No, Kaylin thought, that wasn’t true. She did notice, but it was so natural to her it required no response. Marcus’s kits had been like this when they were young—piles of interconnected fur of different shades, breathing evenly together, as if they shared a single set of lungs.
The only time Serralyn looked up was when Terrano shifted in place and the chair made the faintest of noises. She didn’t speak. Her glance returned to the written High Barrani in her hands. But Allaron sighed, gathered the documents he appeared to have barely started and dragged Terrano toward where Serralyn was sitting.
“Helen?” Allaron said.
“I feel it best to maintain a table,” Helen replied. “The documents in question are of some value to Lord Diarmat and, as much as they can be, should be handled with care. But let me alter the dining room slightly to better suit your needs.”
Terrano was flushed. He glared at Allaron and attempted to remove the hand on his upper arm. It was like trying to move rock. Kaylin knew Terrano could escape if he really wanted to.
“It is not actually that simple,” Helen said in a gentle voice. “Not where Allaron is concerned.”
“Because he’s larger and stronger?”
Helen smiled. “It’s because he’s stronger, yes—but his size has nothing to do with it. If he must be characterized at all in regard to his position within the cohort, he’s the anchor. He’s the foundation, the stability.”
Mr. Stability dragged Terrano to where Karian and Serralyn were now sitting—Helen had literally moved them to an enlarged corner of the room in which a carpet and several pillows and throws had been haphazardly dropped.
“You can’t help us by reading this,” Allaron told Terrano.
“It’s useless to me,” was Terrano’s mutinous reply.
“It’s not useless to the rest of us. And neither are you. You’ve been gone too long. Now sit down and let the rest of us expire from boredom.” He dropped Terrano more or less in Karian’s lap, and Karian opened one eye—the left eye—and then wrapped an arm around Terrano before Terrano could pick himself up.
“You’re warm,” he said.
Terrano grimaced. “Karian—”
“You can get away from me, yes. But look at where Allaron is sitting.” On the floor, documents moved as his hands moved. Right beside Terrano.
Terrano’s spine stiffened, as did his expression, but there was something in that expression that made Kaylin look away. When she looked back, that spine seemed to melt; for the first time, he folded himself into members of his cohort. To outside eyes, he seemed to be at home there.
She didn’t understand Terrano. She thought she never would. What they wanted for him, he was afraid to want. But it was what she had wanted, for so long, for herself.
“Here,” Sedarias said, lifting a slender sheaf of papers. “This will be our biggest problem.”
Chapter 5
Kaylin, Severn and Tain turned immediately in the direction of Sedarias’s voice; she held up one slender sheaf of papers in completely steady hands. Her eyes were a blaze of Barrani blue.
“Sedarias believes that Mellarionne is always the greatest threat,” Valliant said. His expression made clear that he didn’t agree with this assessment, but wasn’t willing to voice more of an argument where strangers might hear it.
“Mellarionne is in conflict with the High Lord’s house,” Kaylin said. “I mean, at least according to the documents about Mellarionne.”
“Every house is in conflict with every other house,” Sedarias replied. She was trying not to sound dismissive, but her early lessons about deportment still clung to her tone. “But when you returned from the West March the first time, Mellarionne began to make more conciliatory moves. Or at least the lower echelons of Mellarionne’s related allies. They don’t approach the Consort directly, of course; they don’t approach the High Lord directly. They can approach the Lord of the West March. It’s taken time to build a reasonable base of power in the West March because the West March has been considered far less politically relevant.
“But given the presence of my sister there, that is clearly no longer the case.” She glanced, briefly, at Eddorian, which was clearly done for the benefit of outsiders; the cohort hadn’t moved. “Gennave has supported Mellarionne, but not in an obvious way. Eddorian’s sister is An’Gennave. Gennave is not beloved of the High Lord’s house. There has been very little movement on the part of Gennave since your first trip to the green; the loss of Iberrienne was costly. Iberrienne was the conduit through which Gennave could make contact with the Arcanum’s more private members; it was through the Arcanum—the Imperial service theorizes—that Iberrienne made contact with the humans, some of who...” She stopped.
“Some of who?”
“It is not relevant to the Consort and her arrival.”
“It’s relevant—it might be relevant—to anything that comes after. Can I see that?”
“There’s not much more.” Sedarias exhaled. “Fine. At least one of the men who frequently entertained Iberrienne is a lord of the Human Caste Court. A wealthy lord, by Imperial standards.”
“That means money,” Tain helpfully added. “The Barrani concept of wealth is broader and more complex; I imagine that the draconian concept is similar to ours, as well.”
“Don’t look at me,” Bellusdeo said. “Wealth in my world, by the end, was measured in armies and their martial prowess.”
“It was that way for us, as well,” Serralyn surprised Kaylin by saying. “During the wars in which we were...empowered. But the wars have passed; we learned martial arts—sword, bow, pole-arm—but they are no longer so highly prized as they were. Perhaps that will change in future; perhaps it will not. If Gennave was their contact—”
“They weren’t the only contact,” Eddorian finally said. “You remember—”
“I admit I could not decipher much of what Iberrienne said,” Sedarias said, as if the admission pained her. “And at the time, I did not think it entirely relevant.” Her look soured further, so the cohort was probably talking among itself again.
“Sedarias,” Helen said softly, “I have prepared some jewelry for the dinner tonight. I am uncertain what is acceptable to Barrani at this time, and wish to consult with you in the parlor.”
Sedarias looked as if she would dismiss this request out of hand. Instead, she took one long breath and rose from her chair, setting the documents she was holding on the tabletop. Everyone watched her go.
It was Eddorian, usually silent, who spoke—but only after Sedarias was no longer in the room. Why, Kaylin didn’t know. It wasn’t as if the cohort were any good at keeping things to themselves, with the exception of Teela, who had had centuries of practice.
“Sedarias was the bloodline heir. She was considered the member of Mellarionne with the greatest potential for power.”
Kaylin knew this already, but nodded, anyway, an indication that she was listening and she wanted the rest.
“Do you think she was surprised to find her sister within Alsanis’s core?”
“She didn’t look surprised.”
“No. Because she wasn’t. Her sister had tried to kill her before we were ever sent to the green. Her sister tried to be nominated to go in Sedarias’s stead—it was the only time in their mutual history her sister spoke up about how talented, how important, how necessary, Sedarias was to the family. There was no love between them, and no admiration; the only time Sedarias might depend on that sister for support might be if the family home were attacked by the Dragon Flights. It’s just as likely that her sister would kill her and blame it on the Dragons, though.”
“Eddorian,” Valliant said, his tone forbidding.
Mandoran snorted. “Let him finish.”
“If Sedarias wanted this known, she’d say it herself.”
“If Sedarias didn’t want it known, she wouldn’t have left. She doesn
’t want to feel public humiliation or pain—but she doesn’t care if Kaylin knows. Teela already knows, and Tain is practically oath-bound.”
“And the other mortal?”
“Severn’s the same, only he serves Lord Kaylin.”
Kaylin tried very hard not to grimace at the use of the courtesy title.
“Sedarias accepts you. Mostly,” Eddorian added, “because of you two.” Although he was looking at Mandoran, he included Annarion in this. “She’s willing to trust only us, but you both trust this house, and this house is Kaylin’s. It’s why she’s willing to accept a Dragon.” He looked to Valliant, who gave a very reluctant nod.
“Iberrienne isn’t like Calarnenne—Nightshade. Neither is my sister. Their actions didn’t get them forcibly removed from the High Court by the previous lord. But...when Iberrienne was offered a chance to rescue me—his perception—he took it. He took it instantly.” Voice lower, he added, “It destroyed him.”
Silence.
Mandoran picked up the thread. “Annarion’s brother never stopped looking for some way to save Annarion. Eddorian’s brother sacrificed himself to save Eddorian.”
“And Sedarias’s sibling tried to kill her.”
“Her sister, yes—but she doesn’t doubt that her brother was behind it, in the end. And frankly, neither does Teela, which is probably more important, given Teela’s long-term experience with the Court and its politics.” Mandoran grimaced after a pause; clearly someone was telling him to shut up. Luckily—unluckily?—Mandoran had never been moved by attempts to silence him. “It’s hard for Sedarias. So far, none of our families have cared enough to spend the resources attempting to murder any of the rest of us, and some demonstrably spent those resources for the opposite reason: to liberate us. I think it’s likely that we’ll come under fire at some point, but the stakes aren’t as high for our families. Yet.
“She’s one of us. She’d never hurt us unless she had no other choice—and frankly, I can’t imagine a Sedarias so cornered that she had no other choice. But she didn’t pay attention to Iberrienne because he was no longer a threat. She doesn’t understand Eddorian’s guilt or his concern. She doesn’t understand Annarion’s attachment to Nightshade, and really doesn’t understand why Annarion’s so angry with his brother.
“And none of us who do understand it can explain it to her. I mean, she knows what we know if she bothers to look—but she can’t quite take it in and make it her own, because she’s never had what they’ve had, and she never will. The best chance of peace or survival she has lies in the deaths of her immediate family—those that survive.”
“But...”
It was Terrano whose eyes narrowed. Allaron’s arm tightened; Terrano was watching the conversation, as such, from the floor. “What now?” He was annoyed. He was, Kaylin thought, angry at Mandoran and Eddorian for telling Kaylin—an outsider—anything that revealed a vulnerability. He couldn’t stop them; he didn’t even seem to be surprised that he couldn’t. But he wouldn’t be, would he?
“If she didn’t want what they had—what you had,” Kaylin added, glancing at Eddorian, “she would never have suggested the giving of the names. She would never have tried to build the cohort into the family that wouldn’t betray her, wouldn’t try to kill her when it was convenient.”
“Exactly,” Terrano snapped.
Eddorian and Mandoran exchanged a glance. Eddorian shrugged. It was a fief shrug.
“Yes and no,” Mandoran then said. “Look—I don’t understand Nightshade at all. I do understand Iberrienne at least. He believed that his brother was out of his reach. Out of all reach. Only when Terrano appeared before him did that change. But when it did change, he wanted two things: power, and his brother back. Because if he had power, he’d likely have his brother. If he didn’t? Well, it’s not like much would change. He’d still be more powerful.
“That’s what good families are like, at Court. Nightshade would have been considered a sentimental fool—at best. If you’d offered him power or his brother, and he believed that you could give him the latter, he would have chosen his brother without pause. That is not what Mellarionne is like. It’s not what Sedarias would have been, had she become An’Mellarionne.”
“Is it what she’ll become if she is?”
Silence.
Terrano said, “She only cares about those who went to the green. You two—papers.”
“And you’re going to sit around uselessly sulking?” Eddorian demanded.
Terrano’s grin was genuine. “There has to be some advantage to being on the outside.”
Allaron growled. Serralyn cuffed the top of Terrano’s head, which took real flexibility.
* * *
The cohort had decided that they would allow Helen to create jewelry and outer layers of clothing that were appropriately formal. Their ideas of appropriately formal caused Tain to leave the room—but Tain’s eyes were a blue-green and the left corner of his mouth was twitching with the attempt to contain hilarity.
Apparently, the fashion of the highborn Barrani Court was similar to the fashion in the highborn Human Caste Court; it changed for no discernible reason whatsoever, and the changes appeared to be important to the people who followed them. Kaylin personally thought the Leontines far more practical but, as she lacked the fur and the fangs, attempted to keep out of sight of rich mortals.
Teela had a few things to say about fashion at Court. Sedarias didn’t appear to like them. Serralyn didn’t care. Fallessian did. Allaron, to Kaylin’s surprise, did. This started an entirely different argument, but most of that was silent, and Kaylin felt she didn’t need to know anything about Barrani fashion in the long-ago Court that had sentenced the young cohort to possible death.
“I’m not certain that the Consort will recognize that style of dress,” Helen offered to apparent silence. “Are you certain?”
Kaylin glanced at Severn and mouthed the words formal dress, raising eyebrows.
“I brought mine.”
Kaylin only had one dress that Helen considered good enough for important guests.
“All guests are important, dear,” Helen said.
“Fine. For people who can fire me or turn me to ash. Better?”
“Only slightly. But yes. I think you could use a bath and some time to prepare yourself to greet your guests. That is what Teela and her friends will be doing.”
* * *
Kaylin found the heat of the bath soothing. Also, the privacy. Teela didn’t join her because Teela had her own bath. Kaylin’s personal rooms didn’t contain a bath like this; it wouldn’t have fit, for one. To reach the room, Kaylin had to enter the joint hall. Helen had offered, more than once, to redesign Kaylin’s rooms, but the alternative—something that resembled rooms to be found in the Halls of Law—didn’t please her, either. Kaylin therefore had creaky floors of plain, if somewhat worn, wood.
Small and squawky sat on top of Kaylin’s damp hair. He had been so quiet during the day Kaylin had almost forgotten he was there. “He has been watching,” Helen said, voice grave. “He understands the shape of the spaces both Annarion and Mandoran occupy; he understands how those shapes distend or break when they’re upset. But the rest of Teela’s friends are relative strangers, and he does not have the same experience with them. Before you ask, Annarion and Mandoran are not the same; there are subtle differences between the ways they enter spaces that other Barrani cannot.
“He is also somewhat concerned about Terrano. If the rest of the cohort loses control and...spreads?”
Squawk.
“Spreads, Terrano doesn’t. He can be emotional; he can be upset. But he doesn’t cross boundaries that exist for the others. He chooses which side of the boundary he wants to stand on. He has more control of his form and its dissolution; he has more control of his appearance in the less visible planes. I’m surprised he stays. But he has not breached my
borders. He does not sneak out and return.”
“He couldn’t.”
“Actually, I believe he could. He is a danger, but... I do not consider him a threat. I can hear some of what he’s thinking, but I am also certain that I cannot hear most of it. What I hear, he chooses to share. No, that’s not quite right. What I hear is what he considers speech; what I do not hear is what he considers thought. I cannot hear the latter unless he chooses to share it.”
Squawk.
“Teela can keep her thoughts to herself; so can Lord Nightshade, unless he is too angry.”
“And the rest of the cohort?”
“Mandoran doesn’t try. Annarion tries only when it concerns his family—but his brother’s visits destroy those attempts each time. But the others? Yes, they try. I’m not at all offended; I’m not at all concerned. They do not know me. Mandoran and Annarion have reason to trust me, and the cohort knows those reasons—but knowing that someone is trustworthy is merely one step in the building of a relationship of any kind.”
Kaylin’s hands had now become pleasantly wrinkled in that waterlogged way they did when she’d been sitting far too long in a bath. She rose, water dripping down her body; the familiar rose with her, but avoided the toweling that implied vigorous drying was about to start.
“I don’t understand why Terrano can’t hear the rest of the cohort.”
“He doesn’t have a name anymore. The word that was given him, the word that allowed him to wake, to come to life, is no longer at his core.”
“But he didn’t need that in the Hallionne, did he?”
“I would argue—and this would be a guess, not a statement of practical fact—that they all lacked names. If you recall, you told me you had to give them back their names, and they had to take them, in order to leave the green the way their ancient kin have always left it.”
“Alsanis kept their names. Maybe because they were trapped there, they still had some connection to them. I gave them back the names I found within Alsanis. That’s it.”
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