08 #2
depends. Terrano and his kin—his chosen kin—are unusual. They live with Helen. She knows their thoughts. I am certain that
she would be delighted to avoid them at times. They are not cautious of me in the way the rest of the Barrani are. The exception,
of course, is An’Teela.
“But Severn is also cautious. He is always guarded. From the first time I woke until today.”
“Can he hear you?”
“He can. You would never know it, would you? But his caution suits the High Halls. Terrano should practice more of it. If
I were actually as I appear at the moment, I would have a raging headache. I believe that is the phrase?” He asked the question
of Teela.
Her lips quirked in a brief smile. “That is entirely the correct phrase.” She offered no name and no title to the most powerful entity within the High Halls; according to Serralyn,
discussion was heated and ongoing among the nobles of the High Court as to what would be appropriate and respectful. They
could not exalt the High Halls’ Avatar as they did the High Lord; they could not treat the Avatar with a disastrous lack of
respect, as if the Avatar himself was simple furniture.
“How should we address you?” Kaylin asked.
“I just call him Abel,” Terrano said, shrugging. “Abel’s not offended. He’s ancient enough the petty bickering about what
to call him—what title to grant—is boring. Or funny, depending on how heated the argument gets. To Abel, it’s all irrelevant.”
“To Barrani, respect is life.” Abel’s voice was oddly gentle.
“Yeah, yeah,” Terrano replied. “If by respect, you mean fear.” He winced. “I’m not going to visit the Consort with you guys,” he added. “So respect’s kind of irrelevant.”
The Avatar’s eyes lost their blue—a Barrani appearance. He glared at Terrano.
“. . . sorry.”
“I have told you many, many times that there is one being within the High Halls that is worthy of all gestures of respect
due the powerful.”
Terrano nodded, mimicking chagrin perfectly. Kaylin knew it wasn’t genuine, which meant the Avatar knew it as well.
“I do,” the Avatar said. “I am aware of his history with this Consort; I considered destroying him when I first woke.”
“And you regret your mercy?” Teela’s smile wasn’t fake.
“No. But at times like this, it is close.” He continued to walk. Terrano fell silent but walked beside the Avatar as if they
were friends.
“Friendship is not what I was created to achieve,” the Avatar said without looking back. “But I find it oddly precious, if
fragile. There is a warmth to it that I do not wish to lose. Terrano is entirely himself—whatever that self is. I am not certain
I understand it. At heart, he is Barrani, as he was born. But he is not like An’Mellarionne.” Before Kaylin could speak, he
added, “When I compare him to all of the Barrani who make the High Halls their home, he is most like the Consort herself.”
Ynpharion was instantly outraged.
“She is entirely herself. Her role as Lady defines her; the responsibility to the Barrani people is her only sacred duty.
But she is not simply a vessel for the will of the Lake of Life; she, too, has affections and concerns that drive her.”
“And those are the reason I’m here.”
“I will let her speak. She is waiting.”
The Consort was seated by the fountain that marked the beginning of the small territory within the High Halls dedicated to the woman who could draw names from the Lake of Life.
Those names—living True Words—were the breath of life to Barrani children, born into the world asleep. In no other way would they wake.
“That,” Abel said, “is not entirely true. History has its grim and terrifying moments. But it is true now. I will leave you here.”
“Your Avatar will leave.”
“No, Chosen. There are places where even I am not permitted to go without express permission.”
“He means it,” Terrano added, voice much softer and shorn of his usual cheekiness. “He can watch at a distance. He can intervene
if survival is at stake. But if she requests privacy, he will give it.” The Barrani cohort member was serious enough that
he spoke in his mother tongue, not the Elantran he had come to favor. “We have to stop here. But you can see her.”
Kaylin nodded. To her surprise, the Consort was alone. No visible guards were present. Not even Ynpharion. A small table,
round, white, and ornate, was set in front of the Consort. Two chairs had been placed on opposite sides of that table, and
the Consort sat in one of them. She lifted a hand, indicating that Kaylin should take the other.
She can summon me at any time she feels it necessary, Ynpharion said. And she believes that An’Teela will be adequate guard should something unexpected occur. He grudgingly accepted that truth: An’Teela was far more experienced, far more powerful, than Ynpharion himself.
Kaylin was surprised. She knew that Teela was effectively her guard while she was here; she hadn’t expected the Consort would
allow her to attend the meeting she’d all but commanded. Ynpharion didn’t like it, either.
Hope squawked.
She is aware that you will also come to her aid should it be required. She is not foolish enough to trust An’Teela.
But foolish enough to trust me?
You know when trust is offered, he replied, his voice stiffening into a more familiar tone.
When the difference in power is so large the trusted person is almost irrelevant.
Exactly. But he was uneasy. He was constantly dismissive, constantly contemptuous, but behind that layer of what she assumed was the
majority of his unpleasant personality, he wasn’t certain that Kaylin herself wasn’t actually powerful. An’Teela is a power. Understand, then, that her inclusion implies a far greater threat than An’Teela herself could offer.
Teela wouldn’t threaten the Consort, Kaylin snapped.
She believes that you believe this. She is willing to take the risk of An’Teela’s presence; it implies support.
She shouldn’t need support. No one would threaten the Lady. Kaylin was engulfed by Ynpharion’s worry—which she didn’t need. She’d started worrying all on her own the moment the Consort’s
invitation had arrived, and she hadn’t stopped.
“If Ynpharion is conversing with you, I will have words with him later,” the Consort said, her green eyes belying the possible
threat to Ynpharion.
Kaylin, awkward in her dress, offered the Consort a hand. If she had to dress the part of a Lord of the High Court, the Consort
didn’t expect her to act the part. Just to pass muster for witnesses who were forced to keep their distance.
The Consort’s hand, when it met Kaylin’s, was surprisingly cold. Kaylin’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Are you unwell?”
The familiar green of the Consort’s eyes flickered blue. Of the Barrani, the only person besides the Consort who had green
eyes was Serralyn; the Consort’s green was far rarer. “If you wish to assess, I grant permission.”
Kaylin knew that attempts to heal most Barrani were met with rage and resentment. Saving their lives could be a death sentence—for Kaylin. The healing bridge was a bridge both people—healer and healed—could cross; they discovered much about each other.
Barrani survival had always depended on lies and secrecy. It’s what made the cohort so incredibly unusual. Kaylin attempted
to assess the Consort’s physical health.
She touched nothing.
She touched nothing, just as she’d done with Nightshade. Something appeared to be interfering with the only truly good power
the Marks of the Chosen had granted her. She could not examine the Consort.
The Consort’s smile was gentle; there was no surprise in it.
“Is this why you called me?” Kaylin’s voice was barely louder than a whisper.
The Consort nodded, her expression grave. “Were you perhaps suspecting that I would be concerned about Lord Nightshade?”
She had been and felt no need to hide it. “I was. The timing suggested it.”
The Consort’s eyes were once again green. “You are aware that I hold him in some affection.”
It is dangerous, Ynpharion said.
Were you aware that something was wrong?
Silence. No. The Consort had not chosen to explain the reason for her summons to Ynpharion. But she must have been aware that
he would discover the reason through Kaylin. Kaylin didn’t ask, because another thought, another fear, suddenly blossomed,
swamping almost all other thoughts she might have had.
Severn had not taken a seat; neither had Teela. There had only been one chair across from the small table at which the Consort
waited.
“Lady,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Can you even touch the names in the Lake?”
The Consort’s smile was a broken, terrible thing, yet beautiful in its own right. “You understand the problem. It is as if the names themselves are unaware of my presence at all. Were it not for your existence, I am uncertain I would be stable enough to receive visitors.”
Kaylin exhaled. “Should we visit the Lake first, or can I talk about Nightshade?”
The Consort frowned. “You wish to discuss Nightshade in such an emergency?”
“I normally never want to talk about Nightshade,” Kaylin replied in a tone that suggested agreement. “But . . . I think this
is politics. Barrani-style. You must know, by now, that Nightshade was nearly assassinated.”
The Consort nodded.
“Teela has information about that—but also emblems. Whoever orchestrated the attack chose to go all out—they sent two Barrani
war bands into the warrens to lie in wait at Nightshade’s edge of the border zone. Nightshade was badly injured. I couldn’t
heal him. I tried—but while I could physically touch him, I couldn’t heal him. And . . . it’s just like you, right now. I am holding your hand, but the healing power isn’t reaching you at all.”
The Consort’s eyes became fully blue. “He is injured?”
“He’s unconscious. He hasn’t woken up. Helen can’t help him, either. She doesn’t know what’s wrong. I don’t think the High
Halls would be able to revive him—and even if the Avatar could, he’d likely die. He’s an unconscious outcaste. Helen can protect