"You stopped her."
"Severn heard me… Teela wasn't paying attention. She often doesn't."
"She heeded the Corporal's warning?"
Kaylin nodded. "She threw a halberd at the door. A really fancy, really expensive halberd. The walls down the length of that hall were adorned with weapons—crossed swords, crossed spears, crossed polearms. They had a lot of gem-stones encrusted in stupid places," she added.
"It was one of the old halls, then."
"It wasn't as pretty as the outer ones, no."
"What happened to the halberd?"
"It shattered. The blade did. The door shattered when it made contact. The frame was—" She hesitated. "It looked like a standing crater."
"Not a small amount of power was expended there."
Kaylin shrugged. "I don't know."
"And had Teela opened the door?"
"Barrani would have spent weeks picking us off the floor and walls."
"But Teela didn't sense it."
"She's not a mage."
"No. She's not. But neither are you." He closed his eyes slowly. "You have a strong sensitivity to magic. This is not uncommon. Some people are born with a strong sensitivity to smell. But your sensitivity is different. You knew the spell was inimical."
"I knew it would kill us."
"That is what I said."
Kaylin, however, was frowning. "Teela came straight here," she said. The frown was joined by narrowed eyes; she straightened slowly. "Her men knew that she was leaving, I think. They were left to guard the Lord of the West March."
"Just how damn long would it take to cast a spell like that?"
"Without risk? Hours."
"They didn't have hours."
"No," he replied, his eyes going opaque. "There are two ways in which this could be done, two ways in which I would do it. The first, and probably the less costly, would be to simply trap the door. But if the door was used at all, the victim intended would not be guaranteed to be the one to set it off.
"The second, and more efficient? Set it up hours before. Possibly before the Lord of the West March went to… sleep. Key it to Teela. Or to a human. In the second case, time would be less critical."
She nodded. "I'd go for the second."
"As would I. Continue."
"Could an Imperial mage have done it?"
"Not legally."
"And the Arcanum?"
"Not legally."
"Evarrim was here," she said mostly to herself.
"Indeed. He was, I think, surprised to see me."
"I can't think why."
Irony was lost on the mage. Probably at his choice. "No one in the Halls of Law will file a report," he said quietly, "because there will be no complaint."
"I could."
"Yes. You could. Think carefully before you make that decision."
She nodded. "Sanabalis?"
"Yes?"
"Who exactly is the Lord of the West March?"
"If you mean the person, I fear you now know the answer far better than I. But I assume you mean the position."
"Is it?"
The look he gave her was just shy of incredulity. "It appears," he said after a long pause, "that I will be responsible for far more of your education than I first expected."
"Did we even cover that?"
"Apparently not." His voice was so dry the words should have caught fire by sheer proximity to one another. "He is the younger son of the castelord. The West March covers the stretch of almost uninhabited land that goes toward the mountains beyond the Empire itself. It is one of the ancient Barrani demesnes, and it is seldom open to outsiders."
She nodded.
"The position is usually granted to one of the cousins, but the castelord and his consort have been blessed. The consort bore three children—two sons and one daughter." He paused, and then added, "Given the span of Barrani years, this will no doubt not impress you… it does not impress me. What does? The fact that all three of their children still live. Usually, by this time, there is only one."
"By this time?"
His eyes shaded slightly orange; wrong question. Kaylin tried a different one. "This isn't a bad thing, then."
"It depends. The surviving son of the castelord has, historically, become the castelord."
"And he has two."
"Very good, Kaylin. At least you think like a Hawk."
"How much difference does that make if the castelord is going to live forever anyway?"
The Dragon's upper lids closed completely. "Remind me that you failed history."
"Completely failed it."
"Then you no doubt slept through the official history of the pre-empire Kingdoms."
She shrugged. It was a yes shrug.
"Then let me continue to torment myself with your ignorance. The Barrani can in theory live forever. There is, however, a difference between immortal and invulnerable. In the history of the Barrani High Court, I cannot think of a single castelord who has died of old age. I can think of three for whom that claim was made."
"But you don't believe it."
"If the definition of death by old age involved a severed head, I would be more inclined that way, yes." He paused for a moment. "In two cases, it is less clear. And perhaps we will see a third."
"Isn't that murder?"
"Not among the Barrani."
"But we have laws now, don't we?"
"We have laws if the Barrani castelord chooses to invoke their use. This would imply two things. The first, that the castelord survived the attempt… the second, that his successor would somehow draw attention to the crime that promoted him.
"And Kaylin, before you show the depth of your alarming ignorance again, let me add that any castelord who was fool enough to do that would not be castelord by the time the Law actually arrived. I understand that you are attached to the Laws—they seem to be one of the few things you did learn—but you must also understand, given your experience, that there are always two sets of laws, beyond those which govern the castes.
"And the caste-law is a separate entity. Were it not for that codicil to the laws which govern Elantra, there would be no Elantra."
"A third Dragon-Barrani war?"
"A continuation of the second one."
She nodded.
"But there is something in the codicil," she added thoughtfully.
"That being?"
"That any being of any race who wishes to be excommunicate can avail themselves of the Laws of the Dragon Emperor."
"How often has that happened, Kaylin? No, wait, I forget to whom I speak. Let me answer briefly."
"Never?"
He smiled.
"So… if the second son died, why would it mean war?"
At this, Sanabalis frowned. Everything about his posture changed; it was as if he had suddenly snapped into place and become fully real. "It would not mean war."
She hated hated hated her big mouth. "Teela told me that if we didn't—wake him, it would mean war."
"That is the first bit of interesting information you've divulged." His frown was a bit too wide; it was definitely too deep. "I will leave you now, Kaylin. We will resume our lessons on the morrow." But his eyes were narrow now, and his expression thoughtful.
On him, it wasn't an improvement.
When she arrived, the office was emptying; it was the end of the day. Marcus, however, was besieged by paper, and sat at his desk, his familiar growl more of a sensation than a sound. She walked up to his impromptu fortress.
"You're finished?" he asked, glaring at the dead mirror.
"For today. Apparently."
"Good. Go home."
"Marcus—"
"Home is not here."
"I just want to ask—"
"I could swear my mouth moved."
"This year, this Festival—those diplomatic seals—what do they mean?"
"And when my mouth moved, I believe it gave an order."
"Do the words West March feature pr
ominently on any of those papers?"
His growl was very loud. "You are not to involve yourself in the affairs of the Court. That's an order, Private."
"Bit late for that, sir."
"Kaylin, unless you want to sleep in the brig, go away."
"Yes, sir."
She expected to see Severn when she left the Halls of Law.
She saw Barrani guards instead, and they were a vastly less welcome sight. But their armor was armor she recognized, and if some child-part of her mind was telling her to turn around and run back to Marcus, the Hawk-part was easing her hand off her daggers and her whistle.
"Andellen?" she asked as one of the six men broke away from the group and approached her on the steps.
He nodded curtly. "We are your escort for the evening," he told her. "We are to return with you to Castle Nightshade." He paused and then added, "We are not to linger here."
She hesitated. "Has there been difficulty?"
"This close to the Halls of Law, no. But there may well be difficulty before we reach the bridge."
"How much difficulty?"
"It is not your concern."
She closed her eyes. "Yes," she said to no one in particular. "I'll go."
But the route Andellen chose did not lead to the bridge. It led to the Ablayne's banks. Kaylin started to ask a question, and let it go; there was a boat moored on those banks. She marveled at the fact that it hadn't been stolen, until two more Barrani guards appeared. The nature of the incline had provided them cover from prying eyes.
"The bridge is watched," Andellen told her quietly.
His voice was the stilted voice of the High Courts, but there was music in it, and she loved the sound. She certainly liked it better than the inside of a boat weighed down by eight armored Barrani.
"Who's watching?"
Andellen did not reply. When he failed, Kaylin realized what had been so strange about the walk: He had answered most of her other questions. He'd talked to her.
"I wanted to thank you," she said quietly, when the oars began to struggle with the moving current.
His look was as smooth and expressionless as glass. Dark glass. Clearly, gratitude was going to offer offense. Which was his problem.
"You helped me last night."
He said nothing, which was about what she expected. But after a moment, he looked at her; he and one other Barrani were not involved in the oaring. They were, however, carrying unsheathed swords.
"Why do you do it?" He had dropped formal Barrani, which was probably as close to Elantran as he was ever going to get.
She understood that Barrani and humans had very little in common, but not even Tain had asked her why.
"Why do I help the midwives?"
He nodded. His glance met hers on the odd occasion it wasn't absorbed by the approaching bank.
"If I don't, people die."
"People die all the time. Do you feel responsible for their deaths?"
"No." Pause. "Sometimes. It depends."
"On what?"
"On whether or not there was anything I could have done to prevent them."
"This matters to you."
She shrugged.
"You have power. If you desired more, you would become Erenne."
"I don't want that kind of power."
"Power is the only guarantee you have that your will is made manifest. There is no other 'kind.'"
She frowned. "Is there much betting going on? About my being the Erenne?"
His look was odd; it changed the shape of his face. It took Kaylin a moment to realize that the man was almost smiling. Betting was universal. At least in the fiefs.
She kept that to herself. "If I became Erenne, if I became Lord Nightshade's consort—"
"They are not the same, Kaylin Neya."
"Let's pretend they are. If I did, how would I have power? The power in Nightshade is his. It begins and ends with him. And he lets nothing go."
"No. But he is Barrani."
"There's no advantage in it." She spoke like a fiefling.
"There is safety."
"If I wanted safety, I wouldn't wear the Hawk."
"If you desire it, he might extend his protection to those of your choosing."
She shook her head. "He's Barrani," she said quietly.
"Yes. What we wonder, Kaylin Neya, is what you are."
"Just Kaylin."
The boat bumped against the shore. The sky was not yet dark; danger, if it came, would not come from ferals.
"I believe," Andellen said quietly, "that you have angered the Arcanists. I would consider that unwise."
"I didn't do it on purpose."
"Of course not… humans never do. What humans rarely survive long enough to understand is this—lack of offense is also a choice."
Chapter Eight
Lord Nightshade was waiting for her when she arrived—nauseated and dizzy—in the front vestibule. Kaylin promised herself that one damn day she'd be able to either step through the portcullis and arrive where she wanted to, or she'd just have the damn thing melted down.
Saying so, however, fled her mind when she met Lord Nightshade's eyes. Although she'd lived among the Barrani Hawks for the entire time she'd been one—and every day before that, when she'd wanted to wear the Hawk so badly—no eyes were as clear, or as cold, as Nightshade's. She could see them clearly behind her lids when she closed them.
Not that she wanted to; there was always something about Nightshade that put her on edge. But on edge was a balancing act that she'd become good at over the years.
"Lord Nightshade," she said, using the wall as a brace.
"Kaylin. You seem… tired."
"Green is the word you want," she replied in Elantran.
"Dinner has been prepared. I would normally require you to be more presentable, but I believe that you have failed to eat today."
Damn it. She had. "It was a busy day."
"It must have been, if you're so lacking in imagination you offer that as an excuse." He waited beneath a chandelier, absorbing all the light it cast. Which, given he was wearing black, should have been more difficult.
His expression was set in a graceful frown.
Kaylin's was a moving grimace, just shy of actual pain. She pushed herself free from the wall and wobbled a bit on knees that really weren't meant to support her weight. Or anyone's, at the moment.
But he did not approach her, did not offer a hand or an arm. He simply waited.
And that was all she wanted, at the moment. That he wait. That he allow her the illusion of strength, or failing that, the illusion of an absence of weakness.
"How fares the Lord of the West March?"
"He's well," she said, approaching him in something that approximated a straight line.
"I gather he must be. There has been some difficulty in the Arcanum."
"Difficulty?" She didn't ask him how he knew.
"Lord Evarrim has been unusually active."
"It's the Festival season," she offered. She'd reached his side, and as she did, he turned toward the hall.
"It is a rare season that sees fire in the Arcanum."
"Fire?"
"I believe that is the word for the thing that consumes wood and causes smoke, yes."
She glared at the side of his face. "What caused the fire?"
"To the casual observer? An experiment gone wrong. I believe that will be the official report tendered the Imperium. The Imperial Order of Mages," he added, as if he expected her not to know the word. Given that she didn't, she settled for grinding her teeth.
"To the less than casual observer?"
"Ah." He had led her down a hall that she had not seen before. Then again, geography in the Castle itself defied both understanding and description. Kaylin had a Hawk's training; she remembered what she saw.
But there was nothing remotely familiar about the hall she now traversed. She wondered if it would always be like this.
"While the Castle is mine, yes,"
he replied.
"A precaution?"
"It would be. But no, it is simply an artifact of the Castle itself. I understand it, I can follow it. But my servants see a different path when they approach the same room we now repair to, and they walk different halls. Were you to wander without my guidance, you might eventually find yourself in the dining hall—but the passage there would be less… convenient."
He reached out to touch her cheek. Or she thought he had; she could feel the cool tips of his fingers against her skin, tracing the pattern of deadly nightshade almost gently. But his hands remained by his sides.
She was really tired.
"You did not suffer in the High Hall."
She shook her head. "Not more than I usually suffer when I'm with Teela." In fact, given that they hadn't actually been drinking, a lot less.
"And none made comment?"
Again, the ghost of his hands touched her face, lingering at the base of her jaw.
"The Lord of the West March noticed," she said at last. Her voice was higher than she would have liked.
"And he did not attempt to have you killed?"
She shook her head. "I—I liked him, I think. Not that he wouldn't kill me tomorrow if it was useful to him—he's Barrani, after all. But he didn't seem to really care one way or the other."
"Perhaps he was content to be alive."
"He wasn't precisely dying," she said softly.
"How can you recognize dying in the Barrani?"
She thought about the guard Teela had so efficiently dispatched. "I can recognize death," she said at last.
"They are not the same, I think."
"Obviously not."
A set of doors opened in the hall ahead. She could see, glimmering in the center of the nearest of the two, a golden flower. Palm-magic.
"You may open any door in the Castle without worry," he told her, his voice as gentle as his hands—or his non-hands—had been. "I understand that you are not comfortable with the magic that graces my doors. They are there for privacy, and for minimal protection… you require none of the former and a great deal of the latter. It renders the doors superfluous. Come."