resist.

Who’s going to ask?

I will.

But you just said—

Yes. Do not answer when I demand the truth.

So I’m supposed to say nothing?

You are,
Nightshade said,
to do no such thing. You are to answer, but you are to avoid the truth in any of your replies. Lie. Or misdirect. The Lord of the West March will allow obvious silence or obvious rebellion; you are mortal.

Can he hear this?

I can,
Lord Lirienne replied.
Because you desire it. I will speak with the Consort.

You haven’t, yet?

No; she has made clear that she is not to be questioned, and she never does so without cause. She took pains to prevent anyone present from interacting with you personally, and she dismissed you in a way that allowed none of us to follow.

But Kaylin,
kyuthe,
be cautious. I know it is not in your nature—but try.

* * *

When she reached the end of the hall, she found Severn. She wasn’t even surprised to see him; she was mostly grateful. He was human. He was still bruised, his eye in particular; his hair had been singed, and although it was clean it was uneven. She didn’t ask him how he’d known to meet her. She did grimace when his gaze fell to her injured ankle.

“Am I hobbling?”

“You’re favoring your other foot,” was his diplomatic reply. “The Consort is awake?”

“She is now. She’s not in a great mood.”

“Your ankle?”

“Oh, not that bad a mood. I injured it trying to get her to wake up.” When his brows rose, she added, “Long story, and probably boring to anyone who wasn’t in it.”

“As long and repetitive as your rants about Margot and Elani street?”

“Very funny.”

“Heading to your rooms? I know where they are.”

The small dragon hissed in that broken way that implied laughter. “Do you know where Teela’s staying?”

Severn nodded.

“Can you take me there?”

“Kaylin—”

“I’m worried about her,” Kaylin said, lowering her voice instinctively. “I didn’t realize what the West March meant to her. She offered to come and I said yes.”

“I
insisted
I accompany you,” a familiar voice said, in the same Elantran Kaylin and Severn were using.

Chapter 11

“Don’t make that face. You asked Corporal Handred if he knew where I was staying. You didn’t ask him if I was there.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Teela. It’s dark.”

“And Barrani require how much sleep? You, on the other hand, look terrible.”

“And I know you mean that in the nicest possible way.”

“Kitling, what happened to your ankle?”

“I landed badly.”

“From what height?”

“Six feet.”

“And you did
that?
”

“My hands were full at the time, Teela. I couldn’t drop what I was carrying.”

“From six feet? You could cut off my hands and I’d stick that landing.” Teela’s eyes narrowed. “Please tell me the light in this rustic hall is so appalling the hole in that dress is actually a wrinkle.”

“Can I compromise and say I didn’t put it there?”

“That’s not much of a compromise.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Truth is not an excuse.”

Kaylin wanted to shriek. Her stomach made noise instead. Teela’s eyes slid from blue to their resting blue-green state. “Your rooms.”

Kaylin nodded.

“The servants will no doubt be waiting; it is quite late. They will provide food if food is requested.”

Kaylin nodded again; it was generally the safe bet when Teela took charge. She glanced at Severn. A look passed between the two Hawks, but Severn didn’t disappear. He didn’t take the lead, though; Teela had it and didn’t look like surrendering it could ever occur to her.

Only when she reached a familiar door—with a ward that made her cringe—did Teela stop.

“I swear,” Kaylin said between slightly clenched teeth, “if the door ward sounds the alarm again, I’m going to find an axe.”

“That might be more difficult than you imagine. I’d open the door for you, but I believe it’s keyed to you.”

At least she didn’t have to hit it with her forehead. She lifted her left hand and gritted her teeth as she placed her palm against the ward. This time, however, there was no blaring alarms, and no accompanying armored guards. The door swung open, into the hall, and Kaylin entered rooms that were hers while she wore this dress.

They didn’t feel like hers. Nothing Barrani really did.

To draw a line under this point, the servants were waiting. Kaylin remembered Teela’s pointed words. These servants had their sense of worth and duty tied up in doing their job well. If Kaylin was obviously uncomfortable—and damn it, she was—she was telling them they were doing it badly.

Inhaling, she drew herself to her full height—which was not impressive in comparison—and said, “I was called from Lord Barian’s residence to tend to the Consort by the dreams of Alsanis, and I’ve only just emerged. I twisted my ankle in a fall, I’ve spent what feels like hours in the nightmares of a Hallionne and I’m—” Her stomach growled. She flushed. “Hungry.” The last word was Elantran.

They waited, and she added, “Please bring refreshments for my guests and me.” She wasn’t used to sitting rooms that were basically small dining halls, and she had no problem eating while draped across her bed, because if Teela and Tain dropped into her apartment, someone had to sit there.

But she tried. She led the way to the not-so-small sitting room, and chose the largest chair she could find. The servants departed, and Kaylin glared at Teela. “If you think I’m going to usher you to a damn chair, bite me.”

Severn, however, sat in the chair closest to Kaylin’s. He rested his head against the back of the chair, and as it was low, he was pretty much facing the ceiling. With closed eyes. “You need to talk to Teela,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Kaylin didn’t answer immediately.

“The Barrani are naturally suspicious. I imagine they don’t start that way—but most of the ones who didn’t develop suspicion quickly are dead,” he continued, eyes still closed. “What Teela faces in the West March isn’t the usual, natural suspicion.”

Teela sat—on the table, which was situated in front of Kaylin and Severn. It was a low, flat table with edges that curved toward the light in the ceiling. She even crossed her legs.

“I don’t think the servants are going to be all that impressed with that,” Kaylin pointed out.

“They’re not my servants,” Teela replied, with a feline smile. “Continue, Corporal.”

Severn hadn’t even opened his eyes. “You’re family, to Kaylin. In a very real way,
kyuthe.
She trusts you.”

“I’ve always told her that was a bad idea.”

“Yes. But bad or no, she’s grown up under your wing. She trusts you, and I’m willing to do the same. But, Teela—I think the threat they feel is real. The fear behind the suspicion is too solid. You can’t normally get the Barrani to agree on anything; the agreement—in the West March—is almost oppressive.”

Kaylin turned to glare at the side of Severn’s face. The bruised side, damn it. He opened his eyes, lifted his head, and met Teela’s gaze. “Warn me, if it comes to that. No matter what’s required, Kaylin will never lift a hand against you—not in any serious way.”

“And you will?” Teela was amused.

Severn wasn’t.

Severn’s expression won; the amusement drained from Teela’s expression. “If it comes to that, Corporal, I will count on you. What warning I can give, I’ll give. But in return?”

Severn inclined his head, his gaze unwavering.

“Be as competent as you are rumored to be.”

It took Kaylin a moment to understand what Teela was asking. During that moment, Severn deserted his chair. “I will.” He turned to Kaylin, offered a lopsided grin that never reached his eyes, and headed out the door. She rose, as well, and her ankle almost collapsed.

Teela laughed.

“You could find all this less amusing, you know.”

“Yes. I could. But it wouldn’t change anything, and I prefer to be amused.”

To Kaylin’s surprise, the small dragon leaped off her shoulders and headed—at high speed—out the door. After Severn.

Teela raised a black brow. “Are you certain that’s wise?”

“I didn’t tell him to leave.”

“You didn’t tell him to stay.”

“He’s a cat, Teela. He goes where he wants.” She sank back into her chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“If I had to catalog all of the events in my life, kitling, you would be dead of old age before I’d finished.”

Kaylin inhaled. “You hear Alsanis.”

“Pardon?”

“You can hear Alsanis.”

“You’re guessing.”

“I’m asking.”

“You’re wrong.” Teela rose. “Move over.”

“There are sixteen chairs in this room, Teela.”

“There are seven. Move over.”

Kaylin shuttled to one side, and Teela flopped down beside her. Kaylin closed her eyes and leaned against Teela; she felt, for a moment, that she was in her own apartment, and Teela was lounging on her bed and stealing her pillow. “What did you see?”

“Not what the Consort saw.”

“You know this how?”

“She asked me what I saw, and I told her.”

“Not wise.”

“There’s a bunch of not wise in my life today. Being here. Waking the Consort. Talking to you. Severn’s worried.”

“Yes. I don’t, before you whine, find his worry as irritating as yours because he’s not worried about me.”

“He is—”

“His worry is less insulting; he thinks I’ll become far more dangerous than I currently am. You worry that something will break me. What happened to the dress?”

“I’m not sure. No, I know what happened—but I don’t understand why. I was
here
the entire time.”

“What happened?”

“Ice shattered. Splinters flew. One of them hit me.”

“There?”

Kaylin nodded. “It doesn’t seem to have pierced skin—there’s no blood on the dress.”

Teela shook her and Kaylin opened her eyes. “Do not bleed on that dress. I mean it.”

“I’m unlikely to make myself bleed, Teela. Tell everyone
else
that.” She paused as a thought occurred to her. “Has anyone else bled on this dress?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Something Barian said.”

“
Lord
Barian.”

“Yes, him. He said there were reasons for all of the laws in the West March.”

“There are. There are reasons why it is forbidden to fight—or kill—in the heart of the green.”

“It happened before. Before you—”

“Yes. You are not, of course, the first harmoniste; merely the first mortal one. One such man was a Lord of the East. It was before my birth,” she added. “But not before my mother’s. He was reputed to be cold and proud; a Lord of the High Court. He was not of the West March, and even in the wars, he remained in the East.”

“The East is where the High Halls are?”

“Close, yes. After the wars, he came West. He was a political man, and as such, considered the customs of the West March rustic and unnecessary. He was not chosen as either Teller or harmoniste—and at that recitation, there were both. He did not set out from the High Halls, but he joined the pilgrimage when it became clear that this recitation was to be significant.

“The Teller was a man of power and significance in his own right; he traveled with an armed contingent. To challenge him would be costly. The harmoniste, however, was a man newly come to the High Court, and newly come from the test of name. He had very little standing in the Court itself. The Lord therefore chose to challenge the harmoniste.” At Kaylin’s expression, Teela added, “A genuine challenge, yes. The man could not refuse.”

“But—”

“The Lord of the West March did not travel with the pilgrims; nor did the Lord of the High Court. The Lord from the East was therefore one of two who might issue commands to the Hallionne, and the harmoniste was, as I mentioned, considered insignificant. He could not refuse.”

Something about the way she said this felt subtly wrong, but Kaylin couldn’t put her finger on what.

“He therefore did not refuse. He was not from an insignificant line,” she added softly, “so he could not be disposed of in a more convenient way—but the Lord in question felt a lost challenge would serve his purpose.” She was smiling again.

“You didn’t know this man.”

“No. As I said, it was just before my time. But I understood the condescension with which the West March was—and often is—viewed. During the fight itself, the harmoniste was injured. This was not unexpected.

“His robes, however, were cut, and the blood from the wound seeped into the fabric.”

Kaylin looked down at her lap with a growing sense of discomfort. “What happened?”

“Fully half of the party that had set out from the High Halls perished.”

“But—but from what?”

“The green,” Teela replied softly. “I told you—the Lord in question had set out from the East only when word of the significance of the recitation had reached his ears. There are always ambitious Lords; our party was larger when it arrived in Bertolle than it had been when it set out.”

It wasn’t, now; they had lost many in the attempt to reach Orbaranne through the portal paths.

“He arrived at the edge of the green; he did not make his challenge until he was within the lands ruled by the Lord of the West March. He was not in the heart of the green, but he was upon it.

“The green chooses. The green chose you.”

“Teela,” Kaylin said, with some frustration, “just what exactly
is
the green?”

The door opened. Teela stretched her legs, stretched her arms, and grinned as the servants entered the room. They carried slender silver trays, which they set upon the table to one side of Teela’s feet. Even Kaylin was appalled.

The servants, however, said nothing. They didn’t look surprised, shocked, or disgusted. They offered Kaylin sweet water and wine; Teela took the wine. Kaylin waited until the servants had left the room before she turned on Teela.

“I would pay everything I could earn in a
year,
” she said, “if
you
had to take etiquette lessons with Diarmat!”

Teela laughed. “Kitling, if you could only see your expression. Don’t eat that,” she added, as Kaylin picked up what she assumed was some kind of strange fruit. “I know you’re not picky, but you won’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“You will find it very spicy. It’s sweet,” she added, with a mild frown, “and you have a weakness for sweet food—but there’s a subtle spice that clings to the tongue, and you’ve never been fond of spicy food.”

Kaylin set it aside. There was enough food here she could afford to be picky. “What is the green?” She needed to know.

“I have never fully understood it myself. It is not the Hallionne, either separately or in concert, although it works through them; I believe it is part of them, and they are part of the green. They are whole in and of themselves.” She hesitated, as if searching for words—which was unusual for Teela. “You’re Elantran.”

Kaylin nodded.

“You live in the city. But you are not the city.”

Kaylin nodded again.

“The Emperor also lives in the city; he claims it, rules it, and hands down its laws. But if he perished, the city would not perish with him.”

Given what it would take to actually kill the Emperor, Kaylin wasn’t as sure this was true. “The green is—is like a city?”

“Like a sentient city,” Teela replied. “It is a place. It has geography. It has laws and rules and customs. We,” she added, refilling her glass, “are merely the least of its citizens. We do not make the laws; we merely live—as most of the people in Elantra do—by them. If there is an Emperor, or his equivalent, we—again, like most of Elantra’s citizens—will never meet him.

“But cross him, break his laws, and his anger is felt. The green is like the Hallionne, and unlike. I don’t believe it hears our thoughts when we are in its domain; nor does it interfere in our lives in immediate, visceral ways. But it can. On that day, it did. Not all of the men who died intended to strip the chosen harmoniste of his role; the anger of the green is not so directed. No one will try to kill you while you wear that dress.

“But, kitling, do not bleed on it.”

“I didn’t exactly stab myself,” Kaylin replied.

Teela fell silent, and not in a good way. She rose, and began to pace. The Barrani Hawk could pace for hours. She could wear ruts in stone. She had, when she chose, a light, graceful step that belied her size. Clearly that wasn’t her choice today. “I swear, I will strangle Nightshade myself.”