Cast in Peril

by Michelle Sagara

  * * *

  No one liked to think of themselves as the person so uncomfortable with silence they babbled just to stop their nerves, especially not Kaylin, whose ability to make small talk was notable by its absence. But the tenor of this particular silence was better suited to rival gangs sizing each other up before the daggers came out than a carriage. It was better suited to a corpse than a carriage.

  “I don’t care if you speak nothing but Leontine for the next three hours, Teela,” Kaylin said. “Tell me what you think I’ve done wrong. Taking Nightshade’s offer of information to Marcus doesn’t count. The Hawks needed that. You know we did.”

  “It’s my considered opinion that the presence of Bellusdeo would have put an end to the worst of the difficulties,” was her clipped—and eventual—reply.

  “That’s hindsight. We didn’t know the would-be assassin was also involved with the embezzlement.”

  “It is.” Teela lifted a delicate hand to her brow and massaged her forehead. “You will etch permanent wrinkles in my face in spite of my immortality,” she said. “Let me give you some advice. In the future, if you see unfamiliar clothing in a strange—and possibly dangerous—environment, do not put it on.”

  “I won’t. But can we talk about the present instead of the future?”

  “At this point, I’d rather hear your endless litany of complaint about Margot or Mallory, a situation I would have sworn impossible.” Her tone was sharp, but her eyes had lost the worst of the blue. They weren’t green, but in the right light, Kaylin could now pretend they were. “There are decades in which those robes, or in this case that dress, are not seen.”

  Kaylin frowned. “Have you ever worn this dress?”

  Andellen glanced at Teela.

  Teela said, “No.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I frequently do. Why do you assume I am doing so now?”

  Since the reason was Andellen, a man reinstated to the High Court only for the length of Kaylin’s remaining life, Kaylin said nothing. Andellen’s expression stiffened, and he once again turned his gaze toward the landscape passing by the carriage window. It was a controlled, stiff movement.

  “Doesn’t matter. What happened when you wore this dress?”

  Teela turned to Severn. “Corporal, I suggest you distract her.”

  “Fine. I’ll change the subject.” Kaylin surrendered. “Who made the way stations?”

  Andellen’s lips twisted in what Kaylin assumed was a grimace. It wasn’t. He was trying not to laugh. “My apologies, Lord Kaylin,” he said when she glared. “As an attempt to change the subject, it would be considered poor.”

  “I am reminding myself,” Teela added, “that I was sent here to preserve your life. It is remarkably difficult at this specific moment.”

  The small dragon hissed and spread his wings.

  “Oh, please,” Teela snapped. “You are only slightly more terrifying than a difficult cat.”

  Kaylin reached up and loosely clamped her palm over the small dragon’s jaws. “Does wearing this dress mean I’m supposed to do something when we reach the West March?”

  Teela exhaled heavily.

  “Wait—were the Lords present hoping that one of them would be wearing it instead?”

  “Very good. The blood of the green by no means appears every time the regalia is recited. It’s considered a significant event when it does.” As Kaylin opened her mouth, Teela lifted one hand. “If you ask whether or not you can pass the dress on, I swear I will hit you. But yes, kitling, the Lords who have chosen to undertake this journey now have another reason to resent the fact that you’re breathing.

  “Honestly, if I’d realized how much of a pain this was going to be, I would have let Marcus rip out your throat and be done with it.”

  “We needed the information Nightshade gave us.”

  “Yes. And if Nightshade weren’t a fieflord, I would seriously consider killing him myself.”

  Andellen, who rarely spoke Elantran, nonetheless stiffened.

  “It’s mostly Nightshade I’m angry at,” Teela continued. “This is just his kind of game. If I didn’t know better—and sadly, I do—I would say that he somehow arranged for you to have this dress.” Her eyes narrowed. “Have you spoken with him at all since we left the City?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I can’t forbid it, but if I could, I would. The recitation is largely ritual, but Kaylin, as an unusual hanger-on, you’d be tolerated. You’re Chosen; you bear the marks. But this? This is almost too much.” Teela fell silent. Kaylin tried to find the value in awkward silence, and the carriage continued to roll.

  * * *

  By the time the carriage came to a halt, Andellen knew quite a bit more about the Hawks’ office politics—and office gossip—than any Barrani who hadn’t taken the Oath of Service. He knew more about the pragmatic approach to the application of the laws as well, although given he was Barrani, that would probably come naturally to him, regardless. He also learned about the midwives, Marrin of the Foundling Hall, and Evanton.

  Evanton interested him, but any substantive question he asked was interrupted by Teela. If this bothered Andellen, it didn’t show. He was remarkably calm and accepting for a Barrani of any stripe; had he been Tain, the two would probably have come to blows by this point, although daggers would be another few hours away.

  The sun set; the moons rose. There was enough light to see by, an indication that the skies were relatively clear. There had been two stops, both brief and both meant, as far as Kaylin could tell, to give relief to the horses that drew the carriages. Those horses were, compared to the normal horses that drew cabs in the City’s streets, what the Barrani were to the mortals who also walked the same streets. She found them intimidating.

  Then again, she found the horses that pulled the mail wagons intimidating. It was their size. Treating something that big as if it were a well-trained dog was outside Kaylin’s skill set. She thought the horses beautiful, in a sweaty, muscular way, but only at a distance. Severn didn’t have that problem.

  On the second of the breaks, Lord Evarrim approached Kaylin. Teela, annoyed, was nonetheless there to run immediate interference.

  Evarrim, however, smiled affectionately at his cousin, tendered Kaylin a very deep bow, and rose. “Lord Kaylin.” His smile was pleasant; it appeared to be friendly. There’d been an absence of friendly smiles for the entirety of the day, which made his seem even more attractive—but in truth, not by much.

  “Lord Evarrim.” She returned his bow and, when she rose, saw his brows had risen slightly.

  “Your Court form, Lord Kaylin, has greatly improved and in such a short time.” A friendly smile did not prevent the usual condescension.

  The small dragon had sunk claws into every part of Kaylin’s body where his paws were attached. He was rigid, and his little wings were high. Evarrim noticed, of course. His eyes frequently slid off Kaylin’s face to rest a few inches to the side.

  “I mean no harm to your master,” Evarrim told the small dragon. “I merely came to offer her both my respect and my congratulations.”

  “Thank you. They are appreciated entirely in the spirit with which they are offered.”

  He raised a brow again and his smile deepened. “An’Teela, it is a pity your kyuthe is mortal. In a century or two, she might truly find her way in the Court otherwise.” He nodded; the nod contained less grace and more regard than the much more formal bow. “It is auspicious, Lord Kaylin. Very seldom have the stars begun their alignment so far from the West March.”

  She glanced at Teela.

  “Or perhaps you are not aware of all of the customs.” The smile that now adorned his lips was the usual, edged affair.

  “I could never claim to be cognizant of all of the customs of the High Court,” was Kaylin’s pleasant reply. Curiosity warred with dislike; they were pretty evenly matched. Dislike won, but it was close.

  “No, indeed. Very few of our kin could make that claim
, and many of our kin have no pretensions; they are not now, and will never be, Lords of this Court. But you, my dear, are.”

  “Never is a long time, given Barrani live forever.”

  “You are aware of the risks one takes when one wishes to assume position within the High Court.”

  She was. It was, in all but one case, an all-or-nothing proposition, where all was eternity and nothing was the usual death and hells. She nodded.

  “It was a test that you were not, ultimately, forced to take.”

  “I did.”

  “You live, Lord Kaylin, regardless of your name; you are mortal, and yet a Lord of the High Court. It was not unexpected to those who know the marks you bear. And perhaps it should not have been unexpected that you would be chosen as the harmoniste, given those selfsame marks. Perhaps,” he added softly, “it was even known. You are here now. You wear the blood of the green, and you have already been granted one of the illuminations.” As he spoke, his eyes once again fastened themselves to the left of her cheek, where the small dragon sat rigid and glaring. “And, of course, you carry a creature that the entire Arcanum finds fascinating. We shall have to hope that you bear up under the weight of the several responsibilities you now carry.”

  The small dragon hissed; she raised her right hand and clamped it over his jaws. Seeing this, Evarrim’s eyes shaded to a darker blue. Teela was almost standing between them, and if that wasn’t enough of a hint, Severn came to stand by her side, his left hand hooked prominently into the links of his weapon chain.

  Andellen, however, chose to observe in silence.

  “It is far too late to treat her as a child, An’Teela,” Evarrim said, his voice dropping several degrees.

  Teela said nothing, but she didn’t move until Evarrim bowed again, turned, and walked away.

  “What,” Kaylin asked in a voice as quiet as she could, “is a harmoniste? I can guess what the illuminations are, in the context of this morning.”

  “It’s a word,” Teela replied curtly. “In other contexts, it’s a pretentious word,” she continued after a pause in which she chose to slide into Elantran.

  “Which contexts?”

  “In music, it is a word with softer verbal edges than composer.”

  “The only thing I know about music is what I like.”

  “The same could be said of your knowledge of food,” Teela replied, pursing her lips. “I have mentioned that if Nightshade does magically appear, I am likely to attempt to kill him myself?”

  “A time or two.”

  “Good. I should not like to take you by surprise.”

  “Harmoniste?” Kaylin prodded.

  “There is another use for the word.”

  “Clearly.”

  One black brow arched at the tone of Kaylin’s voice. “It involves the harmonization of parallel tracks of text or narratives.”

  “Words.”

  “Words, yes.”

  “Teela—”

  “The role of the harmoniste is not always required, nor do we know before we leave the City itself and begin our trek to the West March. We have no say in the choice of harmoniste and no way of assigning the responsibility. We have no way of revoking it, either.”

  “Teela—”

  “Your job is easily explained, but not easily done. When the recitation begins, you will hear words. Given it’s you,” she added with a very unladylike snort, “you’ll probably see them. I have no idea whether visualization will make that job any easier.” She lifted a hand as Kaylin opened her mouth again. “While I realize you have the characteristic impatience of the mortal, I am not, in fact, taking ten years to get to the point. The call to gather the horses has just gone out.”

  Kaylin had not heard a sound.

  “And we will therefore be milling here for some tens of minutes yet. Learn patience.”

  Kaylin swallowed. The small dragon slowly settled back onto her shoulders.

  “If you were to do your job with written words, you might have the time to note, consider, and think about it.”

  “Teela, what is my job?”

  “It is simply to listen to the disparate threads of the recitation and draw them together into as cohesive a narrative whole as you can.”

  Kaylin thought she was about to lose her brows to the skyline, her eyes widened so quickly. “I won’t even understand what the words mean!”

  “No.”

  “I’m supposed to be able to tell how separate parts of a story I don’t understand can be somehow worked into one story?”

  “Crudely put, but yes, Kaylin.” Her eyes had dimmed to a color that could pass for green in the low light. “Before you begin to panic—”

  “Too late.”

  “Before you begin to panic more, consider this carefully. You’ve heard Lord Sanabalis tell the tale of the Leontines. You didn’t understand the words he spoke—but, kitling, you did. You couldn’t translate them as he spoke them, but when he had finished, you knew the story of the Leontines, both their creation and their corruption. I am not worried about your abilities in this regard.”

  “But?”

  “I am very concerned about the illumination.”

  Kaylin fell silent, although she had no intention of letting the silence last. “You wore the blood of the green when you went to the West March the first time.”

  “No, Kaylin, I did not.”

  “But you said—”

  “If I recall correctly, I said that I’ve never worn that dress. You did not choose to believe me.”

  “Because you were lying.”

  “But regardless, I did not wear that dress when I first arrived in the West March; when I first arrived in the West March, I was not a Lord of the High Court. I did not control my family’s lands, and I was not considered the heir, in the unlikely event of the death of my father.” Gazing deliberately toward the carriages that were beginning to line up, she continued. “I was young then.”

  Kaylin frowned. “Teela…”

  “Yes?”

  “How old are you?”

  Teela glanced at Andellen. “I was under the impression that question was considered rude.”

  “Only if I’m asking it of a mortal, which you’re not.”

  “I am older than Lord Andellen,” she replied.

  “Older than Tain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you— Were you brought here as a child to listen to the regalia?” Kaylin’s voice had dropped and her words had slowed as she’d asked. She remembered hearing that there was a reason that the recitation of the regalia to children was no longer permitted. And she remembered that the Barrani had tried to use the regalia as a method of empowering the race by altering children they had been willing to use as experimental subjects.

  “Kaylin,” Severn said before Teela could answer. “The carriages are ready.” He caught her elbow and tugged it, and she followed, stumbling as she turned to look over her shoulder at Teela’s back.

  * * *

  Teela didn’t join them in the carriage for the last leg of the journey. The ride was silent, but the silence wasn’t awkward in the same way, and it was a silence that Kaylin therefore felt no need to fill. It descended as she considered Teela as a child—itself an almost impossible task, given Kaylin had never seen a Barrani child and couldn’t imagine one—in a carriage like this one, heading toward the West March to listen to a story that might literally remake her. Nightshade hadn’t given Kaylin any details, but his tone and his expression had made clear that the cost—to those children—had been high.

  But…Teela was Teela. She was a Lord of the High Court. She had her followers, her guards, and a position in the Court that implied she was respected, even if she had chosen to go slumming with the Hawks. No one expected her stay in the Halls of Law to last, or at least, no Barrani did. Maybe not all of the children had been harmed or transformed?

  Kaylin wondered if Teela was contemplating memories of a time when she had been helpless, when her life had been
under someone else’s control and her fate had been a matter of whim.

  It was unsettling.

  No, Kaylin thought, fidgeting, it was worse. Teela was not a person to whom anyone could offer comfort. Not if they wanted to live.

  “Lord Kaylin.”

  She looked up at Andellen.

  “Lord An’Teela will be, in mortal terms, all right. This is not the first time that she’s traveled to the West March; it is unlikely to be the last. If past experiences trouble her, they do not stop her. When she came to the West March as a Lord of the Court, she wore the blood of the green, as you wear it now. She arrived in a position of strength, and she fulfilled the duties demanded of her.”

  “Was there any other option?”

  “Yes. She could have failed.”

  Kaylin fell silent.

  Severn took up the slack. “What would the consequences of failure have been, in that case?”

  Andellen now fixed his glance out the window, which seemed to be a very common Barrani pose while riding in a carriage, at least given the trip so far. “Understand,” he began, which couldn’t be considered promising, “that the punishment is not meted out by the High Court. It is not a consequence of failure to obey a Lord’s command. If there is a mechanism by which the harmoniste is chosen, it is one beyond the comprehension of the majority of the High Court. Given the prestige and the perceived power granted to those who assume this role, believe that attempts at discovery have been made throughout our history.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Severn replied. If human eye color changed, his would be analogous to Barrani-blue at the moment.

  “No. I was never chosen. My experience is therefore based on very limited observation and hearsay.”

  “Understood.”

  “The task set the harmoniste varies in difficulty and complexity.”

  Kaylin lifted a hand; Severn glanced at her. Andellen, however, continued to stare at what passed for road in the moonlight. “How can it vary? The regalia is supposed to be a true story, in the sense that it involves True Words. It is, or can be, transformative.”

  Andellen nodded. “That much is correct. The regalia, however, is not a single story. I believe, if you ask, my Lord will tell you that the recitation involves stories, a plurality of stories.”