The Chronicles of Elantra Bundle

by Michelle Sagara

  Because she was either brave or stupid, she said, “Why do you care so much?” She didn’t tilt back in her chair; she couldn’t affect that much nonchalance in the face of a concerned—she liked that word—Dragon lord. But she did try.

  It wasn’t the answer he was expecting. She could tell by the way he blinked; the last few weeks had given her that much. “Water is pervasive,” he said at last, and his eyes had shaded back to gold, but it was a bright and fiery gold, unlike the normal calm of Dragon eyes. Too keen, and too shiny.

  “All of the elements—and that is a crude word, Kaylin, and it conveys almost nothing of their essence—have faces. They are death, if you discern that shape, but they are life, if you discern others.”

  She thought of the shape of fire. Looked at the candle. It wasn’t life or death she had been struggling with. It was just lighting a damn wick. “Fire burns,” she said at last.

  “Yes.”

  “And without it, we die in the cold, if we’re unlucky enough to live there.”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s more?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not going to explain it, are you?”

  “No. But I am not unpleased, Kaylin.”

  “Why is that, exactly?” She didn’t often say something right to her teachers, and she thought it might be useful if she ever wanted it to happen a second time.

  “Water,” he said. “Tell me what you think.”

  She knew she was chewing on her lower lip. “Well,” she said at last, “you can drown in it.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the storms at sea—”

  “Yes.”

  “But if you don’t drink it, you die.”

  “Very good.”

  “And so do the plants, in a draught.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And there’s more.” But this wasn’t a question. Water is deep. “Water is deep,” she said, musing aloud.

  “Yes. Those are the words of the Keeper.”

  “The who?”

  “You met with him today,” Sanabalis added softly.

  “Oh. You mean Evanton?”

  His brow rose at the tone of her voice.

  “Well, he’s just an old—” And fell again as her voice trailed off, remembering him in his elemental garden.

  “He was one of my students,” Sanabalis said quietly, “but he does not visit, and cannot.” He looked at her carefully. “He showed you his responsibility.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “And you saw something in the water there.”

  She nodded again. “A girl,” she said quietly. “Bruised face. Dark hair. Wide eyes. She called me by name,” she added softly.

  “Did you recognize her?” His gaze was keen now, sharp enough to cut. Had she been a liar, she would have fallen silent, afraid to test that edge. But she was Kaylin.

  “No. But I—I need to find her, Sanabalis.”

  “Yes,” he told her softly. Where in this case soft was like the rumble of an earthquake giving its only warning.

  “You know about this.”

  “I don’t, Kaylin. Or I did not. But water—it is the element of the living. It is the element to which we are most strongly tied, or to which you and your kind are. It is the element that speaks most strongly to the Oracles.”

  Kaylin failed entirely to keep from grimacing.

  “You disdain the Oracles?”

  “They speak in riddles when they speak at all, and afterward, they tell you that whatever gibberish they said was of course true.”

  “It is only afterward that the contexts of the words have their full meaning,” he replied patiently.

  She stopped. “You’ve been talking to the Oracles?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “The Emperor desired it,” he replied, carefully and slowly. “And in truth, they came to him, and they were ill at ease.”

  “How ill?”

  “Perhaps a week ago, perhaps a little more, they were woken from their sleep by a dream.”

  “All of them?”

  “All of them. Even those who are mere apprentices and have not yet earned the right to live in the temple and its grounds.”

  “It wasn’t a good dream.”

  “It wasn’t a dream at all.”

  “A—what do they call them?”

  “Vision.” His momentary impatience was clear.

  “Of what?”

  “Water,” he told her.

  “Water.”

  “Yes. The waters are deep,” he added, speaking almost exactly in the tone and style of Evanton. “And things sleep within those depths that have not been seen by even the living Dragons, save perhaps two.”

  She froze. “Something is waking.”

  “In their dreams, yes.”

  “What?”

  “They’re Oracles, Kaylin,” he replied.

  “So you don’t know.”

  “No. They’re certain it’s not a good thing for the city. Which has a port. The Sages have been poring over the words and symbols,” he added, with just a flicker of his brow.

  “And they get what anyone sane gets, which is confused.”

  He actually offered a slight smile. “It is not yet clear to them, no.”

  “Something big is going to happen.”

  “Big enough to wake the Oracles—all of them—no matter where they lay sleeping.”

  She was silent for a moment, candle forgotten. “And did they have any sense of timing?”

  “Time is not as concrete for people who see into possible futures,” he told her quietly.

  “That would be no.”

  “That would indeed be no—but there is urgency. And I cannot think that it is coincidence that you came to me today to ask me about the element of water.” He paused. “The Keeper summoned you.”

  “Well, no—” She stopped. “Maybe.”

  “Then the child is someone connected to the water, I think.”

  Kaylin nodded. “I have no idea where to start,” she added. “But…Ybelline also invited me to visit her…at her home in the Tha’alani quarter.”

  Dragon brows rose. “And you accepted?”

  “It wasn’t official,” Kaylin replied. “And…yes. Because I was in Missing Persons…” She trailed off. “Dragons don’t believe in coincidence, do they?”

  “Not in this city,” Sanabalis replied. “They do, however, believe in lessons.” He stared at the candle.

  “If the world were ending—”

  “You’d still have work to do.”

  The contempt in which candles were held by Kaylin could not safely be put into words in front of a Dragon lord—but it was still a close thing. Sanabalis, however, did not lecture her. He was quiet during their lesson, and his lower lids flickered often as he studied her face. At length he stood.

  “Perhaps,” he said, as if grudging the word, “you require a slightly different approach, given your remarkable lack of success. Very well, Kaylin. The day after tomorrow, we will look at the shape of water. Be prepared,” he added softly. “There are many reasons why water is not the first element we approach. And why, in some cases, it is better not approached at all.”

  He rose and left, and she sat in the West Room, staring at the plain surface of a nearly invulnerable table, seeing her future. Which would be in Nightshade, where so much of her past had unfolded.

  It was well past midday when Kaylin made her way across the Ablayne, idly watching its banks for trouble. Almost hopefully watching the banks for trouble. It was a safe trouble—in as much as people trying to kill you or beat you to a messy pulp could be called safe—compared to the trouble she faced in Nightshade.

  And fate, as always, thumbed its nose at Kaylin. The bank was mockingly empty. Too close to night. Even at the edges of the fiefs, the howls of Ferals crossed the water and they could be seen as packs of roving shadows in a distance that never seemed quite safe enough.

  The feeling of disl
ocation as she stepped off the bridge on the wrong side of the river—by the city standards—had never been so sharp; even the air seemed different as she took it into her lungs and held it a moment. The air was night cool, but humid; the moons were high. The sky had retained the clarity of the early day, and the wind that came from the port was so faint it was barely worth calling it breeze.

  Everything was different. Everything was the same. It was not yet night, and the Ferals were not a danger, but people were already creeping inside and barricading the doors where they could.

  Kaylin felt the faint tingle of the mark on her cheek not as pain, but as warmth, as she walked the streets. She wore her uniform; she hadn’t thought to change, and had she, wouldn’t have bothered. This was the only armor she had, and the only armor she wanted.

  She wasn’t paying a social call.

  The streets seemed smaller as she walked them. Narrower, but less confining. And why wouldn’t they? She didn’t live here anymore. She never had to live here again. The poverty, the hunger, the desperate thieving—they were behind her. But so was all of her past, and she felt herself standing on it as if it were a pile of badly teetering crates. She hated this place.

  But in some ways, here, she could stretch her arms, could breathe, could feel at home. She didn’t have to mind her manners, she didn’t have to know the laws; the only thing she needed to know was when to get off the streets, and who to avoid when the streets were in theory safe. The only Barrani she had to speak was the guttural Barrani of the fief itself.

  She shook herself, and even smiled, although it was rueful. No home, here. Not marked as she was. And if the sun set any faster, no safety, either. She hated to hurry, but it was second nature when the sky was turning shades of pink and purple and the moons were beginning to make themselves felt.

  The castle guards were waiting for her.

  She knew that Lord Nightshade was likewise waiting. She could almost hear—or feel—the syllables of his name in the pleasant cool of the night air. Secret name. Hidden name. In theory, all Barrani had them, and in practice, they didn’t share them with anyone who could speak about it later. Not that Kaylin could—she’d tried, in private, to speak the name aloud. It wasn’t possible. Every variation sounded wrong to her ears. It was almost like someone trying to describe something she had seen to someone born blind, except that both of those people were her.

  Even as it got darker, she slowed her stride. The castle itself looked faintly luminescent in her vision. She had never seen it look that way before.

  But she walked toward it now, thinking—trying to think—of missing children, and of a deaf Tha’alani boy who had thought to find understanding in the world outside the Tha’alaan. Grethan. What understanding had he come by that had led him to Nightshade?

  What could he offer, in the end, that could buy his escape? And what did he have to do with a missing Tha’alani child who could no longer be felt in the Tha’alaan?

  And Nightshade answered, Come inside, Kaylin, and you will have your answers.

  Entering the castle was never, ever going to be a pleasant experience. It was like a slap in the face, but with fists. It disoriented, blinded, and added a sickening lurch—like a fall, but somehow worse—for good measure, before she stumbled into the vestibule that served as an entrance. She wished that a door—a normal, functional, door—could take the place of the illusionary portcullis that was actually a magical portal. Partly because it wouldn’t be magic, and partly because it wouldn’t make her want to throw up so badly.

  She swore she was going to find the bloody back door, because something this size had to have one. It wasn’t a thought that had ever occurred to her before, because she had grown up in the Castle’s shadow, with the certain knowledge that entering the castle was courting death. Well, more accurately, running past courtship straight into a very, very short marriage.

  He met her at the door, and he offered her a deep bow. His expression, as always, gave away about as much as a felonious banker. He was wearing dark blue, simple enough to catch the flickering light of far too many stones that glittered in the ceiling above.

  “Have you your Lord’s permission to attend me?” He asked softly.

  She frowned. “I’m here as part of an ongoing investigation. I don’t talk to the Hawklord every time I have to ask a question—oh. You mean the Lord of the High Court.”

  “There is no other.”

  “For me, there is.” She paused. “There is only one.”

  “And yet you are a Lord of the High Court, Kaylin Neya.”

  “The Lord of the High Court understands who and what I am.” More or less. Well, maybe less. “I’m a Hawk. I’m here.”

  “You bear the mark of an outcaste.”

  “I bear your mark, yes.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t interfere with my duties.”

  “To the Hawks? No. But you will have duties to the High Court at one time or another. Play with care, Kaylin. You have never liked fire.”

  She almost laughed. Didn’t. “You know why I’m here.”

  “No, actually, I don’t.” He held out an arm, and she realized after a moment that he meant for her to follow, or to precede him in the direction he was pointing. “But some conversations take time,” he added, “and possibly privacy if they are of a delicate nature.”

  “They don’t send me out on ‘delicate’ cases,” she said firmly, wanting to stand her ground. Following anyway.

  “In our youth,” he said quietly, “we were concerned about perfection.” He had taken his seat across from Kaylin in a room she had never seen. Not that she had seen much of the Castle itself. The walls were pale, eggshell-blue, and the ground was a sheen of light over wood; a window, like the sundered half of a huge circle, let in moonbeams, hints of starlight. Before him, low and slightly concave in the center, as if to suggest an ebon palm, was a table that gleamed with a sheen of light over dark, dark brown. Water flowers swirled to a breeze-called eddy in a low, flat bowl that was simple white ceramic with no adornment she could see. Such austerity seemed at odds with the Castle and its usual decorations, but she liked the simplicity.

  “It is worth far more than flakes of gold,” he said coolly, but with the hint of a smile. “And the flowers that live for mere days in the waters it holds, far more valuable still. But you did not come to criticize my decor, nor to marvel at the flowers that I chose to grace this room.”

  “No. You know where I went today.”

  “Indeed. You are a part of my…clan,” he added softly, “and therefore it is my business to know.”

  She didn’t ask him why or how because it didn’t matter.

  “I admit some surprise that you chose to visit the Tha’alani quarter—your dislike of their natural gift is well known. But you are a Hawk, and if that is where you must circle, you circle.” His eyes were dark as he studied her face, as if reading, in each expression, each turn of lip or flicker of eye, the whole of a story that she herself conveyed but couldn’t understand. “Did you find what you sought?”

  She shook her head.

  “And is it connected in some way with the Keeper?”

  “The Keeper?”

  “You call him…What is he called by your kind? Ah. Evanton. A querulous old man of indeterminate age who will occasionally condescend to perform magic, if it strikes his fancy.”

  “We call them enchantments,” she said stiffly. “And no. At least, it doesn’t appear to be connected.”

  “Ah.”

  Something, she thought. He knew something.

  “We spoke with Ybelline Rabon’alani.”

  “She is seconded to the Emperor, is she not?”

  Kaylin nodded. This much, she did expect him to know. The Barrani seemed well informed about the affairs of the Emperor, whereas Kaylin—well, curiosity was well and good, but living was better.

  “One of her people is missing from the enclave.” She paused and then said softly, “No, two. Two are missing.”

 
“Unusual. They are?”

  “A five-year-old child, a girl named Mayalee. And a young man, maybe twenty, called Grethan.”

  She waited for a shift in his face, some subtle hint that the name was one he recognized. He met her gaze without once altering his expression, but…he did recognize the name; she felt it, rather than seeing it. Lifted her hand to her cheek almost awkwardly, as if to hide the mark there. As if to hide herself.

  He failed to acknowledge the feeble attempt.

  “It’s not the first time he’s left the enclave,” she said, after the pause had grown awkward, at least for her. He never seemed to be aware of what the word awkward meant, and she resented it, as she often resented the perfection of the Barrani. The only time they were bearable was when they were drinking. Or when they were saving her life.

  Even then, it was a close call.

  “Continue.”

  “He was born deaf.” She chose the word with care. “By the standards of the Tha’alani, he was born deaf. He can hear, of course, and speak—but the way they speak to each other—that, he can’t do.”

  “And he left the enclave once because he felt isolated from his kind, and he wished to find those who would understand him.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “But he found, instead, a world of people who were accustomed to being deaf; who had no idea of what they were missing, of what they had lost by their essential deformity. He discovered lying,” he added, “and a level of violence and abuse that he had never dreamed of in the confines of the enclave.”

  She nodded again, but slowly, acknowledging the middle of a story that wasn’t pleasant, but seemed almost inevitable.

  He rose. “Will you partake of refreshments if they are offered?”

  She started to say no, realized that she was hungry, and nodded instead, still thinking about what he had said. About what Severn had seen when he had willingly allowed himself to be touched by the tendrils that adorned Tha’alani brows.

  “How did you find him?” she asked as he rose and turned away from her, walking toward the door they had entered. He opened it and when it shut and he turned back to her again, he was carrying a simple tray as if he were a servant.