Cast in Oblivion

by Michelle Sagara

  Annarion had stiffened. Mandoran now turned to Teela. “You were there for the rest. We weren’t. And even now, all we’ve got is Annarion’s anger. Oh, and an earful of Nightshade’s, as well.”

  “If it isn’t obvious,” Sedarias added before Teela could speak, “we were all shocked by Annarion’s anger. We understood that his view of his older brother was possibly not entirely realistic. Annarion has never been as angry, in our years of captivity, as he has been under your roof.”

  “Because Nightshade is here.”

  “Because Nightshade is here.”

  “But... Nightshade became outcaste...”

  Teela said, “Yes. He was obsessed with Annarion—with his lost brother. He joined the Arcanum. He left the Arcanum. He traveled. He entered the fiefs—not as fieflord—and returned. He wished to understand the nature of the Hallionne, and also the nature of the green. Some of his travels, some of his research, some of his defiance of the High Lord—the former High Lord—rankled.

  “And during the time that he did his research, Karellan remained at home.”

  “What, exactly, was the pretext made for casting him out?”

  “That, sadly, is none of your business. He will not make it clear to even Annarion. Perhaps the Consort can answer your question—but, Kaylin, do not ask her at dinner.”

  Kaylin was silent for a beat, but she wasn’t finished. “Fine. So: Annarion is the heir, right. The direct heir.”

  “He is heir to Solanace, yes. But, Kaylin, he is considered the last of his line.”

  “But you said his uncle—” Kaylin stopped.

  “His uncle is Karellan. When Nightshade was made outcaste, Karellan approached the High Seat and prostrated himself and offered the High Lord of the time the penitence due him for the treachery of Calarnenne—this much was public. But in great sorrow, he offered the High Lord the existence of Solanace itself.”

  Kaylin frowned.

  Mandoran said—out loud, “I told you.”

  Annarion lifted his head, his eyes blue and narrow. “He did not kill what remained of his family; I believe there were two ‘accidents,’ but the High Lord did not require the death of every member of our family. What he required was the loss of the family name. Karellan, my former uncle, is not An’Solanace. No one is. I am the last of the line who bears that name.

  “If the former High Lord ruled the High Court, I would not survive the Test of Name. My uncle is the first of his name; he is Karellan Coravalle. But all of his lands are the ancestral lands of my line.”

  “What happened to the rest of your line? The other cousins?”

  “They relinquished the Solanace name, and joined my uncle. They are Coravalle dependents.” His eyes were almost indigo, but that color softened. “Some may have chosen that over death.

  “But I did not relinquish my name. I am the last of my line. I am Solanace.”

  And this, she thought, was why his anger at Nightshade was so intense. It wasn’t just his own life that he had abandoned in his search for some way to free his younger brother—it was all of their lives. Their history. She frowned. No, she thought, the history was immutable. It existed no matter what.

  Teela cleared her throat and lifted her chin, and Annarion cast her a grateful glance. “Karellan has a place of minor import in the High Court. He supported the High Lord of the time in Nightshade’s removal, but his influence did not increase; it decreased. Although the gambit was understood by the High Court it was nonetheless distasteful; Solanace was an old lineage, and a worthy one. To enrich himself, Karellan destroyed it.”

  “I don’t understand why he didn’t just keep the line.”

  “Nightshade’s removal was political. Had he been hunted as outcaste—had he perished—Karellan would have taken the name. But Nightshade failed to die. If he did not suspect his eventual fate—and I believe he must have been informed of the High Lord’s decision before it was handed down publicly—he was nonetheless a power to be reckoned with, on a purely personal level. Those who went to prove themselves against him never returned.

  “And eventually he became fieflord, and the High Court could not touch him. We understand the function of the Towers,” she added softly. “And we do not interfere with them.”

  “But—but—”

  “Yes?”

  “He can’t leave the fief.”

  “He can, obviously. Has he not visited his brother here?”

  “So Karellan was afraid he’d come back.”

  “So we believe. He wished to—what is the phrase now?—salt the earth? The name An’Solanace had been stripped from him by the High Lord and the High Court, and Karellan relinquished all claim to any such name so as not to be associated with his disgrace. There was, therefore, no Solanace to come home to, because there were none who remained of Solanace.

  “But Annarion is Solanace. He has not, and will not, give over that name; he does not intend to be the last of his line.

  “Karellan is not Nightshade’s equal, but underestimating him at this juncture could prove fatal—to Annarion. Karellan would never be foolish enough to attack Nightshade; he’s been bold enough to demand the return of Meliannos, Nightshade’s sword, but the sword was earned by Nightshade, and he holds it until his death.”

  “Even if he’s outcaste?”

  “What would you bet on your chances of retrieving it from him if he doesn’t want to return it?” Her question was Barrani; her grin was Hawkish. “But his sword is a bargaining point should he ever wish to return to Court. And you understand why, while he is Lord of Castle Nightshade, he will never surrender it.

  “Annarion, however, as Solanace, has the legal right to make claims to the lands which went, wholesale, to Coravalle. And the High Lord that rules now would, I believe, have some sympathy. Coravalle supported the previous High Lord, but he did not support the current one, when it appeared there would be contention for the High Seat.”

  “So...he tried to support the current Lord of the West March?”

  “Ah, no. He chose to support a cousin who had a reasonable claim and the right lineage; it was not clear to any observers that either of the two sons of the High Lord would succeed him.”

  “So how much of a threat is Karellan, then? Or Coravalle? Technically, couldn’t Solanace and Coravalle exist side by side if they hashed out the problems with the estate?”

  Sedarias snorted, but said nothing out loud. Teela pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Understand that while the Barrani claim power, they seldom allow it to be put to the test in a public venue. In this case, public means, in Elantran, ‘where anyone else can observe it.’ Karellan is first of his name, but head of what remained of Solanace. He has a daughter, Reyenne; she is his most active agent. There are scattered cousins, lieges. I have not tested myself against Karellan or Reyenne. Nor have they tested themselves against me. Reyenne spent some time within the Arcanum, but did not choose to struggle her way up that hierarchy.”

  Great. Another Arcanist. But Teela had spent some time in the Arcanum in her distant past, and Teela was her friend. Being an Arcanist, or being a student Arcanist, didn’t mean you had to be monstrous. It was just the likely outcome.

  “So Annarion is likely to come up against Karellan and Reyenne if he stakes his claim to his family lands.”

  “Yes. But not only those two; against just two, I don’t think he’d have too much difficulty.”

  “You said we shouldn’t underestimate Karellan.”

  “Yes, I did. But, Kaylin, they will all underestimate us.” Her smile was feline—but the cat it most resembled was Leontine.

  Chapter 2

  Kaylin loved her job. At the moment, surrounded by paperwork and the need to memorize huge chunks of it, she wished she were at the Halls of Law. Or at the foundling hall. Or at the midwives guildhall. Anywhere but here.

 
; She wondered if this was how Marcus felt when he had to deal with reports. Given the stacks of paperwork on his desk, this was a comforting thought.

  Sadly, Marcus had made clear that she’d be missing chunks of her throat if she showed up at the Halls of Law, and she half suspected that if she did, Clint and Tanner would turn her away, orders being orders, and Kaylin being a private.

  She was sick to death of Barrani and in need of a break; the cohort, being Barrani, and being at the center of what was not yet all-out war, weren’t. Kaylin soldiered on, mostly keeping her whining on the inside of her head, where only Helen could hear it.

  Not just Helen, Ynpharion very helpfully pointed out. I imagine that anyone listening can hear every word of it. This would include—

  Helen keeps everyone else out. She wondered why Helen didn’t keep Ynpharion out. She’d have to ask, but later.

  “Ynpharion is, unlike the rest of your nameheld, remarkably up front for a Barrani. He is open in his hostility, open in his disgust. If he is actually capable of manipulation, I have yet to see it. I consider some of his commentary unreasonable, but I consider none of it harmful. And although his opinions are often expressed in the rudest possible way, they are nonetheless occasionally useful.”

  Meaning that she agreed with them.

  “With some of them, yes.”

  Ynpharion did not find this insulting, which was what Kaylin would have expected. She keeps the others out?

  “Yes, dear, I do. I will allow Lord Nightshade to speak on occasion, when the discussion might affect his relationship with his brother. I have chosen to keep the Lord of the West March at a distance. If Kaylin wishes to speak with them,” she added, her tone changing, “I, of course, allow that.”

  Everyone was staring at Kaylin. She managed not to say that Helen was talking to Ynpharion, on the very off chance the cohort didn’t actually know that he was name-bound. This both surprised and almost pleased Ynpharion, although he thought she was foolishly optimistic.

  I admit to surprise at the extent of the reports you’ve read so far, he said. And perhaps it justifies your exhaustion. You are only mortal, after all.

  If you don’t have anything useful to add, could you just shut up? Kaylin privately disagreed with Helen’s opinion. Yes, Ynpharion was rude and openly condescending; yes, it would probably kill him to attempt to be friendly or, gods forbid, charming. And yes, he was never going to stab her in the back. But in her work as a ground Hawk, Kaylin had had people attempt to stab her from the front, and while that hadn’t worked out well for them, she didn’t see how that was any less dangerous.

  That is because you are lowborn and your first response to everything is simple, physical violence. Were you capable of any subtlety at all, you would not be in this position.

  Oh?

  “Please don’t tell me you’re attempting to hold a rational discussion with any of your name-bound,” Teela said. When Kaylin turned to look at her, she added, “Your knuckles are white, you are creasing that page and you have all but slammed the side of your fist into the table. Perhaps you wish to take a break?”

  “The Consort is coming to dinner,” Kaylin replied. “And I think we need to know this stuff.”

  “It would have been better, by far, if you had learned some of this stuff, as you call it, before you extended the invitation.”

  That, Ynpharion said with enough smug satisfaction it should have been poison, is exactly what I meant.

  You wanted me to invite her!

  I wanted you, he said with more obvious irritation, to notice that that’s what the Lady wanted. Annoyance firmly entrenched, he continued. You know almost nothing about the so-called cohort.

  I know that they were sent—as children—to the green, to witness the regalia. I know that it changed them. I know that they were then jailed in the Hallionne Alsanis for centuries.

  Yes, and all of that is almost irrelevant.

  She considered asking her house to shut Ynpharion up. She considered it loudly, mentally enunciating each less-than-polite word. Helen, however, did not respond. Fine. What do you consider relevant?

  You know what happened to them, but it is irrelevant to the information you have beneath your nose. It is all but irrelevant to most of the High Court. It is not irrelevant to the Lady or the High Lord, but most of your political difficulties—

  And by difficulties, you mean assassination attempts?

  If the cohort is careless, yes. His tone implied that although this was so obvious it was not worth putting into words, for the sake of the ignorant, he would force himself to do so. Understand, however, that while being sent to the green, for the children themselves, was an act of sacrifice, it was not without prestige. There were twelve children chosen, twelve sent. There were many who sought to add children of their own to that delegation, and in the end, only the families of first rank in the High Court were given permission to do so.

  It was considered a prize, at the time. It was, as most prizes are, contested. You know that the cohort felt discarded. What you fail to understand is that everyone is expendable. High, low, in between. Everyone is expendable when ambition is involved. Some of the twelve families have retained their positions of political prominence. Some have not.

  Kaylin grimaced. They were all important at the time?

  Yes. All. The lines still exist; in theory, almost all of the cohort have family to whom they might return. But not all of their families remain powerful. It is possible, should the cohort prove to be powers, that those of lesser significance might welcome them back without offering them poison at their first meal. But if so, those who desire the line’s prominence will be fighting internally with those who do not wish to surrender the power they now have. It is better to be ruler of a lesser family than servant in a greater one.

  But if they could use the cohort to gain prominence, they could then dispose of them after the fact.

  Ynpharion seemed to approve of this line of thought. Yes. The possibility of greater personal power in future might stay the hand of the ambitious, and it is entirely possible, even probable, that they might ally themselves with your cause. Or rather, with the cause of the cohort. The possibility of alliance is much higher if the Consort chooses, in the end, to lend her support to the cohort.

  And she can’t make that decision until she comes to dinner.

  Yes.

  What do you think will happen?

  I do not know. He was frustrated Ynpharion again. I do not know the Lady’s mind. I know as much as she wishes to share, and unless it has entirely escaped your notice—and given your present guests, one might understand how or why—the Barrani are not a “sharing” people. You understand what occupies the Lady’s thoughts. You understand that the very nature of the cohort—their uncertain nature—is the reason she has hope for them.

  She hadn’t seemed all that hopeful, in the end.

  They are a weapon one has seen at a distance, but has never attempted to wield. Had she control of them, had she some lever with which to enforce their obedience, she would not only accept them, but insist on their presence at Court—itself a dangerous move. His tone shifted. Sedarias is impressive. She would be a valuable leader, should she take the seat that is hers by birthright. But Mellarionne is not an insignificant family; it is of the first rank. And it has had a brittle interaction with the High Lord’s family for centuries.

  Kaylin nodded. If they made a play for the High Seat and survived it, they’d have to be politically impressive. What about Annarion’s former family? Coravalle?

  It does not have the power or influence it once did.

  You...don’t approve of what Karellan did, either.

  Ynpharion’s response was a very grudging no.

  “Do either of you have the bit about the Consort’s family?”

  Both Sedarias and Teela stiffened. It was Teela who r
eplied. “If you can leave the Consort entirely out of your rudimentary grasp of court politics, things will be much safer for all of us.”

  “But—”

  Teela rolled her eyes. They had actually lightened to a blue that implied annoyance; it was a familiar color. “But?”

  “Leaving aside the fact that she attempted to ambush us and imprison us all—”

  “Imprison us,” Sedarias said, the correction sharp-voiced and blue-eyed. “Not you.”

  “She’s coming here. Given Diarmat’s homework—” she jabbed the table with the back end of the stack she was holding “—and the Emperor’s very politely worded request that Bellusdeo return to the palace—” at this, Teela winced “—how is this not political? It’s apparently the most political thing I’ve ever done. I’ve got no way to stay out of politics. Look, I’ve tried to cancel dinner, and she’s not answering. I suppose I could slam the door in her face if she shows up—”

  “No!” Sedarias all but shouted.

  “I’m not that stupid.”

  “And how, exactly, am I expected to know that?” Sedarias dropped the stack of paper that had occupied most of her attention. “In the West March, the Consort made clear—to you—that you were not at risk. Instead of accepting her offer of safety, what did you do? You ran across the outlands to the edge of the most feared city in our history—in any history!”

  “I’m not sure that you could have found what you needed to find without me. You certainly couldn’t have entered the fief of Tiamaris—and that was my only hope.” She hesitated, and then added, “Well, we couldn’t have found our way without Bellusdeo, and there was no way she was going to accept the Consort’s hospitality.

  “And if I returned without Bellusdeo, I’d be an ash pile—at best. So I did the only smart thing. It worked, didn’t it?”

  Mandoran reached across the table and placed a hand over the top of Sedarias’s left hand. This made Kaylin wonder if Sedarias were left-handed, but the gesture seemed to be intended to calm or comfort, not to restrain.

  “I know all of this is above my pay grade,” Kaylin continued, gesturing at Diarmat’s report. “I’m a private. This is probably Hawklord territory. But the Hawklord isn’t living with the rest of you. I am. And she’s coming here. Because she is, I need to know this stuff. And before you decide what I do, or do not, need to know, consider this: I don’t think the way the rest of you do. I don’t have your experience. I’m never going to have it. This is my best shot at not screwing things up so profoundly we end up with Barrani war bands laying siege to Helen.