26 #2
Annarion frowned but shook his head. “He was never one to speak of personal things if they brought him no joy. I know that
our families were close—inasmuch as any Barrani families could be close—when we were children. More than that, I don’t know.”
“I think it’s important,” Kaylin said.
“You think the attack on my brother is somehow related to the attack on the Consort?”
Kaylin nodded. The one bit of information she hadn’t given up was the fact that the Consort herself was losing the ability
to commune with the Lake, and to interact with the names that would wake Barrani infants. Yvonne’s presence—Yvonne’s open
admission that she’d managed to just wander her way to the Lake without intent—would make clear the threat to the Consort’s
position. Probably.
But she couldn’t explain why she was certain the two events were connected without divulging that one thing.
“If my brother could openly support the Consort, that would make sense—but he can’t. The Consort can’t accept his service.
He’s outcaste. She’s the Lady.”
“He’s outcaste, yes. But that hasn’t stopped him from becoming the Teller for the last regalia, and it hasn’t stopped him from entering the High Halls—with his sword—to great effect. No one attempted to murder him for
that. I don’t think the Consort asked for his aid, but she was clearly happy to see him when we went to the West March, and
she treated him as a Lord of the High Court, as if outcaste was irrelevant.
“If it weren’t for the fact that the High Lord clearly adores her, I might have guessed that the High Lord had an interest
in removing Nightshade. But what if it’s the opposite? What if the High Lord is considering reinstating Nightshade? I’m certain
the Consort would support that.”
Annarion was silent.
“What does Sedarias think?”
“She thinks it’s a possibility. But that would imply that having the Consort out of the picture is necessary. If they believe
my brother would interfere with that—and could—removing him would be essential.
“Teela thinks your hypothesis is worth considering.” Teela was the only other person who was aware of the problems the Consort had with the Lake.
“Lord Andellen is pursuing a line of investigation.
Lord Nightshade—as lord of a fief, even if outcaste—had connections with the Lords of the High Court, or rather, with their satellite families.
Usually those low enough in the hierarchy that they could be relied on to do labor unfit for noble hands.
“But those families serve different lords. We are attempting to discover the person who commanded the war bands into a service
one would consider beneath them.” Annarion’s expression grew remote as he listened to Teela. Kaylin was familiar enough with
the expression: it was Teela’s Barrani Hawk expression. “I am uncertain that we will be given information that will lead immediately
to the culprit, as those involved in the attack are dead.”
“What about the third war band?”
“Almost certainly dead as well. They scattered. Either they fled to Ravellon—a crime in the Barrani High Court—or they returned to those they served to explain, or pay for, their failure.”
Annarion sounded more and more like Teela, who was theoretically in discussion with An’Tellarus in a different room. Teela
could withdraw herself from the group mind, and Kaylin assumed she often did. But she could also bring herself right into its heart, with permission of the individual cohort member. Kaylin suspected that she was doing
that know. “This plan started before you were born, kitling.
“You have been the most magnificent kink in their plans. They could not predict a mortal Chosen. They could not lay hands
on you without drawing both the attention and ire of the Eternal Emperor. And An’Teela.” Annarion’s smile was Teela at her
coldest.
“The Consort is a known quantity, but she, too, is new.
Her mother was Lady before her—it is historically rare, but does happen.
If these plans were in the making, they were probably intended for the previous Consort.
She was an austere woman—one, on the surface, as unlike her daughter as two Barrani women could be.
“Throughout history, in ones and twos, young women are subject to the test of the Lake. All fail; that is the expectation.
They could not have anticipated the presence of Yvonne. Yvonne and An’Tellarus. The former Consort had no love of Nightshade,
and little interest in him, except perhaps as the bearer of one of The Three.
“Clearly someone believes the current Consort does. Or perhaps they believe Lord Nightshade had no love for the previous High
Lord and his Consort, but cares for the current set.”
“I just don’t understand why he’d be considered a threat, given his status.”
A ripple of pure annoyance crossed Annarion’s face. Teela’s annoyance. “Given what we’ve just said, you should by now. If you don’t, that is not our problem.” Annarion’s lack of interference made clear that if he didn’t
entirely agree with Teela, he felt she had a point.
Fine. “So Nightshade was collateral damage. He was kept informed about the Lords of the High Court, although information probably
wasn’t perfect, given his status. Outside of the Consort, no Barrani of note would be seen so much as waving at him. If the
original target wasn’t this Consort, it was the Lake.”
If the new High Lord had not ascended the High Court’s throne, the previous Consort would have been the one who lost the ability
to commune with the Lake, and the names it contained; she would have been the one who could no longer guarantee, or usher
in, the future.
Yvonne was a wild card. Kaylin was a wild card. The current High Lord and the Consort, as well. They were elements that had to be taken into account. The cohort was a wild card—it was likely, until Terrano made contact with them, that the conspirators had all but forgotten the discarded children.
Terrano would have made contact before the current Consort, the current High Lord. He’d been struggling to find freedom for a long, long time.
With Terrano’s help, they’d made inroads into the Hallionne. The Hallionne had been built as sanctuaries and used as such
during the long, long period of the Draco-Barrani wars—but they hadn’t been built, hadn’t been designed, to withstand Shadow.
The Towers had.
Nightshade was a Tower lord, a fieflord. Nightshade could be expected to support the Consort from the figurative shadows.
But that could be said of any of the Lords of the High Court; the Consort was not without significant support.
“What are you thinking?” Annarion asked.
Kaylin lifted a hand to shut him up. Thoughts were often scattered, and sometimes like very slender threads; if she was distracted,
they’d escape.
Nightshade was a fieflord. Nightshade held one of the Towers. Nightshade had protection from, and knowledge of, Shadow across
a much broader spectrum than any of the other lords who would offer the Consort support and power. He would not have offered
the previous Consort that same support.
She thought of Barren, the fief to which she had fled when she’d run from Nightshade. Barren, aptly named, had been ruled
by a mortal; the Tower’s captain had grown bored, and had pursued a single goal: freedom from the tyranny of a True Name.
The borders between Barren and Ravellon had grown porous enough that Shadow could break through the containment—both in obvious, military ways, and in subtle ways.
But Tiamaris had taken that Tower in the end; Tiamaris had become its captain.
The Tower had become both his servant and his lord.
The conspirators—whoever they were—had clearly used Shadow, possibly believing the power granted was elemental in nature: where will was strong enough, the summoner ruled rather than served.
“Maybe it’s not just the Consort,” she finally said. “I mean, Nightshade would support the current Consort. I’d bet everything
I own on that. But he’s also a fieflord; he captains a Tower. We know the Towers were built around living people of different
races; Nightshade’s Tower is terrifying.
“But it’s captained. If Nightshade dies, I don’t think his Tower will accept just anyone. There’s bound to be a test, and
a large pile of corpses who fail that test. If the Tower is empty, it can endure for some time; it can continue to guard the
borders that enclose Ravellon. But the protection weakens with time.
“Dead, Nightshade can’t captain a Tower, and he can’t bring any knowledge he gained in his tenure to bear in defense of the
Consort.” He might have some understanding of what was happening with the Lake. She exhaled. “If Logia is right—if Bellusdeo’s
sisters are right—there is a different stream of names, one that doesn’t seem entirely dependent on physical location.
“The High Halls were created in part to protect the Barrani Lake of Life. It’s where all Barrani babies are taken. But if
the babies don’t wake . . .”
“Kitling.” Teela’s voice, through Annarion’s mouth, was severe with warning.
“Then another Lady might rise who can offer wakefulness, right? She can guide parents with sleeping infants to different names.
Let’s say those names do wake the infants.” Kaylin frowned. “Let’s say those names have woken some of the infants. I mean—before they put this into practice, they’d have to test it, wouldn’t they?”
Teela fell silent.
Annarion, in control of his own vocal cords, said, “Yes. If they want to offer this new source as an alternative, they’d have to test it.
They’d have to have enough witnesses who could confirm the truth of the claims. Barrani are not notoriously flexible as a people.
The Lake exists to wake our children; the Lake is protected from contaminants or harm.
If, for some reason, we lose the Lake, and an alternative is offered, most will stand back and wait to assess.
“No one of power will take the risk that their children will be endangered; we do not bear young as frequently as mortal races.
But they might send their servants to confirm that their children could, indeed, be awakened. If they did this, they would
observe. Should the children be flawed in an obvious way, it would be noted immediately—just as it was noted that we had been
transformed by the regalia. But if there was no such obvious flaw, they would want to observe the results for some time.
“Do you think this is what’s happened?”
“Births are recorded, right?”
Annarion nodded.
“In the High Halls?”
“All children must be brought to the Lake. Yes, all such infants are recorded. Even if they live in the West March, they must
make the pilgrimage to the High Halls when their young are born. There aren’t as many Barrani births—we might be able to find
people who are alive but not listed.” Annarion turned toward Nightshade in his almost deathly repose.
“Is Serralyn there?”
“She’s there. Not here, but I think Sedarias may lift the prohibition.”
Kaylin shook her head. “I don’t want her here because it might not be safe to get here. We might need any hints Starrante
can give.” Shadow. Shadow as power, as an elemental force. Shadow as underpinning of a portal path that was more flexible
than the paths that existed even in the Academia. Would Nightshade know? Would he understand? “I’m not a summoner, and even
if I were, I’m not sure I’d try summoning Shadow.”
Silence. It had the quality of a cohort argument; she’d become accustomed to that kind of silence—one that was filled with words and emotions that didn’t include her. Sometimes she was grateful for it.
“Arbiter Starrante believes if anyone could summon Shadow, it would be you.”
The silence this time had a different weight.