15
“He never mentioned me, did he?”
Kaylin shook her head. She exhaled slowly, considering the fractured familial relationship between the older and younger brother.
She understood that Annarion had always looked up to Nightshade. The Erenne mark had broken that, even if Kaylin accepted
it and forgot its existence most days.
What would Nightshade do to find and free his brother?
Glancing at the unconscious fieflord, she thought the actual answer was anything. Anything at all. He cared enough about Annarion that Annarion’s fury, his anger, his unfortunate accident in Castle Nightshade
could all be forgiven. Easily forgiven. He demanded none of the respect that Barrani seemed to demand from their relatives.
He was pained by Annarion’s anger. Andellen had made that clear.
He had loved, and still loved, Annarion.
“He couldn’t talk about you, could he?” Annarion frowned as she continued, “He’s outcaste. You aren’t. You were a victim.
You were sent to be lost to the green—or empowered by it. You could return—if you could be saved—to your people. You could
still be Barrani.”
“He destroyed much of our family line.”
Kaylin shrugged. “Teela destroyed all of hers. But her family was murdered by other parts of her family. Nightshade was probably thinking far enough ahead that he wished to preserve whatever life you might have among your own people. He certainly didn’t expect the cohort—but I don’t think anyone did. Except Teela.
“I’m not Nightshade’s family. But I think, sometimes, that the Erenne mark was a symbol of ownership because it conveyed—to people who understood what it meant—protection or at least consequences. Not that that would stop Barrani
from trying to murder me, but they’d be less likely to do it casually.
“And I think he thought—for reasons that aren’t clear—that I might be useful.”
“Useful?”
“You’re free of the Hallionne, aren’t you? And you’re here. And you’re now a Lord of the High Court.”
Annarion swallowed.
Kaylin winced at his expression. “I’m not saying it’s your fault. It’s not like you told him to rescue you. It’s not like
you were trying to take advantage of him—” She stopped. She understood some part of his guilt, and she wasn’t making it any
better by talking. Not like this. She shook herself mentally.
“I’ve asked Serralyn—”
“I know.”
“But the fact that I was bleeding, and the fact that the Erenne mark wasn’t actually present, must mean something. I couldn’t
heal Nightshade—not the normal way. But I don’t think that is the only way, now. I don’t quite understand yet, but I’m working on it. Ummm, Mandoran?”
“Yes?”
“When you said ask any questions that I have as soon as possible, could you add one?”
“Sure.”
“Everything about how the Erenne mark functions. Not its social significance—I think I understand that pretty well right now. But . . . how it works.”
Annarion froze.
Mandoran’s hand found his friend’s shoulder. “She’s right. You know it. This might be the only pathway forward if we’re going
to save your brother. She’s not angry about it. We understand why you are—you’ll never know how much we envied you.”
Kaylin almost snorted. How could he not know?
“We envy you, even now. We understand why you were—and are—so angry, but if we’re being honest, Kaylin’s anger would make more sense. He did everything in his power
to retrieve you before the regalia. And he did everything he could to save you after it. Most of our families just treated us like we were dead. Except for
Sedarias’s family—she’s on the opposite end of the spectrum.
“Nightshade clearly never forgot you. You were the only family he cared about. Who wouldn’t want that?”
Kaylin could think of a few people . . . but in the end, she wasn’t one of them.
Annarion closed his eyes. “You didn’t know what he was like,” he said, his voice soft. “You didn’t know what he was like to
his people.”
She did, but clearly the definition of his people was markedly different for Annarion.
“I just don’t understand how he could become what he’s become.”
. . . or maybe not.
Kaylin could understand it. Maybe that’s why, in the end, her anger at the Erenne mark was missing. She’d been confused, sure.
But it was clear that the fieflord was so far above her, even in the mean streets of the fiefs, that anger hadn’t been a possible
response.
“Yes, he’s changed. He was a war hero. He is an outcaste. But Barrani outcastes are largely political; there’s every chance in the future that status could change. And if it does, if he can come out of the fiefs in safety, maybe other things will change too.
“You believe that, or you probably wouldn’t be so angry.”
Annarion was silent. “We owe you our lives,” he finally said. “Are you certain you’re all right with this?”
She shrugged, a fief shrug. “Nothing can change if he doesn’t recover.” That seemed neutral enough.
It was more than neutral to Annarion. “You’re right. Thanks.” He used the Elantran word.
“Dinner is ready,” Helen said, materializing in the room. “I have noticed no change in Nightshade, but I paid careful attention
to your transition from your plane of existence to the problematic one. I do not believe that attackers traveling in that
space could successfully breach my barriers.”
Something in the phrasing caused Kaylin to turn in her chair. “Do you think this is the path used by the Barrani who attacked
Nightshade?”
“It is an excellent question, but as I am not responsible for that attack, I cannot answer it.”
“I asked what you think.”
“I think it is a distinct possibility—but you said two war bands were involved. If they traveled through that path, it means
someone like Mandoran was involved—or some kind of portal through which normal Barrani could pass has been constructed.”
“Teela’s been investigating,” Annarion said, his gaze still on his brother’s sleeping face. “She’s been searching for sightings
of the war band, because Helen’s right. That number of people would be far too hard to miss. Unless they live in the fiefs,
traveling through Elantra would have caused a stir. There were no reports of war bands filed with the Hawks’ public desk.”
None of this had immediately occurred to Kaylin.
Teela, however, was right. Kaylin, who had done front desk shifts many times, knew that a small army of Barrani would cause panic, and that panic would inflate their numbers—and their statures.
There was no road such a band could travel that wouldn’t cause that kind of ripple.
“There are only two ways they could travel. They didn’t travel as a group through the city streets—even I would have heard
about that. But they could have traveled in ones and twos across the Ablayne, and met somewhere in the fiefs that wouldn’t
draw as much attention—or rather, our attention. Approaching any fief would—but if they immediately entered the border zone as individuals, the Towers wouldn’t
be able to track them.”
“I believe that is Teela’s thinking as well. There were far too many Barrani, armed, armored, and even crested, to have arrived
there as full bands. But if they arrived over a period of time, they could gather in the border zones. It’s clear from the attack
on both Nightshade and Terrano that the border zones are in use.”
They’d always been in use by the extremely desperate. People fled there. Kaylin had done so when she’d fled the fief of Nightshade.
What she knew about the border zone was limited; it was not a fixed size, a fixed shape. Buildings—such as the building Bellusdeo
had burned down—were both in better repair than their fief analogs, and subject to change.
But she knew that there was power in the border zones, that the Towers were somehow aware of their existence—as if they were
buffers to prevent clashes between the captains of different Towers. The Academia had been hidden, and kept in stasis, in
the border zone.
What else might reside there?
If the war bands chose to gather there, to live there, it would be fairly simple to supply them with food—and Barrani didn’t need sleep, so bedding and tenting would be far less relevant.
Delivering supplies could be done by one person.
It could be done by Terrano. He’d complain a lot, but for Terrano—or Mandoran—it wouldn’t be a problem.
But they existed as they were because of the regalia and their subsequent centuries-long imprisonment within Hallionne Alsanis. The regalia had changed them. But even changed, this strange walking of planes wasn’t something that all the cohort did. It was something,
if pressed, they could all do—in theory.
What changes could be made, what subtle alterations that would allow a so-called normal Barrani to make the same side steps
and walk the same paths?
“I have a headache,” she said, rising.
“As I said, dinner is ready. And you know that lack of food causes both headaches and unnecessary tension. Come eat. Mrs.
Erickson means to join you for dinner.”
Kaylin tried to force her shoulders into their normal position; she felt as if they were bunched up around her ears by this
point. “That would be great. I hate eating in the High Halls.”
“You generally don’t eat if you are enmeshed in emergencies—and it is far too easy for everything to feel like an emergency
when you are both tired and hungry.”
Kaylin glanced once at Nightshade. She thought of the Consort, the Lake, and Yvonne. “But Helen . . . everything is an emergency.”
Severn joined Kaylin for dinner. Teela did not. Sedarias and Teela were either arguing or planning—or both. Mandoran came
to the table, and Fallessian joined them as well. He was one of the twelve about whom Kaylin knew very little. But he seemed
to like Mrs. Erickson, against all expectations. Had he been human—had any of the cohort been human—Kaylin would have expected
it; the Hawks had become fond of Mrs. Erickson and her daily visits. Especially her edible bribes.
“That is an unfortunate word,” Helen said.