Her guards were also accustomed to this type of interaction, but they were as blue-eyed as Teela, and to Kaylin’s eye, much more obviously alert.
“Were any of those people your friends?” Kaylin asked, when there was a decent chance that no one, except the guards, could hear her.
“Don’t be naive.”
Kaylin accepted this without apparent annoyance—which took a lot of effort.
“If my actual friends were here, we would be in so very much more trouble.” Her brief grin was edged; no doubt she’d said that in a way that Mandoran and Annarion could hear. She took a few more steps, and then slowed to a much more stately walk. “You consider the Hawks in the office to be friends?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where we differ. These men and women are my associates. We are, in one case, distantly related kin. But the distances we keep define us, not the similarities. Would they fight for me? Yes, if my interests and theirs coincided. You dislike Lord Evarrim, but he has intervened in ways that have been extremely beneficial to you in the past. We do not have to like each other in order to work together, when the goals are large enough to encompass our diverse interests.
“Where they are not...” She shrugged. “They suffer from the same thing Joey at the office does: curiosity. They are of course aware of the undercurrents that imply a possible shift of power in the near future, and would consider my presence at this time to be confirmation of rumors. And bold.” She smiled again. “Mortals are more frequently bold when they are confident; my people are more cautious. They wish to ascertain whether my presence is indicative of bravado or certainty.”
“And I’m chopped liver.”
“Sadly, no.”
“Why is that sad?”
“If it were not for your presence, we would not be speaking with the Consort. Since you are here with me—and since many of my people cannot conceive of a friendship or alliance with a mortal of your social insignificance—”
“Thanks, Teela.”
“—the assumption is that I am manipulating you. They believe that it is my desire to speak with the Consort that has brought you here.”
“But it’s not.”
“I did not argue that they were wise; merely curious.”
“Why did you come, then?”
“I would rather they believe that you are mine, of course.”
“But—”
“I am not known for my sweet temper or my pliancy. I am a woman who executed her own father. In the centuries between his crime and his punishment, I did not waver once. You are mortal. Your life span is insignificant. But my memory, and the lengths to which I will go, are not. My presence here reminds them of this, with every step I take. If you are harmed by any of the Lords here, I will destroy them. You are kyuthe, to me.”
Kaylin glanced at Severn; his expression said, clearly, you asked.
“Now I ask that you be more circumspect. The Consort is not alone.”
Kaylin couldn’t see the Consort for the trees that girded either side of the decorative path, but the trees ended abruptly, and the circular meeting place came into view.
The Consort will see you. Approach slowly, if you wish to be politic; approach at your current speed if you wish to make a very public statement. It was Ynpharion. She finds your immediate confusion amusing, he added, in a tone that made it clear that he did not.
Having a head full of Barrani was not terribly comfortable, but before she could say as much—not that it was necessary, given the existence of his True Name—someone familiar stepped onto the path.
Andellen. Or rather, Lord Andellen while he was here. He swept a bow that was just one side of obsequious, but it was meant for Teela, and Teela accepted it with the same easy elegance she had accepted the far less humble approaches.
“Lord Andellen. I trust we find you well?”
“I have been busy for the past several weeks, but I am not unique in that.” He then offered Kaylin and Severn a much shallower and briefer version of the same bow. It was still uncomfortable for Kaylin. Severn, however, returned it.
“I do not mean to encumber you, Lord Kaylin,” he said, voice grave. “But should you require it, I will be here.”
* * *
You did that on purpose.
If you refer to Lord Andellen’s presence, I assure you that I am not in control of his actions. He elected to visit the High Halls today, and my schedule permitted his absence. Nightshade’s interior voice was a balm when compared to Ynpharion’s. This thought amused the fieflord. I see you did choose to bring An’Teela with you.
She chose to come, and before you say anything else, I am definitely not in control of Teela.
No. No one would assume that you were.
Teela took the lead, but subtly, and her guards shifted formation, allowing her to step forward. Which made sense. If an attack of any kind was going to occur, here was not the place it would happen. She approached the two thrones; to Kaylin’s surprise both were occupied. Etiquette lessons did not involve the niceties of paying court of any kind among the Barrani. If Barrani etiquette formed the base of Imperial norms, the two weren’t identical. Kaylin watched the people who seemed to be loosely milling in proximity to the thrones. She watched the way they stood, the way they conversed, the way they watched the other Lords, and the way they moved—or stood their ground.
She didn’t recognize them. Lord Evarrim, whom she could recognize two city blocks away, was not present.
She wasn’t shocked when the crowd more or less parted for Teela. She was, however, surprised. Teela approached the High Lord with no obvious signal from him. She then bowed, as perfectly—as obsequiously—as Andellen had bowed to her. But she held the bow until he bid her rise, and she rose slowly and gracefully, as if granting him respect that no etiquette could demand.
Kaylin watched the gathered Lords for reaction, because there was some. Most of it, however, did not involve words.
Teela approached the throne, but Kaylin lagged behind. She didn’t hate the High Lord, but his position made her uncomfortable; she was far too aware of all of the skills she lacked, and even if she hadn’t, she was still sworn to serve the Imperial Law with her life. Her accidental acquisition of both a name and a title didn’t change that.
But the Hawks had called her a mascot, and while that was embarrassing, there was affection in it. She couldn’t be that in this court. Yes, she was mortal, and yes, she was an oddity, a curiosity—but affection was no part of these Barrani Lords.
The familiar shifted position on Kaylin’s shoulder, drawing himself to his full height, which wasn’t terribly impressive. Or wouldn’t have been had he not been alive. He nodded at the High Lord. The High Lord raised one dark, perfect brow in the familiar’s direction. Or in Kaylin’s.
“You have come to visit my sister,” he said, turning his attention to the familiar’s perch.
Kaylin did bow, then. If her bow was awkward, that was a function of race. The Barrani would have been far more put out if she’d managed perfect anything. Thinking this, she vowed to practice until she was perfect, because the idea of thumbing her nose at the Barrani while doing nothing wrong that they could point out filled her with momentary glee. And that wasn’t going to get anything done, and perfect would probably come through Diarmat, so she’d pay for it in up-front humiliation first.
Because she was thinking all of this, she actually waited to rise until she was given permission.
“It has been some time since you have visited us,” the High Lord said.
It hadn’t been that long, but Kaylin supposed that riding Dragon-back while everything beneath her that surrounded the High Halls was on fire didn’t count as a visit.
“We find your company refreshing, and would be pleased should you visit us again.” Kaylin sifted through these words and reached the uncertain conclus
ion that this was, in fact, a dismissal.
Of course it is. He knows why you’re here, and he knows just how wise it is to keep the Consort waiting.
Kaylin thanked Ynpharion. Or thought she thanked him. She had been in gang wars that had caused her less anxiety. She almost backed into Teela, but Teela righted her with a subtle hand in the small of her back, and gave her a nudge in the direction of the Consort’s throne.
The Consort smiled. Of the Barrani, hers were the only green eyes present—or at least the only ones Kaylin could easily see. She did not rise; instead she waited for Kaylin to approach her throne. The metrics of such an approach were fuzzy; the Consort was in theory subordinate to the High Lord.
She is not.
Fine. Kaylin offered the Consort the same deep bow she had offered the High Lord, and waited. The Consort had once left her kneeling for an entire meal—a Barrani meal, which involved a lot of empty chatter and several courses. Kaylin had endured, because she understood that this snub was punishment, and the alternative punishments were more permanent.
The Consort had, eventually, forgiven Kaylin for their extreme difference in opinions, but Kaylin, now aware that she could enrage the Consort, had never felt quite as comfortable in her presence.
“Rise, Lord Kaylin.”
Kaylin rose.
The Consort then left her throne. She didn’t hug Kaylin, as she had done in the past. To the High Lord, she said, “We will walk in my personal garden. I do not wish to be disturbed. If it is necessary, we will speak by the side of the Lake.”
The High Lord inclined his head, and the Consort walked past the thrones until she reached a path that led away from the gathered Court. No one followed except Teela and Severn, not even Teela’s guards. The Consort, however, had no bodyguards of her own. Kaylin frowned. The Consort almost never had personal guards except during actual war.
We are all her guards. Without her, we have no future. Whenever Ynpharion spoke of the Consort, he spoke with pride and reverence. Given that the Consort was the most approachable, the least stiffly hierarchical of the Barrani, Kaylin sometimes found the reverence hard to understand.
9
When they were well away from the eyes of the gathered Court, the Consort turned to Teela. She didn’t hug the Barrani Hawk, but her eyes shaded blue in an expression that spoke of worry-as-concern, and not anger or danger.
“You misunderstand,” Teela said, before the Consort could speak. “Kaylin wished to speak with you, and I am here as kyuthe. She is not accustomed—and will probably never be accustomed—to the High Court and its undercurrents.” She bowed. “I will not entangle you in the minor difficulties I face. They are not the worst that I have historically faced, and doubtless, they will not be the last. If I cannot stand, I will fall, and someone who can will take my place. That has always been our way.
“Kaylin is mortal; she doesn’t understand this viscerally.”
The Consort looked as if she would speak, but demurred. She then turned to Kaylin. “If you are not here for An’Teela’s sake, why have you come?”
Kaylin indicated her tabard. “It’s Hawk-related. I would say it’s Hawk business, but I haven’t found out why, yet.”
The Consort chuckled. “Meaning you require a crime and have not yet found evidence of one?”
“Something like that.”
“And you feel that she does not understand the Barrani.” The Consort’s smile was fond as she turned it on Teela.
“She is not attempting to invent a crime; she is genuinely certain one exists. Were she to be convinced that one did not exist, she would move on. It is not political on her part.”
“Ah. Well. What crime am I to help you uncover then? I admit that I have been feeling somewhat—how do you say it? At loose ends? Yes. At loose ends, lately.”
Teela said, to Kaylin, “She is bored. And you are never boring, in the end. Frustrating and sentimental and frequently oblivious, but never boring.”
Kaylin tried not to resent this, and mostly succeeded. But she frowned. Which of course, everyone noticed, even Severn. “You’re not feeling bored.”
“Bored was not the word I used, and if you dislike it, you must take up the word choice with your kyuthe.”
“You are worried.” This almost entirely derailed Kaylin’s attempt to put together a politic sentence that involved Candallar.
“I am always worried about something, Lord Kaylin. It comes with the responsibility of my position. It is also not considered terribly wise to make such a statement so baldly.”
“Sorry.”
“Distract me.”
“I wanted to ask you about Candallar.”
“Candallar? You speak of the outcaste fieflord of that name?”
“He’s the only one I know of.”
“Why do you ask about him?”
“Because I met him in person in the city I patrol.”
The Consort’s eyes darkened into the familiar shade of Barrani blue. “When?”
“Two days ago.”
“Where?”
“It doesn’t matter. I was on patrol, and he was there. He was, I believe, invisible—which is questionably legal—and he meant to meet the Barrani who otherwise patrol that area.”
“Meeting with Barrani is not illegal by Imperial standards, surely?” The emphasis on Imperial was not flattering.
“No, of course not. But he’s a fieflord, and the fieflords, with the exception of Tiamaris, don’t generally come to the city for legal reasons. The people from the city who visit their fiefs don’t generally visit out of the goodness of their hearts, either.” Kaylin rigidly avoided looking at Teela. At all.
But the Consort didn’t. “An’Teela?”
“It is your decision, Lady.”
“Why do you believe I have information of relevance?”
Because you know Nightshade and you even like him was not actually a good answer. Because Nightshade told me I should talk to you was an even worse one, on reflection. “I don’t,” she finally said, speaking in Barrani. “But you are the person closest to the High Court I can talk to. You do not play politics the way that the rest of the Lords do because until there’s another Consort candidate, political games are irrelevant. You see everything from above, but you can afford to remain neutral.”
“Do you think I have much choice?” The Consort waited until the silence stretched thin enough for breath to break it. “I am the mother of the race. I have power. I can, in theory, refuse to offer names to my enemies. I can refuse to wake the children that are already rare enough in number. I can, in theory, do worse.
“But Kaylin, all of this was considered before the Lake was created. There are tests we must pass. The initial tests are difficult, but they are in keeping with any other test for any other training we receive as simple Barrani Lords. The Test of Name is less forgiving.” The Consort bowed her head. Lifted it. “There are tests that come later, when the first are passed, that are far, far more difficult. The politically powerful often send their daughters to the Lake as supplicants. Very few are the daughters who pass the initial tests who have returned.
“In order to be mother to our race, we cannot engage in the politics which are lifeblood to many of our kin. The ambitions of our parents aside, we cannot be beholden to anyone. If the line is more important to us than the race, we will never be given the duty and the task of guarding and guiding those names.”
“But I didn’t take any of those tests!”
“No.”
“And I—” Kaylin stopped. Her familiar had bitten her ear hard enough, she was certain, to draw blood.
“I have spoken at some length with Lord Andellen, purely socially. Did you know that he remains almost awed by the work you have undertaken with your mortal midwives? It garners you no acclaim—from my understanding, midwives are deplorably under
appreciated by your kind. It affords you no monetary gain. It certainly does not benefit you personally. Why, then, do you do it?”
“Because I’m Chosen.”
“Oh?”
“The only good thing that came with these marks was the ability to heal. People died because I have these marks. They were horribly murdered, and they were kids. If I can save the lives of babies, if I can save the lives of their mothers, it’s like—it’s not that it brings the dead back. But...” She shrugged, uncomfortable now.
“You do not do it because the marks compel you.”
“No.”
“You are aware that you are not the only bearer of these marks in our long history?”
Kaylin nodded.
“You are aware that their power is not sentient in any obvious fashion? That the use to which the power is put is, in theory, in large part in the hands of its bearers?”
Kaylin nodded again, but less certainly. She didn’t really know what the power was or how to use it, beyond the act of healing itself. But...the words sometimes lifted themselves off her arms. And that implied purpose or awareness, to Kaylin.
“Could you condemn a baby to death for political reasons?”
“Of course not!”
“Of course.” The Consort’s smile was slender but genuine; there was a dangerous affection in it.
“The Lake tests for that? I mean, can it?”
“In a fashion, yes. More than that I cannot say. The neutrality of the mother is not absolute in matters of Court politics; we are Barrani, after all. But there is a sharp divide between that Court and our duties. It is not as difficult for me as it was for my mother; many of the people who conspired against her and her sons were people she had personally awakened. But it was not their treachery that placed the greater burden upon her.”
“It was the voices of the lost.” The voices of the damned, really, trapped beneath the High Halls because they did not have the strength of will—or the callousness—to escape the horror they found there.
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