21 #2
If Kaylin had known they were meeting an entirely different Lord of the High Court, she’d’ve worn the Barrani dress. She’d
meant to make a quiet statement to An’Tellarus, a statement about where her true loyalties lay. She assumed Teela was doing
the same.
Trust Teela in this, Severn said. He walked a step behind Teela, leaving Kaylin keeping pace with the Barrani Hawk. Teela knew the invitation would have to be delivered to the Sennarin quarters.
But won’t we be considered disrespectful? Won’t this be bad for Sennarin, which means bad for Yvonne?
Sennarin is not considered a politically powerful line at this time. An’Sennarin, as An’Mellarionne, is fighting to retain his hold on the seat. Our lack of obvious respect for the traditions
of the High Halls will reflect that. If Teela showed up in full court dress, as she did to escort you to visit the Consort,
and to visit An’Tellarus—
That was an accident. We didn’t expect to be summoned.
—Sennarin would suddenly come under more difficult scrutiny. As it is, Teela’s presence as a Hawk implies either contempt
or dismissal—and that’s safer. Those who are attempting to kill Ollarin know they won’t offend An’Teela; those who consider
Ollarin beneath their notice will be content to have Teela’s confirmation.
She hasn’t said that.
Well, it’s the Hawks’ uniform that does.
You’re not worried.
No. Ollarin won’t find the Hawk offensive. And he won’t find the invitation offensive, either. Severn hesitated. He may, as her legal guardian, ask that the invitation include him.
This was nuts. They were already freaking out about An’Tellarus. Adding An’Sennarin to the invitation would probably cause
Sedarias to die of apoplexy.
Heads up.
She turned to face closed doors. There was a single guard on duty, but An’Tellarus had had no obvious guards; clearly guards
weren’t necessary.
“We are here to deliver a letter to An’Sennarin,” Teela told the guard. She’d sheathed her sword, but her hand rested easily
atop its pommel. Kaylin wondered if it were habit or if it were deliberate; she guessed the latter, but Teela looked at ease.
The guard opened the door and stepped in. He was gone for perhaps five minutes.
When he returned, he offered Teela an actual bow, although his eyes were now a darker blue. Clearly, bowing to a Hawk was a gesture of respect that didn’t sit well with him—but he did it. “An’Sennarin will see you now.”
The doors then opened, exposing the interior. Kaylin was surprised. An’Tellarus’s quarters were consistent with Barrani architectural
norms. An’Sennarin’s were not. She felt as if they had stepped through external doors into a garden, with hedges for walls,
and gaps in those hedges that served as natural doors. The ceiling was sky.
She was reminded, then, that the High Halls were a sentient building. There was no limit to what could be done with the quarters
occupied by Lords of the High Courts—those who had the power to gain perpetual quarters in the High Halls, near the seat of
the High Lord’s court.
But she hadn’t expected hedges, and she hadn’t expected the tree. A single tree rose well above the hedges, and it attained
a height that could only be seen if she tilted her head pretty far back.
Teela was surprised into something that looked like a smile—if smiles could be both warm and also tinged with deep sadness.
“Where is he?” Kaylin asked.
“If he’s waiting for us, he’ll be up that tree.”
Right. Because Barrani homes in the West March—the older style of home—were in the trees. She turned to Severn. Severn had
some familiarity with An’Sennarin, but clearly the last meeting hadn’t involved towering trees as a residence.
“Follow. I had hoped to hand the message to a servant; unlike you, I am not on leave, and Marcus is already in a foul mood.”
She strode ahead, but stopped as they cleared the hedges that served as partial walls.
There, surrounded by carefully laid stone in a slender layer, sat a fountain.
It had been built to be taller than two grown men, its basin a pale, layered white that implied marble, although that didn’t feel right.
Water pooled in the basin, eddying like tiny waves against a stone shore—but that wasn’t what caught their attention.
The water that fell also rose in a pillar; there seemed to be no mechanical lift, no further stone or hidden piping—because
there wasn’t.
In the heart of the Sennarin quarters, a pillar of water in the shape of a woman stood—and it opened its arms to greet Kaylin
Neya, its expression one of both surprise and delight.
Kaylin had enough presence of mind to glance in Teela’s direction; Teela’s lips were pursed. If Kaylin felt a hint of joy,
Teela felt nothing but worry. This presence, this water, was almost the heart of the elemental water on this plane. It existed
here, as it existed in the distant West March—but it was far more present here.
“This was not why we came,” Teela murmured. She looked as if she would tell Kaylin to keep away from the water, but one glance at Kaylin’s
expression killed that plan.
Kaylin removed her boots and stepped into the stone basin. The water was warm, and the pillar moved instantly to embrace her.
It was like a hug, but warmer and softer. As she had before, she could hear the water’s voice, because the water’s voice was,
in large part, the voice of the Tha’alaan. She hadn’t visited the Tha’alani quarter in what felt like years but had been months
at most.
She listened to the water, spoke to the water, but she didn’t reach for the Tha’alaan. In the heart of the High Halls, she
was afraid that her own thoughts and fears would muddy the waters upon which the Tha’alaan—and its people—depended.
Even so, the water said. You are with Olleandar? Ah, Ollarin, as he is now called.
“We haven’t met him yet. We just came to deliver a letter. But . . .”
But? Ah. You wonder why I am here?
Kaylin nodded. As far as Kaylin was concerned, the water could be anywhere it wanted. There was no malice in it. If elemental
water wanted to flood the world—and didn’t care much about anything already living in it—this water had evolved through contact
with the Tha’alani. Life was precious, if short, to the water here.
Ollarin invited me. I am not his to control here, or rather, he does not exert control. He finds comfort in the fountain.
And I find him precious, although I do not entirely understand why. Some things are not to be questioned, for no answers arise.
He has made a home for himself here, but it is not his home—and he wished for my presence, the only part of home that he can
carry with him.
I am terrifying to the Barrani, when unleashed. They believe he will unleash me should they attempt to harm him here. But
it is not himself for whom his fears are strongest. Deliver your letter, but Kaylin—I understand the whole of Ollarin, and
if you can find it in yourself to do so, offer him friendship.
“He’s Barrani. Barrani don’t really want friends.”
He is Ollarin. Yvonne is his friend. But his family, as hers, is dead by the hands of the man Ollarin finally killed. He is
young, for his kin. You know I cannot command you; there is no battle of wills between us. But I ask it, friend of the Keeper.
I ask it, Chosen.
Kaylin listened for one long breath. The water wouldn’t drown her; she didn’t need to breathe to shelter in its embrace.
But this wasn’t what she had been expecting. The water loved the Tha’alani as a people, and considered them kin—or as close
to kin as such wild forces were capable of having. She had never expected that it might feel the same way about a Barrani
Lord of the High Court.
Did you hear that? she asked Severn.
I did.
You’re not surprised?
Oh, I am. But the water wasted its time making its request. Come out. Teela’s getting impatient.
How can you tell? Teela was always impatient. For an Immortal, who had nothing but an endless stretch of time, she sure cared a lot about wasting
any of it. Kaylin stepped out of the water, and the water retreated; her clothing wasn’t even damp.
“Are you finished?” Teela demanded, proving Severn right. The world often proved Severn right.
“The water wanted to ask me a favor,” Kaylin replied, trying not to match that tone and mostly succeeding.
This changed Teela’s expression, and not in a good way. “The water wanted to ask you a favor.”
Hope snickered. She wondered if the water had spoken with Hope, or if Hope had spoken to the water, or if the two ancient
forces had simply ignored each other.
“It wasn’t a big favor.”
“What was the favor?”
“She wanted me to befriend Ollarin.”
Teela’s eyes were blue. They got darker. She said nothing. Instead, she turned and began to walk toward the giant tree.
Kaylin had some experience with the West March version of a treehouse: it was a place in which Barrani were meant to live,
not huddle and play. The tree itself provided walls and ceilings; the Barrani didn’t cut down other trees to build the platforms
upon which furniture and people stood. She wasn’t as clear on the delivery of goods—she didn’t imagine the tree could randomly
produce food and clothing. Trees were not sentient buildings.
But the West March trees seemed to grow and shift—with time—at the desire of the lords who claimed them as ancestral homes.
Lirienne did not live in a tree; he lived in a large hall—smaller in scope and size than the High Halls, but similar in architecture.
She froze. The Lord of the West March was here, somewhere. He was in the High Halls. But he hadn’t called for Kaylin, and
Kaylin had zero desire to meet him here.
“What are you thinking?” Teela asked, the question a command.
“The Lord of the West March is probably in the High Halls somewhere. I’m thinking it would be better to avoid him today, if
possible.”