20 #2
“The Outcaste had an interest in us, and he had the ability to traverse worlds, even after the fall of Ravellon. Perhaps because of its fall. He lives in Ravellon, does he not?”
Kaylin nodded. “But if he’s outcaste, he’s not Shadow. He can enter and leave Ravellon at will.”
“You believe that somehow the source of our adult names and the possible plot against the Barrani are linked.”
“I believe they could be. It would be convincing. The gaining of your adult names gave you the draconic forms of adults. It did not otherwise contaminate or destabilize your existence.” Kaylin spoke formally to this sister; she had a suspicion that the unnamed sister had been the true ruler of Bellusdeo’s empire before her death.
“I can see how not having a True Name would be a problem for Dragons. But . . . your names served their purpose: you became
capable of using your draconic forms. You became adults—but in the fashion male Dragons become adult.”
The Dragon nodded slowly.
“Dragons don’t have an official Lake, an official midwife. The Outcaste found you and guided you long before he was recognized
and cast out. But what if what he led you to wasn’t the source of Dragon names, but something other?”
The Dragon’s eyes were orange with flecks of red.
“And if that was possible—and clearly the names you found for yourselves were partially effective—what would stop him from
offering the same source to the Barrani?”
“This is not your investigation,” Teela snapped.
Bellusdeo’s sister ignored the interruption. “The only difference we noted was the ability to become draconic. All of us found
our names with aid. All of us carried them as adult names. All but one of us died; Bellusdeo herself was lost to Ravellon and the Shadow it contained. She remembers very, very little of her captivity.
“But she was not physically transformed—”
“She was a sword,” Kaylin snapped. “How much more proof of physical transformation do you need?”
“She wasn’t contaminated. She wasn’t absorbed. She didn’t become a powerful Shadow.”
“She couldn’t become a sword on her own, unless there’s something about draconic transformations we didn’t get taught.”
Helen cleared her throat, a signal that the heated conversation was going in the wrong direction.
Kaylin exhaled. It was going to be a long week. She was almost certain she’d be seconded to the Imperial Service again before she hit the Halls of Law in the morning. That always ticked off her sergeant, and he wasn’t above sharing his annoyance and destroying his own furniture in the process.
“Your names served the purpose you were taught they should serve. What you weren’t taught, the Outcaste wasn’t taught. Your
adult names are built on the foundation of your childhood names—you are not like the male Dragons. I don’t think the Outcaste
knew. He seems almost protective of Bellusdeo. Of all of you.
“But this source of True Names, this source of words—he led you to it. I’m wondering if he led others in the same way.”
“. . . you’re thinking of the Barrani.”
“I am. If an alternate source of life was found and offered to the Barrani, those who dislike bowing to the Consort and the
Lake might have eagerly accepted it. But Barrani of power are suspicious bastards. They would have wanted to test it, right?
“If—and only if—whoever was in charge could offer the Barrani a different source of life, the Consort would become irrelevant.
And if they could control this secondary source, it would give them almost undreamed-of power among the Barrani.
“The Lake’s function depends on the Lady, and the Lady is chosen by the Lake. The Lady is above politics because she is, in
some sense, the mother of all her people. It is by her hands that names are delivered to the sleeping, by her hands that they
wake.
“Imagine a future in which it is not the Lake that decides, nor even the Lady, but people of power. Imagine a future in which
those names are sold to the highest bidder, and without proper payment, no children of your line will ever wake. No children
of the poor or insignificant.
“How long would the current High Lord retain his power in the face of such a reality? Barrani families of power care deeply
about lineage.”
“Not all of us,” Teela said. She didn’t otherwise disagree with anything Kaylin had guessed. As her eyes had already become as dark as they could, their color didn’t change.
The Dragon turned to Teela. “Do you believe there is any accuracy in Kaylin’s guess?”
“I see it as a possibility—one we had not considered. Further investigation is necessary. Kitling, this is not your investigation.”
Kaylin nodded. It wasn’t. Didn’t mean she couldn’t do the work in her personal time. “Shall we talk about Yvonne, then?”
Bellusdeo, or her regal sister, chose to depart. Her questions about Shadow and its possible use had become interlocked with
elements of the sisters’ shared past, and she wasn’t ready to discuss those. But the mention of the Outcaste had unsettled
even this sister.
Teela also chose to depart and accompanied Bellusdeo out of the parlor.
Sedarias, Mandoran, and Terrano chose to stay.
An invitation would be sent immediately. They hoped to be able to entertain Yvonne tomorrow, if Yvonne accepted that date.
Sedarias doubted she would. Kaylin didn’t.
But it would serve as a test: was it Yvonne’s choice, or An’Tellarus’s? If An’Tellarus was in charge, Sedarias felt four days
from the invitation date would be more likely. If Yvonne could freely make the choice, Kaylin expected she’d say yes. In either
case, they assumed An’Tellarus would also be visiting.
“Sedarias feels it important that you write your invitation immediately; she will personally see that it’s delivered.”
“Can’t she write a proper invitation? I’ll sign it.”
“I did ask. Teela feels, however, that it would be best if you wrote it.”
“It won’t meet Sedarias’s standards.”
“No, dear. Teela feels that’s the point. The invitation is not meant to come from a Barrani Lord; it’s meant to come from
a human. Less will be expected of you, and less offense taken.”
“In theory.”
“Sedarias and Teela have been arguing since Bellusdeo left.”
Right. It was the cohort. The fact that Teela and Sedarias weren’t in the same room meant nothing. There was no way to walk
away from their argument.
Having made that plan, the cohort, Kaylin, and Mrs. Erickson gathered in the dining room for lunch. No one looked like they
were enjoying the food, but everyone was grateful for Mrs. Erickson’s presence. The older woman must have been able to tell
they were all worried—or angry, or upset—but she didn’t acknowledge it. If they didn’t tell her—and they didn’t want to involve
her any further than she already was—she felt she wasn’t meant to know. And didn’t need to.
But she wasn’t silent; the cohort was already the wrong kind of silent. She talked about baking, and about the day’s visit
to the Halls of Law. She was slightly embarrassed and also incredibly grateful that the Hawks at the public desk had been
so happy to see her. Fallessian had accompanied her to the Halls before, and was capable of being friendly because he knew
it put Mrs. Erickson at ease.
Fallessian never found any of this offensive, but he’d been actively involved with the current crisis. He couldn’t be her
escort at the moment.
Mrs. Erickson carried the conversation with her stories of the Halls of Law; her eyes and voice were bright. Kaylin thought
this must have been what she’d been like when the ghosts of four children were her only companions.
And as if they were those ghostly children, the cohort and Kaylin took comfort from her obvious delight, her desire to share something positive.
“That is her nature,” Helen said, her voice warm with affection. “She would not deny you your anger or your pain should you
feel the need to express it; she is not attempting to deny that those things exist. But she offers small joy where it might
be accepted; she finds small sparks of delight in the darkness, and she holds those tightly so she can share them.
“As you suspect, the Arkon—the current Arkon—has asked that you be relieved of your normal duties for the next three days.
Sergeant Hassan was practically red-eyed when he mirrored with the news—you will definitely need to find him a new desk.”
“I wish the Halls of Law were a sentient building,” Kaylin muttered. “Finding new desks stretches the departmental budget,
and it’s extra work no one needs.”
Kaylin ate as she attempted to come up with an appropriate invitation.
Sedarias would have been standing over her shoulder for the entirety of lunch had Helen not intervened. Helen didn’t approve
of writing while at the lunch table.
In the end, it was Severn who came to her rescue.
Yvonne’s from the West March. Her parents aren’t lords of that distant court, and certainly not Lords of the High Court. Formal invitations
would be highly unusual, and receiving one would be . . . not an insult, but a form of command. They’d imply a formal acknowledgment
of the difference in power.
I’m a Lord of the High Court.
Yes. But you’re human, and you’re my partner. You’re a Hawk. Yvonne won’t expect a formal invitation. I’m not sure she’d know
what to do with one.
But An’Tellarus might?
If you send a correct formal invitation, An’Tellarus will assume you’re working for a Barrani Lord. If she assumes that, she’ll feel free to interfere.
Given what she was like, she’ll feel free to interfere anyway.
He chuckled. True. But intervention takes many forms. I don’t think she’ll be offended; she won’t expect nearly as much from, I’m sorry,
a mortal.
Kaylin held up a hand to catch the cohort’s attention. “I’ll deliver the letter myself.”
“Teela will break your legs.” This was Terrano, who was remarkably cheerful about it.
“Then Teela can deliver it. I’m a Hawk; she’s a Hawk. The entire High Court knows that. She does what she wants—and she’s
clearly survived it. It’d be less political if it was Teela.”
Mandoran snorted. “Sure. Less political. You really don’t understand the Barrani, do you? It could be the most innocent letter
in existence, and the Barrani would still consider it political.”
“Teela has way less to lose,” Kaylin snapped back. “If she can’t handle a letter delivery, she wouldn’t have survived being
a Hawk.” Her arms were folded as she glared at Mandoran.
Terrano snorted. “What? She’s right.”
I will deliver it, Severn said.
No way.
We’re partners. I’ll take the letter.
You’re a human.
I’m a Lord of the High Court—we became lords at the same time. If you insist on carrying it yourself, we go as beat partners.
“Someone arguing with you?” Terrano asked, grinning. “I know exactly what that’s like.”
“He’s not shouting at me, and he’s not cursing,” Kaylin replied.
“There’d probably be a lot of cursing if Helen wasn’t gatekeeping.” His grin grew smugger.
Kaylin shrugged. It was true. But keeping Ynpharion out of the time-sensitive discussions was the best policy.
It’s not like he wouldn’t have access to her if she left her home.
She even understood it, now: he was worried.
He hated to rely on Kaylin for anything, but accepted—barely—that the Consort did.
And Kaylin was better than other Barrani. Probably
because Ynpharion thought she’d be easier to kill if things got messy.
“He does not think that,” Helen told her gently. “He could not kill you without the Consort’s express permission, and he knows
she will never give it. If she made no attempt on your life when she felt the world—hers, and ours—was at terrible risk, there
is no circumstance under which she would do so.” Helen lifted a hand to the bridge of her nose. “Imelda is correct.”
“About what?”
“I live in a house full of youthful vigor and passion.”
“. . . meaning we’re all children,” Kaylin said. When it came from Helen she didn’t resent it. Much.
“Severn is, I feel, correct. The only other messenger one could send in safety is Terrano—but given his prior injuries, safety has become a relative term.”
“If I deliver the letter, can I do it as a Hawk?”
“If the invitation is to arrive within the Tellarus domicile, yes. An’Tellarus is older than Teela and is known for her foibles
and her interest in the strange and exotic. That,” Helen added, “would be you and Severn.”
“We’re exotic?”
“For most of the Barrani, yes. Just as most of the Barrani would be considered exotic by the average human in Elantran streets.”
“Not in the streets of Nightshade, they weren’t,” Kaylin replied. She exhaled.
You’re not going to let this go, are you? Severn’s tone was resigned.
Would you, in my position?
Yes.
Silence.
Finish eating. Write your letter. I’ll be at the house soon.