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Fallessian moved toward Mrs. Erickson, who, hands in mitts, was frowning as she looked at their visitor. The movement was
protective, as if the only person who was under credible threat was the frail baker.
Kaylin was less concerned about Mrs. Erickson because Helen had materialized her physical Avatar in the kitchen the moment
An’Tellarus had started to move. The kitchen was actually large enough to accommodate all of the guests and all of the hosts,
and Helen would allow no injury to come to any of them.
“If it can be prevented,” Helen agreed. Her tone was cold, as unlike her normal voice as Yvonne’s reply had been. Kaylin didn’t
have a lot of experience with Yvonne, but she knew Helen very well.
“Helen—what’s wrong? What are you worried about?”
The kitchen door slammed open. An’Tellarus stood, towering in the doorway; beyond her back, Sedarias and Teela weren’t far
behind.
“Yvonne,” An’Tellarus said. “We are leaving.”
“I am not leaving,” Yvonne replied. Her hair, unlike An’Tellarus’s, began to move, as if a passing breeze touched no one in the kitchen but Yvonne.
An’Tellarus did not step forward; Helen widened the kitchen doorframe to allow Teela and Sedarias to enter.
Teela’s hands were empty; she’d worn her sword, but she hadn’t drawn it.
Kaylin wasn’t surprised to see Severn behind Sedarias and Teela. She wasn’t surprised that he entered. She was surprised when he moved, his steps almost inaudible, directly to Yvonne. Unlike Teela, Severn had armed himself—but he’d
also unwound the weapon’s chain. That was most often used as a spellbreaker, a shield of rotating blade and chain. It wasn’t
spinning yet.
“What did I tell you?” An’Tellarus demanded. She didn’t demand it of Yvonne. It was Severn who held her attention—and most
of her very chilly glare.
“Mortal memory isn’t perfect,” Severn replied after a pause. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”
“I am disappointed in you.”
Even Kaylin flinched at the force of those words.
“I have considered you a wayward nephew.”
Silence.
“But I have taken Yvonne under my protection. Had you offered a warning, I would have advised her to decline this invitation.”
“Why?” Yvonne asked from behind Severn’s back. “You’re from the West March—even if you live in the High Halls as befits your
rank there. You should know what happened there.”
“I am aware. But I did not realize that all of the lost children now take up residence within Helen’s walls. Helen can protect the rest of us from any irregularities;
those children are safe here.”
“And that means I’m safe here as well,” Yvonne argued.
This wasn’t a Yvonne that Kaylin had expected or predicted; she’d seemed more like Serralyn in temperament, and far more cowed by An’Tellarus.
But something about her tenacity here didn’t seem to surprise An’Tellarus. She wasn’t worried for the cohort.
She was worried for Yvonne. She was either angry at, or worried for, Severn, and that was also a shock.
What does she mean by nephew?
Long story, Severn replied, tension in the words. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Probably not ever. She felt uncomfortable
and even petty, because it bothered her, and now was absolutely not the time.
Do you think of her as an aunt?
In the Barrani sense. Which was why he’d brought his weapon.
And Yvonne?
Severn shook his head. Yvonne has reason to trust the green. She may even have reason to trust me. She has every reason to trust Ollarin. She has
less reason to trust An’Tellarus—and nothing Yvonne’s done here should anger An’Tellarus.
But she said she warned you.
Severn’s shrug was a fief shrug, at odds with his stance and the weapon in his hands.
Severn—what warning? What did she say?
The short version: don’t anger her. Don’t disappoint her. Don’t let political Barrani near Yvonne.
Why Yvonne in particular?
Long story. Shorter than the nephew bit, though.
“You recognize the dress Kaylin is wearing,” Yvonne said, as if no one else had spoken—or as if only An’Tellarus was in a
kitchen that was growing more crowded as people entered.
An’Tellarus was silent.
“You must recognize the ring of kinship.”
Silence again. An’Tellarus’s hands were rigid, her eyes very dark.
“You know the weapon Severn is wielding.” Yvonne’s eyes were as blue as An’Tellarus’s. “I don’t know why Kaylin has that dress,
because you’re right: it’s too early for the regalia. But you must sense it. You must know that we’re standing on the edge of the green.” She lifted a hand to touch Severn’s back.
“It doesn’t matter. We are leaving. Now.”
Yvonne shook her head and turned to Kaylin; Severn moved slightly to allow an unimpeded line of view. “I know why you invited
me to visit—and I wanted to visit. You might be a Lord of the High Court, but you’re human. You don’t have roots in Barrani politics.
“I’m not a Lord of the High Court, in case that wasn’t obvious. Ollarin is. An’Tellarus definitely is. I know I’ve gotten
myself involved in political things here—but I swear to you I didn’t do it deliberately.”
“Yvonne.”
Yvonne shook her head. “You know it, too.”
“Might I suggest we repair to the parlor?” Helen said. “It seems that only one of our guests intends to leave, and perhaps
discussion might more comfortably occur in the parlor.”
“Helen, I must ask—”
“You cannot, Cediela. You might speak my name as a last resort, but it will not have the desired effect. Yvonne accepted my
hospitality—and my hospitality is the hospitality of my master. While Kaylin is willing to entertain guests, guests are welcome.
She is not a lord who will abuse that hospitality; she will not detain you—or ask me to detain you—if you do not wish to remain.”
Helen turned to Kaylin. “What is your desire?”
This wasn’t a question Helen ever asked.
“I need to speak with Yvonne. I’m happy to have An’Tellarus join us.”
“An’Tellarus?” Helen asked.
“I will remain while Yvonne remains.”
Severn rewound his weapon chain. Mrs. Erickson turned back to the kitchen counter on which trays were cooling. Kaylin exhaled. “I’m sorry,” she told Yvonne. “Things aren’t normally this tense.”
“You really don’t live in the High Halls,” Yvonne replied, a hint of a smile flickering around the corners of her lips. “I
like the kitchen.”
“We can stay here if you want—but I’ve been told it’s not considered good manners to ask guests to do work while they visit.”
“Really? I wasn’t raised in the High Court—we didn’t have servants, we were servants. But when we gathered, when we weren’t serving our lords, we got together and we occupied the kitchen; we cooked
together. It was something we could all be part of. I mean, Helen’s a sentient building, so it’s probably not really useful—”
“I like to bake,” Mrs. Erickson said. “I lived for a long time with people who couldn’t eat; they couldn’t really help, either.
But what they could do, they did. They kept me company while I worked. I know you’re here as Kaylin’s guest, not mine—but
I’m always happy for the help.”
Gentle voice. Thread of steel running through it. One old, mortal woman facing a handful of Barrani Lords. Kaylin spent too
much of her life betting, and she knew who she’d bet on here, against all realistic odds.
Yvonne turned toward Mrs. Erickson; Kaylin couldn’t see the younger woman’s expression. But she walked toward the counters
where pastries were cooling, and from there, toward cupboards she’d never opened before.
“I really was never very good at telling other people what to do,” Mrs. Erickson said, her tone entirely apologetic. “But
maybe that’s why I appreciate offers of help. I can’t command other people. I’m not a fancy person. I’m not a lord. But even
people who can’t give orders need help sometimes. Those plates—the long oval ones. Those are the ones we use.”
Yvonne had already begun to pull those plates down. The kitchen was otherwise funereal—as if it were a field kitchen, and deadly hostilities might commence at any moment.
Severn exhaled and relaxed first, turning to look at Yvonne as she moved up and down the counter in harmony with Mrs. Erickson.
Kaylin could believe that every word the young Barrani woman had said was true: she was at home in this kitchen, her hands
doing useful work. More at home here than she would have been in the parlor, flanked by An’Tellarus, and facing An’Teela and
An’Mellarionne. Then again, Kaylin, who knew almost nothing about kitchens, would have been far more at home here than in
that parlor, too.
But Kaylin was afraid of getting underfoot; she always had been. She almost envied Yvonne her certainty as she moved things
from trays, moved trays off the counter to the large wooden table. At some point, an apron appeared, and Yvonne grabbed it
from the air in which it floated.
“Everybody needs to eat,” Helen said, voice soft, eyes once again brown.
“You don’t,” Terrano pointed out.
“I do,” was Helen’s serene reply. “Fallessian, I believe things have calmed down enough that you do not need to be so vigilant.”
Fallessian, to Kaylin’s surprise, failed to hear Helen. Probably deliberate. Kaylin opened her mouth; Severn lifted a hand,
palm out, in her direction. She fell silent.
Yvonne, however, began to speak. “You wanted to meet me because you knew about the Lake.”
Kaylin drew one sharp breath. “We would never have met if An’Tellarus hadn’t commanded our presence. I didn’t know it was
you.”
Yvonne, wrapped in an apron, nodded. “But she knew you had come at the Consort’s command. She doesn’t know a lot about you,
but she does know that you’re Severn’s partner. And that you’re Chosen. I think she could guess.”
Kaylin was almost afraid to look at An’Tellarus for confirmation.
“I think she was surprised that you were in the company of An’Teela—and at that, An’Teela when she’s deadly serious—but it
didn’t matter. She doesn’t dislike An’Teela; An’Teela and she have had very little reason for conflict in their long individual
histories.”