Читать книгу Cast in Sorrow - Michelle Sagara - Страница 10

Chapter 4

Beyond the fountain was an open arch that led into a cloister. At the end of this cloister was a door. Kaylin’s arms started to itch on approach. Magic generally had that effect on her skin—but she’d seen so much magic that hadn’t in the past weeks she almost welcomed the familiar sensation. The fountain, which was clearly magical in nature, had had no effect at all.

Neither had the Hallionne, or the cold, gray mist in the outlands.

She had a few dozen questions to ask her magic teacher when she made it back to his classroom.

“Your room, Lord Kaylin, is beyond these doors. Lord Nightshade has similar rooms.” Before she could speak, he added, “They are the rooms occupied by the harmoniste and the Teller respectively, when we are fortunate enough to have them chosen.”

Severn caught her arm before she could ask the most obvious question.

“You will not find my domicile similar to the Hallionne. The Hallionne—when awake—are not comfortable residences for my kin. They are all awake now,” he added. “We have not seen such excitement since the close of the last war. You will have to touch the door ward.”

“Do I have to bleed on it?”

His brows rose, and then he chuckled. “I forget my own youth, it is so far behind me. The Hallionne exact a price for their hospitality that the Barrani do not; they also provide security that the Barrani do not. You have spent time in the High Halls; you will find my abode similar in many respects.”

“The fountain—”

He shook his head. “There are fountains within the High Halls.”

They weren’t the same. Kaylin approached the door and laid her palm against the ward engraved on its surface; her arm went instantly numb at the shock of it. The door ward did not, however, set off alarms in any other way, which made it less painful than the wards in the Imperial Library.

The Lord of the West March nodded and the door rolled open. It was not a small door; the Norannir could comfortably fit through its frame. Kaylin felt dwarfed, but expected as much; the Barrani built everything to make visitors feel small and unworthy.

She felt Nightshade’s amusement and noted that he didn’t likewise have to touch the door.

No, Lord Kaylin. This is not the first time I have visited the West March, you may recall.

“Lord Severn, your quarters are not within this wing, but if you will accompany us, I would speak with you.”

Severn inclined his head. He was watchful, but cautious. She wondered if he’d sleep at all as a guest in these halls. On the other hand, she was fairly certain that no other hall would be open to him.

* * *

The Lady’s room was at the end of a hall so wide and vaulted it looked like the nave in one of the great cathedrals. The doors at the end of that hall were closed, but they suited the hall; they were taller and grander—or at least their arches were—than the exterior doors. She turned to look over her shoulder and was surprised to see that most of the Barrani had departed; to where, she wasn’t certain.

This allowed her to relax, inasmuch as one ever did in Barrani Halls. She understood why the Barrani disliked the Hallionne, but she missed them. The Hallionne were tasked with preventing harm from coming to their guests, and they took their responsibilities seriously. Given that most of the harm that could befall their guests came from their other guests, it worked out well for Kaylin. She wasn’t stupid enough to take on the Barrani in all-out melee, and she wasn’t clever enough to slip poison into their food or drink.

She also wasn’t clever enough to avoid them.

When the doors to the Consort’s chamber were open, the Lord of the West March led Teela toward yet another set of more modest doors on the far end of a more modest hall. There was a small fountain on the left wall, and three slender trees, like artistic pillars, on the right; there were no visible guards.

The doors were warded. Kaylin, whose arm was still numb, was happy she wouldn’t have to open them. Instead, she scurried to catch up with Teela and helped her by turning down the bedcovers. Teela very gently set the Consort down as Kaylin fussed with pillows; there were far too many of them.

“Do not,” the Lord of the West March said, “attempt to heal the Lady.”

Kaylin hadn’t even considered it, given the way Barrani reacted to healing—although the Consort had given her explicit, public permission. “I wasn’t going to. I just... I don’t like her color. Can I remove the armor, or do you expect her to sleep in it?”

The Lord of the West March glanced at Teela. “If you do not consider it demeaning,” he finally said, “you may tend to the Lady; she will not wake.”

Teela’s eyes were markedly bluer, but she said nothing; she wasn’t exactly a stranger to armor and its care. “Honestly,” she said, as she began to undo buckles, “I cannot take you anywhere, kitling. You will note, for future reference, that I do not even remove my own clothing when I bathe in the High Halls.”

“That’s probably why you don’t live in them,” Kaylin shot back.

Teela’s eyes widened. She laughed, and they also changed color. “Maybe,” she said, in Elantran. “When the Lord of the West March forbids healing, he does so for a reason.”

“I healed him.”

“Indeed, which is why I mention healing at all.” She rose and tendered the Lord of the West March an enviably perfect bow. “It is unusual for the Consort to absorb three,” she told him gravely.

“How unusual?” Kaylin asked. She’d been truthful: she did not think the Lady’s color was healthy.

“It has never, to my knowledge, happened before.”

“What usually happens when the—the black bird things fly? Teela, what are they?”

“Before today? They were considered the nightmares of the Hallionne.”

“And now?”

“You saw the eagles.”

Kaylin nodded as if this made sense.

“The eagles were—long ago—considered the heralds of the Hallionne. They kept the Lord of the West March, and his Warden, apprised of any difficulties within their impressive range. There is a reason the West March has never fallen.”

“But...”

Teela sighed. “I will allow one.”

“The Hallionne is lost. Bertolle said as much, I think.”

“Indeed. He did. But the heralds are here, kitling. And they are here because you chose to interfere. No one of us understands how or why—but you’ve known the Barrani for much of your life. How many of us like to loudly proclaim our own ignorance?” Before Kaylin could reply, she added, “Exactly.” Folding her arms, she continued. “The substantiation of the nightmares began several hundred years ago.”

“The shadow birds.”

“Yes. They are not impervious to physical harm, but it was discovered that they seek a target when they appear. They are not easily detected before they do so; nor can they be entirely contained within the Hallionne. The Hallionne,” she added, “is off-limits.”

“I’m not an idiot, Teela.”

“Of course not. The Consort—and to a much lesser extent, the Lord of the West March—has an affinity for these nightmares.”

“She has an affinity for the Hallionne in general.”

“And your point is?”

Kaylin was hungry, tired, and worried. None of which mattered. “The Lady woke the Hallionne.”

“If I recall correctly, she woke the Hallionne to prevent the possible damage or destruction of your little pet.”

The small dragon hissed.

“Fine. It doesn’t matter why—she could wake the Hallionne.”

“It is the responsibility, in times of war, of the leader of the war band.”

“This isn’t a time of war. She woke the Hallionne. Nightshade helped.”

“An’Teela, is this true?” the Lord of the West March said, which showed that he was paying attention to every word.

Teela exhaled. “Yes. You will forgive Lord Kaylin; she is unfamiliar with the Hallionne.”

“I will, of course, forgive her her ignorance—where it is to be found. I am not entirely certain that she is ignorant in this case. Why do you feel the Lady has an affinity for the Hallionne?” His voice was cooler, and his gaze was all blue.

“I think it’s the other way around. I think the Hallionne have an affinity for the Lady,” Kaylin replied. “Bertolle and Kariastos appeared genuinely fond of her. Kariastos told me she was dearer than—”

“Enough.” The Lord of the West March held out one taut hand. “You will not speak of this again.”

Kaylin blinked. She understood that the Barrani considered any affection—or gods forbid—love they personally felt to be an almost unmentionable weakness, but she’d never encountered the inverse.

Teela chuckled, her eyes the safe green that touched none of the Lord of the West March’s. “Lirienne, you will frighten her. Think like a Hawk, kitling.”

She was. She had no doubt that the Lord of the West March believed her; it was because he believed her that he wanted her to shut up. Which meant the Hallionne did, as she pointed out, have an affinity for the Consort.

“If it makes any difference,” she said, “the Hallionne also seemed fond of—or concerned about—Teela.” It did make a difference—to Teela. Kaylin decided to shut up.

I fear it is late for that, Nightshade said.

“How do you explain the nightmares? If they come at random and every Barrani is more or less equal, what does it mean?”

“We do not explain,” he replied. “She is the Lady. You think of her as the mother of our race, and that is not entirely wrong—but it is not the way she is viewed by the Lords. We protect her with our lives because without her, there will be no future for our people. But we understand that she is, in subtle ways, in ways that cannot be measured by our kind, different. Exalted, Lord Kaylin. Much is expected of her because of the burden she is capable of bearing.”

“Have you ever seen the Lake?”

“No.”

“Oh. Was the Lake created by the same ancients that created the Hallionne?”

No one replied. Remembering Teela’s comment about Barrani and their possible ignorance, she didn’t push the point. Instead, she turned back to the Consort. “I don’t like her color,” she said again. “And if she doesn’t wake by morning, you’re going to have to post guards at the doors to keep me out.” She flashed a grim smile.

“If she does not wake by morning,” the Lord of the West March replied, “I will reconsider the matter.”

* * *

Kaylin had one question to ask, and she asked it of Teela as they traveled the hallway, although she knew it was probably unwise. “When the Consort talks of Nightshade, she uses the name Calarnenne.”

“That was his Court name,” Teela replied.

“Yes, but...”

“Did I not tell you I would only allow one but today? If you’re too lazy to even reframe your concern, don’t speak.”

“...I hear his name as if it were his True Name.”

Teela said, “Yes, and...?” as if Kaylin had just said “water is wet.”

“But True Names are dangerous and people don’t like it when they’re spoken, and I don’t want to ask why everyone is using it because I don’t want anyone to know that I know it.”

Teela’s dark brows rose as she stared at Kaylin in bemusement. The laughter that followed filled a hall that was otherwise notable for its utter silence, and made Kaylin feel a good six inches shorter.

“I’m glad you’re finding mortality so funny.”

“Oh, not all mortals, kitling. Just you.”

“That makes it so much better. Could you answer the question so I don’t feel humiliated for no reason?”

“You don’t speak a name. Even when you invoke it, it’s not a simple matter of speech. You call it speech. Others don’t. It’s very like detection of magic. You’re highly sensitive to magic; you can see when a spell’s been cast. You can read the mage’s signature in the shadows of the enchantment.

“Anyone who is capable of detecting magic can. But no two mages see that signature and its effects in the same way.”

“It’s why multiple mages are called in for difficult cases.”

Teela nodded. “And why an appropriate Records trail is so difficult to maintain. When you hear Nightshade’s Court name, you are hearing spoken language. Like any other part of High Barrani, there are guidelines that control form and utterance. But you are hearing only that. When you say ‘Lord Calarnenne’ you are speaking simple words.

“When you speak his name—if you are ever unwise enough to do so—you might scream it and none will hear the whole of the truth; it is not just the mouth that utters the name.”

“I could see the Dragon Outcaste’s name, once.”

“And you’ve never been suicidal enough to attempt to use it.”

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t hold it all in one place for long enough—it’s too big.”

Teela said nothing for a long moment. “I will need to bathe and change before I join the High Court in the dining hall. I would suggest you bathe, as well; the dress is, of course, without blemish—but your hair looks like it’s a nest of weeds.”

“Thanks.”

“This is your room,” Teela said.

“Where’s yours?”

“Closer to Corporal Handred’s. Don’t make that face. The Lord of the West March escorted your Corporal to his rooms; he is guaranteed to have arrived there in safety.”

“He’s not guaranteed to remain that way.”

“No—but then again, neither are the rest of us.” Teela smiled lazily. “Things are unlikely to be boring.”

“I don’t mind a little boredom, Teela.”

“That’s because you have less than a century worth of life in which to contain it. If you were actually immortal, you’d have a different attitude.”

Kaylin snorted. The door to her room was closed and warded. She lifted her left palm and placed it across the ward. What the door ward at the start of the wing had failed to do, this one did: it started to peal, like a series of badly formed, dissonant bells.

“I hate magic,” Kaylin said under her breath. She added a few choice Leontine words in the bargain as sword-wielding Barrani appeared around the corner. The small dragon leaped off her shoulders and headed toward them, which was infinitely worse. Kaylin ran after him in a panic. “Don’t!” she shouted. “I’m used to this kind of nonsense, and I can survive it. I probably can’t survive you turning them into puddles!”

“Puddles?” Teela drawled. She had moved—quickly and silently—to stand by Kaylin’s side, but hadn’t drawn her own sword.

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t, kitling.”

The men who clearly served the Lord of the West March slowed when confronted with a faceful of tiny dragon. Kaylin almost laughed. The small dragon was little and curmudgeonly—but he wasn’t harmless. It was too easy to forget that fact.

“Come back here right now.”

Fluttering, he spun to face her. He squawked.

She held out a hand, and added, “Please?”

Teela glared at them both as the small dragon landed. She said nothing, which told Kaylin that she disapproved of her handling of her companion, and she didn’t trust the guards enough to speak publicly.

The Lord of the West March appeared some fifteen minutes later. The door ward had fallen silent at the arrival of the guards, but the door hadn’t magically opened in the meantime, which left Kaylin cooling her heels in the hall, an annoyed Teela to her left.

“I am beginning to understand,” he said—in Elantran, which was almost shocking, “why you display such antipathy toward magical convenience.” To his men, he said—in the language of the Court, “Lord Kaylin is harmoniste; she does not pose a threat.” He glanced at the small dragon. “You vouch for your passenger?”

As the small dragon was once again lounging across her shoulders, Kaylin nodded.

Teela was not amused.

“Please activate the ward again.”

She did. Her arm was numb; her hand unfortunately wasn’t. The door made a lot of noise, and once again failed to open.

The Lord of the West March frowned. He caught Kaylin’s hand before she could drop it, glancing at her fingers. “Try the other hand,” he said. “Or transfer my ring to this one.”

He noticed her hesitance, but she managed not to let loose with a litany of complaints against door wards and magic in general. Barrani guards tended to take that kind of thing personally. She usually touched door wards with her left hand because she was right-handed, but didn’t feel the need to share; all the Barrani who worked in the Halls of Law appeared to be ambidextrous. She chose to move the ring; her hand was now numb.

But when she touched the door ward again, the door opened.

“Yes,” the Lord of the West March said to his assembled guard, “she wears my symbol. She is as kin in these halls.”

Given the way Barrani generally felt about their kin, this wasn’t saying much.

* * *

Kaylin was, until Bellusdeo’s arrival, used to having some privacy when she walked through her doors. The fact that these doors weren’t hers was driven home by the presence of two Barrani attendants. Teela, who insisted on a sweep of the rooms, didn’t blink; she did give curt instructions—to Kaylin.

“They are here to see to your needs,” she told Kaylin when they departed to prepare the bath. “If harm befalls you while you are in their care, they—and their families—will suffer for it. If you send them away, they will also suffer, although the penalties will be less extreme.”

“Why will they suffer if I send them away?” Kaylin asked. She felt as if she’d stepped onto a bridge and discovered it was actually a tightrope.

“If you send them away, their service will be considered inadequate. It will reflect poorly upon the hospitality of the Lord of the West March.”

“I don’t have attendants in the High Halls,” Kaylin pointed out.

“You do. But they are responsible to me, and I am familiar enough with your idiosyncrasies that I do not choose to censure them. You are not in my domain now. What you do here will affect those who have been chosen—no doubt personally—by Lord Lirienne. You will therefore allow them to assist you. You will treat them as servants who are worthy of consideration and respect—but you will not find them intimidating. If you must feel self-conscious about their presence, do not share. Understood?”

Kaylin nodded.

“We will dine. After dinner, it is likely that the Lord of the West March will call a council meeting. You are a Lord of the High Court; you are not a Lord of the West March. There is some overlap, but it is not one hundred percent. I expect you to be called to that meeting, although I consider it unwise.”

“Can I refuse to go?”

“I have considered the matter with some care. The Lady is not yet awake—and, kitling, I am at least as concerned as you are. Believe that Lord Lirienne is likewise worried. If she were present, I would feel less conflicted—but she won’t be. It is my hope that the council will be delayed until she is awake. The Warden of the West March is unlikely to fulfill that hope.”

Kaylin waited until she was certain Teela had finished. “That wasn’t a yes or a no.”

Teela smiled grimly. “Exactly. The ring you wear grants you a measure of freedom; it also constrains you. Any insult you offer, you offer in the name of the Lord of the West March. Lirienne is, in case you have not carefully followed our history, the direct descendent of the High Lord who caused so much damage to the green. As such, his position is precarious. He is, however, also his mother’s son. He is held in cautious regard.

“He cannot therefore afford political difficulty.”

“Teela, I’m already a political difficulty. I’m mortal, and I’m wearing this dress.” She reached for the heavy gold chain around her neck, adding, “And a Dragon’s symbol.”

“You understand. You have impressed the Warden.”

“Then why are your eyes blue?”

“Kitling, honestly, I am thinking of demanding that you live in the High Halls for a few of your mortal months. This is not a question you should be capable of asking, at this point.”

“I’m beginning to think I’ve done Diarmat an injustice,” Kaylin said.

“Oh?”

“I can safely loath him when he condescends me. Which is pretty much every time he draws breath.”

Teela laughed, her eyes shading to green. “Bathe.”

* * *

Barrani baths were pretty much small, warm pools. Kaylin’s idea of a bath—in her old apartment—generally involved a lot of cold water in a rush. But she had some experience with baths like this one; she’d spent time with Teela in the High Halls. It wasn’t that she hated the Barrani. She wasn’t usually smart enough to fear them, except when their eyes went midnight-blue—and any sane person did that.

They just made her feel self-conscious. They were probably centuries old, but they looked like women—and men—in the prime of a perfect youth. They had no obvious blemishes. They didn’t get fat—or thin. They weren’t short or gangly. They never had pimples.

During a normal day at the office, none of this mattered. Most of the crimes the Halls of Law dealt with involved other people. Other mortals. They were crimes the Barrani considered so trivial it was a wonder any Barrani served the Halls of Law at all.

They’d been part of the department before Kaylin’s arrival; she wasn’t certain how they’d come to serve Marcus. But Marcus was Leontine; the Leontines could go one-on-one with Barrani and expect to come out even. In a frenzy, they could expect to come out on top, in Kaylin’s opinion.

Humans? Not so much.

So she was being served by people who were taller, smarter, stronger, and infinitely more graceful. She was being served by people who probably knew more languages than Kaylin had fingers. She was being waited on—perfectly—by people who, in their youth, probably considered humans to be annoying or endearing pets.

And yes, she felt guilty about it.

So she found their perfect silence oppressive. She found it uncomfortable. Teela’s instructions made it clear that this was Kaylin’s problem—not theirs. The small dragon seemed to agree—but he didn’t apparently care for the silence, either, given the squawking that started up when Kaylin slid quickly into the bath.

The Barrani might have waited on humans day in, day out. They did not, however, wait on small, translucent dragons. When he first set up squawking—at them, apparently—they stiffened, turning immediately to face him as he hovered in front of their faces.

“If you are going to keep that up,” Kaylin said, glaring up the five feet that separated them, “I’m packing you in a small crate and sending you back home.”

Squawk.

“I mean it. They are here to help me bathe and dress. They are not here to drown me. They aren’t here to drown you, either. Cut it out.”

The attendants exchanged a glance.

The small dragon landed on Kaylin’s shoulder and bit her ear. She pulled him off and held him out in front of her face. “I’ve had a pretty crappy day, and I do not need this right now!” Her hands stiffened as she finally noticed the marks on her arms. They were glowing faintly, more bronze than gold. A very Leontine curse followed; Kaylin lifted herself out of the bath, sloshing water on a floor that, when slippery, probably killed people, or at least people who weren’t Barrani.

The small dragon squawked in a quieter way. He looked smug.

Kaylin looked very wet. “The water in this bath,” she said, modulating her voice and forcing it into High Barrani, which was so not the language she wanted at the moment, “where does it come from?”

The two attendants exchanged another glance. Kaylin did her best not to take it personally, and mostly succeeded. “There is a spring; this hall is built around it. The water for the baths within the personal rooms of the Lord of the West March comes from that spring.”

Kaylin frowned. “The fountain in the courtyard—is it connected to the springs in some way, as well?”

“It is.”

She turned immediately to the small dragon and dropped into Elantran; while the Barrani in the city could be expected to know Kaylin’s mother tongue, the Barrani of the West March might not. She considered Aerian, but her Aerian wasn’t as fluent. “It doesn’t matter if the water’s elemental, idiot. It’s safe.”

The small dragon wasn’t having any of it. She had no idea why he reacted so poorly to the water; he hadn’t reacted that way to fire, and fire was, in Kaylin’s opinion, vastly more dangerous.

Or, given he was a miniature dragon, maybe not. The small amount of dignity she did possess was unlikely to hold up in the face of an argument with a pet—and given the reaction of the servants, they seemed to see it as a pet and not a mythical, sorcerous creature. Wilting because she was hungry, she turned to her attendants. “Could we do this bath the old-fashioned way?”

* * *

The Barrani were not, apparently, accustomed to the human version of bathing, since it mostly involved nothing but buckets. It also involved hot water, which was a blessing. They didn’t complain; they asked a few brief questions, their tone neutral enough it couldn’t be called curt. Kaylin toweled her own hair dry, but allowed the Barrani to set it. They combed it to within an inch of Kaylin’s life; she was surprised there was any hair left when they’d finished. She’d picked up an annoying assortment of plant bits on the walk between Orbaranne and the West March; the Barrani obligingly dislodged all of it.

They even brought jewelry. Kaylin politely refused. Her ears weren’t pierced; holes were what other people put into you against your will. She already had one necklace. They didn’t approve, obviously—but also, silently. If Kaylin hadn’t been so certain Teela would rat her out to Sanabalis, she would have left the damn medallion in her room.

And if it is lost?

Losing something significant that belonged to a Dragon was not high on Kaylin’s list of acceptably painless suicides. I’m wearing it, aren’t I?

Yes, you are. You are perhaps unaware that you are the only person in this Hall who could wear it and expect to survive the week?

She hadn’t really considered that at all. It doesn’t mean it won’t upset people.

Nightshade was highly amused. If it upset no one, there would be little point in it. You do not belong in any Barrani Court, but you are here; you wear the blood of the green; your companion is of note to even the most powerful among our kin. Word has almost certainly traveled, Kaylin; the Lord of the West March may find his hall rather more crowded than even he anticipated.

Damn Barrani and their boredom.

You understand.