Then again, he would probably have accepted a dagger with grace. He stepped aside to allow his mother free passage, and when she had gone, he met Kaylin's eyes. His were green again. Approval, it appeared, didn't last long.
"It seems," he said, looking down the path at his mother's back, "that you have impressed the Lady of the High Court."
"I'm not sure impressed is the right word."
"You are not familiar with the Consort," was the wry reply. "It is the correct word. She is seldom impressed enough that she seeks private audience with one newly come to the Court."
"I'm not exactly—"
"As Lord," he added quietly.
"Oh." She let the word hang there, and found other ones to add to it. "Andellen—"
"Yes. I had words with the Lord of the High Court. He was prepared to execute your guards for breaking his law. But the circumstances were such that older law had precedence—should he choose to grant it—and he so chose. He was interested in the outcome, and little interests him now."
"He didn't expect to see me."
The Lord of the West March frowned. "I would not say that, kyuthe. I would almost say the inverse. He did expect to see you, and he decided that it would go ill if your guards were disposed of. It is seldom that he deigns to show mercy, and when he does, it is never without cause. Or price. Come. I will lead you to the West Wing. Lord Evarrim is not pleased with the outcome, but not even he was bold enough to argue against it. You are of the High Court now, whether you wish it or no."
"What does that grant me?"
"Freedom of the High Halls."
"I already had that."
The unfettered smile was beautiful; it was a gift. It made her feel awkward. "You did. But now you may walk those halls without escort."
"I have to have the escort, by your father's word."
"The escort is now decorative," the Lord of the West March replied. "I understand what I did not understand when you first arrived with Lord Andellen."
This time, she understood that the title granted was not a title granted by many. "What's that?"
"He was your anchor, in the High Halls. Samaran could not be what Andellen could, should the need arise. Now, Kaylin, there is no such need."
But that wasn't the whole of it. She didn't say as much.
"I will not ask you what you saw. Lord Evarrim was bold, and assumed much ignorance on your part."
She nodded.
"But I will ask you, instead, how you knew not to answer."
She saw the edge in the Lord of the West March. "Can we walk?" She countered. "I'm stiff, and if I don't start moving soon, I won't be able to."
"Ah. Very well." He lifted his hands, and hanging by the straps were her shoes. She grimaced; she didn't remember when she'd taken them off. But she accepted them and put them on—it was that or let him carry them, and even she wasn't that stupid. They began to walk in the gardens, and birdsong replaced bardsong; the screeching and the squawking was almost a comfort. Looking up, she saw passing flashes of color. It was said that Hawks had no sense of color; she wondered.
They left the garden by a door that Kaylin didn't remember seeing. It had the advantage of not passing by the throne or the rest of the High Court. It led instead to halls that felt—rather than looked—vaguely familiar.
She looked up at him, and caught him studying her expression. "It is," he said, "the way to the wing I claim."
She nodded.
"And you are aware of it now."
Nodded again.
"You have exceeded my expectations here. You have confounded the expectations of many. Do you understand that you have made yourself a threat?"
She frowned.
"I thought not. You do much without thinking of consequences."
"I kind of like living," she said sourly. "And it was do or die."
"True enough. But you were tolerated in spite of the mark you bear because you were mortal. What you have made of yourself now, not even the Lord of the High Court can say."
"And his younger son?"
The Lord of the West March smiled; it was a cold smile. "I see the hand of Nightshade in this. He has always had a long reach."
"He didn't—"
"No. He did not tell you what to do. He couldn't. And if I do not claim any expertise in the ways of mortals, even I am aware that you would be difficult to direct. Lord Andellen was here. And I believe he approves. But you are now a danger."
"I'm still mortal."
"Are you, Kaylin?" He paused. Stone girded them on either side, featureless except for the Barrani runes that bounded it by floor and curved ceiling. "No mortal has passed that test."
She shrugged, uneasy. "No mortal has taken it before."
"It is held as common knowledge that those without power cannot pass it. And you have. Therefore you are not without power as we understand it—and you are Nightshade's. You bear his mark." He was waiting for her to say something. She had no idea what.
"Severn passed it."
The Lord of the West March raised a brow. His nod was a concession. "We do not fully understand how, or why, he was allowed to accompany you. We understand—from the little that Lord Andellen was willing to say—that it was meant to be your test."
"Why?"
"You saw the rune," he replied. "And your companion did not."
Fair enough. She lifted a hand and touched the wall, appreciating the texture of smooth, cold stone; it dampened the pain in her left arm. "Do you think Lord Nightshade intended for me to go to the tower?"
"That is my belief, yes."
"Why?"
His smile was thin. "You are his," he replied. His smile deepened as her expression soured. "There is another concern," he told her as she lowered her arm. "You are a Lord of the High Court by rite of passage, but you have not undertaken any oaths of fealty to the Lord of the High Court."
She said quietly, "I've sworn the only oath of fealty I can."
"To the Lord of Hawks?"
She nodded.
"The Lord of Hawks has no purchase within the High Halls, and no control of what passes within them. Not even the Emperor himself would be so bold, or so unwise. An oath sworn here is of this place. Or could be."
"But I'm not," she replied. "And I don't intend to stay here. I'm not Barrani."
"As you say. But you will remain two days at least, unless you wish to surrender your title—and possibly your life."
That, as usual, caught her attention, not that it had been wandering much. "Say that last part again."
"The High Court will gather in strength to witness leoswuld and the passing of the Lord. It is a Barrani rite, and there are few who have witnessed more than one such gifting." He paused and added, "Lord Evarrim is one."
"He doesn't want me there."
"Perceptive." It was a dismissive set of syllables, given in exactly the tone she might have used had one of the foundlings dumped a bucket of water over their own head and then said, "I'm wet."
She said, "I don't understand the Arcanum's role in this."
"The Arcanum? Inasmuch as it exists within the High Halls—and Lord Evarrim is not the only Barrani Lord to work within the Arcanist league—it wants nothing."
She frowned.
"He is Barrani first, Arcanist second. What power he derives from his association with the Arcanum is used to further his goals as Lord. No more and no less. They do not use him."
She was silent for a long moment. "But the Arcanum is somehow involved."
He glanced at her, and away. She could not see the color of his eyes. "Why do you say that, Kaylin?"
"There was a backlash in the Arcanum."
"And that could not have been caused by their actions throughout the rest of the city? It is the Festival season, and I believe the streets of Elantra are heavily populated."
She frowned. "No."
"No?"
"No, as in you know what the Arcanum was doing."
"Do I?"
"Yes."
/>
"And how are you so certain of this?"
Because you're not looking at me, she thought. And because you're asking the wrong damn questions. She stopped walking, and after a step or two, he paused, as well. "Do the games here ever end?"
"Almost never, Kaylin."
"You want something from me," she told him quietly, "and I don't play games. Tell me what you know."
"I know very little. And it is not our custom to speak of certainty when so little exists."
"It's your custom to lie. I think it's a recreational pastime."
He was quiet. "You bear Lord Nightshade's mark," he said at last, his voice neutral. "And for that reason, Kaylin, no one will answer your questions."
"Not even you?"
"Not even I." He began to walk again; he had not turned to face her. She followed. Thinking. The backlash had occurred four hours before the Lord of the West March had risen.
The Lord of the West March himself had said that his brother, the Lord of the Green, was responsible for his coma, and having touched him—having barely touched him—Kaylin couldn't bring herself to doubt him.
So what had happened four hours earlier?
What had—
"Lord of the West March."
He stopped again, and again, she had a great view of his back. Of his Court robes, his perfect shoulders, his utterly straight spine, his long, dark hair.
"When exactly did you say you encountered the Lord of the Green? When did he try to—take your name?"
"I didn't."
Four hours, she thought.
Five minutes after the second noon hour. She allowed him to lead her to the West Wing, although she no longer had any intention of sleeping.
Severn was waiting for her in the room with the multihued glass walls. Where waiting, in this case, meant he was once again standing so close to them it should have been impossible to focus. He heard her enter the room but took a few minutes to react.
Those few minutes were occupied by Andellen and Samaran; they bowed in a truly annoying way as she entered. The Lord of the West March failed to notice, and they tendered him their respects in a similar fashion.
Kaylin looked down at her dress.
"I don't suppose," she began.
But the Lord of the West March nodded to the bed; laid out upon it was a whole lot of silk that looked vaguely as if it had been touched by seamstresses once or twice in its existence. It was a paler green than the remnants of the dress she now wore.
"Bath?" she asked.
He nodded again. "If you wish an attendant, I will summon one. If you would rather trust your guards—"
"I can bathe myself," she said curtly. And then thought the better of it. "Do you know where Teela—Lord Anteela—is?"
"If that is your quaint way of asking me to summon her, I will do so." His eyes were green, and the corner of his mouth moved up in something that resembled a smile. One offered at her expense.
Kaylin wasn't certain whether a bath was a tub—like the one she didn't own—or a lake with a small waterfall; the latter, in these halls, seemed more natural.
But if it were the latter, it was contained in what was a huge room—almost larger than the Aerie in the Halls of Law—with almost no floor. Unless you thought you could walk on water, and Kaylin's arrogance, while noted by many, had not yet reached that height.
The Lord of the West March left her at the door, indicating towels—yards of cloth, really—before he took his leave.
She looked at them, and looked longingly at the water. The truth—which she'd momentarily forgotten—was that she couldn't exactly bathe herself because she couldn't get out of the dress. And asking Severn to unbutton her before she traipsed down the open corridors hadn't occurred to her. Even if it had, she wouldn't have asked.
She took off her shoes and put her toes in the water; it was warm. Hot, really. But clear and still, regardless. If there had been fish here, she would have given up and lived with the dirt. Whole winters in her childhood had been spent without much in the way of cleanliness; the water was either cold or ice, and warmth was in short supply.
But Teela entered the room, and changed its character. What had seemed peaceful and solitary shrunk at the force of her presence. She wasn't exactly angry; she wasn't exactly happy In this inexact state, she was most often to be found in a tavern, fleecing the drunks before she became one.
The lack of gaming tables and a bar made themselves instantly felt. But the look she turned on Kaylin was one of familiar exasperation. "Look, Kaylin," she said in sharp Elantran, "I'm not a servant here."
"I know. You're a Lord of the High Court."
"Which part of Lord means 'helps another Lord bathe'?"
"You don't have to help me bathe." Kaylin turned her back almost helplessly. "You just have to cut me out of this thing. I can do the rest myself."
Teela snorted. "The Lord of the West March is an idiot," she muttered under her breath as the buttons began to open beneath her slender fingers. "I don't suppose he thought to tell you that anyone else would be insulted for—oh—ever?"
"Not really. Maybe it escaped his attention."
Teela snorted again. But she undid the rest of the buttons quickly; Kaylin had the distinct feeling Teela was biting back disgust.
As she eased her shoulders and arms free of the dress, she gained enough freedom that she could turn around. Disgust didn't quite do Teela's expression justice. But more than disgust was folded into the familiar frown: This was how Teela worried. She looked up from the dress—she was still holding a small part of it between carefully pinched fingers—and studied Kaylin.
Undressed, the marks on her arms were exposed. "Do they look different?" Kaylin asked, trying to sound casual.
Teela stared at them for a moment, her brows bending as she concentrated. Barrani had good memories; they weren't Records, but they were the next best thing. If you didn't happen to have a Dragon with you. "No," she said at last. "They're the same."
"Not darker?"
"I think you're paler."
"Oh." Kaylin stepped free of the skirts, and gave the dress a halfhearted kick; the silk was soft against her wet, and bare, feet. "Can we get rid of it?"
"I'd suggest burning, myself. But not," she added, "in this room. Start a fire here—if you could—and you'd have half the Hall in an uproar."
"Why?"
"This is the Water Room," Teela replied. "Or hadn't you noticed?"
Everything Kaylin knew about sarcasm, she'd learned from the Hawks, and Teela foremost among them. She bowed to her better, and bit back a reply.
Teela rolled her eyes and tossed her head to one side; black followed in a perfect sheen, reflecting some of the light at the heart of the pool. "I could use a bath," the Barrani Hawk said. She still spoke Elantran. "I'll join you, if you don't mind. That way, when you decide to fall asleep and drown, I can pull you out before anyone notices." It was her way of offering comfort.
Kaylin, almost born a beggar, did what came naturally: She took what was offered. She removed the rest of her undergarments, peeling them from her skin; she was sweaty and sticky. These, on the other hand, she'd keep, mend and wash. She'd paid for them, after all.
She slid into the water and found, to her surprise, that it was deep. She was up to her neck before her feet hit bottom, and she drifted, slightly buoyant, in the heat.
"Come to the edge," Teela told her. Being Barrani, and being competent, she had undressed in about as much time as it had taken Kaylin to remove a few scraps of cloth, and her dress was the finer of the two.
Kaylin swam to the edge, until she could almost touch Teela.
"There are ledges here. Sit."
She sat slowly; the water still rose to her neck, but she had more control of where she was drifting, and held the edge of what seemed a seat in her hands.
"Soap?"
Teela shook her head. "You won't need it here. Just… sit. And shut up," she added as an afterthought.
"Shut
up about what?"
"Everything."
Kaylin was quiet for as long as she was capable of being quiet. Actually, given the comfort of the water's current, it was longer than she'd intended. When she turned her head to look at Teela, Teela's eyes were closed. She almost seemed to be sleeping.
"Teela—"
"Which part of shut up didn't you understand?"
"I just have a couple of questions—"
"You always have a couple of questions. And then a couple more. And then another dozen."
It was more or less true. "Don't you?"
"No."
"I mean, we're in the High Halls—"
"I had noticed that, Kaylin."
"I mean, I'm in the High Halls. Doesn't that strike you as worthy of questions?"
"Not ones that should have answers, no."
"Is it the mark?"
"Is what the mark?"
"You don't want to answer questions here because I bear Nightshade's mark."
Teela reached out almost languidly, and Kaylin ended up with a faceful of water. She sputtered, and Teela waited until she'd finished. "Don't," she said in a voice that could have been Marcus's, "insult me."
"I just wondered," Kaylin began in a much quieter voice.
"The Hells you did. The reason I don't want to answer your questions—aside from the one I just gave—is that you don't understand the High Court, and you have a big mouth."
"But if I don't understand, won't I just make more mistakes?"
"I don't think that's possible," Teela replied. But she shifted, lowering herself into the water. "But it might be," she said, grudging every word.
"You don't think Nightshade can control me through the mark."
"No. I thought he might be able to until you fought in the fiefs." She didn't mention the black Dragon whose plan had almost destroyed an empire, but then again, almost no one did. "Even then, it was a distinct possibility. But now? No, Kaylin. I'm not afraid of that."
"Then—"
Teela, continuing her Leontine impression, growled softly. And said something that even Marcus seldom said. "You're here because of me," she told the younger Hawk. "And it was made very, very clear that you were to come back in more or less the same condition you left in.
"By Marcus. He wasn't joking."
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