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Annarion accepted Yvonne’s presence in the room. He also accepted Severn’s. He would have barred the door and stood with drawn
sword had An’Tellarus made any attempt to enter. His brother, unconscious and injured, could not defend himself against any
attack she might make, nor would there be consequences if she killed an outcaste.
Kaylin didn’t believe An’Tellarus would try. The older Barrani Lord had nothing to gain should she somehow succeed. But An’Tellarus
was unpredictable, and her alliances almost unknown. Kaylin wouldn’t have taken the chance had she been Annarion, either.
He trusted Helen to keep them safe, but it was a near thing. Had Helen been able to clearly explain why Nightshade wouldn’t wake and couldn’t be touched by Kaylin’s healing power, his response might have been different. But An’Tellarus
would leave the house with whatever information she gained—and she’d gained a lot of information no one had had any intention
of imparting.
Everything had grown too large. Every small bit of information Kaylin had gained in bits and pieces over the past year was a thread, and the threads were tangled and messy, a giant ball of complication.
Kaylin investigated murders and lesser crimes for a living and had come to understand that the most important thing she could do to solve a crime was to ask the right questions.
Only then could she find the right answers.
But the disparate events and the bits of information were too entangled. She wasn’t certain what information and experience
were relevant to this problem. She would have bet against the green being involved with most of her on-hand money, but here they were.
Kaylin shook her head to clear it as she reached Nightshade’s room. “You probably won’t be able to avoid it if An’Tellarus
is determined, but I’m asking you not to speak about anything you see in this room.”
Yvonne hesitated. “If you know I can’t avoid it—”
“The Teller’s crown is in this room, and the person it’s probably meant for is also in this room—but he’s been unconscious
since an assassination attempt, and we haven’t been able to wake him.”
“. . . and you think I’m involved because of the green?”
“You didn’t see the way your eyes changed color. I work with Barrani in my day job. I know the color of Barrani eyes, although
I admit I almost never see green. Yours were the wrong green. And the Lake somehow called you. The green somehow sheltered
you. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen when I invited you.”
“What did you think would happen? I mean, I didn’t expect any of this either.”
“I thought we’d have a talk, I’d find out why you’d taken the test of the Lake, and I’d ask you if you’d be willing to speak
with the Consort. You’d like her; I’m certain she’d like you. It would disentangle some of the politics.
“But you’re involved in ways I didn’t even think were possible. So . . . I’m asking you to enter the room. You don’t have to touch anything. You don’t have to do anything. But . . . be present and keep what you see to yourself as much as possible. I won’t ask for more.”
“We might,” Annarion said, as he opened the door. He’d heard.
Yvonne nodded. “Tell me where you’d like me to stand.”
Annarion blinked. “Stand?”
“I am An’Tellarus’s servant. I can serve Lord Kaylin in her stead.”
Kaylin blinked as well. “You’re a guest. I don’t think Helen would forgive me if I made you stand invisibly in the corner.”
“Helen will accept whatever makes me feel the most comfortable,” Yvonne replied, a hint of a smile at play around the corners
of her mouth.
Annarion shook his head as if to clear it. “Come into the room where my brother is resting.”
“Your brother?”
Annarion nodded. His eyes were a martial blue, but they didn’t darken when he greeted Yvonne. He turned and led the way; Kaylin,
Yvonne, and Severn followed.
Teela and Sedarias did not. Teela chose to join Helen and An’Tellarus. Sedarias simply vanished into her own room.
“She is capable of doing what Terrano does; she feels it beneath her dignity as An’Mellarionne. It is likely she will join
him—or anchor him. Torrisant is anchoring Terrano now, but Mandoran has joined Terrano in his planar exploration, and two
anchors may well be needed. She is, of the cohort, closest to Terrano. Or perhaps it is better to say that he is closest to
her.
“Go and do what must be done.”
Kaylin didn’t know what had to be done—that was the problem. All of her instincts were being overwhelmed by internal screaming, frustration,
and growing anxiety. But her early training held: she didn’t dissolve into a panicked mess.
Annarion was panicked enough.
The Teller’s crown—as Terrano had informed them—was on the bedside table.
Nightshade was lying in bed, eyes closed, skin pale.
The unhealed injuries hadn’t killed him yet, but it was probably only a matter of time.
The greatsword he had earned in the wars lay in its sheath, its hilt against his chest, the point of the blade even with his feet, as if he were already dead and was to be buried in honor with his weapon.
That would never happen with one of the legendary Three.
But the sword was somehow protecting its bearer. Annarion was protecting his brother. And, once again, the Teller’s crown
was waiting for Nightshade to wake and take it. She could almost feel its presence as a weight, as if the head it adorned
were her own.
Mrs. Erickson had worn a wreath of flowers.
Kaylin had worn this dress.
“Is Serralyn coming?” Kaylin asked Annarion as she bent and placed a palm against the fieflord’s forehead.
“No. Not yet. She’s not happy about that, and she’s still arguing. Valliant is with her, and Valliant won’t leave unless and
until Sedarias commands otherwise. But Eddorian has been speaking with both his brother and Hallionne Alsanis as more information
has come in. He thinks Serralyn might be on the right track: there could be a Shadow that can be used as elements can be used.
His brother is not, as you know, entirely mentally present; something took a large hammer to his memories, and what remain
exist as fragments and shards. Some of those cause panic, and Eddorian has to comfort and quiet that panic.
“But he’s been doing nothing but that since he chose to remain with his brother.” Annarion exhaled. “Eddorian is like, and unlike, me. I was close to my brother;
he was close to his. But we’re not the same people, and Eddorian’s focus now is on the lords who made use of his brother.
I believe he wants revenge.”
“His brother was an Arcanist who was heavily involved with them. Anything that happened to Lord Iberrienne happened because of his choices and his decisions. Why would Eddorian feel he has to take revenge on Iberrienne’s
confederates?”
“Because he’s angry,” Annarion replied, shrugging. “He can be angry at you, if you’d prefer; if you hadn’t interfered, his
brother wouldn’t have been almost destroyed. Or he can be angry because his brother is an idiot, and he can tell himself that
his brother got involved because he, like my brother, intended to save us, to free us from the Hallionne, and to bring us
home.”
“Your brother didn’t do what Iberrienne did. And your brother didn’t present a threat to the Consort.”
“No. No, he wouldn’t. But he involved you, and he marked you—as if you could be owned. I . . . expected better.”
“He tried to figure out how to reach you for centuries. Centuries of time in which you were trapped. I’ve changed a lot in
the past few years. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve made different—better—decisions, when decisions were mine to make. There are
people who could hate me. People who have the right to seek revenge. I’m not going to just stand there and let them stab me, but if they managed it? I’d deserve it. But I can’t
change the past. I can change the future—but I can only do that by making better choices now.
“Nightshade isn’t dead. If I understood the reason why an outcaste was considered such a valuable, necessary target, it might help us.”
Annarion agreed with this. “Barrani outcastes aren’t Dragon outcastes. Their status is political. Were any of us High Lord,
we wouldn’t have made my brother outcaste—but he’s never explained what the reasoning was.”
“You think it had something to do with the cohort?”
Annarion nodded. “It’s possible Iberrienne was like my brother: his goals were to rescue his brother. My brother was always considered a bit unusual for a Barrani Lord. He had power, but he didn’t use it the way other powerful lords did. I looked up to him.”
Kaylin lifted a hand to her cheek almost self-consciously, as if the mark itself had destroyed something precious to Annarion.
Annarion exhaled. “Yes. I know I should have let it go. You’re the person who was marked, and you don’t even notice it. But
it’s difficult. It’s like my brother isn’t the brother I believed he was. Yes, people change—believe we all know that, given
what we’ve become. But what’s right and what’s wrong shouldn’t. The Barrani aren’t generally considered a highly moral people—as
if morality is just a passing phase, like youth. But my brother was. He wasn’t young when we were sent to the green. He wasn’t young when he was made heir to our family line. He couldn’t be
bribed and he couldn’t be threatened—especially not threatened.
“But he gave up our family.”
Kaylin cleared her throat. “He was made outcaste.”
“If he had cared—at all—he would never have allowed that to stand. Instead, he accepted it, and he eventually took the Tower
in the fiefs. I don’t understand why. He’s never explained it. He’s never complained. He’s never planned to reverse his fortune.
If it was something he cared about now, I’d be standing shoulder to shoulder with Sedarias in the High Halls, building alliances
and making choices that would once again elevate the Solanace family.
“But even that . . . Not even that.”
“Do you understand what the relationship between the current Consort and your brother was?”