She bowed to the Hallionne and spoke in a singsong voice. It was similar in texture to the song she had sung to awaken him, but lighter and more sorrowful.
“It is a song of leave-taking,” the Hallionne told Kaylin. The Consort nodded. “There are three, but of the triad, this is the most gentle.” He frowned. “That is the word?”
It was an Elantran word. “Yes, I think so.”
He smiled. “The Hallionne will wake as you approach; they are waking now.”
A whisper went around the clearing at this bit of news.
“You are welcome to return, Lord Kaylin, should you require refuge.”
“I don’t, but I require Lord Nightshade and Lord Andellen.”
“I have taken the liberty of sending them both to the next station; they will be there when you arrive.”
Kaylin blinked. Teela caught her arm and dragged her toward their carriage before she could ask the Hallionne the question that immediately sprang to mind in the wake of his statement.
The Hallionne laughed. “If you cannot stomach even a small walk between my home and this river, you would never survive the long walk. It is not to be undertaken lightly, nor is it to be undertaken at your behest; the Hallionne decide.”
* * *
“Honestly, kitling, you might as well shout every stray thought that enters your head.”
“He wasn’t angry.”
“He wasn’t, no.”
“I don’t care if the Lords of the Court were annoyed.”
“No—and you should. The Hallionne’s replies made you look frivolous and ignorant.”
Kaylin shrugged. “I’m not frivolous. I am ignorant, at least when it comes to the customs of the Hallionne. No one thought to inform me, and this is not covered in racial-
integration class, so please, don’t start.”
“Speaking of not starting,” Teela replied in Elantran.
“Who attacked Nightshade?”
“It may come as a surprise to you, but I wasn’t there.”
“But you—”
“I understand all the reasons why someone would attack him. Or why they’d be suspicious; it’s bloody suspicious. Nightshade, Outcaste, is granted the crown of the Teller from his fief? In his Castle?” Teela snorted. “It’s almost too much to be believed.”
“The Hallionne believes it.”
“Clearly. And frankly, that’s good enough for me, but only barely. I’ve never liked Nightshade; in his youth, he was feckless and self-indulgent.”
Kaylin’s brows rose.
“What?”
“I’ve never met a Barrani, except maybe the Consort, who couldn’t be called self-indulgent. I’m wondering if you’re even using the word in the right way.”
Severn very pointedly looked out the window, which framed the passing landscape, most of it thick tree cover. The sun was out; it was definitively morning. But the shadows in the forest were so dark it was impossible to tell what the sky really looked like. There was only barely a road here; even the Barrani carriages weren’t up to the task of making the ride smooth.
“Do you know why Nightshade was made Outcaste?”
“No. None of us know. Have you asked the Consort?” Teela smacked her forehead. “Never mind. It’s you; of course you’ve asked.”
“She didn’t know, either. Or she said she didn’t.”
Teela joined Severn in pointedly staring out the window. Except for the small dragon, who seemed to be snoring, it was pretty quiet for the morning hours of the journey.
* * *
In the afternoon, the caravan came to a halt in what looked, to Kaylin’s admittedly inexperienced eye, like a patch of dense forest. Kaylin thought to stay apart from the others. Sadly, the small dragon apparently had ideas of his own in this regard. He flew off her shoulder while she was trying to scare bugs away from her lunch, and headed straight for the Consort. Kaylin cringed.
The small dragon had a kind of lazy flight pattern that made him appear slow; he wasn’t. Kaylin ran through three small groups of Barrani eating lunch before she’d almost caught up with him, and she only managed that because the small dragon had stopped a foot away from the Consort’s face. If he breathed small chaos clouds, she was going to strangle him. Or worse. He turned his head and squawked at Kaylin as she ran up and shoved an arm between his body and the Consort.
The Consort said, “I am not concerned, Lord Kaylin. I am surprised, and possibly flattered, by his interest.”
“He probably wants to steal your food.”
“He is welcome to it. I find I have little appetite at the moment.”
Kaylin hesitated briefly and then sat a yard away from the Consort; the Consort had a log, but she could make a dirt heap look vaguely thronelike just by sitting on it. “Lord Evarrim mentioned this morning that Lord Severn once served the Wolves.”
“You know I can’t talk about that, right?”
“You frequently speak of things that would be considered unwise. You are careful when discussing Lord Severn?”
“And Teela, if that helps.”
“And An’Teela, yes.” She leaned toward Kaylin, lowering her voice. “I know that Lord Severn values you. He does not value his position at Court, and I have little influence over him.”
Thinking about Severn, Kaylin drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin on their tops. “Nobody really does. I mean, he follows orders, but he knows which orders are mandatory and which are discretionary. Outside of that, no one tells him what to do.”
“I believe you could.”
“Why? What is it you want me to ask him?”
“I want him to abandon his hunt.”
Kaylin was silent for a long moment. The small dragon took the opportunity to return to her shoulders. “Why?” she asked, stalling for time.
“The Hallionne will wake,” the Consort replied. “Hallionne Kariastos is concerned.”
“About Severn?”
The Consort’s brow rippled briefly. “You are inexperienced,” she finally said, “or feckless. You have not learned to hide your thoughts behind thoughts that are similar; there are no layers to them. Hallionne Kariastos hears what you do not say, but more, understands that it does not discomfit you. He finds your interaction with the Tower of Tiamaris fascinating and puzzling.
“Forgive me; I wander. He cannot as clearly perceive the thoughts of Iberrienne or Evarrim; neither chose to dare the confines of his hospitality. But he recognizes something about Severn. Severn, he says, has mastered the art of silence. He cannot tell what Lord Severn is thinking.”
“At all?”
“Hunger, exhaustion, apprehension, yes. But he is certain there is more.”
“…Because of me.”
The Consort’s smile was brief. “Because, as you say, of your own thoughts and the things you most fear. But it is more than that. He recognizes the weapon Lord Severn wields. He does not wish to see it wielded within the confines of the domain of the Hallionne. He offered warning against its use in the green. Although it would cause me no pain were Iberrienne lost here, I ask you again: ask Lord Severn to forgo his hunt.”
It was what Kaylin herself wanted.
“I can’t.” When the Consort didn’t reply, she continued. “Severn takes his duties seriously; it’s part of who he’s always been. I can’t ask—not without insulting him—unless the fate of the world is hanging in the balance. Literally. If he asked me not to pursue an investigation, I’d be angry.”
To her surprise, the Consort glanced away. When she looked back, her eyes were a paler shade of blue, which made no sense. “Apologies, Lord Kaylin. I felt it my duty to try.”
“You didn’t expect me to say yes.”
“I did not expect you to attempt to influence him in this regard, no. But to say yes? Many, many people do. It is a lie of convenience. Their various excuses for failing to carry out the action to which they’d agreed are also conveniences. I thought there was some chance you would accede—outwardly—an
d some that you would ask for more time to think about it.”
“So this was just a test?”
“No. I would have been disappointed had you agreed, but I did feel I had to ask. I will not, of course, order you to do so. The situation is complicated at the moment. Lord Iberrienne feels that Lord Nightshade was the Imperial informant. There is only one fate for those who betray their people.”
Kaylin said nothing. The silence was loud and uncomfortable.
The Consort glanced at the carriages as the Lords began to return to them. “Do you like this Dragon?”
Kaylin blinked. For someone graceful, stately, and never in an obvious hurry, she could turn and shift direction on a penny. “Bellusdeo? I do. I think you’d like her.”
“I think there’s some small chance of that, which is why I have no desire to meet her. Come,” she added, catching Kaylin’s arm. “We’re about to start moving. Ride with me.”
They started to walk toward the carriage when the small dragon suddenly stiffened. His wings rose in an instant; had they been sharp, they would have cut off her nose. His claws dug into the dress as he drew himself up to his full, and not very impressive, height.
“Lady,” Kaylin said, tensing as she turned toward the heavily wooded forest—or at least to her right, because heavily wooded pretty much described all angles of view in this space.
The Consort’s eyes widened; at the same time they veered toward indigo.
Something was growling in the distance, and those growls were accompanied by the breaking of branches and undergrowth.
* * *
The Barrani had been taking their rest in small groups of two or three; they rose as the growls increased in volume.
“Lady,” Kaylin said, drawing daggers, “are these Ferals?”
The Consort didn’t answer, not with words. She did, however, draw a sword. Teela joined them, and Severn—making only slightly more noise—was a few yards behind. “An’Teela,” the Consort said.
Teela had also drawn a sword. For some reason, the Consort and Lord Teela made swords look as if they were the appropriate weapons of choice for women in long dresses.
Kaylin felt her daggers were out of place at Court, but they were the weapons she knew best, and from the sounds of the growling—and as it approached, it resolved itself into many voices, not one—she’d need them.
When the first tree fell, she flinched; the daggers felt extraordinarily small and flimsy. Severn’s weapon chain was out, and he’d already started to wind it up; the Consort watched him—him, not the forest—with a fascination that verged on polite horror. When the second tree fell—and it sounded as if the tree had been struck by lightning—she once again turned to face forest.
“Kitling—”
“I don’t get it,” Kaylin said as Elantran fell out of her mouth. “We’re not in the City. There shouldn’t be Ferals.”
“If it makes you feel better,” Teela replied in her familiar street drawl, “these aren’t Ferals. Ferals don’t take trees down because the trees are in their way.”
“But they’re—”
“Yes. They’re Shadows. And we’re not far out of range of the next Hallionne; they shouldn’t be here. Consort—”
“Hallionne Kariastos said nothing about the Hallionne Bertolle. It must still be standing—”
The third tree that fell caused their small group to break up instantly, leaping to either the right or the left, because the trunk toppled into the encampment. Horses screamed. Barrani voices rose in sharp command, not panic.
The panic occurred some five seconds later, as the creatures who had knocked the tree down now converged on the closest Barrani present: the Consort.
* * *
Severn moved. His chains were spinning in their vertical circle two feet from the Consort and her readied sword as the first of the creatures hit.
Teela was right. These weren’t Ferals. They were almost as tall as the damn horses, but distinctly less pleasant. They had what appeared to be fur by the way it caught light—but the light was wrong, and the fur rippled in a way that suggested something other than skin. They didn’t have hooves; they had claws at the end of padded, multiple-toed feet. Six of them, at best guess. They had tails.
Their damn tails were barbed. They had one set of jaws—at least at the moment—but when the first beast really opened its mouth, it seemed to go on forever, and there were at least two rows of teeth in both the upper and lower jaws. The first of the creatures crashed into the spinning blade-barrier and lost parts of that impressive jaw. It shed a lot of blood.
Unfortunately, momentum carried the rest of its body straight into Severn.
The Consort moved before he crashed into her. Teela was already swinging her sword; she wasn’t flailing. Something headless was.
Kaylin counted four remaining creatures. She backed away as quickly as she could; her retreat was made hazardous by the appearance of a new, giant log in a very inconvenient place. She stumbled as her feet hit it, and failed to find her footing; the small dragon leapt off her shoulders as she fell awkwardly to her knees. She looked up in panic and saw that he’d flown, claws extended, into the face of the nearest creature—the one, in fact, who was heading toward her. He was more cautious than the front-runner of his pack had been; clearly their pack mate’s loss of half a face meant something to these beasts.
A volley of arrows flew past her head just before she rose. Since they more or less hit the creature who was almost in her face, she tried to ignore the probability of friendly fire. The creature rumbled. It had a voice that was like a dragon’s in timbre, but not in volume—thank god.
“Get out of my way,” it said to the small dragon. It was speaking bloody Elantran.
The dragon squawked, and as the creature attempted to eat it, she saw the characteristic enlargement of chest that meant dragon breathing, writ small. A small cloud of smoke left his translucent jaws and he darted toward the ground as the jaws snapped air a second time. They closed over the cloud the small dragon had exhaled.
She’d had no idea what the cloud could do; she knew what it looked like: gray, opalescent, Shadowstorm writ small. Now, for the first time, she would know.
The small dragon came flying back to her, but it didn’t land on her shoulders; it flew above her head in tight circles, making very strange noises.
The creature, on the other hand, began to stagger. Kaylin was more careful in her retreat this time, using the high side of the rounded log as a guide; she watched as the creature began to writhe, opening and closing his great jaws as if he were trying to disgorge what he’d accidentally swallowed. He snapped at air, clawed at ground, and finally rose on hind legs—the middle and back pair—and attempted to claw out his own throat. Literally. Blood followed from the rents in flesh made by his paws.
Beyond him, another creature emerged to step cautiously into the gap.
Arrows continued to fly as Teela and the Consort appeared from around the fallen tree; Teela was bleeding. The Consort was not, although her pale dress was bloodied. Severn was limping slightly; he carried the bladed ends of the chain in each hand, but he didn’t set it spinning again. One of the blades was also dark with something that looked almost like blood—it was wet and slick, but it definitely wasn’t his.
There were two other Barrani Lords who had made it this far who joined the Consort, blades drawn; there were four Barrani Lords who were now attacking one of the beasts in concert. That, she thought, was a dance that was so perfectly harmonized the four might have been sharing one mind. Given how Barrani felt about that, she highly doubted it.
The carriages were in disarray; half the horses had panicked, but not all. She saw that some of the Lords had gathered them and were keeping them calm. When she looked back at the four Barrani Lords, she counted three.
“Kaylin!”
She leapt over the log as the creature that had swallowed the small dragon’s breath teetered and fell, still jerking spasmodically. The log coll
apsed when he hit it, and then the wood began to…melt.
Kaylin called out a warning to the fighting Barrani on all sides; she wasn’t certain if the log’s change of state was due to the small dragon’s breath or inherent in the creature itself. She had an answer a few minutes later, when the three Barrani brought down the creature they’d been fighting. It was inherent in the creatures.
The downed beast didn’t hit the log; it fell across the road to much shouting and general panic. Given its jaws and claws and the utter silence of the Barrani who’d faced them, this probably meant they knew a lot more about these creatures than Kaylin did. Evarrim appeared, a Barrani Lord at his side, and they began a complicated verbal dance that Kaylin’s skin immediately identified as magic—and at that, significant magic.
They levitated the carcass of the creature between them; when it was above the ground, Kaylin could see that the ground had shifted into familiar patterns of chaos. It was no longer the color of combined dirt and undergrowth; it no longer had their textures, either. Instead, it was the color of black opals, but repellant, and it appeared to be, in places, liquid and chitin.
She’d seen similar patches of ground in the fief of Tiamaris, and she knew it was dangerous. But so, apparently, did Evarrim and his companion; the body burst into flames, and the fire was hot. She watched carefully. As the fires continued to burn, and the creature continued to float above the forested path, she saw two distinct signatures emerge from their combined efforts.
She recognized one of them immediately. It had been attached to the Arcane bomb that had destroyed her home.
Chapter 21
The other bodies were disposed of in a similar fashion; the beast felled by the small dragon was approached last. Evarrim began to gesture, and Kaylin now recognized the fluid, defined movements of his magical focus. Sanabalis would have been less than impressed; he didn’t approve of foci. He considered them crutches, a way of tricking yourself into attaining the correct state of mind to channel magical power and shape it.
The marks on her arms, legs, and back made clear, however, that Evarrim’s magic was not minor, and even Sanabalis accepted gestures and words in spells that took time to bring to fruition. Evarrim’s signature was bolder than Iberrienne’s. In and of itself, this didn’t imply that Evarrim’s power was stronger, but the two Barrani Lords had been working in concert for almost two hours, and it was Iberrienne who appeared to be flagging.
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