Saw knowledge in them. And a glimmer of approval, a brown at the edge of blue; he was either angry or worried. For most Barrani, the difference wasn’t obvious.
She resumed her walk. And when her foot touched the last stone and passed over it, when she spoke the last word, all of the symbols began to glow green.
The Lord of the West March said, “So.”
“You could have done this.”
“Yes. I and perhaps one other.”
“Why did you—”
“It is a test, Kaylin Neya. And it is not a kind one. But if you have served with Barrani, you will understand that kindness is not in our nature. Stand there,” he added softly.
“Another test?”
“No. If you move, you might fall in.”
Which was suddenly a very, very bad idea. She could swim; all of the Hawks could. But she swam in water.
The thick liquid that wasn’t liquid parted slowly, as if four lines had crossed the circle and divided it. As if it were pie made of slugs.
The liquid peeled back in sections. It didn’t flow, and it didn’t drip. It didn’t really surge. It just…peeled away, as if it were viscous skin.
And rising from its widening center was a man. He was as tall as the Lord of the West March, and as perfect; he was as regal as the castelord. She couldn’t say afterward what he wore; it seemed to be moving light, something that mimicked clothing without descending to it. He surveyed them all, this man beneath the liquid, ringed by torches that seemed frail enough to gutter.
She almost forgot to stand still.
Andellen was by her side in an instant, his hands upon her arms, his chest at her back. There was no warmth in him, but there was strength. He held her up, when her knees suddenly started to fold.
When she whispered something that wasn’t even a word.
“Lord of the Green,” the Lord of the West March said, and then, in a voice that was resonant with fury and pain, “brother.”
But the Lord of the Green was staring at Kaylin, and Kaylin could not look away. His eyes were almost green, but where Barrani eyes were clear, his were murky; there was blue in them, but it, too, was murky. Yet he wasn’t blind.
He was also the only Barrani High Lord to look at her who did not first notice the mark that adorned her cheek.
Something about him felt familiar. Not his face, and certainly not his clothing; not his stance, not his movements—because he hadn’t. Moved. Something hovered on the edge of her awareness, and had she not been a Hawk, it might have eluded her.
She wished, when she caught it, that she was a Sword or a Wolf instead.
She turned to the Lord of the West March in something that could be called panic, if she were prone to understatement. It had never been one of her failings. “He’s—”
“Yes?”
She swallowed. The single word was sharp, as much of a threat as he had yet offered. She would have looked at Andellen, but he was behind her.
Caution. Caution was crucial here. Because she wanted to survive. That had been her ambition, and by many standards, it wasn’t a remarkable one. But in this Court, it might just have been rendered impossible.
“He’s…dying,” she said at last.
“I was dying when you were brought to my side.”
She shook her head. “Not—not like this.”
“Go on, Kaylin.”
Shut up, Kaylin. She swallowed. “Lord of the West March. Kyuthe,” she added, “answer a question.”
“Perhaps. Ask it.”
“What is leoswuld?”
The silence was, as they often said, deafening.
But the Barrani with milky, colored eyes, heard the word, as well.
“It is the life of the Barrani,” the Lord of the West March replied.
“But it means something else here.”
“Yes. The High Lord convened Court in a manner that has been done only a handful of times in our history. He means to pass on.”
She frowned.
“It is not death as you understand it,” he added quietly. “But the giving of life. What he passes on, he passes to the next Lord of the High Court.” He paused, and then added, “My brother.”
She shook her head. The wrongness of the words—even if she didn’t fully understand their significance—made breathing an art. “He’s…dying.”
And the Barrani known as the Lord of the Green said, “Yes.”
The Lord of the West March came to stand beside Kaylin at the edge of the circle. He took no trouble to hide pain or longing, although the word had not been intended for his ears.
“You know of the undead,” he said to Kaylin. It might have been talk about the weather, for all its intensity. That was reserved for his brother, and it could not be moved.
But she nodded. Because that’s what she could almost see in the Lord of the Green. Almost.
“And you know, then, of the folly behind the choice of the undying.” Not immortal, but undying.
She swallowed. “The names,” she whispered.
“Yes. Names have power. And those who hold our names have power over us.” He looked at her then. She said nothing. “If,” he added as a concession, “their will is the greater will, and their power, the greater power.”
“He’s trying to give over his name—” She stopped.
Straightened up again, her knees finding strength. She shook herself free of Andellen, and he let her go. “It’s not to be free of the name,” she said quietly. “That’s not why he’s doing it.”
“Is it not?”
She wanted to hit the Lord of the West March. Hard. She bit her lip instead, because she had no doubt that he would return the blow, and she wouldn’t be the winner in that exchange.
The Lord of the Green watched her.
And then he lifted his hands, palms up. His brother looked away. It didn’t help; she could sense the hunger there. But there was something beyond hunger.
She lifted her own hand; the Lord of the Green did not move. Shaking, she reached out, and her sleeves trailed above the liquid that had been his prison. Or his safety.
Their fingers met.
She had touched Barrani before. Hell, she’d had to shove Teela off her bed half a dozen times when the drinking had ended and memory blurred. She’d touched Tain, mostly to annoy him. She’d touched Nightshade. She’d touched the Lord of the West March.
None of them prepared her for this.
Because in touching him, she saw not his life, not his injuries, not anything of him. She saw herself instead. Felt her life, felt memories fade in and out of existence, as if she were Records, and he was dredging them. She saw the marks on her arms with horror and fear, as new things; she saw the marks on the dead as intimations of her own mortality. She saw her mother’s slack face, pallid skin, recoiled at the smell of her death. Saw Severn, as she had seen him then, waiting in silence, his eyes mirroring her loss, his words promising that he would protect her from any other loss.
Saw blood—heard
Screaming.
Hers. All hers.
The Lord of the West March caught her hand and pulled it back, breaking the contact; her throat was raw.
But not so raw that she would not speak here.
“He wants my name,” she whispered.
“Yes. And mortals have no name. They have life. They are the sum of what they experience.”
The Lord of the Green said, “Elianne.”
She closed her eyes. “That’s not who I am,” she whispered. But she was lying. Her fingers burned. Where she had touched the Lord of the Green, they burned.
“It was him, wasn’t it?” she asked the Lord of the West March. “It was because of him that you lay—”
“He is my kin,” the Lord of the West March replied. “I thought to save him from his choice. I failed.”
“It’s not—” She struggled with words. She always did when it was important. Her fingers were tingling; they told a story. Her hands were like eyes wh
en they touched the living. She hadn’t known it—not clearly—until this moment. When she healed, they watched. They observed. They spoke.
“His name.”
The Lord of the West March touched her face gently. “What of his name, Kaylin?”
“Someone else holds it. Something else.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he doesn’t. Not…not the way you do. Not the way Teela does. Not—” and she turned to touch Andellen’s face before he could move “—the way Andellen does. It’s there, but it’s not there.”
“That is the definition of the undying,” the Lord of the West March said with just a trace of condescension. It didn’t even bother her.
“That’s why he’s trying to die. That’s why he’s trying to shed his name. It’s not for power,” she added. “It’s not for the freedom from the tyranny of the name. It’s for freedom from the man who holds it. Don’t you understand? He’s lost his name. He’s trying to divest himself of it in the only way he can because of the leoswuld. He’s doing it because he knows he can’t be a vessel for anything if he’s…undying. Whatever gift the Lord of the High Court gives, he won’t give to the Lord of the Green.”
The Lord of the Green looked at her. Only at her.
But he did not deny the truth of her words.
“He can’t kill himself,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t have that much control anymore. I think he tried to make you kill him.” She added, “I hold your name.” Speaking to the younger brother, holding the gaze of the older.
The Lord of the West March stiffened; she’d almost forgotten Andellen was present. But this was important enough that it almost didn’t matter.
“If you wanted to be free of that, how would you do it?”
“I would kill you.”
“And that would work?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then find the person who holds his name and kill him.”
“That, kyuthe, is why you are here.”
“What?”
“In truth I cannot think of the man who could hold my brother’s name with any certainty. But there is one who must be able to,” he added grimly. “And if I cannot free my brother, it will end here.”
The words made no sense. On so many levels. She did her best to alleviate that by starting with the basics. “Your brother almost killed you.”
“Yes.”
“And not by his choice.”
“No. We have argued much, but we have never descended to kinslaying. I did not suspect—I would not have known—but he must have retained just enough control of himself that I could escape.”
She said, “But you have to give your names.”
He said nothing.
Kaylin looked at his face. He hid nothing, either. For just a moment. She turned to the Lord of the Green. “I will do this,” she said quietly. “I’ll…free you.”
And he looked at her…and nodded. His face twisted in spasm.
“It is time,” the Lord of the West March said, “to leave.” He spoke loud words that had the tone and texture of High Barrani. They were not Barrani in any form that Kaylin understood.
The liquid began to move in. The Lord of the Green was swept, slowly, into the depths that had hidden him from all sight.
“If he dies,” she said, “you’ll be the castelord.”
“Yes. And perhaps, in time, I will be the castelord regardless. But not like this, Kaylin. Never like this.” He bowed his head for a moment. When he lifted it, his eyes were blue. “I will take you to your rooms,” he said softly.
“My—oh, right.”
“I have made provision for you there. The rooms are adjacent to my personal quarters, as befits a kyuthe.” He turned and began to walk out of the chamber.
She called him silently.
He stopped.
“How am I supposed to do what you can’t?”
“I do not know,” he replied. “But you woke me, you found me when I was lost.”
“I can’t do that for him. I don’t think I could survive touching him—”
“No. You cannot. I do not think he could prevent himself from devouring you whole.”
“Then how—”
His eyes were darker now. “Find a way, kyuthe. If you, who bear the marks of the Old Ones, cannot, no one can.”
She was silent; she followed him out the door. But it occurred to her that the marks he spoke of were marks she had never mentioned to him. And she wondered what else she had left behind in his forest.
Her rooms were sparse and fine, and when she entered them, she paused to look at the west wall; it was glass, colored and divided by something too shiny to be lead. Some panes were clear enough that they looked like openings until they met her palm; the others were dark, like precious gems. If there was a pattern in them, she couldn’t see it—but she wasn’t concerned about her accommodations.
She was thinking; although she had been forbidden the Hawk, it still defined her. Her fingers had gone the numb that cold causes; it beat burning. But they were clumsy and awkward.
The dress made her feel clumsy and awkward, as well. It was just too pretty, too expensive, too—highborn. If she had dreamed of wearing a dress like this, if she had once dreamed of rescue, in the way children do, she’d grown beyond the dream. Or it had grown too small to contain her. It didn’t matter.
If the Lord of the West March had not been standing by her side, she’d have stripped it off. Or tried. She hadn’t forgotten about the damn buttons.
“You told me,” she said quietly, as she pretended to notice the wall of windows, “that no one else knew about the Lord of the Green.”
“It is known that he is at Court,” the Lord of the West March replied. “And he has appeared in the company of the High Lords.”
“Not as himself.”
“He was fey,” was the quiet reply.
“The castelord knows.”
“The castelord is Lord of the High Halls. What passes here, he knows.”
She frowned.
“Hawk,” he whispered.
She turned to see his subtle smile. His eyes, however, were blue and dark. “Did you tell Teela?”
“Teela? Ah, Anteela. My cousin.”
“Yes.”
He said nothing for a moment. Then he walked past the windows, to a cabinet that rested in the curve of the wall. He opened it, and brought out a decanter that was probably as heavy as most babies she delivered; it was certainly more solid. “Will you drink?”
“Not on duty.”
“You are not on duty.”
She hesitated. “I don’t generally drink in the company of strangers.”
“But I am not a stranger, kyuthe. You have my name.”
And what did that mean? She could call him; he would hear her. But the syllables that had shattered foreign sky didn’t tell her anything at all about the man. The Barrani weren’t human. They weren’t mortal. She had always been aware of it, but she’d never truly known it. Not like this. “I’ll…drink.”
He poured. She watched his hands move, aware that he honored her. She turned. “Andellen,” she said quietly.
Andellen nodded.
“I wish to speak privately with the Lord of the West March.”
“I do not counsel it,” Andellen replied, surprising her.
Surprising the Lord of the West March, as well. “He is yours,” the High Lord said. “And he knows what you know. I see no harm in his presence.”
“Samaran, however, will wait outside,” Andellen added.
Samaran bowed. It was like a little ritual that was beyond her understanding.
The door closed on Samaran’s back. They stood in the room, Andellen, the Lord of the West March, and Kaylin Neya.
She said, “As far as the Court knows, the Lord of the Green is well.”
“He is meditating, in preparation for the gifting.”
She nodded. “
So…his attempt…to divest himself of his name—that must have been recent. As far as the Lords know, he’s fine. In that case, what effect would your death have?”
“It would grieve the High Lord.”
“But it would change nothing, in their eyes.”
“You have some understanding of the Barrani, Kaylin. It would change little. Perhaps, at a different time, it would mute the Festival, would quiet the song and the story of the High Court. But this is the time of the leoswuld, and even the death of kin does not compare in import.”
“I was summoned, in haste, to heal you,” she said bluntly. Although Teela was right; it was hard to be blunt in High Barrani. “Ah?”
“And I was told—as was my Lord—that were I to fail, there would be war.”
He nodded, his fingers around the stem of a glass that seemed too delicate to hold air, never mind gold liquid.
“But if I understand correctly, Lord of the West March, war would only occur if both of the sons of the castelord were beyond him.”
The Lord of the West March was silent.
“You have a sister.”
“We have.”
“But she can’t carry the life of the castelord.”
“No. It would doom both she and our people in ways that I will not explain.”
“Therefore, it must be either you or your brother who accepts the gift of the High Lord.”
He nodded.
Frustrated, Kaylin slid into Elantran; it was like a second skin, and a damn sight more comfortable than the awkward one she’d been wearing. “Look, I’m not stupid. If you’re both dead, there’s no one to take the gift. Either the castelord does not pass on—or he passes his life to someone else. Deciding who that ‘someone else’ would be would cause a lot of bloodshed. I’m guessing that it would be whoever was left standing. Tell me when I’m wrong, okay?”
The Lord of the West March looked to Andellen. “Is she always this difficult?” he asked, in High Barrani.
“I have only recently been assigned to guard her, but I would say, given the brief experience, that she is usually more difficult.”
Kaylin, not a big fan of arrogance, found it hard not to bristle. She did try. She’d come that far. “What I’m trying to say is that Teela knew. About the Lord of the Green.”
The Chronicles of Elantra Bundle Page 57