She leaned against the smooth, smooth trunk and picked up a leaf. It turned to dust in her hands, but it was a golden dust that made her skin shimmer.
A shadow crossed her hand as she stared at it, and she looked up. A Barrani man stood before her, his eyes the green of the leaves before they turned.
“You’re the Lord of the West March?” she asked quietly.
He nodded; he barely spared her a glance. She would have mumbled something about gratitude, but his gaze had gone up to the leaves above, and he was staring in wonder. She almost hated to break the trance. She understood what he saw.
But she understood, as well, that they could not remain here forever. So she cleared her throat.
He looked down at her then. He was tall, even for a Barrani. “You are Kaylin Neya,” he said.
“That’s what I’m called.”
“Ah. It is a title?”
“A name.”
His brow rose. His eyes narrowed. “It is not a name,” he said quietly. “There is only one name here.”
“Yours, I take it.”
But he stared at the tree. “And yet…I read it, there, in the leaves. You are a bird of prey. Whose jesses do you wear?”
“The Hawklord’s,” she replied, rising.
He bent and lifted a golden leaf. In his hands, it didn’t crumble. Then again, ice probably wouldn’t melt in his mouth, either.
He looked at her face. Frowned. Reaching out, he touched her cheek.
Her right cheek. “Nightshade,” he said.
“It’s a plant.”
His smile was odd. “It is, as you say, a plant. I do not believe it grows here.”
“No.”
“And yet he sent you.”
“No!”
“No?”
“I came.”
“Bearing that mark, you dared the Court?”
She frowned. “How do you know where you are? You aren’t—”
“I am aware.” For just three words his voice held the ice of impassable distance; he was a man accustomed to power, or at least the respect best called fear. Then again, he was a Barrani High Lord. Not all of them could be as uncharming as Lord Evarrim.
“It was Teela.”
“Teela?”
“Anteela.”
“Ah. My cousin. The rebel.”
“That’s not what we call her.”
“We?” His frown was more subtle this time, but then again, this time she wasn’t calling his knowledge into question. “You—you’re a Hawk?” He spoke the words slowly, as if only aware that she’d spoken them.
“A Ground Hawk.”
He looked at the leaves that had scattered, touching the heights of other trees. “That is not all you are,” he said at last. “But you are not lying.”
She shrugged. “It’s not one of my skills.”
“Even were it, you would not be able to use it here.”
“Look,” she said, her hands sliding up to her hips and perching there, “if I understand the situation correctly, you’re dying. You’re going to stop me?”
His smile was more perturbing than his frown. “I was lost,” he said. “You are human.”
“More or less.”
“This is not the place for you.”
No kidding.
“What did you do here?”
“I…planted something. It grew.”
His eyes were a shade of green. Just green. “Anteela must trust you. She has grown addled, and in so short a time.” But he held out a hand. “It must be part of the nature of mortality.”
“What must?”
“To be worthy of trust. You only have to manage it for a brief span of years. If you live forever, the task is more difficult.” He held out a hand.
She stared at it.
“Do you know her name?”
“Do you?”
He laughed. “The Barrani do not trust each other.”
“Well, then, she hasn’t grown as stupid as you think. She doesn’t trust me that much, either.”
He shrugged. “I would not. You bear the mark of—”
“Yes, yes, I know. I don’t mean to rush you, but I think we have to leave.”
“Yes,” he said, gazing above her head. “Here, when night falls, there will be no dawn.”
“Good. How do we leave?”
He looked down again, one brow rising. “You came here without knowing how to return?”
She shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“I do not want to know what you consider a bad idea.”
She looked away. “Asking you your name.”
He touched her hand and she looked up.
“There are those among my kin who would die before they surrendered their name.”
“That…seems to be the choice.”
His eyes were still bright, and still green. He hadn’t grown any shorter, either. He released her hand and walked to the trunk of the tree that had grown from the tunic. Wordless, he touched it, and his lashes fell. “There is perhaps another way,” he said, his eyes closed. “But it would be poor gratitude for your daring.” His hands crept up the surface of smooth bark, and he tilted his face as they moved; gold leaves fell about him in a shower of warmth and color.
Hawk’s feathers.
When his eyes opened, they reflected gold. She had never seen a like color in the Barrani before. It was as if he were hollow, and the leaves themselves the only thing that filled him.
“You have given more than you know,” he said quietly, “and you may yet regret it. I will not say—or have it said—that an ignorant human is capable of going where a Barrani High Lord will not.
“What will you do with my name?”
“Wake you,” she whispered. And knew it for truth.
Had known it before she touched his still face in a room a world away.
He whispered a single word. Lirienne. His eyes did not leave her face, although the gold in them faded.
She hesitated.
“You are afraid.”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“Names have power.”
He laughed again. Leaves fell; breeze moved the branches high above them, changing the shape and texture of the shadows that dappled her feet. “You do not understand what a name is, Kaylin.”
“I know,” she whispered. And then, before she let hesitance rob her of all voice, she whispered another word.
The sky shattered.
She sat on a bed, her hands cupping the cheeks of a pale, beautiful face. Her own face was warm and wet. The room was dark beyond the fall of curtains; dark and lifeless. Where trees had stood, there were walls, and stone; there was marble along the floor, and the trickle of water beyond her shoulder.
And behind her, breath, stillness: Severn. His arm still locked around her waist, he whispered her name. Over and again, as if he had done nothing else since she had approached the Lord of the West March.
“I’m here,” she told him, her voice cracking.
Her name died into stillness.
She lifted her hands, or started to.
The Lord of the West March caught them in his own, moving so suddenly, so unexpectedly, she almost cried out.
His eyes snapped open, and unblinking, he stared at her face. Her face, which was so square and dark and imperfect.
Before she could move, he let go of one hand, reached out, and pushed her sleeve up, past her wrist. There, exposed for just a moment, were the marks of the Old Ones, black against white.
He let the sleeve fall. “You do not know who you are,” he told her quietly, and pushed her hands aside. The flowers that had been placed in his hands were now bruised, but their fragrance filled the room as he rose.
“Anteela,” he said.
Teela offered him a perfect bow. “Lord,” she replied.
“Where are my men?”
“They have been much occupied.”
His eyes passed over the room. If he noticed t
he body that lay across the floor, it didn’t seem to be worthy of comment.
“My father?”
“He holds his Council,” she replied. Her voice was like smooth steel. Her eyes were blue. “But I believe that he waits upon you.”
“Does he?”
She said nothing. Nothing at all.
“I will require my men,” he told her at last. His voice was colder, as well.
Kaylin withdrew; felt Severn’s chest against her back. She didn’t move away. Didn’t even want to. He was the only warmth in the room, and she felt like a moth must when drawn to the fire.
“You brought the mortal?”
“She is my kyuthe. She offered her aid, and I accepted it on your behalf. If I have displeased you, I will bear the burden of that displeasure.” She set the pike against the wall.
“I have not existed for so long that living is unpleasant to me,” he replied gravely. “But she is marked by the outcaste, and I do not feel that the Court is safe for her at this time. See her out.”
Teela bowed again.
“Kaylin Neya,” he said as Severn moved her toward Teela and the possibility of freedom, “do you know what the word kyuthe means?”
“It’s High Barrani,” Kaylin said. Which wasn’t exactly a lie.
He raised a brow, and looked at Teela. “How much have you explained?”
Teela did not reply.
He turned to Kaylin, and the hint of a smile touched his lips. It did not, however, touch his eyes. They had darkened. “You cannot lie to me,” he said softly. “Not there, and not here. My cousin has called you kyuthe.”
“Kaylin—” Teela began.
But the Lord of the West March raised an imperious hand, and Teela, raising her chin slightly, fell silent. The type of silence that precedes thunder.
“What you saw, you will not speak of, and live.”
Kaylin nodded; Severn tensed.
“But what you saw, you changed. I will not ask you how. It is not relevant. Kyuthe means, in Elantran, ‘blood of my blood.’” He waited, and when Kaylin’s confusion became obvious, he frowned. “I have spent much time in the West,” he said at last, “and little of it in the company of mortals. You cannot be kin, you are not Barrani. But Kaylin, what you planted was an offering, and nothing will unmake it.
“What Teela called you in haste, you are in truth—but you are mine. Kyuthe.” He was silent for a moment.
It was Teela who spoke, and heavily. “It means,” she said, speaking in Elantran, “that you are, by choice—by all that choice implies—my clan. Blood of my blood is not accurate, although it is close. You are the blood of my choice, the family I would choose, if choice was given.”
“It is more than that,” the Lord of the West March said. And he, too, spoke in Elantran. “It is a choice that you have made, Kaylin.”
“But I—”
“And among the Barrani, ignorance excuses nothing.” He stood then. Turning to the men that Teela had called hers, he said, “You will summon the Warden. Now.”
They nodded. And left.
“Ask your Lord,” he told Kaylin quietly. “He will not be pleased, but he may be able to explain it in a fashion that you will understand.”
Kaylin nodded.
Teela said, “He means Nightshade, not the Hawklord.” She turned to her cousin and added, “That was unwise.”
“They are yours. If you cannot control them, kill them.”
“It is not of them that I speak. There is magic in the air, the like of which I have not seen since—” She looked at Kaylin and fell silent.
The Lord of the West March nodded. “It will not help,” he added. “We will meet again, Kaylin Neya. But I have much to do now. Leave this building, and leave it in haste. Anteela will summon a—”
“We’ll walk,” Kaylin said quickly.
And the Barrani High Lord laughed. It was a sound that reminded her of the forest that lay at his heart.
“You do know my cousin,” he said.
“You drive like a maniac. What else was I supposed to say?”
Teela, her hand upon Kaylin’s arm, hurried her through halls that looked familiar. “Precisely nothing.”
“Severn, back me up here.”
“I prefer wisdom, myself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ll hurt him,” Teela snapped. “What did I tell you?”
“To—”
“To say nothing. What do you think nothing means?”
“I only said we’d walk—”
“He called you kyuthe. He called you kyuthe in front of witnesses.”
“Does it show?” She lifted a hand to her cheek in sudden panic.
“What do you mean, does it—oh. No, he did not mark you in any way. To do so would probably kill you.”
“So then it’s just a damn word, right? Who cares if he called me kyuthe? So did you.”
“I could not bring you here and call you anything less.”
“But he—”
“He’s the Lord of the West March, Kaylin!”
Kaylin frowned. “You don’t like him?”
“He’s a Barrani High Lord. What does ‘like’ have to do with anything?”
“But—but you brought me to save his life, didn’t you?”
Teela turned to Severn. “I’m having trouble remembering why I haven’t strangled her yet.”
Severn shrugged. “I have that problem myself some days. At the moment, though, the only betting pool in the office seems to be on the Sergeant.”
“Ha-ha.” Kaylin said with a distinct lack of cheer. And then, because she was a fiefling, “What odds?” He cuffed the top of her head.
The halls of stone and weapons were gone; the heights and the vast open spaces of the rest of the building opened up before them. Kaylin could breathe here. Very, very carefully.
She was so damn tired.
“Teela,” Severn said quietly.
Teela paused. Which meant that she slowed enough that Kaylin wasn’t tripping over her own feet in a futile attempt to keep up. The Barrani Hawk snorted, and grimacing, she swept Kaylin off her feet and picked up the pace again.
“I have your back,” Severn said quietly.
“You’d better.” Teela’s voice was almost a perfect imitation of a Leontine’s. “I don’t want to see either of you at Court again. I don’t want to see you in the High Halls. I do not want to see you in the company of any Barrani who doesn’t wear the Hawk. Kaylin, are you listening to me?”
“Severn is,” Kaylin murmured. She closed her eyes, but not on purpose; her lids were really heavy.
“Teela,” Severn said in the comfortable darkness, “why did you summon Kaylin? The Barrani are famed for their magic. Was there not a healer among them—”
“No,” Kaylin said without opening her eyes. “Not a single one.”
Teela’s arms stiffened. “How do you know this?”
Kaylin’s shrug was almost Barrani; it said nothing, and meant that there would be an awful lot of nothing.
“The Emperor—”
“Not there either. Let it go, Severn.”
“He has three healers.”
“They are seconded to the service of the Emperor,” Teela said coldly. “And in the interest of not starting a third Barrani-Dragon war, the less said about that the better.”
“They’re all human, though” Kaylin began. And then a thought occurred to her. “Third?”
“Kaylin, take history again, and this time, try to pay attention.”
She felt breeze and sunlight on her face, and made an effort to open her eyes. It was an utter failure.
“Who tried to kill him, Teela?” She asked.
“He’s a Barrani High Lord,” Teela replied coldly.
“That means,” Severn added, “anyone. Or everyone.”
“I think he’d make a decent Hawk.”
“Keep that opinion to yourself.” Teela’s voice softened. “You did well,” she t
old Kaylin. Her fingers brushed strands of hair from Kaylin’s face. “I will not ask you what you did, or how. I will not ask you what you saw. Because if you speak of it, he will kill you. I believe he would regret it, if that’s any consolation.”
“Not much.”
“Here. Corporal. You take her. You can even drive her back to the Halls of Law. But I warn you now—”
Severn said something that made Kaylin’s eyes snap open. “Lord Evarrim, incoming.”
The red Arcanist’s robes were like fire—moving, living fire. Kaylin thought it a wonder that a scorched path didn’t trail in his wake, and thought further that she understood—for just a second—what the shape of flame was. Sanabalis would be pleased.
Of course, picking up Evarrim and lighting a candle with him would probably get her killed.
His guards numbered four. She thought they were the same guards that had gathered around him earlier in the day, but she was tired enough that she could no longer differentiate; the Barrani looked, to her eyes, the same.
Except for Evarrim. He had donned a tiara, with a ruby the size of a child’s fist in its center. His hair lay beneath the fine circlet, and his lips were the color of his skin. It was very seldom that this much expression marred Barrani features.
And Kaylin would have been happier not to have witnessed it. The Barrani were famed for their intense dislike of weakness, and they often did away with the witnesses on general principle.
Teela took up position in front of Severn and Kaylin, and Severn—with reluctance—set Kaylin down. “Can you stand?” he whispered.
“Yes.” It was mostly true. She kind of listed, and had to hope no strong breeze would happen along to topple her.
“Anteela,” Lord Evarrim said as he approached. His expression had lost some of its stretched thinness. His eyes, however, were a very dark blue. Almost, but not quite black.
“Lord Evarrim,” Teela replied, her voice like a cold snap. One that killed plants overnight. “I have resumed my position at Court. Formality is requested.”
“Very well, Lord Anteela. I am fond of you. You must forgive my familiarity. I assure you, no insult was meant by it.”
“And I assure you, Lord Evarrim, that none has been taken. You are early for the Council session.”
The Chronicles of Elantra Bundle Page 48