Her house smiled gently.
You’ve heard.
I have been speaking with Annarion, yes. I am apprised of all of the complications.
She ate, because talking to Nightshade did not require her to open her mouth when it was full. She also drank spiced milk. Helen clearly thought Kaylin was in a mood because the milk was warm and apparently contained honey.
Tell me what you know about Candallar, Kaylin finally said.
Candallar is a fieflord.
Okay, let me amend that. Tell me what you know that I don’t.
This elicited two responses; the first, a sharp annoyance; the second, amusement. You frequently know things I would expect no mortal to know, while being ignorant of things that appear to be common knowledge. If you wish information, you will have to bear with me. Candallar is a fieflord. He is, as I am, outcaste. He had less choice in the designation, and less support within the High Court. He is younger than I, and his fall more recent. You will have noticed, no doubt, that the Consort does not treat me as outcaste.
Kaylin nodded.
She is the only Lord of the High Court to have that option. Ah, no. Her brother could, if he desired—
If you’re talking about the High Lord—as opposed to the Lord of the West March—if her brother wanted to, he could repatriate you. You could be part of the High Court again.
To do so would imply—strongly—that the customs of the High Court have no weight; that the decisions of the High Court have no consequences. Do not be angry; I am not.
But...he’s the High Lord.
She could feel Nightshade’s frustration, and was surprised to feel his exhaustion, as well. The only other time she had felt such exhaustion he’d been injured.
I am not injured. I am frustrated. He is High Lord, yes. But if An’Teela has not made this clear, his rule is contested, even now. There will be a series of tests, skirmishes if you will, for the remainder of your mortal life—no matter how long you live. His tone implied that he expected that to be a handful of years, if she were lucky. Even to you, this must imply that his power is not absolute. He is not the Eternal Emperor, Kaylin.
Frustration drove his pause; Kaylin was almost surprised when he continued. When power is not absolute, when it is not guaranteed, alliances are made. They are alliances, often, of convenience, as a majority of alliances are. He is close to his Consort; she does not intrigue against him.
She’s the Consort!
Another full silence.
Nightshade?
I am...attempting to remember how appallingly little is taught to your Hawks. You will speak with An’Teela about this. Or Annarion. Or Mandoran. They will attempt to correct your appalling ignorance.
She is the Consort.
Yes. It grants her immunity until and unless another is found who can fulfill the role she has undertaken. To our knowledge, there is only one who might—but she is entirely unsuitable in every other way. Before you ask, it is you. You are aware that many families push their children into the Test of Name.
Kaylin nodded.
Are you further aware that many push their children into the more complicated and far more deadly tests required to become Consort?
Was she? She thought about it; the Consort had certainly spoken of the tests, the difficulty, the failures.
They do not do this primarily for the benefit to the race; they do it for political reasons. The Consort is the only position in the High Court that is nonnegotiable. But do not imagine that it is not, in the end, political; everything about the Barrani is. Only those who absent themselves from the Court are outside of the political sphere.
Like you.
She felt his bitter smile.
Like me, yes.
You think this will pass.
I believe that if the High Lord retains his seat in the next century, or perhaps two, I could be repatriated, or at least offered the opportunity to return to the High Court. It is what the Consort desires. But there are many who do not desire it, and a handful of those are of significant power.
If they don’t want you, they don’t want Annarion.
Indeed.
And for the same reason? Because he’ll have a legitimate claim to the lands—or whatever—that you once held?
Claim and legitimacy are polite fictions, in the end. If we have the power, we can embroider any claim and make it, as you say in Elantran, “stick.” The facts of the matter give Annarion an open field; the base arguments against legitimate claim cannot be made, and were he to start a war, it would be less difficult to do so without open censure.
So...claim of blood gives him early room to maneuver?
Yes. It is not, of course, legitimacy that is the real concern.
It’s the regalia and the centuries jailed in the green.
An’Teela suffered prejudice because she survived—but she was never captive in the Hallionne. She returned from the green—the only child to do so. She is, to our eye, Barrani. She was tested, Kaylin. She was pushed. She was powerful, but had she not had that potential, she would never have been sent to the green.
Her father desired her to undergo the test of the Lake. She refused. Here a glimmer of amusement adorned his words. She was unwilling to give him anything he desired of her. She had gone to the green under his command.
And he had killed her mother there. Kaylin exhaled. Your brother’s still angry.
She almost felt the fieflord’s wince, and liked him better for it. But...in truth, his concern for, his devotion to, his only remaining brother was one of the few things about him she admired. She had never, ever expected to admire anything about the fieflord of Nightshade.
Annarion’s anger is focused and traditional. He intends to take the Test of Name. I cannot stop him. Discussion will not move him. He is...almost unchanged with the passage of time. It is frustrating.
If you were reinstated, I think he could be reasoned with. I think if the High Lord offered you your name, your position, if you could reclaim your family line—which he thinks you should never have surrendered—we could keep him here.
And I have told him that this will, in all probability, happen, but not now. He understands that. But he understands, as well, the necessity of the Towers, of the fiefs. Do you honestly think that I could wage an intelligent war from Castle Nightshade, as you are wont to call it? Ah, I see that you do.
She was revising that opinion as they spoke. Some of her anger—at Helen, at Teela—had subsided, as it always did.
“That’s because you’ve eaten something, at least,” Helen said quietly. “I understand your concern. If you were not the type of person who feels such concerns, I am not certain I would be the right home for you. But Kaylin, there are always limits. Your concern, your worry, is yours,” Helen continued, bringing the conversation back to where Kaylin had started it. “Love is not a reasonable excuse to ask me to invade a guest’s privacy. I do not answer Teela’s questions.”
“She asks you about me?”
“On occasion, yes. Oh. I’ve surprised you.”
“...And you don’t answer her questions, either.”
“I will answer questions that you would answer, if you heard them or remembered them. But everyone who is not Tha’alani has boundaries and a need for privacy. Young children—of any race—will ask questions without regard for privacy; everything is new to them. They have not yet learned the weight of responsibility and the weight of poor decisions. But you are not, as you so often tell most of your friends, a child. Your concern is admirable. But you cannot use concern to justify things that are less so.”
Kaylin’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.” She exhaled. You’re willing to wait because you know the Towers are necessary.
Yes. And because I have no great desire to return to the High Court.
Does your brother know this?<
br />
Perhaps. We have exchanged very heated words in the past month. His loss of control is understandable; he is a child, still. The intervening time has not given him the experience required of the Barrani; it has given him experiences for which the Barrani were not created. Most of us cannot understand them. But I have made clear that finding a fieflord is not as simple as the Test of Name.
The Test of Name was not simple.
He does understand Ravellon’s threat. He is willing, grudgingly, to allow that I am not entirely without honor or a sense of duty.
...Which means he really can’t be talked out of it. I mean, from Annarion’s perspective, what other options does he have? Kaylin exhaled. Does this have anything to do with Candallar?
It is likely. If you have met him at this time, it cannot be coincidence. Have you spoken to Teela about this?
I doubt very much she’ll talk to me.
She is not the only Lord of the High Court to whom you have access. She is not even the most significant.
Candallar, Kaylin said, trying to pin the conversation down to the important point, even as it squirmed away.
I am not Candallar; I am not much in contact with him. I can be, of course; the Towers can communicate with each other. In a grave, grave emergency, they can work as one. There has never been such an emergency, he added. My experience is therefore entirely theoretical. Be that as it may, I can bespeak Candallar without leaving my fief. But I cannot guess at his involvement until I understand more fully the movement within the High Court.
Speak to the Consort, Kaylin. She will have questions for you. You will have questions for her.
And Candallar?
I will speak with Candallar—but I do not expect to glean the information you desire at the speed you desire it. You are much like my brother: everything is an emergency. Everything must be immediate. He is truly young: like a mortal he is afraid of lost time. But unlike a mortal, he has time.
Would Candallar be in contact with the High Court? I mean, with some of its elements?
Oh, undoubtedly. But he is not me. I could attend the ceremony in the green with impunity because the green chose me. I could attend because the Consort accepted me as a High Lord. And I could attend because I wield one of The Three.
Those are meant to kill Dragons.
Yes. But they can kill any other enemy just as well. I am not hunted as outcaste. This was not always the case. But we are Barrani, not Dragon; power is its own legitimacy.
And Candallar doesn’t have it.
She could feel the shrug she couldn’t see. He has survived, was the eventual, noncommittal answer.
* * *
Kaylin was awake far earlier than she wanted to be the next morning. She was tired, but not sleepy, the two words being slightly different, and thoughts of Candallar, Teela, the Hawks and the cohort immediately demanded attention. It was a day off, so she couldn’t retreat to the Halls of Law—and the demands of work—to distract herself. She gave up on sleep, got dressed, rearranged the familiar and decided that turnabout was fair play. She therefore headed out of her own room, with its comfortable, creaking floors, into the hallway, and eventually deposited herself outside of Mandoran’s room.
There, she knocked. Helen didn’t stop her.
“I’m sleeping.”
“Liar. Barrani don’t need sleep.”
“I’m sleeping anyway. It’s better than angst.” Mandoran’s voice was not muffled although a closed door stood between Kaylin’s ears and the Barrani.
“You talk in your sleep? I guess that shouldn’t be surprising given how much you love the sound of your own voice.”
Mandoran laughed. “If you promise not to nag me about Teela or Annarion, I’ll get out of bed.”
“Are you actually in bed?”
“Yes. You can join me, if you want, but I can’t promise—”
“I’ll pass.”
He laughed again. “No Teela, no Annarion?”
“Done.”
“What’s the penalty for failure?”
“What?”
“What do I get when you fail?”
“Dinner.”
“Helen will feed me anyway.”
“Not if I ask her not to.”
“Helen?” Mandoran said, raising his voice. “Will you starve me if Kaylin demands it?”
Helen failed to answer, and Mandoran chuckled.
“Don’t disturb your brother,” Helen then said.
“Nothing I could possibly do would make him any worse.”
Kaylin, in the hallway, waited for another minute; the door opened. Mandoran was tugging his left arm into the empty sleeve of a jacket. He did not otherwise look rumpled. Or unshaven. Or sleep deprived. She opened her mouth.
“We have a deal. No Annarion. No Teela.”
“Fine. Can I ask about Tain?”
“Boring old nursemaid.”
“He is not!”
“Is too.” Mandoran held up a hand. “Have you ever had to live with him?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, you’ll soon see what I mean. I’m beginning to understand the phrase misery loves company.” He grinned.
“Barrani don’t have that one?”
“No. But it’s oddly useful. If someone makes us miserable, we generally feel justified in attempting to end their lives.”
“Annarion makes you miserable all the time, according to you.”
His grin deepened. “Exactly. So. Misery and company. And—no Annarion, remember? Annarion’s situation is far, far simpler than—” His Elantran segued into expressive Leontine. “Apparently,” he said, “I’m not allowed to talk to you about this.”
“According to who?” She guessed Teela.
“Sedarias.” Apparently, she guessed wrong.
“Sedarias is the one with the complicated situation?”
“Not the only one. Look, I told you I was an orphan, right?”
“You lied.”
“Very good! I admit I despaired—” He stopped again. “Someone told you.”
“Yes.”
“Then I take it back. You spent your formative years—not my phrase, don’t make that face—in the fiefs.”
“Yes.”
“You must have lied, and you must have at least been decent enough at it to survive.”
“I was never good at lying.”
“What did you do instead?”
Kaylin shrugged. “Groveled in abject fear.”
“I would think lying would be easier.” He flicked something invisible off his sleeve. “Clearly you’ve never been lazy enough. Food?”
Kaylin made a face. “Helen?”
“Yes, dear,” the disembodied house replied.
“At what point does someone stop being a guest?”
“I imagine the moment you ask them to leave.”
Mandoran laughed at Kaylin’s expressive, but silent, response.
“Fine. I guess we’re feeding him.”
* * *
His good mood did not last through an early breakfast. It didn’t last through the start of breakfast. While he enjoyed teasing Kaylin—his words, as she had ruder ones to describe it—he couldn’t entirely forget the predicament his cohort were in.
“What did you want to know about the great boring nursemaid?”
“Nothing. I did want to know about Tain.”
“I’ve pretty much described everything you need to know. I cannot believe you’re inviting him to stay with the rest of us. I can’t believe he’d even consider it. He’s not particularly fond of us.” Mandoran’s grin reappeared. “He’s a protective, jealous bastard. Well, not bastard, not exactly—but he’s not from a great line.”
“Unlike the rest of you?”
“Unlike Teela. He hadn’t
met the rest of us when he started associating with her. Were it not for my name—for all of our names—and the history associated with those names, he would have assumed that I was his social equal. That’s not good,” he added, in case this wasn’t clear.
There were days when she liked Mandoran; he was accessible in a way the Barrani generally weren’t. And then there were days like these. Mandoran didn’t appear to notice the difference.
“Look, don’t get defensive. He’s stodgy and boring because he’s too damn cautious. We might as well be the unawakened, waiting helplessly in the arms of our parents for the gift of our name.” He hesitated, and then his shoulders drooped toward the tabletop. “He’s been good for Teela. She doesn’t have his name—he’s never offered, and she’s not stupid enough to ask—but she might as well.”
“He’s her partner.”
“The only person who thinks being a Hawk is more significant than being a Lord of the High Court is you.”
Kaylin folded her arms and tilted her chair up on the back legs. It was either that or leap across the table to strangle him. “He’s her partner.”
“Fine, fine. The point is, he’s not one of us.”
“Technically, neither is Teela if it comes to that.”
“Teela is. She’s not as changed as we are. She doesn’t have trouble passing as normal—well, not now.”
“But she did.”
“Duh.”
“I think I prefer it when you speak High Barrani.”
“You probably prefer it when I don’t speak—but you did ask.”
“About Tain.”
“Tain’s been her ally for much longer than he’s been a Hawk. They didn’t just meet when they joined. Every Barrani Hawk in the Halls was vetted, one way or another, by Teela first.”
“And none of them are Lords of the Court.”
“Nope. But there’s no other Lord of the Court who would join the Hawks. If Teela weren’t Teela, she’d’ve suffered for it. But she’s never stayed strictly within the Court’s circumscribed social rules, and in the end, it would have been too much trouble to make her pay for straying outside of them. Her father was powerful, and her father is dead. So are most of the Lords who chose to ally themselves with him, in the beginning. But not all.
Cast in Deception Page 9