Cast in Oblivion

by Michelle Sagara

  A Barrani man stood beside a Barrani woman. They no longer bristled; their teeth were invisible between the thin lines of closed mouths. Silence was practically audible.

  Do you recognize them? she asked Ynpharion.

  Yes.

  Did you know them before you—before I—

  Yes.

  Do you have some idea of who the runaway was?

  Clearly. Before you continue, I find it difficult to hold two conversations concurrently when one is...heated. I am answering the same questions, less kindly phrased, for the Lady.

  Kaylin shut up. She knew this entire conversation should have been had the moment she’d arrived home from her first visit to the West March—but her own life had been so chaotic. She hadn’t even had a home to return to. She’d also been under the strong impression that the investigation, such as it was, had been given to the Barrani of the High Court.

  Clearly, none of the High Court Barrani were Hawks.

  Fine. Ask her what she’d like to do with these two.

  It is already part of the discussion.

  She had forgotten the way Ynpharion had fought her in the very early days. His bitter resentment had faded since the High Halls had come under the attack of the Barrani Ancestors. If his condescension and arrogance were a continuing theme, his actual resistance had vanished.

  Averen and Edelonne were new. They pulled. Pushed. Attempted to break the wall of Kaylin.

  You could have killed them. It was not Ynpharion who spoke, but Nightshade. He was not contemptuous, though—he was annoyed. Teela was annoyed, as well, but couldn’t make it quite as clear.

  The only person who didn’t seem to resent her decision—no, the only Barrani, as Severn understood it completely—appeared to be the Consort.

  I do not resent it, Ynpharion almost snapped. It is what you are. His interior voice gentled as he added, And it is what the Lady expected. She is not what you are; she has had to make much harsher choices given her position and those who seek to harm the High Lord. But were she like you, it is absolutely the choice she would have made.

  Averen did not fight her for long; Kaylin thought his struggle was instinctive, visceral. Eledonne was angry. She was angry in almost the way Ynpharion had been.

  They were similar people, Averen said. His interior voice was sheared of the edge that Ynpharion’s always contained. This is the heart of their fear. This is why they wanted the power we were offered.

  And not why you did?

  No. I see Ynpharion is here. Did you capture him the same way you captured us?

  Not the exact same way, no. And before you ask, I didn’t want him, either.

  You have powerful friends.

  Some. Powerful enemies, too.

  Yes. Something in the single word gave her enough warning that she could brace herself. Averen was not Edelonne; he was more subtle, less up front. More dangerous because of it. She stumbled, bringing her hands up to her head, a gesture that was both instinctive and useless. The sudden, stabbing pain was entirely on the inside of her head.

  It stopped instantly. Kaylin looked up, lowering her hands. Teela had slashed Averen. She had not removed his head from his neck, but it was his neck that was bleeding; as she watched, he lifted a hand—both hands—to the wound. He had eyes for Teela, and only Teela; the attack on Kaylin vanished as if it had never happened.

  As if he would never be stupid enough to make it happen again.

  “You have no value to me—at all. Lord Kaylin does. She is young and she instinctively preserves life where that is an option. She is kyuthe to me, Lord Averen. You are a traitor. In deference to Lord Kaylin’s preference, you are not dead. Do you understand? She is mortal. If you wish to throw your eternity away because you cannot bear the humiliation of a few paltry decades, I would be more than pleased to oblige. Choose. Choose now; you have wasted enough of our time.”

  He said nothing as Kaylin straightened. To her surprise, she felt a tinge of satisfaction from Ynpharion, buried beneath strong approval. Of Teela, of course.

  How did Teela know it was Averen?

  An’Teela clearly pays attention at Court, he replied.

  Edelonne had reached the same conclusion as Averen; her fight, her struggle, was now a series of uncomfortable twitches—visceral, instinctive reactions.

  Kaylin was not entirely familiar with the internal laws that governed the Barrani High Court; she assumed, as she had always assumed, that power was the rule of law. The Consort, however, did not seem at all troubled by Teela’s attack. Nor did Teela’s threat seem to bother her, although her eyes were now the regular shade of Barrani blue.

  “Lord Kaylin, could you have killed them?”

  Kaylin nodded.

  “Perhaps, if we encounter their companion again as we traverse these halls, you might consider that the safer option.”

  “Lady,” she replied as she bowed. She rose before she was granted permission, although she rose stiffly. Before she could speak, the Consort did.

  “I understand that you spared them because we required information.”

  This wasn’t true, but it was a good excuse. Not that a Hawk should need an excuse not to murder people.

  * * *

  Teela and Severn once again took point, heading down the hall in front of the Consort’s party. Nightshade, no surprise, chose to position himself at the rear. Spike, in his larger floating-spiked-ball form, hovered to Kaylin’s left, drifting there as if anchored.

  Hope was at her right, his wings once again folded. It was Hope who pointed out that the integrity of the hall was in question, but Spike who detached himself. “You’re talking about the Shadow?”

  “Yes. If we had closed in combat with the transformed, it would not have been as simple a combat as the one Teela faced in the Consort’s chambers. These Ferals could draw upon the power of that Shadow, and would have done so until it was depleted.” His tone made clear that he thought that depletion was a long, long time in the future.

  “And now?”

  “They are no longer connected to it. Its power exists in potential, but it has no outlet.” He paused, and then added, “Yet.”

  “So we’re going to see more Ferals?”

  “I doubt that, given what you have just accomplished. There is, however, one that escaped. And there are many other ways to use that power.” Spike clicked loudly; Kaylin could feel it, although he was no longer at her side. “Spike says the creatures you referred to as spiders were not attached in the same way. The halls here are not subject to the same protections as the Consort’s personal chambers. But he is concerned.”

  “Because he thinks the last Feral is the dangerous one?”

  “No, Chosen. Because there are Shadows who could make very effective use of that power, on this plane. He does not understand how they might be here—but...he is here, and he should not have been able to leave Ravellon, either.”

  * * *

  Kaylin turned toward Edelonne. What were your orders?

  She felt very little resistance; Edelonne was staring at the Consort. Averen was staring at a spot on the wall just to the left of the Consort, his face free of the taint of expression. He might have been carved of stone, with perfect paint on top.

  Friction, resistance and anger melted slowly as the force of the question brushed them to the side.

  We were to stop you here, and hold you here—or kill you here, should it become necessary. Again her eyes flickered to the Consort, her gaze fluttering away as if even the sight was painful.

  Who gave you the orders?

  This time, the resistance was stronger, the struggle to maintain silence more visceral. Kaylin could sense the fear rolling off her in waves, tangible enough to drown in.

  I’m sorry, Kaylin told her, meaning it. But we don’t have time for this.

  Edelonne fought. K
aylin took a step back before locking her knees, tensing her legs, bracing herself for physical impact. It was necessary. She couldn’t remember Ynpharion fighting like this—but her memory wasn’t immortal; he probably had.

  The fear grew sharper, stronger; she felt it expand in her own thoughts, her own mind, until she was almost paralyzed by it.

  Kaylin. Sharp voice. Nightshade’s voice. Her name was all of the warning he offered—and all of the warning necessary. The fear was not her fear.

  Not yet, Nightshade said softly. His voice was a hum, a vibration; it spoke of safety. The safety, in the end, of being owned, of being a prized possession. Like a beloved infant, held in the arms of a Leontine mother.

  But she was not a child anymore. She was a Hawk, a lord of this stupid Court, and Chosen. She thanked him, wordless, for the offer of comfort, understanding exactly what that comfort entailed. He could make the decisions. He could tell her what she should be doing. He offered superior knowledge. Certainty.

  She shook herself. He didn’t have that, either. None of the people here did. She was momentarily angry at the cohort. Had Annarion chosen to wait—even a few months—they’d be in a better position.

  No, Edelonne said. You wouldn’t. None of them—none of us—would. You don’t understand what’s happening, even now, beneath your feet. You have a chance, she continued, the internal voice rising, the volume once again almost overwhelming. You can turn around. You can flee. There might be safety for you.

  I can’t. I can’t leave the Consort. I can’t abandon my friends.

  Shock at the word friends stilled the terror that was rebuilding itself. Edelonne was afraid.

  “They’re coming with us,” she said out loud.

  Teela’s eyes became narrowed slits as she swiveled to glance at Kaylin.

  “There’s something happening.”

  “You think?” was the sarcasm-inflected Elantran response.

  “I mean—there’s something happening right now.”

  Teela didn’t bother putting sarcasm into words again; it wasn’t necessary. “Can they tell you what?”

  Words did not come from Edelonne; images did. Kaylin could see nothing for one long beat, although her eyes were open. When she did, it was a night-scape made of a Shadow that had devoured all but a red, red light; that light beat, like a grotesque heart, illuminating something that Kaylin had no name for.

  “I don’t think they have a name for it, either, and if they did, I wouldn’t let them speak it out loud.”

  “Does it own them?”

  “Own them?”

  “Are they name-bound?”

  “I—I’m not sure.”

  The expression on Teela’s face implied Averen’s wasn’t the only neck at risk. “Ask.”

  “I believe,” the Consort said in a much friendlier tone, not that that was hard at the moment, “that Lord Kaylin will be coming to Court more often in the near future. She requires rudimentary lessons in some of the basics of her current situation, and while the Dragon Court is overseeing etiquette, the Barrani Court may as well do our part.”

  The soft tones of her voice, the mild criticism and the gentle condescension grounded Kaylin. It gave her the momentary illusion that someone was in command.

  Are you name-bound? She asked it of both Averen and Edelonne.

  They were silent.

  She asked again, putting more force into the words.

  Edelonne said no. Averen once again failed to answer. In this darkness, that was answer enough.

  Can I make Averen tell me who holds his name? Kaylin asked Ynpharion.

  You? No. You may attempt to exert your will—but there is no hope whatsoever in my opinion that your will, your command, will take precedence here. He will die or break under the force of two separate orders. You will concede the struggle in order to preserve him, as you have done in the past.

  Could I—

  No, Lord Kaylin.

  “An’Teela,” the Consort said. “Lord Averen.” She offered that lord a slight nod.

  Kaylin didn’t have time to react to what she only belatedly realized was an order. Teela stepped in and removed Averen’s head from his shoulders.

  * * *

  Kaylin must have made some sound, some noise; everyone turned to look at her. She watched as blood followed beheading; watched as the body crumpled, the head bouncing off the stone floor and leaving a trail in its wake. And she watched, silent, as a single word—a word she now knew—shivered in the air, asserting its freedom from the binding of Barrani flesh. It was over so quickly.

  He was dead. She understood then the difference between silence and death that Teela had insisted she would recognize if she felt it.

  No one said a word. Neither Teela nor the Consort attempted to justify either the order or carrying it through. Kaylin moved quickly, numbly, to stand between Teela and Edelonne. Her mouth was dry.

  It is not the first death you have witnessed. Ynpharion was angry. He was a threat to all of us. He was a threat to the Lady.

  Kaylin said nothing. Hope said nothing. Spike was whirring, but in the rhythmic way that suggested breath, not communication.

  Why do you even care? They would have killed us all. They would have killed you. You did not know them. They owe you nothing except the obedience you can enforce, and you owe them nothing! Clearly silence was not Ynpharion’s strength. Holding their names—holding our names—is a display of strength, of power; it’s not an obligation. We are not your dependents!

  He fell silent again. When he opened his mouth, the Consort placed a hand on his shoulder. “Ynpharion, enough. You understand what she is. Your anger will not absolve her in her own thoughts.”

  This time, he kept his mouth shut. It occurred to Kaylin only then that the reason he’d broken what was a furious rant was probably the Consort on the inside of his head.

  “So,” Edelonne said—to Ynpharion. “This is where you went.”

  This did distract Ynpharion. Given the Consort’s expression—blue-eyed and mildly annoyed—that was probably for the best. For Ynpharion.

  Kaylin closed her eyes, not to see names, not to find them, not to take them. But she could see her arms glowing in the darkness behind her eyelids, and she could see Hope.

  He, too, said nothing. But his wings brushed her forehead as she turned to look at him. She stood for three long breaths, thinking Ynpharion was right: she’d seen death before. Some of it had been worse.

  But it had been years since her sole purpose was to cause that death; death had become, over the course of years, a sign of failure. The failure to protect. The failure to save. Averen had been almost helpless. Because of Kaylin. She opened her eyes; Edelonne had turned to face her, her expression one of confusion.

  I’m sorry, Kaylin said almost reflexively.

  He would have killed you, Edelonne replied. There was no contempt in the statement, and no sense of personal loss for Averen. No, on the contrary, there was the bare hint of satisfaction, as if they’d been enemies or bitter rivals.

  Kaylin exhaled. She looked at Teela, but couldn’t meet the Barrani Hawk’s eyes. She couldn’t meet Severn’s, either. No one told her it wasn’t her fault, and even if they’d tried, she wouldn’t have believed it. She understood that it was her lack of control that had turned Averen into an instant threat.

  After I have answered your questions, will An’Teela kill me? The question was asked with resignation and fear. Kaylin could feel both.

  No.

  You don’t believe that.

  She would have, a handful of minutes ago. She’d’ve bet on it. I won’t let her.

  Edelonne did not point to Averen’s corpse. Flee here. Tell the Lady to flee. If she is here—if they have her—we are lost.

  We’re not lost, Kaylin said as the marks on her arms began to burn.

 
Edelonne stared at them, arrested. You are...Chosen.

  Kaylin nodded. You chose this path, she said quietly. You weren’t forced into it. If the Consort is in danger, she is in danger because you—and your compatriots—made choices such as the one that brought you here.

  Silence. Beneath it, anger. Anger was better than fear, especially when the brunt of it wasn’t directed at Kaylin. This is not the path I chose.

  It was demonstrably the path she’d chosen. Kaylin didn’t say this, but it took effort. And of course, as if she were Ynpharion, she heard what Kaylin didn’t say, anyway.

  This isn’t what I wanted.

  I’m not going to ask what you did want. But you’re a Lord of the High Court. You’ve seen what awaits those who take this freaking test. And you’re working for it. You and whoever else is caught up in this. But the Shadow didn’t come to talk to any of you directly. Someone else did. Who?

  An’Mellarionne.

  This was more or less what Kaylin expected, and she wondered if the name was offered because of that. Is he waiting for us down below?

  Not for you. Not directly. She hesitated, and then said, We didn’t expect the Consort to arrive.

  You set up this entire trap—starting with her personal chambers, but you didn’t expect her to become involved?

  We didn’t expect her to be directly involved. Her gaze bounced off Evarrim. We thought she might send Lord Evarrim. It wouldn’t be the first time he has been sent.

  How do you know this?

  She froze, as if hearing—or considering—the question for the first time. There was no good answer. There wasn’t even a bad answer that didn’t make her look like a trusting, naive fool, and if Kaylin understood nothing else about the Barrani, she understood just how much they dreaded that.

  It made them seem almost human.

  We were informed, she finally said. But the question that Edelonne hadn’t asked, hadn’t thought to ask, was By who? She was asking it now, and the only answer that seemed instantly plausible was not the answer she wanted. What is the Consort trying to do? Is she trying to unseat Coravante?