22 #2
Does the Lady need to send a formal invitation? Or can we just arrive?
Arrive. The High Halls will know, and a formal invitation will be noted.
What if Yvonne doesn’t want to visit?
Kaylin could feel Ynpharion’s frustration, but he kept it out of his words. The Lady must have been listening. If she is summoned, she will accept the summons. But a formal summons would draw even more attention to her than she has already
received; the Lady wishes to avoid this, if at all possible.
So it’s unofficial.
It is both unofficial and of the highest priority. The Consort asks, but does not command, that you allow me to observe the
visit to your home.
Kaylin shook her head. There’s too much that’s likely to come up that could get messy—An’Tellarus is coming, and she’s not a person who likes anyone
else to be the center of attention. Sedarias will be there, and you know what Mellarionne is going through—it’s just going
to be too tangled. The Lady doesn’t have Mellarionne’s best interests at heart, if she considers Mellarionne at all.
Ynpharion didn’t respond—but he didn’t berate, either.
Kaylin turned to Ollarin and offered him a formal bow at odds with her uniform.
“I trust you with something precious, Lord Kaylin.” He opened his mouth, no doubt to add a warning, but closed it again before
he spoke the words. He returned the bow she had offered and then offered the same gesture to both Teela and Severn. Teela
returned a nod, which was proper etiquette.
“No harm will come to her while I am present,” Severn said, offering assurance instead of respect.
It was the assurance An’Sennarin desired.
Kaylin turned to Yvonne. “See you tomorrow.”
In spite of the color of her eyes, Yvonne managed a smile.
Helen was waiting by the open door when Kaylin, Severn, and Teela arrived.
Sedarias was in high dudgeon, but from Kaylin’s perspective, this only meant she was silent. Given Mandoran’s and Terrano’s expressions, she wasn’t silent on the inside of their heads, but Kaylin didn’t ask. Terrano, on the other hand, was willing to share.
“They’re having an argument about what you should wear. If it were just Yvonne, no one would care. But it’s An’Tellarus, and
it’s your house, so you’re going to be judged by the quality of your hospitality.”
Kaylin wasn’t of a mind to put on a show to impress An’Tellarus. An’Tellarus was there as guardian or high-powered guard;
she wasn’t the actual invitee.
“No, dear, but Sedarias’s concerns are not without merit. You have a few Barrani dresses, and if they are not suitable, I
can create a dress you could wear. It will not persist should you be forced, for an unforeseen reason, to leave the premises.”
Not, given unexpected emergencies, the smart choice. “I’ll think about it.”
“Teela is arguing against, if that’s any help.” Terrano’s grin was followed by a wince.
“How’s the rest of the vote going?”
“Most of us don’t care what you wear. You’re mortal. She’s not going to expect you to be full-on Lord of the High Court. The
problem is, she can take offense in a political fashion. You’ve got no traction on the High Court. You do have friends. One of them has just
arrived from the West March—and he has proclaimed you kyuthe. Oh: you need to find the ring he gave you, no matter what else you wear.”
“Teela,” Mandoran added, “says you’re wasting Kaylin’s time, and she might need it if she can’t find the damn ring immediately.”
Kaylin expected dinner, if the cohort came down at all, to be more of the same. She headed up the stairs toward Annarion’s
chambers, and was met by Andellen, who was on the way down.
“No change?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “I have information for An’Teela, and one or two interviews to conduct.”
She looked at his sword. “Will they end in bloodshed?”
“Not in the type of bloodshed that would justify the interest of the Imperial Hawks, no.” Meaning he was off to talk to Barrani.
“An’Mellarionne has provided me with two possible leads and several family names. An’Teela, when she is not visiting the High
Halls, has been investigating some of them.”
Kaylin could guess where Sedarias had pulled some of the names from. She grimaced. Why did things always get so complicated
when Barrani were involved? This was petty, and she knew it. But she’d never been one for jewelry and now had to find—and
wear—a very large, very expensive ring. Finding it came first.
He’s not even going to be here, she said, sharing her pettiness with the only person whose namebond Helen never blocked.
It’s not meant for him. It’s meant for An’Tellarus to see. She will understand what it signifies. Sedarias believes it will
change the way she approaches you or perhaps cause her to pause.
You don’t.
No. But I have some familiarity with An’Tellarus. If anything, it’s likely to make you more interesting, not less—and you’re
Chosen, so you’re already interesting enough.
But you’re not telling me not to wear it.
If we had no cause to return to the High Halls for some time, I’d tell you it’s not worth it. But that’s not going to happen
unless and until we can resolve the Consort’s difficulty with the Lake. The ring is likely to have the desired effect on Barrani
who aren’t An’Tellarus. The Lord of the West March is now in the High Halls.
“Severn is right, dear.” Helen exhaled, which implied her expression; only her voice was in the room with Kaylin.
Hope had surrendered his perch on her shoulder because she’d been crawling under the bed.
Her old apartment had a floorboard that could be lifted, and a hollow space beneath it where one could hide important things.
“I’m not certain you’ll find what you’re looking for,” Helen continued. “While these rooms were created to mimic your first
apartment, they are not an exact replica—and a hole in the floor is entirely unnecessary.”
“Wait—do you know where the ring is?”
“Yes.”
Kaylin jumped up, which was unfortunate for either her head or the bottom of the bed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She tried not to curse because Helen didn’t like it, especially now that Mrs. Erickson was living
with them. Mrs. Erickson didn’t mind—but she’d spent most of her free time in the public office of the Halls of Law, and she
knew how Hawks spoke.
“I wasn’t certain about your decision. If Sedarias knows that you can find the ring, she will insist you wear it. Proudly.
If you could not find it, she could not insist.” Helen exhaled. “I understand why you chose to hide the few things you considered
valuable beneath the flooring in your old apartment. There is a small cupboard at the back of your closet that serves the
same function. I did not see a need to hide the dresses there.
“But the robes of the green and the robes of the intermediary are also in your closet.”
“You think I should wear the robes of the harmoniste.”
“I have no opinion. I understand the concern of the cohort—but An’Tellarus is coming to my domain. There is nothing she can do to harm you here, regardless of what you wear.” Helen hesitated. “I will not make excuses
for Sedarias, but only half of her concerns involve her own survival. She is very worried for you.”
Kaylin’s exhalation was longer. “I wish she’d worry in a less condescending way. I’m not a child. I’m not a foundling. She
knows I can be useful.”
“It is not her way. People of equal power are rivals or enemies. People of lesser power are, if she cares for them, in need of protection—and she cannot be everywhere, at every moment, to ensure their survival.”
“So . . . you’re saying she doesn’t consider the cohort to be her equals, either?”
“She is certain Teela is.”
“So, no.”
“She is not a person who grew up surrounded by familial love, but she desired it in her own fashion. She is not passive; what
she desired, she built. The cohort is her family, and as she always feared, her weakness. But it is also her strength. That
is the nature of swords; they cut two ways; they have two edges.
“You are not part of her family, but you are part of Teela’s, and she knows that if the cohort entangles you in a way that
costs your life, it will break Teela’s already tenuous attachment to them. In protecting you, she is protecting what she built.
Honestly, Sedarias would have been a very good, very capable Dragon.”
Kaylin exhaled. “I’m going to sleep on it. Unless Hope has anything to add?”
Squawk.
“Your presence is not required at the Halls of Law tomorrow, but you will need to be awake and prepared in the morning.”
“Did I set visiting time for the morning?”
“Yes, dear.”
Ugh.
There were no emergency mirror calls during the evening. Kaylin had been afraid, in the early days, that Helen would simply
refuse to let the calls through because Helen felt Kaylin needed sleep.
Helen, however, insisted that she would never do that.
While she did believe Kaylin needed more sleep than Kaylin thought she did, she also knew the emergency calls were important to her chief tenant.
Lives could, and did, hang in the balance; people weren’t mirroring just to chat about their haircuts or their horrible bosses.
Or their relationship troubles—although most people didn’t call Kaylin for that.
Hope, usually the laziest of sleepers, was already in the air and hovering above her face. His squawk was louder and far more
irritable than Helen’s voice. She wondered if he’d smack her face with his wing—but he’d have to land to do that.
Kaylin rose instead. Having made something of a decision, she headed toward her closet, stumbling over her boots. “Light,”
she said. Helen often drew the curtains to let light in; she knew Kaylin didn’t appreciate bright light first thing in the
morning.
Squawk.
“Yes, yes. I’m awake now—you can stop biting my hair and settle down.” She’d been so stressed out about what to wear it had
taken ages to fall asleep—and Kaylin could sleep standing up if she was tired enough. She certainly had the demerit points
to show for it.
The green dress—the harmoniste’s dress—hadn’t magically vanished the way it did the first time she’d worn it. The clothing
she’d been wearing had been transformed, replaced by the clothing worn to the ceremony in the distant green. It wasn’t supposed
to persist; it appeared, it was worn, it vanished.
Kaylin wondered how it was that the Barrani couldn’t just counterfeit the damn dress if they wanted to take over the role
of harmoniste.
“It has been tried, historically,” Helen’s voice said. “Do you need help?”
“No—Barrani clothing only looks fussy. What do you mean it’s been tried?”
“Exactly that. The Barrani are political by nature. They consider respect an element of fear. They consider titles and hierarchies to be almost as important as air. The Teller’s crown and the harmoniste’s clothing can be, as you put it, counterfeited.
But the roles themselves still need to be filled. Only the young or the foolish believe
they can, by dressing the part, fool the green.”
“Maybe they don’t believe in the green.”
“It is not a mistake from which they could learn.”
Kaylin parsed that slowly. “Meaning they died.”
“Meaning they died, yes. For their affront. But they were not the only ones. The Barrani may be foolish or egotistical, but
persistent, permanent memory means they seldom make the same mistake twice. I believe you will need some help.”
“Why? I’m dressed. I told you, Barrani clothing only looks fussy.”
“Your hair.”
Kaylin sighed. “Yes, Helen, I’d love help with my hair. And next time I set a meeting time, could you remind me to make it
later in the day? Barrani don’t need sleep. I do.”
“I remind them of this frequently. The ring is on the dresser.”
Right. The ring. “I really don’t like rings,” she grumbled as she lifted it and put it on her left hand. “They just feel awkward,
and they bump into everything.” This one was worse than she remembered. It was a thick band, and it sported an enormous emerald,
although the emerald was set into the band itself.
Helen played with her hair. Teela, mindful of their first visit, had provided clothing and accessories. Kaylin didn’t hate
necklaces as much as rings, but Helen didn’t touch any of the jewelry except the hair things.
The reason she’d hesitated to wear this dress was the Marks of the Chosen.
They were exposed because the dress itself exposed more skin.
Kaylin’s very conservative style of dress was out of necessity.
She couldn’t expose her arms or the back of her neck without also exposing the Marks of the Chosen.
She didn’t wear those proudly.
And maybe she should. Among the Barrani she should. She had to stop being afraid of the Marks. She had to accept them. Whether
or not she was worthy of bearing them, they were hers. She wondered if confidence came in waves, rising like the tide and
inevitably falling as the tide receded. Maybe it was always going to be this way, and she had to learn to live with it.
Maybe there was never going to be The Moment in which she had fully and finally become a Good person, or the Right person.
Maybe there was never a time when that work was finally done and she could relax.
And maybe, if she hesitated on the inside of her room, her hand on the door, Sedarias would come storming up the stairs to
inspect her, and she’d forget all the rest of the worry because immediate survival would become the priority. Thinking about
it that way was almost funny: Sedarias’s rage coming to the rescue, and taking Kaylin away, for a moment, from her own inadequacy.
She opened her own door. The hall was empty.
She headed toward the stairs but stopped outside Annarion’s room. Annarion seldom left it, and Mandoran often kept him company
through his constant vigil. Maybe the need for sleep was a gift. She hesitated at the door, and as she did, she felt her cheek—her
marked cheek—begin to warm.