Cast in Oblivion Page 12

  “Kaylin?” the Consort then prompted.

  Wary now, Kaylin nodded. “I know what you’re afraid of. And yes, I was lying. If it weren’t for Helen, I’d be a lot more terrified. But I’m not watching my back. I’m certain they’re not plotting to kill me or rob me or head out into the streets to destroy my city and break all the laws.”

  “And if I invited them to the High Halls?”

  “No.” Kaylin folded her arms.

  “No?”

  “I trust that you wouldn’t harm them.” This was true. “But I do not trust that that’s true of anyone else in the High Halls. If you’ve spoken to Alsanis—and I don’t doubt that you have—you understand the material risks.”

  “They will need to come to the High Halls to undertake the Test of Name.”

  Kaylin nodded.

  “They cannot arrive in the High Halls with a Dragon escort.” She then turned to Bellusdeo. “You have my profound gratitude, for what little it is worth. Understand that among my people, one must volunteer to become Consort, to become the mother of our race. We are tried and we are culled. The culling is not particularly compassionate; the trials kill many.

  “But for all that, we have choice. The very first test was to make that choice. It was what my family wanted, of course. It was what my mother had chosen. It has a prestige and an import to the Barrani that no other title can grant. I didn’t understand that it was a test until I saw how many failed it. But that single test took no lives, not directly. Those who could not answer affirmatively were simply turned away.

  “You, however, have not taken that test. You have not been asked to choose your fate; you have not been asked to become what you must become if your race is to have a future.”

  “Do not pity me.” Bellusdeo’s eyes were orange.

  “I do not.” The Consort bowed her head for one long beat. When she lifted it, her eyes were blue. “I will never attempt to harm you, who are the mother of her future race, as I am the mother of mine. I swear it, and will swear it, under any oath-binding you wish to demand. I will allow none of my kin to harm you, where I have prior knowledge. I will not allow—”

  “No,” Teela said, stepping into the room. She was wearing a loose shift that would not be at home in the Halls of Law, but would not be at home at Court, either. The color was, however, the same green. “You will not involve yourself further. The matter of a Dragon’s attack in the West March is a matter of and for the High Court, and, my Lady, you are of the High Court because of your import to the Barrani. Not to the wars they hope to start, not to the politics they play.”

  Ynpharion had withdrawn completely. Teela’s words barely penetrated the surface of his mind; it had grown almost numb with outrage and disbelief. Helen did not need to tell Kaylin that the Consort did not offer to make a binding oath, and the Barrani lords did not tell the Consort what to do. But she couldn’t feel Ynpharion’s outrage as her own; it was no part of how she viewed the Consort.

  And how did she, in the end, view the Consort? One part terror, one part longing, one part confusion. This was the woman who had left her kneeling for the entirety of a Barrani dinner, while everyone else got to eat. But she didn’t make me kneel; I did that. This was the woman who had openly hugged her in the Barrani Court, whose eyes showed unfettered delight at the approach of a mortal, grubby Hawk. This was the woman who had been willing to doom what remained of the Norannir race because to allow them into the city was also to court the awareness of the Devourer.

  And the Devourer destroyed worlds.

  This was the woman who had offered them all the safety of the Hallionne—but had intended to build that Hallionne into yet another prison for the cohort that Kaylin had been brought to the West March to rescue.

  “Were you, dear?” Helen asked, her eyes a misty gray.

  She managed to bite down on an answer that would make no sense—or that she hoped would make no sense—to her guests. She had rescued the cohort. But the elemental water had sent her to the West March because of the great danger the water felt—a danger Kaylin did not and could not perceive in the same way. What if the water meant the cohort itself was the danger? That the cohort was the terrible wrongness in the fabric of the world?

  She remembered the first time Mandoran had visited the Keeper’s garden, then. She remembered the water’s reaction to Mandoran; it had attempted to drown him, and the agitation of the water had flooded the entirety of Evanton’s house—outside of the theoretical containment of the garden itself.

  What if?

  The Consort was afraid of what the cohort might become when faced with the Adversary beneath the High Halls. She was afraid that they could fail that test, and become the agents that the Shadow needed to destroy...everything, really. And Kaylin could admit, with growing unease, that the fear was grounded in fact.

  It wasn’t about intention; Kaylin believed viscerally that the cohort would never willingly harm the Barrani or her city.

  “But Terrano almost did,” Helen said softly.

  “That was before!” Kaylin cringed as every set of eyes in the room swiveled toward her. She also reddened.

  The Consort, however, did not seem surprised. The Arkon’s eyes were gold-orange. Bellusdeo had raised one brow, but no one spoke.

  “Why don’t you go and change, as well,” Helen said. “The Consort is already attired for a more casual setting, as is the Arkon. Bellusdeo?”

  “If things become...difficult...most of the clothing I wear is irrelevant,” the Dragon replied, smiling. It was a very Leontine smile.

  “Of course, dear,” Helen replied. “Kaylin?”

  * * *

  “Is it Terrano you’re afraid of?” Kaylin demanded when she was in the safety of her own room.

  “I am not afraid of any of them,” Helen replied. “And no. I trust his intent. The only family Terrano is willing to acknowledge is the cohort itself. He will do nothing—at all—to harm them, and this is the life they have chosen. In his fashion, he will help them while he remains.

  “But, Kaylin, I’ve told you before that my ability to contain the full cohort is suspect. If they desire their freedom, I cannot become their cage. I am not what the Hallionne Alsanis was. My imperatives not to harm my guests reside entirely in you. I am more flexible than the Hallionne; I have more choice than they have. But I have attachments, as well. I know there are things you could never accept, never live with. But I also know that there are things I could never accept or live with. The ability to live with tenants such as you is the murky combination of those two points.

  “But I choose tenants based on compatibility. I desire to be certain things—for myself. But I am what I was made to be. I have more choice than other similar buildings—and at some cost, some injury. I do not desire to be what I am not. I do not desire to have your ability to walk through the city streets. Sometimes I envy it. But I am a building. And that is neither here nor there. If the cohort becomes too unstable, too dangerous to contain, I will eject them.”

  “But—”

  “Too dangerous, in this case, involves your safety. I understand that that decision will be costly; I understand that it could break the trust that we’ve developed. It is the fear of breaking that trust that is difficult for me, because I can clearly see the possible necessity, and you...won’t.”

  Kaylin chose a black shirt, black pants; she considered daggers part of informal wear, but decided that that was possibly too informal. She didn’t change her hair, though; it would have taken too long.

  “And if I asked you not to?”

  Helen didn’t answer. But then again, she didn’t need to answer. Kaylin’s shoulders slumped, and the small Dragon crooned in her ear.

  “The rest of your guests have assembled,” Helen said, which was a signal to move. “What I want you to understand is that intention is not necessary to cause harm. The farmer whos
e wagon hits a child running across the street did not set out to injure children, but the injury exists, regardless.”

  “And what I need you to understand,” Kaylin replied, “is that the farmer can’t stop driving his wagon, even if that injury is a result of the driving. He didn’t mean to hurt the child. Yes, lack of intention doesn’t guarantee that no one gets hurt—I know that. But the fear of harm caused by even lack of intention can’t stop the farmer from coming to market. He’ll starve. I’m not afraid that they’ll deliberately hurt me, or us. I understand that they can. But Teela could pretty much kill me anytime she wanted to.”

  “Not while she’s here.”

  Kaylin snorted. “I’m not always here, Helen. If I’m afraid of anything bad that can happen to me while I’m not here, and I stay here, protected by you, for the rest of my life, what will my life mean?”

  “What does life mean, outside of that?”

  Kaylin really wanted her tabard at this specific moment. And because she did, it appeared. “I don’t know. I don’t have a good answer for that. Right now, I want to be able to help the midwives when they have an emergency. I want to be a Hawk because the law is better on this side of the Ablayne than it is across the bridge. I want friends I can trust, and I want friends who can trust me. I want to be more reliable.

  “And that’s not really an answer, is it?” She opened her door and stepped into the hall. “I did a lot of harm, in the fiefs. I know why I did it. I know where it came from. I needed to survive, and everything was stronger than I was. I didn’t learn to lie—but I learned to hide. I learned to run. I learned to steal, and eventually to kill. I hated it. If I could change it all, I would. I can’t, so I have to accept it. I did terrible things. But I can stop doing terrible things. It doesn’t change what I did in the past, because nothing will.

  “And if I did all those things, I can’t just judge people who are doing awful things. I can try to stop them. They’re not better than me. They’re not worse than me. They’re...just people, often making choices because they’re too terrified to really think about them. I make better choices now because I don’t let fear make decisions for me.”

  “No?”

  “Okay, I try not to let fear make decisions for me. Sometimes I have to choose between different fears, which, ugh.”

  “Down to the end of the hall,” Helen said.

  “And I understand the Consort’s fears. But... I can’t think of people I don’t know the same way she can. To her, the potential Barrani, and the Barrani in general, have the same value, the same weight. To me...they don’t. I try to protect what’s in front of my face. I don’t have any other way.”

  “The Norannir weren’t in front of your face, though, and they were the strongest disagreement you’ve had with the Consort to date.”

  “It was a metaphor, Helen.”

  “Yes, dear, but I’m not certain it was a very good one.”

  * * *

  Kaylin had seen this room before; Helen had brought them here on Kaylin’s first night. It was a dining table set beneath a mostly open sky; the sky was an early evening, and the sun hadn’t fully set. It was striking.

  The Barrani seemed far more at home beneath open skies than they had in the parlor, with the exception of the guards. Of course, that might have something to do with the way they were now dressed. The almost militant consistency of a sea of emerald green had given way to other colors, and the clothing styles were not meant for Court; they weren’t meant to impress. They had chosen to be as formal as the Consort herself, although Kaylin noted that most of the hairstyles—which looked sculpted—had remained in place. The time taken to recover from that hair would have been too demanding.

  She noted that some of the cohort had relaxed enough that they were, once again, in physical contact—not the Leontine variant of stacked bodies and piles of fur, but they were holding hands or rubbing shoulders. In Allaron’s case, though, it was probably because he was literally Terrano’s physical anchor.

  Only when Kaylin took her seat at the table did the Consort speak. Of the Barrani assembled, she was most like Teela, who retained the inviolability of physical space.

  “I admit I don’t always understand your version of casual, comfortable clothing.”

  Kaylin blinked.

  “Tabards such as that aren’t normally worn to dinner among your people, are they?”

  “Helen and I were having a discussion, and the tabard...” Kaylin trailed off, reddening. “No, not normally. Helen?” The tabard faded. Kaylin then drew breath. She glanced at the two seated Dragons, at the cohort and then, for longer, at Severn, who gave her a very small nod. She took the conversation in both hands. “I think we need to talk about why you’re here.”

  Everyone at the table stiffened, except Severn and the Arkon; the Arkon, however, raised a brow at Kaylin, and began to rearrange his beard.

  The Consort met and held Kaylin’s gaze for a long, agonizing breath. She, too, inclined her head. “Very well.” Her posture changed, her expression hardened and the natural green of her eyes lost ground to Barrani blue.

  “An’Teela understands my concerns, as do Lord Kaylin and Lord Severn. My guards—both of my guards—are Lords of the High Court; it might surprise you to know that all of the guards assigned to me by the High Lord are Lords of the Court.” She spoke to the cohort at large, although her body was turned toward Sedarias.

  “It is the custom of our people to assign only those who have become Lords of the High Court as heads of families. Those who have taken and passed that test understand why. It is also forbidden to discuss the test and its nature with any who have not passed it. And again, to those who have done so, the reasoning for that decision is clear. Is that not so?” She asked the question of Teela.

  Teela nodded; her eyes were martial blue.

  “I will not ask if you have discussed the Test of Name with your friends; I will assume that the answer is no.”

  “She has not,” Sedarias said quietly. “She has merely advised—heavily—that we abandon the attempt for the time being.”

  “To your friends, then, the Test of Name is a matter of hierarchical significance. If the Test of Name is not pursued, options are limited. I believe—” and now she definitely addressed Sedarias “—you intend to challenge the current An’Mellarionne for the title, and if you have not passed that test, such a challenge cannot be issued.

  “You understand that those who fail the Test of Name never emerge. You assume, half correctly, that they perish—and that has long been the way of our kind, by necessity: the strong survive. The weak die.

  “You therefore think—all of you who are willing to take that test—that the worst you face is death. You are...flexible...in ways that most of our kin are not; you believe that the death that you face is trivial in comparison to the other challenges you have faced in your life.

  “You are wrong.”

  Chapter 8

  Ynpharion was rigid, both physically and mentally. So, too, the second guard who had been chosen to accompany the Consort. Teela was not.

  Kaylin knew what lived beneath the High Halls; she had been told that it was the reason the High Halls existed in the first place. It was almost certainly the reason they had been left standing during the wars that had so damaged the Dragons. She understood the relevance of the Test of Name; those who had passed it had proved themselves immune to the corruption of the thing that was caged beneath the Tower that offered the test.

  She didn’t understand the Tower itself; she didn’t understand the words that the Tower seemed to choose for each of the Barrani who ventured into it. And she didn’t understand the grim silence that enfolded the actual test. If humans had been the test-takers, there would be guides on how to win—probably sold for ridiculous amounts of money on Elani street, and probably full of lies.

  Regardless, the need for secrecy, the
silence—those were foreign. The Tower wasn’t personal; speaking of what occurred at its base didn’t seem to be exposing personal vulnerabilities, especially since the only people who could speak had already passed the test.

  But she wasn’t Barrani, and clearly the customs of Barrani were the ones that mattered here—which made sense. It was Barrani who faced the Test of Name; Kaylin had faced it half by accident. Neither Kaylin nor Severn had lives that required True Names. Their essential selves on some level could not be rewritten or corrupted—not the way Barrani names could.

  “Will you speak of the test we face?” Sedarias asked.

  The Consort did not answer the question. But she did reply. “There are those among my kin who would ask that you not take the test. There are those among the Arcanum who consider it far too risky—to us, to the High Halls, to the Empire. And the fate of the Empire, ruled even by Dragons, is of relevance to us all.” She inhaled slowly, as if measuring words. “The fieflords—or those with whom I have contact—are likewise concerned, but their concern is far more visceral.” Turning to Annarion, she said, “I believe you know what your brother’s concerns are, but he has not made clear to you what the root of that concern is, because he does not speak of the test he faced so long ago.”

  Annarion nodded. Mention of Nightshade had caused his lips to thin, his eyes to narrow.

  “He wishes you to wait.”

  “And you, Lady?” Sedarias asked.

  “I am less certain, as must be obvious. I have concerns. Those concerns have not been lessened by discussion with the Hallionne Alsanis; rather, they have increased. What I see as a concern, he sees as a distinct possibility—but even he cannot predict what that would mean for us. You are not, due to the interference of the green and the travails of your long captivity, what I am. You are not what An’Teela is. It is possible that An’Teela has the capacity to become what you currently are—but until very recently that would not have numbered among her ambitions.