"He doesn't, usually."
"He was deadly serious."
That was bad. "I'm not hurt," she offered.
Teela slammed her hand against the tiles that surrounded the pool. The sound echoed. "I cannot for the life of me figure out how it is that Marcus hasn't eaten you yet. Kitling," she added, using the Leontine word.
"I need to know something."
"All right, all right. I'm listening. I'm not happy, I'm looking forward to either being rended limb from limb or dropped off the height of the Hawklord's tower by the Hawk-lord himself—did I mention he also indicated you were to be watched?—but I am listening."
"When was the Lord of the West March discovered?"
Teela's expression didn't change at all. But the growling stopped. "Almost four hours before I brought you to my chambers."
"They were yours."
"Yes."
"You found him?"
"Kaylin—"
"I think it's important," Kaylin said, her voice low, her eyes unwavering.
"You've got the look of the Hawk about your face," Teela said with just a glint of brown in her eyes to lend warmth to the words. "And you're on a hunt. What have you seen, Kaylin?"
"I don't know yet. I don't understand all the pieces. I'd bet money—even mine—that I haven't seen them all." She waited.
"I discovered him, yes."
"You were following him."
"Yes, if you must know. I was following him."
"Why?"
"I can't answer that."
"Okay. So you had orders to follow him."
Teela didn't deny this. In some ways, this type of conversation reminded Kaylin of youth in the fiefs; Twenty Questions, a game played at night or when the rains were harsh and there was nowhere else to go. Severn had nicknamed her bulldog when she played because she resolutely refused to count the questions she asked. On the other hand, when she'd first started, she couldn't count them.
"And you can't tell me who gave those orders."
"They weren't orders."
"A suggestion in the High Court can be an order." Kaylin stopped. More thoughtfully, she added, "But not from someone less powerful or less senior than you."
Teela's nothing was like a nod. Except for the actual movement.
"The Lord of the West March told me about leoswuld," Kaylin said quietly.
"It is your right to know. You are a Lord of the Court."
"He told me before."
Teela said nothing.
"But I don't think what he said was entirely accurate."
"He is a Barrani Lord, Kaylin, and accuracy is always a matter of context."
"Okay. Context. The context there was a bit unnerving. Let's leave that for now. You found him."
"Yes."
"And the Lord of the Green?"
Teela tensed, her eyes shading to blue. That was almost enough of an answer, but Kaylin had to keep going. Had to. "Did you find the Lord of the Green?"
"Kaylin—"
"I've seen him, Teela," she said, voice lower and more urgent. "I've touched him." She paused, and then added, "I think Lord Evarrim was present when you found them. Or he was already there."
Teela said nothing, but it was the wrong type of nothing.
"Lord Evarrim tried to contain the Lord of the Green. That's what I think happened."
"Do you?"
"It caused a backlash in the Arcanum. Whatever power Evarrim called upon, it wasn't enough. But the funny thing about it? Backlashes like that only happen when the spell is already in place. Or so I've been told. Correct me when I'm wrong, hmm?"
"I should just drown you."
"Marcus would kill you."
"I don't have to leave the High Halls."
Kaylin frowned; she didn't feel entirely safe, but she didn't feel threatened. "Why did you leave them, anyway?" She got another faceful of water in reply.
"You're not an Arcanist, that I know of," she continued.
"No."
"And Lord Evarrim could only have known to place a spell of power in advance, if one of two things were true."
"And those?"
"Either he understood the difficulty the Lord of the Green was having," Kaylin said, choosing her words with deliberate care, "or the Lord of the West March summoned him. I don't like Evarrim… he doesn't much like me."
"Like is irrelevant."
"Not to me. Human, remember?"
Teela snorted. "I keep trying to forget, but you make it damn hard."
Kaylin laughed. It was short, but felt good. The ebb of the water, the warmth of it, was eating away at whole months' worth of tension. She wanted one of these. Of course, her whole apartment would fit in the corner if it were twice its size, but the idea was still appealing.
"I don't like Evarrim. I think I wanted to believe he was somehow responsible for—for the Lord of the Green."
"Why?" There was honest curiosity in the question. At times, Teela could be too Barrani.
"Because he's too fond of his own power, and maybe there was some chance he could increase it here."
"Not now, Kaylin. During any other Festival—but the High Festival? Leoswuld? There isn't a Barrani alive—not even the outcaste—who would play death games now."
Kaylin nodded. "So I had to give up on that theory. And given how often Barrani are actually truthful, it was damn hard. This is what I think happened. Lord Evarrim somehow managed to contain the Lord of the Green for long enough. Long enough to somehow save him, or stop him, or something. Long enough to save the Lord of the West March. But not—"
Teela lifted a hand; water didn't so much drip down her skin as slide.
"You must have helped," Kaylin said quietly.
Teela let her hand fall back. Her eyes were blue. Kaylin was flying in the right patch of sky, but there were some things that even a Hawk couldn't take down on its own.
"I'm not a mage," Teela said with care.
"No. But neither am I, and I'm wearing a medallion that says otherwise."
"Kaylin."
She nodded.
"Do you understand the purpose of the test?"
"Not really. It's a game. A gauntlet."
But Teela shook her head. "It's far, far more than that. To the Barrani. I don't know what you saw. I don't know what you faced. We do not speak of it."
"I can."
"You were wise enough not to speak with Evarrim."
"That's different. I wouldn't tell him the name of Mrs. Evan's dog."
Teela chuckled. But it didn't last. And her eyes didn't lose the shade of blue that always meant danger.
"It is a test of life," Teela told her quietly. "For the Barrani. It is a test of name."
"I don't understand."
"I didn't think you would. Mortals don't have names. And I would bet every cent I'm owed that you didn't either, before you passed the test." Her face was completely still, her expression neutral. She leaned back, and managed to make languor look stiff and unnatural. "If the High Halls can, it takes our name from us. If it can't, we retain our lives. No more and no less than that."
"That's not what it tried—"
"The High Halls were built by the Old Ones. They had no understanding of a life that existed outside of their abilities, their words, their magic. They could not have dreamed you. They could not have prepared for you. Whatever you faced was an echo of the old test, no more. It was a test of true life."
"I passed."
"Yes. You passed, and in a way that the Old Ones would understand. You kept your name. Except you didn't have one." She waited.
"I—I chose."
"Yes, Kaylin."
"But Severn—"
"As I said, no one understands Severn's role in this. I don't. I would have bet that he would be devoured by the Halls—he wasn't. I would have said that he would bear what you now bear, but he doesn't. I touched him. It's not there. He's a part of you in a way that no Barrani—not even the fieflord—could possibly understand. Maybe this is hu
man." She shrugged, and water eddied out from her, returning to lap against her skin.
"This isn't about Severn. It's about the Lord of the West March. He wants me to save his brother," Kaylin said quietly.
"I know." Teela closed her eyes. "It is not always the case that brothers are close. It is almost never the case when so much power is involved. But there is a bond between them that the desire for power cannot break. Ballads have been written about them," she added quietly.
"He took the test, didn't he?"
"The Lord of the West March?"
"The Lord of the Green."
"He did."
"And he passed?"
"He returned," Teela said quietly.
"That's not much of an answer."
"No, it isn't. We speak now of things that cannot be spoken of. I was young. I was born the year the Lord of the West March was born," she added quietly. "We are cousins, but distant kin. And I saw the affection between them—all did. It was tested, it was bound to be tested. But it held. It always has.
"He is not playing a game with you. He wants you to save his brother."
"Do you think that's possible?"
Teela didn't answer.
"Do you think the Lord of the Green passed his test?"
"He returned."
"That's not a damn answer!" She struggled to lower her voice. Frustration was its own volume. "Teela—if you had failed, what would have happened?"
"I would have lost my name. It would have remained in the High Halls."
"And you?"
"I'm Barrani. Without a name, I'm nothing."
"Was there ever any negotiation? Did you see—" She tried to finish the sentence, and failed; her tongue was suddenly stuck to the roof of her mouth.
"Negotiation?" Teela asked softly.
Kaylin nodded.
"Let me tell you some of our legend. Since we're not in a classroom, pay attention."
"Yes, Teela."
"The High Halls weren't built by Barrani, but the Barrani mastered them in a fashion, long before there were Empires. Long before the Dragons chose to master themselves. Have you never wondered why the fiefs exist at all?"
"All the time."
"And you know some of it now. You've seen Castle Nightshade, and it is not at the heart of the fiefs but at the edge. We believe that such places were built as watchtowers, in a fashion. There are older places still, and darker, but what the darkness builds is not… like the Castle, or the High Halls, and it exists mostly in the fiefs. We cannot destroy it by any means we now possess. We can guard against it, and this, we have done. But the darkness doesn't have structure or form in the way that the High Halls can."
Kaylin nodded.
"It's our belief that in the absence of the Old Ones, some ancient magic still lingers, and it's alive in a sense that only the Old Ones truly understand. Such places as the High Halls were meant to stand against that magic, to defend order or life as we know it. But to defend, we had to control, and to control, we had to accept." She paused. "And so we are tested, if we wish to take our place here.
"Those that fail do not return. The Lord of the Green returned."
But Kaylin felt the water's warmth at a distance as she heard the words. A great distance; there was a cold in her that was sharp and cutting, like cruelty, but without the intent.
"This was long ago?" Kaylin whispered.
"As I said, I was young. Too young to witness his return. But he was Lord before either I or his brother."
"If the High Halls held his name, what would that mean?"
"He'd be dead. And he isn't."
She shook her head. Thinking. "Did they—did the Old Ones—build here for a reason?"
Teela's eyes were an odd shade; blue and green and brown.
"Did you never wonder why Elantra was built upon this spot? Did you never wonder why the Dragons did not choose a place with less history?"
"No. Um, I failed history."
"This wasn't discussed in history."
"Then how would I know?"
Teela laughed. "I wondered, as a child. I asked once. The Lord of the High Court answered. The magic that we can bring to bear must be centered here, where the greatest danger lies. If we live in distance and ignorance, we may well lose the world if it wakes."
"And it's waking," Kaylin whispered, looking at her arms.
Teela said nothing.
"And you think that the High Halls are here because—"
The Barrani Hawk tilted her head to one side, looking for a moment like a wet cat. "I know it. If you ask me how, I'll drown you. I swear it."
"He was born to be the Lord of the High Court."
"Yes."
"Which means he was born to be the Lord of the High Halls."
"Yes."
"And the testing the Lord of the High Halls faces—"
"Yes, Kaylin," Teela said quietly. "Do not name our fear. Do not give it voice. There are shadows here, and they are strong."
"Stronger," Kaylin whispered.
"The leoswuld strengthens us," Teela replied. "But it weakens us, as well. The weakness lasts only as long as the rite."
"And if it lasted forever?"
Teela said nothing.
"I'll just wash my hair now."
"Good idea."
Chapter Seventeen
The Barrani had obviously never had to dally with the seamstress guild, which was probably a damn good thing—for the guild. The dress that had been laid out for Kaylin was not only graceful and elegant but also practical in ways the dress requisitioned by the soon-to-be-berserk Quartermaster could never have been. It was long, yes, and fine, and its sleeves ran the full length of her arms—or she wouldn't have worn it.
Severn made a comment, and she frowned. "What?"
"I asked you what you would have done instead."
"I'd have made you wear it and I'd have worn your damn armor."
She was comfortable in this dress. First, it had very few buttons, which meant, with some effort, she could put the damn thing on by herself. Second, she could bend and touch her toes without being crushed by the seams, boning and the shape of the cloth. Third, she could kick a man's face without ripping the hem of the skirt. Or skirts. They fell as if they were one piece, but they seemed to be layered and split to allow for something as practical as running. She could probably do splits in this dress. Not that she was about to try where anyone could see her. She had little enough dignity as it was.
She wished she'd thought of asking for the dress before she'd asked Andellen for a tour of the Halls.
"Okay. You're wearing a dress," Severn said. He'd actually taken the time to get something like sleep. That, and he'd shaved his face. Or had it shaved. Either way, he looked awake and alert.
She could tell, by the slight compression of his lips, that she probably looked like crap. Or what was left of crap after it had been kicked around and stepped on lots.
"I'll sleep," she told him. "Just—I have a couple of things I thought I'd check first—"
"You can do that in your dreams."
"Severn—"
He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her.
"I'm really not as tired as you look—I mean, as you think I look—"
His smile almost defined the word smug. "Before you continue to wedge your foot into your mouth—while it's still moving—Teela did mention that she had to fish your face out of the water when you fell asleep washing your hair."
"I wasn't sleeping—I was washing my face!"
"While choking a lot. She was fairly impressed."
"I bet."
"Your money."
"My money."
He laughed. "Kaylin, you can't hunt forever. You need to sleep, even if it's only for a few hours. Now is a good time."
She really wanted to argue more. Partly because it came naturally, and partly because in some perverse way she enjoyed it. But she was yawning, or rather, doing the world's worst job of stilling a yawn.
>
She did need the sleep. But she wasn't home.
You slept at the Castle, she told herself with some heated contempt.
But the Castle was different.
"Kaylin?"
"I don't want to sleep here," she finally told him.
"It's better than underwater." He looked at the guards. "Wait outside," he told them. "Watch the doors."
They both looked at him for a moment, but Samaran looked at Andellen before he nodded. Andellen took orders from Severn as if he'd spent a life perfecting the art.
Kaylin was too tired to work out why.
"They'll wake you if anything happens."
"And you?"
"I'll stay," he told her quietly. "I had some sleep. I'll watch."
"You'll watch?"
He nodded. "I'll watch over you."
Seven years dissolved as the words reached her. She managed to wobble her way over to the very large bed; it bounced a little—or she did, she couldn't be certain which.
She listened for the sound of ferals, in a room filled with colored light, half a city away. She listened for the wind. And she listened for the sound of Severn's breathing; it was distant.
She lifted her head, trying to focus on his face.
He was there. He saw her expression. His was an odd thing, half-broken, unadorned by sarcasm or neutrality or irony. He waited for her to speak.
She lifted a hand, instead.
And he came to her, quietly, his steps absorbed by the floor, by fading consciousness. He sat beside her awkwardly, but he sat. The sound of his breathing was close enough now that she could rest.
The Lord of the West March faced the Lord of the Green. They looked like twins, to her eye, but she was sleeping, and knew it. Which should have been more disturbing than it actually was. There was an unreality here that was much, much stronger than the lack of cohesion she had faced in the High Halls.
They greeted each other politely, raising their hands. As if in ritual. Or in public. As she watched them, she examined their clothing; they wore, of all things, armor—chain, something flexible and shimmering. No helms, but that was typical of the Barrani; they wouldn't want to hide their faces or encumber their vision.
They wore capes, though; one was brown and one was green. By this, she could tell them apart. As she studied them, as they stood facing each other, she could tell other things about them. The Lord of the West March was worried. It was an odd shade of blue that expressed that worry; it was lined with a green that was deep and dark, and she thought—gazing at him—that his eyes would always hold some depth of green when he regarded his brother.
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