Michelle Sagara (21 page)

“No, you did not.”

“In the cavern that the tunnels lead to, if you’re lucky.”

Teela’s eyes had narrowed. She dropped Kaylin’s hand. “If you asked for the judgment of the green, and you are not still trapped in its maze, how exactly did you end up here? You didn’t come from the heart of the green; there’s no way Lord Lirienne would have allowed you to run back into the halls. Kitling, look at me.”

Long years of habit came to her rescue; she met Teela’s extremely dark eyes. “I asked the green if it could send me to where you were.”

Teela’s eyes rounded in outrage. “I swear, when we get you back to Elantra, I will go straight to the Emperor himself and demand that you
never
leave the city again.”

“Teela—no one knew where you were.”

“So?”

“Severn was with Nightshade. Whatever attacked them took Evarrim down—I don’t know if he survived or not. Lirienne was with Barian, everyone was frantic for the Consort—and no one knew where you were.”

“So you came back
into
the heart of the fighting?”

“I didn’t
know
where you were, Teela. And frankly, I was helpful. I know how you fight. I know how to stay out of your way, and I know when to cut in. I didn’t get in your way—I’m not a kid anymore.”

Teela, however, was frowning. “Did Gaedin teach you the greetings and the obeisances? Did he teach you the blessings?”

“No.”

“Then how, exactly, did you ask the heart of the green to send you anywhere?”

“Because the green can speak.”

Teela stilled. Kaylin had thought her motionless before; now, even breath appeared to have deserted her. “The green spoke to you.”

“Yes. Like the water usually does.”

“Did you find this new mark before the green spoke to you?”

“No, it was after.”

Teela closed her eyes for one long moment. When she opened them, she glanced at Iberrienne. “We will find the Consort,” she said, sounding—for Teela—defeated. “And then, dress or no dress, I am packing you up and sending you straight home.”

“You can’t—I’m the harmoniste.”

“Do you want to bet?”

She really, really didn’t. She rose, and when Iberrienne failed to follow suit, gently took his arm and pulled him to his feet. He frowned and shook his arm free, which caused the tablecloth to slip.

Kaylin had a strong desire to go back into one of the guest rooms—any room—and find clothing. Even a dress was better than this. Sadly, Teela headed straight out, walking briskly but not so fast that she left Kaylin and Iberrienne behind.

* * *

The Barrani were gathered like a war band. They were armed that way, too. The subtle—and not so subtle—politics of the first dinner had evaporated. They were angry, no surprise there.

Lirienne was enraged. None of it showed, except in the color of his eyes, and even then, it was dark enough that someone might mistake in their color. That someone was not, unfortunately, Kaylin Neya. She could feel his fury like a blow. It wasn’t that she was attempting to touch it; it radiated out with such force it made a week of Ynpharion look like child’s play.

She was almost afraid to approach him.

“Lord Kaylin.” He knew, of course. “Lord An’Teela.” His eyes widened slightly as he saw who trailed after them. “You have the Outcaste.”

“We do. I thought he might be able to tell us where the Consort is.”

Kaylin knew Lirienne could utter a single word, and what was left of Iberrienne would die here. She was no longer certain that would be a bad thing. She held his name, yes—but it felt incredibly fragile, a blown glass object meant to contain small, still things that wouldn’t break it. There were fleeting images that she could almost touch, but they never coalesced into the solidity of voice or emotion that she could feel from Lirienne or Nightshade.

Hells, she wasn’t even trying to contact Lirienne and he was almost overwhelming.

“An’Teela, what did you do to subdue him?” the Lord of the West March asked. He came to stand in front of Iberrienne. Iberrienne pulled the edges of the tablecloth more tightly around his shoulders before he met the Lord of the West March’s gaze. His eyes widened. “Lirienne.”

If the sight of a Lord of the Court dressed in nothing but a tablecloth hadn’t already commanded the attention of all Barrani present, the tone of Iberrienne’s voice did. He didn’t use the unadorned name to signal public lack of respect, or to imply an inferiority of power or position on the Lord of the West March’s part. His voice was neither neutral nor chilly.

It was said, Kaylin thought, with shy delight. She had never heard a Barrani speak this way, and she’d been forced for any number of reasons to listen to a lot of Barrani.

To her surprise—and relief—Severn appeared, stepping around the Barrani who were content to let him pass. “Lord Iberrienne was injured in the outlands; it is possible that he had not fully recovered.”

“He was not so badly injured that he could not field a sizeable force with which to attack the hall.” The Lord of the March paused.

An’Teela did not subdue him.
It wasn’t a question.

No.

What did you do?

She swallowed.
I could see his name.

Silence.

I used it.

He fought you, then.

She exhaled.
Yes and no. I think—in the end—he
wanted
me to grab it. I have some experience with people who don’t.

Ah. You do not refer to me?

No. You don’t care.

She felt his brief amusement.
That is entirely incorrect. I care. But not so much that I wished to die.

You’re not afraid of me.

No. What you
could
do is theoretical. You have my name—but your hold over it has never been tested. Nor will it be, while you live. Teela does not wish your intervention to be known—and that is wise. No one of my people will assume that Iberrienne was brought low by you.

Gee, thanks.

Do you wish it known,
kyuthe?

Did she? She glanced at the assembled Barrani, Lords of the High Court, Lords of the lesser court of the West March.
No.
She hesitated.

Of course he knew.
You are concerned.

Why did—why is he—looking at you like that?

Silence. He didn’t want to answer. And she didn’t want to demand what he wouldn’t willingly give, although in theory she could.

“Lirienne,” Iberrienne said, when the Lord of the West March failed to answer. “Where is Eddorian? Is he not here?”

The Lord of the West March closed his eyes. And so, Kaylin saw, did Teela.

* * *

She was surprised when Nightshade also walked through the grim and silent crowd. The name, Eddorian, had dropped like a very large anvil into a very still pond. The Lord of the West March glanced at him, and Teela glared. Neither, however, spoke to stop him, and because they didn’t, the Barrani Lords let him pass.

Iberrienne smiled. It looked
so wrong
on a Barrani face, Kaylin found it inexplicably painful to watch; it was far more personal than his unplanned nudity had been. “Calarnenne!”

“Iberrienne,” Nightshade replied, smiling in turn. His smile was different, but to Kaylin, no less jarring. It walked the edge between pity and compassion—neither of which she had ever associated with the fieflord. He held out both of his hands, and Iberrienne placed his over them.

“Where is Eddorian?”

“He is not yet here.”

Iberrienne’s eyes rounded. “If he is absent, it will ruin us. My Lord was so proud that he had been chosen.” He rose. “But—why are we here? It is not the hour of the green. Calarnenne—why are you wearing the Teller’s crown? Where is Annarion?”

“Annarion is preparing for his first recitation, as Eddorian must be.”

Kaylin looked at Teela as Iberrienne spoke. Her eyes were a shade that Kaylin couldn’t remember seeing before—not blue, not precisely, although there was a lot of blue in it. She thought it amethyst, a deep purple.

Do not ask her,
Lirienne said.

I’ve never seen that color before—I mean, not in Barrani eyes. What does it mean?

Grief, Kaylin. A deep, abiding, encompassing grief. It is not a color that you are taught, because it is seen so very, very seldom. Grief generally makes my kin angry—and the color of our anger reveals nothing that we do not wish to be seen. An’Teela...

Eddorian was one of the children, the lost children, wasn’t he?

You already know the answer to that question. I will not insult your perception.

“I am the Teller,” Nightshade told Iberrienne. “But come, you are not properly clothed, and when we gather for the recitation, you will be far more of an embarrassment to your father than a late Eddorian.”

Iberrienne looked down at his tablecloth; as he had both hands in Nightshade’s, it had slipped from his shoulders. “I don’t—I don’t understand. Why am I wearing nothing?”

“That is no doubt a story for a long, slow evening; it will keep boredom at bay. Come, Iberrienne.” He looked to Barian. Of course he did.

Lord Barian, however, looked to—of all people—Kaylin. As if he knew, or as if he suspected. “He is as you see him,” she replied, as softly as she could.

“Will you grant us the hospitality of the West March, Warden?” Nightshade asked. It sounded very formal.

The Warden, Lord Barian, nodded.

To Kaylin, Nightshade said,
Find the Consort, Kaylin. Find her and summon me if necessary.

What will you do with Iberrienne?

I will see him clothed.

Why is he—why is he like this?

Nightshade didn’t answer. Instead, with ineffable gentleness, he led Iberrienne away.

* * *

Silence reigned in the large clearing.

It was Kaylin who broke it. “Did the eagles remain with the Consort?”

Her question caused a ripple to pass through the Barrani; whatever disturbance Iberrienne had caused—and he had, there was no doubting it—passed.

“To the best of our knowledge, yes. The dreams of Alsanis were not seen by anyone else during the battle,” Lirienne said.

It was to Barian she looked. “They remained with her. We took our leave—at her request. Two of Lord Lirienne’s lieges remained with her, on the far side of her doors; she wished no company.” Before Kaylin could ask, he said, “They are dead.”

“And her chambers—”

“Her chambers are empty.”

“Were they—”

“They were half-destroyed, yes. The eagles, when we arrived, were gone.”

Barian glanced at Lord Lirienne, and then gave a brief shake of the head. “Preparations have been made, Lord of the West March. If you will countenance it, we will repair to the heart of the green.”

She heard the
No
that he didn’t speak, it was so visceral. “Lord Avonelle has agreed?”

Barian’s lips tightened; it was brief. “She has.”

Kaylin started to speak.

Do not interfere, Kaylin.
It was Nightshade.

You’re not even here.

No. The attack on the Lord’s hall is unprecedented. Inasmuch as Barrani are safe anywhere, they have always been safe here; not even the three flights could breach the defenses of the green. In such a situation, there is no safer place.

Given the green and the Hallionne and the lost children, I’d consider that dubious safety.

Yes. You would. But if the Consort
can
be found, it will be by the will of the heart of the green. The politics of the green and its Wardens require caution—but caution takes time. Lirienne will accept the debt.

What debt? She’s the Lady—she’s the only one who can wake the newborns!

Yes. But he is from the East, not the Vale. Do not interfere.

This isn’t the time for politics!

He laughed. He was genuinely amused.
Politics among my kin end when life does.
Go. You have touched the nightmares of Alsanis. It is possible that the heart of the green will answer Lord Lirienne—but he will be unable to go to where she is. You, however, might.

Chapter 16

Lord Avonelle was wearing armor. Gone was the very fine, very flattering dress she had worn with such cold grace at dinner. At a dinner that felt like it had happened last week. Kaylin looked up to see the two moons; she had no idea how much time had passed. It was still dark, but the edge of the visible horizon implied it wouldn’t remain that way.

“Lord of the West March.”

He inclined his head. “Lord Avonelle.”

“Accept my apologies; the Warden informed me of the urgency of the situation with all speed. We were ill-prepared for an emergency of this nature. We have bespoken the runes, and we wait.”

“I ask your leave to enter the heart of the green.”

“The green will judge.”

Kaylin didn’t like the sound of that reply, but it was said without inflection. Clearly, even in emergencies, form was more important than function.

Avonelle stood aside. “Tenebriel will serve as guide.”

Barian, however, stepped forward. He bowed to his mother, Lord Avonelle; her eyes were very blue. “I will serve as guide, Lord Avonelle.”

She looked as if she wanted to argue.

“I am Warden.” He turned to the Lord of the West March, his back taking the brunt of Lord Avonelle’s silent anger. “The green will judge. Within the green’s heart, the Lords of the High Court—and the Lords of the Vale—are responsible for their own choices and their own decisions.” He raised his voice as he turned to the Barrani gathered behind the Lord of the West March. “Will you enter the heart of the green?”

Kaylin said, “I will.”

Lord Avonelle said, in the least friendly tone she’d used yet, “You will leave your companion behind.”

The small dragon turned his head toward Lord Avonelle. He met her gaze and then—very deliberately, in Kaylin’s opinion—yawned. “My apologies, Lord Avonelle,” she said, forcing herself to sound as arrogant as Teela in a mood. “But he goes where I go.”

“Then you will not walk the green.”

* * *

Lord Barian said, “Lord Avonelle, you are Guardian; your duties are clear. But I am Warden. Lord Kaylin has touched the dreams of Alsanis; she has drawn them into the Vale, where they have not flown for centuries. On both occasions—”

“Both?” The word was sharp.

“On both occasions, her companion occupied the position he now occupies. I do not believe that anyone who can touch the dreams of Alsanis means harm to the green. Had she woken only nightmares, I would abide by your decision. She did not.” Lord Avonelle was silent.

Barian now resumed his formal conversation with Kaylin, his expression grave. “You do not understand what the heart of the green is, but I perceive your determination. Will you accept my guidance, Lord Kaylin?”

“I will.” She paused; a path appeared beneath the feet of the Warden. It led away from him. She started toward it, and was pulled up short by Lirienne’s silent command.

You will wait, Kaylin; it is not safe to walk these paths without a guide.

Is it less safe than the maze?

Yes.

Great.

Teela stepped forward. “I will enter the heart of the green,” she said.

It was Barian’s turn to be silent.

Lord Avonelle moved. Before she could speak, Teela said, in a drawl that the Barrani Hawks would have recognized, “The green will judge.” It was a challenge.

“I am the Guardian of the green.”

“You are. You are not, however, the green.” To Barian, she added, “Warden, I am of the High Court. I have worn the blood of the green. Lord Kaylin is
kyuthe
to me. I will go where she goes; I will accept the judgment of the green. Will you deny me?”

“An’Teela,” the Lord of the West March said, “perhaps it would be best if you withdraw.”

She ignored him. She ignored everyone except Lord Barian.

For one long moment he met and held her gaze; their eyes were pretty much the same color. “The green,” he said softly, “will judge. Will you take that risk, cousin?”

Teela nodded.

The path just beyond Barian’s feet began to glow.

No one spoke a word. It occurred to Kaylin only then that they were afraid to enter the heart of the green if that heart contained Teela. Barrani never acknowledged fear; they acknowledged danger. She waited to see how it would fall out. The Lord of the West March was already committed.

She was surprised when Ynpharion stepped forward. She had avoided the touch of his thoughts as if they were plague; his anger and his contempt—for both her and himself—was almost crushing if she spent too much time listening. Because of this, she avoided asking him anything, and avoided any attempt to command him; she had only set her will above his in the heart of the Hallionne Orbaranne.

It was therefore his choice, inasmuch as he had a choice. “I will enter the heart of the green and abide by its judgment.”

He was not a senior Lord of the High Court. And what he did, she realized, the others must also be seen to be willing to do. The fact that he felt he had very little to lose was immaterial; the other Lords were not aware of it.

His statement had no effect on the Warden’s people, but oddly, it was not the Warden’s people that he resented.

“The green will judge.”

He joined Kaylin on the path. He did not, in any way, acknowledge her, but he glanced with genuine concern at her arms—her bare arms, the marks on them visible. It wasn’t the marks that concerned him. It was the dress. Kaylin guessed that the dress didn’t normally rearrange itself and lose its sleeves in the process.

To her surprise, he said,
I do not know. I have never seen the blood of the green before you.

“Close your mouth, kitling,” Teela said, in quiet Elantran. “Or an insect will fly into it and we’ll be subject to your whining for what remains of the evening.” Kaylin closed her mouth and opened it again. “I am
so
not in the mood to hear whining.”

“I don’t understand why they’re worried about you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Can you explain it?”

“No. I understand it, but I am done with explanations for the evening.”

No one else would explain it, either.

* * *

Severn stepped forward. “I ask leave to enter the heart of the green.”

Barian’s jaw set for a moment. He had accepted Teela’s request with obvious hesitation, but little surprise; he accepted Severn’s the same way—but more.

Lord Avonelle lifted a hand. “You are mortal,” she said.

“So is the harmoniste. It will not be the first time that I have entered the heart of the green.”

And clearly Lord Avonelle remembered the last time without any fondness.

Barian closed his eyes for a long moment; when he opened them, he said a very cold, “The green will judge.” Kaylin could practically hear what Barian hoped the judgment would be.

“Your corporal has courage,” Teela murmured.

“He’s not lying.”

“No. I guessed that. He is wearing the blades.”

Kaylin nodded.

“They were forged—if such a word can be used—in the heart of the green.”

Kaylin’s eyes widened.

“When the wielder dies, kitling, the blades fall silent. They wake in the heart of the green, if they wake at all. Many have lifted their dull, lifeless chains and many have carried them into the heart of the green. Very, very few have emerged.”

“You mean, the blades remain sleeping?”

“No.”

“Wait—wait—you’re saying Severn took them—”

“Yes. He challenged the family who held the nascent blades in their keeping. He defeated—barely—the man who had not been willing to risk his own life to the judgment.”

“Does the green kill a lot of you?”

Teela actually chuckled. “No. But the green is not fond of weapons, or rather, not the iron we wield. One takes a risk when one carries those blades into the green’s heart. The judgment of the green cannot be bought; it can only barely be understood.”

“The blades—I think the blades were damaged.”

“Yes. In the outlands. He has not used them since.”

“He did.”

“Oh?”

“During the attack on the Lord’s hall, he did.”

“Did you happen to notice, since you weren’t actually there, whether or not they were as effective as they normally are?”

She hadn’t, and Teela knew it.

“The Warden risks much, this eve,” Teela said quietly. Ynpharion did not appear to be listening, but he was.

“With you or with Severn?”

Teela’s eyes were almost—almost—green. “With all of us, kitling. Lord Lirienne is not a risk, but you? Your corporal? Me?”

“Nightshade’s not here,” Kaylin offered.

“The risk Nightshade poses in the minds of all present is purely political. The risks we present are not. Avonelle is enraged.” The thought amused Teela. It shouldn’t, Kaylin thought. If she understood things correctly, Lord Avonelle was her aunt, her mother’s older sister.

“Barian will survive it.”

“Her rage, yes. But he will be guide. It is not without risk to him, either. There is a reason,” she added softly, “that permission to enter the heart of the green must be given. Only during the recitation is it entirely safe to walk here. The guardians choose those they feel present the least risk; they will not allow them to enter the green this way if they fear to anger the green.”

“But—but—”

“Yes?” She spoke the word as if it had two syllables.

“The tunnels. We can enter the heart any time we want. I mean, you can.”

Teela did laugh, then. It drew a lot of attention, and the attention bounced to Kaylin when it became clear that Kaylin was the cause of her mirth. “Is that what they told you?”

But Ynpharion was staring at them both. The thunderous beat of his rage had dimmed. “You walked beneath the green?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When the Lord’s hall was attacked.”

“And you are here? Should you not be in the heart of the green?”

“She should,” Teela said, her amusement ebbing. “That, however, is not a subject to be discussed here; it is neither wise nor safe.”

Severn joined them. Teela glanced at him. “You risk too much, Corporal.”

“Kaylin wanted me here,” he replied.

Kaylin met his gaze and then found her feet very interesting. It was true. She thought he even knew why.

Iberrienne.

Closing her eyes, she said,
I’m not a Wolf, Severn. I’m a Hawk. We both served the Emperor in our own ways. But—but—

Yes. You consider Iberrienne so damaged you now see him as a helpless child. You understand that that doesn’t change my duty?

She swallowed.
Yes. Look, I know, believe I
know
what he did. I know how many people he killed. He didn’t consider their lives worth anything. If the fiefs were in our jurisdiction, he’d hang.
He wouldn’t, but the Barrani would kill him. They didn’t suffer their own to be judged in the Imperial Court—and as Iberrienne’s victims were not Barrani, the Barrani High Court could not claim caste exemption and therefore caste justice.
I know he deserves to be executed. I know.

Severn smiled; it was a shadowed smile. He was standing much closer to her than he normally did.
Could you kill him?

I’ve killed, Severn. I’ve killed people who didn’t deserve to die.
I
worked as an enforcer for Barren. If every murderer deserves death—I deserve it, as well. Me.
She could still see Iberrienne’s painfully open expression.
Whoever he thinks he is now is not the man who did those things. He looks—helpless. Young.
She swallowed.
No. No, I couldn’t. I could have killed him—if I had the power—at any other time.

He exhaled, lifted a hand, touched her shoulder.
The Consort is more important, for the moment.

I’m not sure the Emperor would agree with that.

The Emperor’s not here, and I have reasons of my own for entering the green’s heart.

* * *

It was another long half hour before those who were willing to follow the Lord of the West March were gathered. Not all of the Barrani gathered here were willing to take that risk; everyone who had come from the High Court, however, was.

None of those men was Nightshade.

No,
he replied.
I will stay with Iberrienne.

I won’t be able to—to call you.

He said nothing. She felt, of all things, anger. He was angry—but not with Kaylin. Not, she sensed, with Iberrienne, either.

“Warden,” the Lord of the West March said.

“Lord of the West March.” He frowned, and then his eyes narrowed. When he lifted them, he lifted them to sky. Kaylin, whose vision was nowhere equal to that of the Barrani, nonetheless saw what he saw. An eagle.

No, not one. Two. They circled, descending. Barian lifted an arm. Just one. He turned to Kaylin. “Lord Kaylin.”

But Kaylin shook her head. “It’s not me.”

Barian frowned.

Lirienne—lift an arm. Umm, please.

He was surprised, but did as she had asked. He raised an arm, bent at the elbow as Barian’s was. The two eagles landed then, one on each man’s arm.

“Warden,” one said. “Lord of the West March. Why have you come to the green?”

“I am guide,” the Warden said. “The Lord of the West March seeks to reach the Lady.”

The two eagles glanced at each other; they spoke. They didn’t speak in High Barrani. They didn’t speak in a language the Lord of the West March understood, either. She couldn’t tell, from Barian’s expression, whether he could.

But before they had finished their discussion, the small dragon squawked.

They turned their heads—only their heads, which looked so unnatural—toward Kaylin’s shoulder. The small dragon squawked again. He squawked loudly.

“Chosen,” the eagle on Barian’s arm said, “show me your hand.”

Kaylin blinked. She glanced at her hands. Clearly, she was tired; it took her a moment to understand why he’d asked. She lifted her left hand, palm out, toward the eagles. The eagle on Lirienne’s arm squawked. He then spoke to his companion.