11 #2
“We’ll work it out.” She’d been considering Terrano as a go-between, but she didn’t trust An’Tellarus enough that she considered
that safe. But she did trust Teela enough. Teela could deliver a message in person. Teela wasn’t above the Mellarionne fray, but she wasn’t as vulnerable
as any of the rest of the cohort might be.
“I’m ready,” Kaylin told Abel.
“Please follow me.”
Severn didn’t make it in time to join her. I could, he told her. But while the substance of conversation appears to be concluded, the jostling for position has just started. If I leave, An’Tellarus
will be mildly offended.
She didn’t strike me as a person who can be mild when offended.
“Lord Severn will join you before you exit the High Halls,” the Avatar said. “He is correct; any hasty movement on his part
will be interpreted poorly; both An’Teela and An’Tellarus might take offense.”
Terrano fell silent. Kaylin poked Hope, and Hope grudgingly sat up, smacking her face—audibly—with his wing, as if her unspoken
demand was grossly unreasonable.
But with the wing over her eyes, she could see Terrano clearly. To her surprise, his eyes were a deep, dark blue—much darker
than his norm. Maybe the High Halls were just as uncomfortable for Terrano as they were for Kaylin. But he came, regardless.
Terrano wasn’t the problem.
Yvonne’s existence was a threat to the Consort. But she was certain the two women would actually like each other, if they met. The Consort considered her duties of paramount import within the court: she was the custodian of
the Lake. She was the mother of her people.
Her tolerance of, her support for, Kaylin was offered in part because Kaylin could also perform the duties of Lady. Even had she despised Kaylin, she would have forced herself to tolerate and accept her because
the Lake was so important. She wouldn’t consider Yvonne a threat if the Lake accepted her.
But the two women didn’t exist in isolation.
Someone considered Yvonne a possible genuine candidate—and that allowed them to attack the Consort in a subtle, but terrible,
way. An’Tellarus? But An’Tellarus was reputed to be largely neutral. If you didn’t step on her toes, she allowed you to continue
breathing.
It couldn’t be the cohort. It couldn’t be Sedarias. But Sedarias’s fight wasn’t the only fight unfolding in the High Halls;
no doubt there were battles being raged that began long before Kaylin’s birth and would continue long after her death.
Ugh. Abel was right: she had to approach this investigation the normal way. Maybe being Chosen, being surrounded by the cohort
with their easy communication, had rusted the skills she’d worked so hard to develop.
What she wanted from the Consort—what she’d failed to get—was why Nightshade. Why Nightshade at this specific time? The Halls of Law didn’t keep Records about Barrani-on-Barrani crime; there
was no way for Kaylin to look up that information. The Consort said he’d always been a target. But . . . had he been a target
worth at least two full war bands?
It wasn’t the two war bands that were the problem. It was whatever shielded him—and the Consort—from the power of Kaylin’s Marks. True Words, granted Kaylin without permission or even interest on her part.
The Consort couldn’t lift the words from the Lake because Barrani names were True Words. Nightshade had never been and would
never be allowed to attempt to touch the Lake—but the namebond’s power was based on his True Name. Something had come between
that innate power and the people who should possess it.
Add to that Terrano’s injury—when Terrano was out of phase—and Kaylin’s inability to heal him immediately. She assumed that
was because she couldn’t reach him. But what if it wasn’t? What if the only reason she could effectively heal him was that he was out of phase? That whatever it was that was effectively breaking her power didn’t quite
operate in the same planes that Terrano could?
There was something there, she thought.
But it wasn’t quite coalescing. She’d talk to Teela about it later.
Severn was doubtful. This falls squarely under the laws of exemption; it’s a Barrani matter.
Kaylin shook her head. It’s not if I’m involved.
That’s why she won’t speak about it.
If the Lake hadn’t become political, it would be entirely Barrani. But I’m tied to the Consort because of the Lake. I’m Lord Kaylin because of the Lake. The High Lord
knows what I can do. Much of the High Court doesn’t. We need way more information. If Teela doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll
have to find a different information source.
Severn was utterly silent.
Kaylin assumed the Avatar of the High Halls was much like Helen: a conduit for communication that might make the person being communicated with feel more comfortable.
She assumed that Abel—Terrano was going to be in so much trouble for giving him that name, because it had begun to stick—could do what Helen could do: be in multiple places, in Avatar form, simultaneously.
“I can,” Abel said. “Most of the Lords of the High Court prefer not to see me at all; they maintain a polite fiction about
my existence.”
“Why?”
“Most of the Lords of the High Court will not willingly enter a Hallionne, unless at great need,” Abel replied. “The Barrani
are generally not comfortable when in the presence of someone who can read their thoughts.”
“Helen says some of the Barrani—and Severn—can obfuscate enough of their thoughts that they’re harder to read with certainty.”
“That is, indeed, true. But such misdirection requires concentration, and it is oft tiring. Barrani Lords dwell within the
High Halls; there is status in that that they cannot be seen to surrender. They are uncomfortable. Many prefer the old ways.”
“You mean, when a Shadow in the basement was practically devouring their kin.”
“They were not devoured; they were contained. Their names have—finally—been returned to the Lake, where they might be chosen
to invoke new life in their people. But yes. While the entirety of my focus was turned toward that Shadow, the High Halls
themselves were absent my presence, my intent, and even my awareness. There was only one exception. The abode of the Lady
and the Lake itself. The Lady does not make any effort to conceal herself from me.”
Kaylin nodded. “Can I ask a question?”
“Demonstrably.”
“Why is she called both the Lady and the Consort? I know her mother was also guardian of the Lake and Consort, but . . . are
they always the same person?”
“You have known her for how long, and you have only thought to ask that question now?” Abel’s tone was almost scandalized.
Kaylin grimaced.
He’s right, Severn told her, a delicate vein of amusement in his tone.
Well, Teela calls her the Consort or the Lady almost interchangeably. Ynpharion always refers to her as the Lady or My Lady.
I just, I don’t know, I assumed that the sister of the High Lord would be the Consort. I mean—I sometimes find it kind of
disturbing, but they’re Barrani and I’m not.
“Lord Severn, I fear I must leave the education of Lord Kaylin in your hands. But this is an example of the difficulties that
arise when one assumes that a sentient being’s ability to read thoughts will give them relevant information. Lord Kaylin is
not quiet, and she is not subtle. I might tell you much of her thoughts, were they not so clear to you for other reasons.
“But I would not necessarily be apprised of the gaps in her knowledge, large as they are. Such as this one.”
Ynpharion was both outraged and in agreement with the Avatar; he was also amused. But his amusement was tinged with apprehension,
worry, and a deep and abiding suspicion. Yvonne. The Lady.
Yvonne would never hurt the Lady, Kaylin said with absolute conviction.
She does not have to have that intent; her existence is a threat.
The High Halls won’t allow you to harm Yvonne. And your Lady wouldn’t allow it, either.
It was true. Had it not been true, Yvonne might be dead. Given Ynpharion, would be dead.
“An’Tellarus is ferocious in both protection—when she chooses to offer it—and retribution, should those protections fail.
In that regard, she is very similar to An’Teela.
The reason they are both as safe as Barrani Lords can be—there are desultory attempts to unseat them by the rashly ambitious—is because of their history.
They are not ambitious in their own right at this point in their lives; they will destroy, utterly, the lines of those who attempt to harm them.
Or to harm those they have taken under their protection. ”
Kaylin could see, beyond the Avatar, a familiar arch, and a familiar set of descending stairs. She frowned. She remembered
ascending stairs as well—and words on the wall, glowing faintly. This was the Tower of Test. This was where, until very recently,
Barrani went to prove their strength—or literally die trying.
Those who emerged from the test were considered Lords of the High Court. Those who did not emerge weren’t considered a great
loss to their families.
“That is harsh, Lord Kaylin, and it is not accurate. Some of those who chose to enter this Tower did so entirely of their
own accord, with their own ambitions; they felt it better to face death than to exist forever in a state of weakness. And
many did face death; some did not. Those who emerged had a far greater understanding of what was at stake; they did not speak
of the test.”
“And you couldn’t intervene to save them.”
“These are the High Halls, where ambition’s failure oft ends in death. My mandate does not allow intervention in regular Barrani
affairs.”
Kaylin wondered if there was wiggle room. But the sentient buildings had True Words at their heart, so maybe there wasn’t;
the meaning of those words wasn’t open to interpretation. It’s why Helen had had to effectively cut off a limb or two to be
free to make her own choices.