Michelle Sagara (22 page)

“Warden,” one of the two finally said. “We are come to tell you that the wards will not wake.”

Barian froze. One or two of the men who served him froze, as well. “None of them?”

“There are two; green will hear you if you speak the words of waking and invocation while in their presence. You will lose much time if you walk the longest path; the two are the only wards that will now respond, although the propiciants bespeak the others now.”

“Which wards, eldest?”

“The seat,” the eagle replied. “The oldest seat.”

* * *

The answer meant nothing to Kaylin. She was clearly the only person here to whom it meant nothing.

It’s not a chair,
Severn told her.
It’s considered the center of both the West March and the green. It’s where the recitation takes place.

When you came here the first time—did you see the other runes the dreams are talking about?

Yes.
He withdrew.

Severn—don’t. I can’t make you tell me anything—but don’t shut me out.

I won’t. But, Kaylin, there are things I don’t want to talk about. There are things I don’t want to think about. This was part of my life as a Wolf; it has nothing to do with your life as a Hawk. I saw the runes. I passed them. But I didn’t come here with a guide, or with the blessing—however reluctant—of the guardian.

Who did you come here with?

He was silent. She retreated; she felt irrationally stung, but couldn’t deny the truth of what he’d said. She had never, for instance, talked much about Barren with Severn. There was a lot he didn’t know. A lot she didn’t want him to know, when it came right down to it. And why? Because if he did, he’d stop caring?

Maybe. Maybe that was part of it.

The small dragon bit her ear. She cursed at him in Leontine. In quiet Leontine, which didn’t work so well.

Everyone was staring at her.

“Lord Kaylin?” Lord Barian said, as if prompting her for a reply.

Damn it. What did I miss?

The eagles have offered to lead us to the seat of life. Or rather, they’ve offered to lead
you
to the seat; they’ve agreed that we will accompany you if you decide to accept their offer.

And if I don’t?

The implication is that we won’t reach the seat. At all.

That’s going to make the recitation difficult.

No, it won’t. But if the Consort is trapped elsewhere, we’ll have wasted days. The Barrani don’t require sleep.

But they did require food. “Yes,” she told the eagles, who were staring at her as if they could hear every word she hadn’t said out loud. She watched as the path beneath their collective feet began to move.

* * *

At this point in a long evening that was, as the minutes passed, giving way to dawn, it shouldn’t have been surprising. It was.

“What’s happening?” Kaylin asked, forgetting everything she’d learned about the proper political address extended to powerful men. “Why is the ground doing this?”

“This may come as surprise,” the Lord of the West March said, “but this is not generally the way we approach the heart of the green.” They started to move. Either that or every other part of the landscape did.

“Look,” she said to the eagles, dropping into Elantran. “Can we just, oh,
walk?
”

She felt Lirienne’s amusement—and a hint of his approval. She did not understand the Barrani.

You ask the questions none of my kin will ask; they tolerate it because you are mortal, and mortal ignorance is expected. The Warden will answer the question you have chosen to ask, without insulting the High Court.

Why in the hells would an answer be insulting?

It would imply ignorance.

But you just said you
are
—

Indeed.

The eagles looked at each other. “The wards cannot hear,” they said—in unison.

Lord Barian cleared his throat. “The path that winds its way through the heart of the green is not, in any sense of the word, a physical path. Only during the recitation is it laid bare; at that time, the whole of the green is turned toward one purpose, and one alone. At other times, the path opens as the propiciants speak the words of greeting; they open again when they speak the words of benediction. Each section of what you perceive as path is governed by the wards.

“Only in the presence of those who can speak the necessary words is the path revealed, and it is revealed almost step by step.”

“You wished to travel quickly,” the eagles added—again in unison, and again, to Kaylin. “This is the safest mode of travel for your companions.”

That, however, was less well-done.

You’ll note it’s not
me
who said it.

“An’Teela. Teela,” the eagles said.

Teela said nothing.

“The green is waiting. The wait has been long.”

* * *

Motion didn’t usually make Kaylin nauseous. The motion of the path did. It was like a gut punch accompanied by the sharp, stinging pain of her exposed marks. The hidden ones hurt, as well.

Lirienne, would you know if—if something had happened to the Consort?

Would I know if she were dead?

That was what she meant. She couldn’t bring herself to use the word.

Not here. I find it odd,
he said. Barrani could find things intellectually interesting at the worst of times.
You are mortal. You will die. You walk to death from the moment of your birth. Why, then, is death such a difficult concept?

Because we can’t avoid it.

But that wasn’t the truth. Human death, Leontine death, Aerian death—and Barrani death—were all the same, in the end. It wasn’t her own death she feared, although she went out of her way to avoid it where possible. It was what death meant. It meant absence. Permanent absence. It meant abandonment. The fact that it wasn’t chosen by the person who left didn’t change the fact of its effect.

Time didn’t change it. Nothing could. You could learn to accept it—hells, you had no choice. But the loss? She bit her lip and glanced at Teela, hoping Teela wouldn’t notice. Teela remembered everything. Teela remembered it as clearly as if it were stored in Imperial Records. Teela knew now and for as long as she lived, every single thing that was gone. All the details. All the details of how she had lost it.

Kaylin had never known her father. Teela had known hers—and she had both loved him and killed him.

Did that make it better, in the end? Could memories of her father’s death somehow ease the cost of the memories of her mother’s?

No,
Lirienne said, his voice soft.
But that is always the hope. Teela is
kyuthe
to you.

Kaylin said nothing.

Do you understand why, Kaylin?
When she failed to answer, he said,
you have always seen her as invulnerable. Immortal. Nothing the Imperial Hawks face will kill her. She is safe, for you, because she is not mortal. She is the family that you cannot lose. She will not die. She will not change. Time will take nothing from her, and when it takes your competence from you, you will know that she is there.

Why are you telling me this?

It is truth. But it is
your
truth. Hers is different. You are, to the surprise of the Barrani of both the High Court and the Vale,
kyuthe
in her eyes. We understood why she chose to join the Hawks; she was...

Bored?

Yes. You do not understand what boredom means to the Immortal. We understood. With her went a handful of Barrani who had neither the courage nor the desperation to take the test of name. That was unusual, but not unheard of. We did not know—until you—how attached she had become to your ephemeral world.

Me?

She faced the Dragon Court, for your sake. She returned to the High Halls, she donned both her title and the grandeur of her line, and she walked into the Imperial Palace. She did not claim her rank as an Imperial Hawk; before the Dragon Court, she claimed her ties to the High Court, and her rank as a warrior in the Dragon wars.

When? When did she do this?

You were younger, Kaylin. You were considered, I believe, a child by everyone but yourself. And the Emperor understood the danger of the marks you bear. He wished to see you destroyed. She wished to see you preserved. Her presence as a warrior, her title as a senior member of the High Court, and the weapon she bore, all made a threat she herself would never utter. She was willing to go to war—for you. If he desired your death, he would have had to kill her first. And, Kaylin—you did not see her.

You didn’t, either.

He chuckled.
No. But my brother did. My sister did. The Consort attempted to reason with her. She listened. She listened with the respect due the Lady. She agreed with every argument the Lady made. She would not, however, be swayed. She was unconcerned with the loss of face.

Let me guess. Attachment to mortals is right up there with dying for your cats.

It is exactly like that; I am informed that it nonetheless happens among mortals. It does not happen among my kin. She strode into the Palace to make her argument to the Eternal Emperor. She did not threaten him, as was expected. Her accoutrements were all the threat she allowed herself to make.

Kaylin looked at Teela; Teela was staring into the distance in a “don’t talk to me” way.

She pleaded, Kaylin. She told the Emperor that your life was measured in decades—mortal decades; that it would end soon enough on its own. Lord Tiamaris argued against those years; he pointed out that if decades were so insignificant—in a city in which the majority of the occupants faced exactly that fate—what difference did they make? The harm you might do in those decades, the possibility of destruction, and at that, unpredictable destruction, warranted your death. It was prudent.

That, I knew.

Oh?

Marcus—my Sergeant—still hates him for it.
She frowned. She
had
heard that Teela had gone to Court on her behalf. She hadn’t questioned it; she barely remembered because she hadn’t been asked to attend. She’d been told after the fact.

You think that Barrani do not love. I love my brother and my sister.

I know. That’s what makes you—

Unusual? Or weak?

Unusual,
she said, firmly.

It is a weakness,
he said.
No, Kaylin. For you it is not. But the survival of your kind depends on numbers. You do not survive in isolation. It is not the same for my kin or the Emperor’s. You think of love—when you think of it—as a strength, as a binding. And for you, it is.

But bindings break when they are tested for eternity. Nothing, not even mountains, last forever. What has been a strength can shatter—with a single death, in a single moment. You call it a risk,
he added softly.
But it is not a risk, for us; it is a certainty. But we live, Kaylin. We live. Love is not therefore unknown to us; it is sharpest when we are young.

But I believe you understand. And if you do not, it is both my fear and my hope that you will.

* * *

“An’Teela.”

Teela met the eyes of the Lord of the West March. He said nothing further; she said nothing. To him. To Kaylin, in Elantran, she said, “If the Exchequer doesn’t hang for this, I will hunt him down and kill him myself.”

Kaylin said nothing because the nausea was increasing. The passing trees and grass spun in circles; she closed her eyes, which helped—but not enough. She could still feel the ground vibrating beneath her feet; had she not been surrounded by Barrani, she would have dropped to her knees.

Hells with it. She dropped to the ground anyway. She was never going to gain Barrani approval; she could spend her whole life being as perfectly mannered and viciously political as they were, and she might get a pat on the head. At the moment, it wasn’t incentive enough; she sat, crossing her legs beneath the flowing folds of her skirt. Having more ground beneath her—and a shorter distance to hit it if the dizziness overwhelmed her—helped.

She was momentarily grateful when the world stopped moving and very carefully opened her eyes.

She wasn’t certain what she had expected of a place called the heart of the green. Mostly, a lot of well-tended grass—the kind that only rich people had—and trees. Maybe a fountain, or a small pond.

There was no grass here. There were two trees—two leafless, winter trees. There was what might once have been a fountain; the stone was preserved, but the basin was dry and empty. Kaylin approached the fountain, pausing once to ask silent permission of Barian, who frowned but nodded. If there were wards here, she couldn’t see them. She glanced at the small dragon, who’d folded himself into the shawl position; he could only barely be bothered to lift his head. He sighed and lowered it again, without doing anything helpful first.

Fine.

She touched the fount’s rim. It was warm; the clearing was warm. Not hot, not arid, but warm; it suggested sunlight on a day that the sun didn’t choose to be punishing. But nothing grew here that she could see.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Chapter 17

The small dragon whiffled.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“You were, of course, talking to yourself again. What have I told you about that?” Teela came to stand by her side; she didn’t touch the stone. Her hands were loosely clasped behind her back.

“People will doubt my sanity.”

Teela nodded. “Unless you happen to be the Arkon.”

“In which case it’s irrelevant.”

Teela’s smile was stiff, but genuine. “Yes. What, specifically, don’t you understand?”

“This is the heart of the green. But—it’s not very green.”

“No.”

“Was it always like this?”

“It has been like this for a long time.”

“Which is a no.”

“Kitling, honestly, if I could pack you up and send you home—with any hope that you’d arrive in more or less one piece—I would. No. In my childhood, it was not.”

“What did it look like then?”

“The trees bore leaves. The fountain was active; it was similar to the fountain in the courtyard of the Lord’s hall—but it was, in all ways, more impressive.” Her lips curved in a strange smile as she lifted her face. “The water spoke. Not often, not reliably, and not always in a language that the pilgrims could understand—but its voice...”

Kaylin thought of the Tha’alaan.

“Sometimes, the water offered glimpses of past history—again, it was not reliable; one could not simply ask. But on quiet days, the waters in the basin grew still, no matter how strong the breeze in the greenheart, and images would form; they were like—and unlike—our Records in the Halls of Law. We could not ask.”

“Why is the water gone? If the fountain in the Lord’s hall—”

“A question you should never ask in Lord Avonelle’s hearing.”

“That is a question that An’Teela has asked before,” Lord Barian said. He joined them, his arm bent and lifted, the eagle upon it.

Neither Teela’s expression, nor her posture, changed—but she wasn’t happy to be standing so close to the Warden. “I was a child,” she replied.

“Yes. Too young to be tested, and yet, An’Teela, you were.”

“And did I pass the test?” Her smile was bitter.

“You are here. Your enemies are not. You survived the test of the High Halls. You are a Lord of the High Court, and a Lord of the Vale; you are the head of your line. In any way that success is defined by most of our kin, you are successful.”

Funny. To Kaylin, it sounded like a no.

“Will you answer your
kyuthe’
s question?”

“I have no doubt,” the Barrani Hawk said, in a familiar drawl, “that she will plague me until she gets her answers, one way or another. I am honestly surprised that I have not yet strangled her.”

Barian surprised Kaylin. He laughed. Given the slight lift of Teela’s brows, she wasn’t the only one. “And I am not
kyuthe,
although we are cousins. I will not depend upon your obvious affection to preserve my life.”

“My apologies, cousin.” Teela’s voice was soft. “You are your mother’s son.”

“Ah, yes. A plague upon ambitious parents, then?”

Teela closed her eyes. “And a plague, of a different kind, upon their children.” She shook herself. “You will bespeak the wards, Warden?”

Barian nodded, withdrawing—as Teela had done—while standing in place. “Will you remain with us?” He spoke, of course, to the eagle.

“We must,” he replied. “For now.”

Kaylin frowned. “You said two of the wards would hear us.”

“Yes.”

“And there are two of you. Is that a coincidence?”

“No, Chosen.”

“Why are the wards inactive?”

“The green is wounded,” the eagles replied.

“The green has been wounded since—” She bit her lip and managed to stop the rest of the words from falling out. She couldn’t stop the pit of her stomach from dropping to somewhere around her knees.

“The wound is bleeding now,” the eagles said. They didn’t mention how or why, for which Kaylin was grateful. “But wounds must bleed if they are to heal; they must be acknowledged.”

“The green isn’t a body.”

“Is it not?” The eagles conferred briefly, and then said, “It loves, Chosen, and it grieves; it breathes and it knows the passage of seasons; it sleeps and it dreams; it bleeds. In its fashion, it knows time, and you have invited time to return.”

“I didn’t—” So much for grateful. Every eye—
every
eye—was now turned toward her.

The eagles tilted their heads. “Is it not true that there is no change without time?”

“I don’t—”

“And there is no healing without time?”

“Yes, but—”

“Time is therefore essential.”

“Can I finish a sentence?”

“It is time,” they said, ignoring the question. “Time, at last. An’Teela has returned, Chosen, and the blood of the green flows.”

Kaylin turned to the Warden; the Warden was pale, even for a Barrani. He stared—at her. “What have you done?” His voice was a whisper.

Teela, however, laughed. It was a wild, low sound. “This is
not
the first time I have come to the heart of the green. I have come as harmoniste; I have worn the blood of the green. I have survived—and my presence changed
nothing.
”

“No, An’Teela. It is neither the first nor the second time. It is, at last, the third. Warden, we will hold the wards. You must ask Lord Kaylin to bespeak the water.”

Kaylin’s eyes widened; she was certain her brows had disappeared permanently into her hairline. “There’s no water here.”

The eagle said, “No. That is why you must bespeak it, Chosen.”

Teela lifted a hand to the bridge of her nose.

Kaylin exhaled and—as quietly as she could—said, “At least you’re not bored.”

“You have almost singlehandedly convinced me that boredom is not the worst of all possible fates.”

“Why is the water necessary? It wasn’t before. If I understand what’s happened here, you’ve held the recitations for, oh,
centuries
without water.”

They waited for her to make her point. As she felt she’d pretty much made it, she surrendered. “I have no idea how to, as you put it, bespeak the water.”

“You have spoken to the water.”

“I’ve spoken to the water in the courtyard because it happened to
be there.
” She dropped her hand into the curved, smooth stone basin. “You’ll notice the big difference?”

“If you wish to locate the Lady, you will not hear the answer if it is given. You must wake the water, Chosen.”

The Lord of the West March met Lord Barian’s gaze. When he turned to Kaylin, she saw no rescue from either quarter; she saw hope, and it was painful. “If the dreams of Alsanis believe you are capable of this, there must be a reason for it.”

“I’m only barely able to light a candle. I— If I could summon water, I might—
might—
be able to do as they ask, but I won’t be able to do that for years. If ever.” She exhaled. “If Evarrim summons water, I might be able to speak with the elemental. It happened with the fire he summoned.”

“Lord Evarrim is gravely injured.” Lirienne had quietly joined them. “Before you ask, there was only one other who could do what you require.“

“Iberrienne.”

“Indeed.”

For obvious reasons, that wasn’t going to cut it. Kaylin turned to the dreams of Alsanis, who were watching her with unflagging intensity. She wondered if they ever blinked. “Activate the wards.” She frowned, and added, “You
can
activate the wards without the waters, right?”

“Yes, Chosen.”

“Then activate them, and we’ll see where we go from there.”

* * *

Teela’s arms were tightly folded across her chest, a posture she almost never adopted, at least at work. Her eyes were—no surprise—blue. She stood at Kaylin’s side, although she watched as the eagles finally left their Barrani perches. They headed toward the two trees that Kaylin privately thought of as firewood. They landed on the dry, leafless branches and looked down at the gathered Barrani.

And then, of course, they began to sing.

The small dragon perked up, sat up, and opened his mouth as if to join them; he was far too close to Kaylin’s ear. “If you want to sing, do it in the sky. I apparently need my hearing. It’s a job requirement.”

He bit her ear, but surprised her by pushing off her shoulder; he took to the air above the empty basin, and hovered there. The basin was between the two trees. It was, she thought, exactly in the center.

She watched, glancing between the two eagles and their respective perches. She couldn’t see wards or runes, but none of the Barrani appeared too concerned with their absence. As she continued to wait, she discovered why: the trees themselves began to glow. The light was a faint gray—at least to start—and it spread from the eagles to the branches they inhabited. But as it spread from the first branch to the trunk, it grew in brilliance and in color, until the whole of the tree was glowing.

It was a golden glow that was familiar to Kaylin; it was one of the colors her marks took on at unpredictable times.

She glanced at Teela; Teela didn’t look even vaguely surprised; nor did she look worried. “Are all of the wards trees?”

“No, but many of them are. Would I be wasting breath if I counseled caution?”

Kaylin nodded absently as she walked toward a tree. The Barrani made way for her, which was unusual enough that she should have been surprised. But she was focused on the problem at hand. She saw no runes and no writing anywhere around the trunk of the tree; nor did they become visible when she craned her head up.

She examined the second tree in the same way, with the same results. The small dragon squawked at her from above, which was a small improvement over the ear-biting, if she ignored the large Barrani audience.

“Lord Barian, are these wards now considered active?”

“They are not wards in the modern sense of the word,” he replied.

“Meaning?”

“They allow the green to exist in a stable state. Without the wards, crossing the green is a difficult task; it is like—and unlike—the journey through the portal paths.”

“But we were here.”

“The dreams of Alsanis led us here.”

“So—they’re not like door wards in any way?”

“No.”

“Good.” Kaylin reached out her left arm and placed her left palm very firmly on the nearest section of trunk.

* * *

Nothing happened. Her palm felt warm—not hot, and not itchy—but warm. She looked up, peering into the crowd, and met Teela’s steady, blue gaze. It got bluer. In Aerian, Kaylin said, “I don’t think we’ll find the Consort in time, Teela. I don’t understand the green. I don’t understand the
regalia.
I don’t understand what happened the day you were brought here with eleven other children.

“But I get that they mean for you to be involved, even if you’re not the Teller or the harmoniste. We don’t figure this out, we don’t find her. I know you can survive a lot longer than I can without food—and without heat or air, as well—but a lot longer is not all that significant.”

In Aerian, Teela replied. “The green doesn’t react to me the way it reacts to anyone else here.”

“Join the club.”

Teela’s lips twitched. “If you have cause to regret this, you’re not blaming me.”

“Not for that, no.” Kaylin’s frown was a very familiar expression in the office. “But I have to ask you: Are you getting paid for this leave of absence?”

Teela headed toward the far tree without answering the question.

That was well-done,
kyuthe
.

What was?

Not one man here—or woman—could achieve what you have just achieved. Please tell me that it was not done in ignorance.

Kaylin said nothing. She felt Lord Lirienne’s amusement, but it was slight; beneath it, worry, anger, and very real fear made ready to swallow it whole. He didn’t attempt to hide these things from her; he hid them from his kin because he was Lord of the West March.

Kaylin placed her palm against the tree bark for a second time. She did so while facing the other tree. Teela approached it without obvious hesitation, and when she was standing in pretty much the same position that Kaylin was, she nodded. Lifting her arm—her right arm—she placed her palm firmly against the tree’s trunk, as well.

Nothing happened.

Nothing happened until the small dragon suddenly shrieked, folded his wings, and dropped in a dead man’s dive toward the center of a solid stone basin. Kaylin froze, her eyes rounding, her jaw dropping; she forgot to breathe.

“Kitling!”

Kaylin looked up; she saw Teela’s eyes; the color unmistakable even at this distance: they were gold.

* * *

The small dragon didn’t strike the stone basin and splat against it. He passed
through
it. He passed through it as if it were liquid. She pulled her hand from the tree and ran for the basin, lifting the skirts of her dress, although the dress had never impeded movement.

She stopped herself by running into the basin’s lip.

“Kaylin.”

She looked up. She looked up to see Teela—and only Teela. Every other person in the clearing had disappeared. Teela casually detached herself from the tree and headed toward Kaylin.

“Can you see anyone else?” Kaylin asked her as she drew close.

“Besides you?” Teela spoke Elantran.

“Besides me.”

“No.”

“Well, at least we’re on the same page.”

“We probably won’t be if you aren’t more careful. Are you trying to bash your face in?”

“What? No. I’m trying to see where the dragon went.”

“I’m sure he’ll find us.”

“Oh? How?”

“He’s enough of a pain it might be convenient if he stayed away. It’s the way my luck has generally worked.”

Kaylin snorted. She looked at the clearing. The heart of the green hadn’t appreciably changed; it was still definitively not-green. The trees, however, were no longer glowing.

Lirienne?
Nightshade?

Silence.

“I don’t suppose there are any convenient doors?”

“Not that I can see,” Teela replied. She stretched her arms and yawned; she looked incredibly feline. “But we might as well start looking. My guess is that this is as much of an invitation as we’re going to get. You are going to explain what the dreams said, right?”