Cast in Oblivion

by Michelle Sagara

  “I am happy to hear you say that,” the Arkon replied.

  Bellusdeo stiffened instantly.

  “Because in some fashion, Lord Kaylin, you are.” He lifted a hand in Bellusdeo’s direction, possibly to forestall either words or fire, her eyes were so close to red. “The misunderstanding that occurred in the West March involved Lord Kaylin’s familiar. Do you understand? Any difficulty that occurs within Lord Kaylin’s home will be one misunderstanding, one coincidence, too many. The Barrani who are in conflict with both their own High Court and the Eternal Emperor will seize upon that. Should the Consort come to harm here, it will be laid at your feet. It might end all hostilities between the Emperor and the High Court—”

  “Over my dead body,” Bellusdeo said, her voice a rumble of Dragon thunder.

  “—but that is not an advantage to Elantra, as you must suspect. The Consort is not as secure in her seat as you believe. There are Consort candidates waiting in the wings, some of whom have passed almost all of the tests.

  “And one is of Mellarionne.”

  * * *

  “I don’t think that was in the dossier Diarmat gave me.”

  “It is a recent development. It was difficult to confirm.”

  “Look—I tried to cancel the dinner. I tried every possible avenue available to anyone!”

  “Understood. All I hope you take out of this experience in the future is some measure of control over whether or not you extend an invitation at all.” He turned to Helen. “I have questions of a more technical nature, if you are free to respond.”

  “I am free to respond, but also free to choose not to do so.”

  “Understood, again.” The Arkon pushed himself out of his chair. “Is there another room in which we may have this discussion?”

  “It requires your native tongue?”

  “Some of it, yes.”

  “Very well. Please follow me.”

  The Arkon followed the Avatar, which left a large conversational hole in the room. Emmerian, however, filled it. “You understand the difficulty,” he said to Bellusdeo.

  “You are concerned that the spies just beyond the grounds and in all directions are not an actual danger.”

  “Yes. To be honest, the method of your return to Elantra has...increased the uncertainty. It has long been understood among Immortals that the portal paths exist between the Hallionne. You did not traverse those paths; there is no such path that leads to Elantra.”

  “There is,” Kaylin said.

  “I assure you—”

  “If I understand anything about Shadow and the heart of the fiefs, there is. But it leads through Ravellon. All things apparently did, once.”

  “And telling the Emperor that you followed the path to Ravellon is unlikely to induce the calm for which you hope.”

  “I don’t want calm based on ignorance. We had help, in the outlands. We had the Hallionne Bertolle’s brothers. They wouldn’t go near Ravellon—but we could see it. In a plane in which there were almost no physical markers, no geography, Ravellon looked like a...city.”

  “You are straying from the topic at hand.”

  “Look, Emmerian—Lord Emmerian,” she added when Helen cleared her now-absent throat, “I obviously don’t understand the topic at hand. I’m a private. I’m a Hawk. Tell me what you’re worried about without all the indirection.”

  “As you wish. If the Barrani can enter the heart of Hallionne without the Hallionne’s knowledge, they might just as easily enter Helen in the same fashion. If Mellarionne is involved, it would be an advantage to their line to assassinate the Consort. You would bear the blame, but it would also fall upon your various friends. And Mellarionne’s candidate would be vastly more important, vastly more significant, than she might otherwise be. She has come far in the testing, and if the Consort dies here, it will be imperative that she be brought up to speed.

  “She will replace the Consort, and the High Court will agree because otherwise none of the children will awaken.”

  “Look—I’m not supposed to be talking about this, but I highly doubt that the Mellarionne candidate would be able to pass the final test if that was the case. And frankly, passing the milestones in between is hand-waving. It’s meaningless. Only the final test counts. If she does pass that last test, she’s not going to be a good little pawn in Mellarionne’s bid for the seat.”

  “And you are so certain of that? Lord Kaylin—Kaylin if you prefer and until the Consort arrives—if Mellarionne’s various kin have become adept at fooling the Hallionne, at hiding their intent, why do you feel that such a woman would not pass the tests devised by some ancient and unknown magic?

  “We are not currently afraid that your guests will attempt to harm the Consort. The Consort does not fear that, either—or she would not have accepted your invitation. But harm can come from many sources, and information is not currently being easily passed between the Dragon Court and the High Halls.”

  Ah, Ynpharion said. Now I understand.

  Is it true? Does Mellarionne have a candidate who’s almost there?

  I do not know. But I will ask.

  * * *

  So. What everyone was afraid of was pretty simple: Barrani would try to kill the Consort, and blame it on the cohort—which would almost certainly result in the entire lot being made outcaste. If they couldn’t make that stick—if the Consort was harmed but didn’t die—they could try to pin it on the Dragons, because at the moment, there were three of them under Kaylin’s roof. They wouldn’t need something like actual proof, either.

  The Emperor was already almost enraged at what had happened in the West March. He didn’t want a war between the Dragon Court and the High Halls—it would destroy the city, probably literally. Kaylin was certain that the current High Lord didn’t want that, either. But Mellarionne? Mellarionne could use the political tension and the history of the two peoples as a goad to supporters. It was all just ugly.

  And she’d invited the Consort.

  It pains me greatly to offer you any support whatsoever at this time, Ynpharion said, but you didn’t so much invite her as accede to her very, very obvious desire.

  Did she answer?

  No, Lord Kaylin, she did not. What conversation you’ve had that I can share, I have been asked to share. “Ask,” in this case, had a very different weight for Ynpharion than it would for any other Barrani lord, because the Consort had his name. I hope you understand what she desires from the cohort, as you call them. It is only because of that desire that she is willing to take this risk—but she will not be turned away from it. The High Lord has tried. The Lord of the West March has tried. No others among the Court have any chance of success where these two failed.

  And now, he added, you are almost out of time. The Consort is leaving her quarters.

  * * *

  The Arkon returned with Helen, and once again resumed his seat, pausing only to speak a few quiet words to Emmerian, who remained by the door. Kaylin, who hadn’t heard the draconian, wondered why Helen hadn’t shut Annarion and Nightshade in the same damn room during the endless nights of argument.

  The Consort did not arrive before the cohort began to trickle into the parlor. Teela came first. Kaylin had seen Teela in formal court dress before, but it never really got old. She wore a dress of emerald silk—at least Kaylin thought it must be silk—with full, long skirts, and a neckline that was cut in a way that suggested it was meant to set off the emerald necklace that lay flat against her skin. Her hair had been drawn up and away from her back; it was piled on her head, and it glittered, implying either nets or jewelry embedded in its curled, glossy strands.

  To Kaylin’s utter surprise, Teela wore a circlet of gold that housed an emerald, as well. Her eyes were a martial blue. The lines of the dress did not imply armor, but she wore a sword, as well. Kaylin didn’t ask if the sword was significant; she already k
new the answer.

  None of Teela’s clothing, jewelry or weaponry had been created by Helen. Tain was not far behind, and his eyes were bluer. He wore a green that mirrored Teela’s, but no jewelry; he did have a sword, as well. The whole impression he gave was shadowed by Teela’s. Kaylin liked his boots, though.

  Teela bowed to the Arkon, who rose when she entered the parlor. “An’Teela,” he said.

  “Arkon. It is a pleasure to see you outside of the Imperial Library.”

  “I wish I could say it is a pleasure to be outside of my own domain. In general, I leave it only during times of possible war.”

  Teela’s eyes lightened a shade; there was more green in them. Bellusdeo also relaxed. She eyed the sword that Teela bore, but made no comment about it.

  “It is a gesture of respect,” Helen said, which caused the people in the room to look in Kaylin’s direction. “Were Lord Nightshade present, he would no doubt likewise be so armed.”

  “How is it respectful to carry a sword that was created—successfully—to kill Dragons?”

  The Arkon chuckled. To Helen, he said, “The battles that shaped Kaylin’s life are not the battles that shaped either of our people, and on surface appearance, she might be forgiven for confusion.” To Kaylin, he said, “The wearing of the sword implies that I am a dangerous man, a worthy opponent, instead of a toothless, ancient Dragon.”

  “You are hardly toothless, Lannagaros.”

  The Arkon smiled. His eyes were almost pure gold. Bellusdeo’s were the orange-gold that implied caution in a dangerous setting. A backward glance at Emmerian surprised Kaylin; his eyes were lighter than even the Arkon’s.

  Sedarias arrived with Terrano, although Allaron was not far behind. As Teela was, she was robed in a deep emerald green; her jewelry was different. Rings bound her hands almost ostentatiously, and the necklace she wore was not all pendant; it had a pendant but the chain that bore it was heavy and appeared to be etched or carved in a pattern.

  Allaron and Terrano also wore the same green.

  In fact, as the cohort came into the parlor in a procession, it was clear that they were all wearing the same colors. Kaylin had assumed that they’d wear colors associated with their family lines, which might help her remember which lines those were. No. They wore green. And it came to her slowly that she had seen that green before, and had, in fact, worn it herself on the road to the West March, because a closet had appeared in her room, and she’d been fool enough to open it.

  They meant to make a statement.

  Severn and Kaylin didn’t fit that statement in any way, which was probably for the best. She wondered what it had cost to get Tain to join in, but didn’t ask.

  “White suits you,” Sedarias said in her critical drillmaster tone. “It is the Consort’s color. Not her line’s, but her own. Had you not chosen the white, I would have asked you to consider it. It will be a reminder of your value to our people, rather than the lesser consideration of friendship.” The last word was uttered as if she’d meant to say enmity instead.

  Terrano was the only member of the cohort who did not wear jewelry. He was finely dressed, but Kaylin suspected he’d agreed in the vain hope that he’d blend in. His eyes were blue, but it was an odd shade—light, for the Barrani. He was also the only member of the cohort who looked visibly uncomfortable. Whatever Sedarias had said—and probably was still saying—to the rest had made a visible impact. They were tall, they were straight, they were elegant; they appeared to be almost at ease.

  But it was an ease accomplished only by those to whom power was so familiar it was like air. Kaylin often had to temper her resentment of the Barrani: they were eternal, immortal, unafraid of the Ferals and the smaller Shadows that sometimes escaped Ravellon. They didn’t have to worry about exhaustion or starvation. They seemed, if she didn’t engage her brain, to have no worries at all. But Sedarias’s sister had tried to kill her. Immortality was no protection against hatred or ambition.

  The truth didn’t make Kaylin feel less self-conscious. Mandoran smiled at her. Smiled; it wasn’t his usual grin. But it implied that his usual grin was lurking just beneath this polished, perfect surface. She exhaled and nodded.

  “Are you ready?” She spoke softly.

  All eyes turned to her then.

  “Because I think the Consort is almost here.”

  * * *

  “Is Emmerian just going to stand by the door all evening?”

  “Yes. He is not present as a Lord of the Dragon Court; he is here as a guard. I believe he intends to be roughly where the Consort’s guards will be. It is a pity,” Helen added, her voice softening, “that the Arkon does not often leave his library.”

  “You like him.”

  “Yes, but so do you. He has made one or two suggestions about security that I find intriguing, and he understands the ancient variant of what you now call mirrors and mirror networks. He does not lay any blame for the current situation at your feet, and I consider this quite broad-minded of him.”

  “I didn’t choose to go to the West March—the elemental water did that for me.”

  “It would have caused much less difficulty if Bellusdeo had not accompanied you to the Keeper’s garden. Bellusdeo, however, is aware of this.”

  Kaylin came to stand beside the door. “I kind of wish I’d invited Nightshade,” she finally said.

  “He is outcaste.”

  “I know. But the Consort likes him, and fails to treat him as social poison.”

  “Yes—but at the moment, the High Court is embroiled in politics, some of which involve the designation of outcaste. It would have been difficult.” She stepped to one side of the closed doors. “And Annarion is still easily upset in his brother’s presence. They have both become better at controlling their expression of hurt or anger, but it is always there. Tonight I believe there will be enough internal conflict.”

  “Aren’t you worried?”

  “Of course I’m worried. It’s what I do. But I understand what the Consort hopes the cohort can achieve, and I believe you understand it, as well.”

  Kaylin nodded. She exhaled a few inches of height, shook herself and attempted to rearrange her neck and shoulders so that no hint of possible slouch remained.

  Helen opened the door while Kaylin stood almost at attention, uncertain of what to expect, but aware that bad handling of those expectations could lead to ugliness that was definitely above her pay grade. When she’d first attached herself to the Hawks—without actually being one—she had resented people who told her what to do. In the seven years since, she’d come to not only appreciate the chain of command, but rely on it. Probably because she knew how to do her job, in all of its many variations.

  This was not her job, but she was expected to do it well, regardless.

  The Consort was revealed by the slow opening of the doors, and Kaylin felt the tension leave her spine.

  “Kaylin, you look lovely,” the Consort said. Her eyes were as green as any Barrani eyes had been in the past few days, and she wore not the complicated style of outmoded court dress, or even modern court dress, but the white that she wore daily. Her hair was not a mass of braids and combs and jewels; it fell straight down her back. At that back were two—only two—Barrani guards. Kaylin was very surprised to recognize one of them: Ynpharion. The other, she wasn’t certain she’d met, and if she had, they hadn’t exchanged more than two words, but given Ynpharion’s presence, she guessed that he was also a Lord of the High Court.

  Ynpharion’s eyes, on the other hand, were a deep, deep blue.

  Of course they are, he snapped.

  Why are there only two of you?

  It will amuse you to know that she brought us because the High Lord was willing to accede to your obvious desire to cancel this dinner if she would not agree to guards. We are her compromise, and may I just say that I feel that the High Lord
was not emphatic enough? There are six guards stationed at the gatehouse. They will enter the grounds if required.

  Ynpharion almost never criticized the Consort; Kaylin was shocked. She hoped her momentarily frozen expression had at least paused on a smile.

  Helen gently nudged her back to reality, or at least out of the doorway. The Consort, almost unadorned, entered. Only when her attendants had also crossed the threshold did she frown. It was a thoughtful frown.

  “That amulet,” she began.

  Kaylin had forgotten she was wearing it. A better person would have taken no pleasure whatsoever from Ynpharion’s internal shriek of pure frustration, and maybe in the future, Kaylin would become that better person. “It’s the Arkon’s.”

  “I see.”

  “Have you seen it before? Or seen one like it?”

  “It has been seen in our history,” the Consort replied. “And its likeness painted. It will not come as a surprise to you that it has never been seen on a mortal. And it has never been seen—by my kin—outside of battle.”

  Kaylin cleared her throat. “I guess I should warn you that the Arkon is actually present.”

  The Consort’s eyes shifted to an almost draconian gold. “The Arkon is here?”

  “Yes. Bellusdeo was given permission to join us with the understanding that she would not be isolated.” Kaylin spoke in High Barrani. It was the language of diplomacy, which was why she found it so hard to maintain.

  The gold made way for green again, but the green was luminous.

  “Kaylin is fond of the Lady,” Helen said, reducing the practical value of silence to zero. “And the Lady is my guest. No harm will come to her that she does not inflict—instantly—upon herself.” The Avatar’s High Barrani was chilly; it was a tone Kaylin almost never heard Helen use.

  And, because people were strange, it seemed to comfort Ynpharion. Kaylin was never, ever going to understand him.