“It should make you far more valuable,” Mandoran pointed out.
“Value, to Kaylin—and to my Lord—does not mean what it once meant to the war-bands of the Barrani or the Dragon flights; it does not mean, in the end, what it meant to my creators. They are not simply interested in the power invested in me; nor are they interested in how they might gather and use that power in their own interests. They attempt to understand what I want and how I feel. They know that I am bound to my duties. They understand that those duties cannot be simply abandoned at their whim.
“Nor have they ever asked it.” She frowned. “You know the Hallionne are sentient; could you possibly imagine that that sentience is entirely without personality? You lived within the heart of one for most of your lives. Did you do so without actually seeing him?”
“One is not necessarily concerned with the personality of one’s jailor,” Annarion replied.
“Yet the Hallionne was concerned with the personality of his guests. And their safety. And you were his guests.”
“Are you asking us,” Mandoran asked, with obvious incredulity, “to love a building?”
Kaylin stiffened. Before she could open her mouth, Teela stepped on her foot. Kaylin chose to ignore this, which didn’t always work out well unless one wanted bruises. “She’s asking you to treat her with the same respect and consideration you’d treat any other person who was doing you a favor.”
“What, about our behavior, implies a lack of either respect or gratitude?” It was Annarion who asked. His confusion seemed sincere.
“You are talking about Tara as if she were a—a—”
“Building.” Teela supplied the missing word.
“But she is.”
“That’s not all she is. She is a person. She probably started life as a person. I think all the ancient buildings did. She is capable of loneliness, of regret, and of fear. She is capable of love and loyalty. Which of these things are required in a building?”
“I would guess none,” Mandoran replied. “They’re not always considered useful in people, either. Does the private always talk about you like this?” he asked Tara.
Tara smiled. “Not always. Sometimes she complains. Kaylin is very good at complaining.”
“You can say that again,” Teela told her.
“But...her complaints are often entertaining. And also, impossible.”
“The solutions to her various complaints are often impractical, yes.” Teela’s eyes had lost the tint of midnight; they were a blue-green that was normal for Barrani. She looked around the spacious hall, toward the very wide doors facing them. Tiamaris, noticing her gaze, said, “Yes, I can fit through those doors in my Dragon form.”
“Do you, as Kaylin calls it, go Dragon often?”
“Mostly in the evening; I fly above the street patrols. We have not completely recovered from the difficulty the former fieflord created, but it has been some time since we lost any of my citizens to the Shadows.” As he spoke, the doors rolled open. “Welcome,” he said, addressing the three Barrani—and the small dragon on Kaylin’s shoulder, “to Tiamaris.”
* * *
Maggaron was waiting for Bellusdeo. She almost ran down the hall to meet him.
The Norannir were almost eight feet in height as adults, and most of the fief’s native buildings couldn’t easily accommodate either Maggaron or his people. Construction work was therefore occurring along the border. This worked because no one else—even the truly desperate—wanted to live in a building that was literally across the street from the heart of the fiefs, or more accurately, the Shadows that lived within it. The deaths and losses that had occurred because of a breach in the Tower’s defenses were far too new.
Maggaron, however, was a special case. He was Bellusdeo’s Ascendant, which had once been more than a fancy word for bodyguard. The Imperial Palace could house him, but Bellusdeo had not chosen to bring him there.
Kaylin had asked her why half a dozen times before she’d chosen to answer.
* * *
“It will only upset him. This Palace is not my palace, and his role in it is nonexistent. I am no longer bound to him as a weapon; he is no longer bound to me as my wielder. I would like—if at all possible—for Maggaron to return to what remains of the Norannir, and build a life there.”
“You were his life.”
“I know.”
“He was happy.”
“He was happy because he knew what his role was. He was completely committed to it. But he wasn’t trained to be a steward or a page or even one of those humorless, dreadful Imperial Guards. What he needs to do now is to find a place for himself and a cause that will require his commitment and dedication.”
Kaylin understood Bellusdeo’s desire, but privately felt the Dragon was being unfair to her former Ascendant.
“Kaylin, do not give me that look.”
“What look?”
“The I-feel-sorry-for-the-puppy look. He is almost double your height; he could snap you in two without breaking a sweat. If he decided to pick you up and use you as weapon, he wouldn’t even notice your weight.”
“It’s just that what he did was useful, and he was raised to do it. You can’t expect him to just throw it away and find some other random thing to replace it.”
“Oh?”
Kaylin often felt she should just shove her foot in her mouth and let it stay there; it was certainly better than letting some of the actual words she said leave it.
“I have nothing to offer him. I am not leading the Norannir against the Shadows. I am not responsible for protecting this world and the people it contains from extinction. Were I, I would not have the support I required when I did so in lands that no longer exist. I have no power, Kaylin. I have no authority.”
“He doesn’t need you to have those things.”
“He doesn’t need me to have them for the gratification of his own ego, no.” She smiled. It was both fond and sad. “But he needs me to be respected. He needs me to be treated as if I matter. Yes, you can argue that I matter a great deal to the Emperor and the Dragon Court. But not in any way that would count for Maggaron. He will be upset, confused, and eventually enraged. I would spare him that. I would,” she added with a grimace, “spare myself that; he is not easily dealt with when upset.”
“He’s not violent—”
“Of course not. But his mood is a great blanket of gloom that it takes work to alleviate.” She grinned, clearly thinking of some of that past work. Kaylin winced on Maggaron’s behalf, even if Bellusdeo didn’t elaborate.
“If we find a place that’s larger—”
“You mean, a place you can’t afford unless you accept Imperial funds?”
* * *
Kaylin had fallen silent, then. She liked Maggaron. She wasn’t certain she liked him enough to go begging at the new Exchequer’s, but she probably wouldn’t do that on her own behalf, either.
She watched Bellusdeo leave. When the Dragon was with her Ascendant, she looked younger and seemed happier. Kaylin had walked away from her old life; she never, ever wanted to go back. Having the life she’d built in Elantra torn away from her would probably kill her. Bellusdeo, on most days, didn’t look dead. But on most days she didn’t much look like she cared all that much for her life.
“She does,” Tara said quietly.
Kaylin blinked. “Sorry. I was just thinking—”
“About Maggaron and Bellusdeo, yes. Maggaron is not happy; he endures. It is harder for me to read Bellusdeo; she is cautious. She has asked me to refrain from speaking of what I do hear. I think, if I understand Maggaron correctly, that he would be happy to be her...butler?”
“I’m not sure that would work out well. The Palace has standards that don’t make sense to most of the rest of us. I’m fairly certain that an ei
ght foot tall giant wouldn’t meet them. If Maggaron was unappreciated in the Palace, Bellusdeo would be angry. If Bellusdeo got angry I’d be incapable of hearing anything other than Dragon roaring for days afterward. If she ever stopped.” Kaylin hesitated, thinking about the possible lead into a new apartment.
Tara froze. “Where is Ashwood?”
“I’m not completely certain. It’s not a street I’ve encountered on any of my regular patrols—but Teela says that’s because it’s a quiet, small street that never causes any legal troubles.”
Tara said, without pausing, “Records.”
Given that they weren’t in the room with the large pool that served as a mirror, and were not in fact in the presence of an actual mirror, this was surprising. Annarion and Mandoran stared, but for other reasons; Mandoran found mirrors and mirror technology fascinating. It seemed—to Mandoran—that the mirror networks were built on an assumption of trust that was foolishly unwise, at best.
Light that was a blend of red and white filled the space in front of Tara. It had dimensions; it was like a flat sheet of translucent cloth, woven of, and anchored by, unseen magic. Kaylin’s arms itched, but only slightly. The small dragon sat up and tilted his head until it was at right angles to the rest of his neck.
He squawked.
Tara, however, was absorbed in the creation of this standing mirror. “It is not a mirror. It is what a modern mirror contains. I require concentration because it has none of the usual anchor points. Do you recognize the image?”
Kaylin nodded slowly. It was a map of the fief, with lines for streets and the occasional square, rectangle—or in the case of the Tower herself, circle—to mark significant buildings. “It’s Tiamaris.”
Tara nodded. “Beyond my own borders, I must rely on the information transmitted between my Lord and the court.” As she spoke, the map shrunk in place, the lines of red-tinged white expanding and ending; it was like watching a crack in ice. “My Lord feels the information is reliable.”
“You don’t?”
“It is not exact, and it is not always current. I do not understand this.”
“The city isn’t like the Tower; there’s no single sentience behind it. The Emperor doesn’t rule it the way a Tower’s Lord rules. If the Emperor wants complete information, he has to send out people who can gather it accurately and convey it to Records. He can’t simply close his eyes and feel both the streets and whatever’s walking on them. But these are good enough for the Halls of Law.” She frowned. “These are the records we use.”
“Yes.”
“I mean—they’re the exact same.”
Tara looked confused. “Yes.”
“I am not even going to ask how you have permission to access our Records, because I don’t want to know.”
“You don’t?”
“She does,” Tiamaris interjected. “But if she does know, and she is ever asked, she will surrender that information, to her regret. She is not wrong,” he added.
“I do not understand your city,” Tara replied. “I do not understand your Emperor.”
“It is perhaps best that you do not.” He smiled down at her with affectionate indulgence. The expression—on a Dragon’s face—looked entirely wrong; it was almost embarrassing.
“Why?” Tara asked.
“Ashwood?” Kaylin replied. The very last thing she wanted to do was discuss the relationship between Tara and Tiamaris when Tiamaris was actually present. In response to the single word, a section of the city began to glow. A tiny section. Teela hadn’t been joking; the street was small. It was tucked away in a small cul-de-sac behind homes that belonged to the rich and the powerful; she recognized three of the streets that bounded Ashwood. None led directly to it.
“That’s it? That’s the entire street?”
“Who gave you this address?” Tara asked. When she looked away from the standing map, her eyes were obsidian; she’d become so absorbed in her Tower thoughts she’d forgotten to maintain some part of the illusion that made her look more human.
“Evanton.”
“The Keeper?” Brows rose in chiseled lines.
“Tara, what exactly is wrong with this street or this address?”
“Why did the Keeper give you this address?”
“He said an old friend was looking for a tenant. He knows I’m looking for a place to live, and he thought—”
“He did not.”
Kaylin exhaled. “He did.”
“Why can you not just remain in the Palace? It is almost as safe for you there as it would be were you to live here. And I,” she added, “would be happy to house you.”
Tiamaris coughed, which caused Tara to frown, although her eyes rounded, rather than narrowing.
“Oh,” she said. “My Lord does not feel the Emperor would be happy if I offered to house Bellusdeo. I am uncertain why this would be a difficulty.”
“Tiamaris is a Dragon,” Kaylin replied.
“Yes? So is Bellusdeo.”
Reddening, Kaylin said, “Tiamaris is a male Dragon.”
“So...you think the Emperor would be jealous?” The last word was almost incredulous.
Mandoran began to cough; if he’d been standing closer to Kaylin, she would have kicked him. Since she couldn’t with any subtlety, she didn’t—but it was close.
“Wouldn’t you be?” Bellusdeo surprised Kaylin by asking. She had returned at the mention, no doubt, of her name; they were speaking quietly, but quiet human voices were no protection against Immortal hearing. “If I came to stay, if I lived within your walls, wouldn’t you be jealous or worried?”
Tara shook her head. “I would not have offered when Illien was Lord. Then, I think I would have been afraid. Illien was looking for something, always, and I could not give it to him, no matter how hard I tried.” She smiled at Tiamaris. “Tiamaris was looking for me. If you lived here, we would shelter you. We would defend you. We would keep you safe. But you are not, and could not be, me.”
Bellusdeo was silent for a long moment; she then offered Tara a brief bow. “I believe you. The Emperor, however, is not looking for me, either. He would be, if not jealous, proprietary.”
“But you are not his property.”
Bellusdeo grimaced. So did Tiamaris. “No. Nor has he laid claim to me in that fashion. But Tiamaris is, of course, correct; it would not be appropriate for me to remain here. Kaylin, however—”
“Kaylin won’t stay here if you can’t,” Tara told her. “She doesn’t want to abandon you. She thinks you are already lonely enough.”
Bellusdeo looked both embarrassed and irritated. The irritation, she shared; if looks could kill, Kaylin would be a small, smoldering heap of ash. She said nothing for a long beat, and given the orange shade her eyes had adopted, no one else did, either. Tiamaris was carefully studying the map, as was Teela. Mandoran was staring at Kaylin as if he couldn’t believe how incredibly stupid she’d been—and given Kaylin hadn’t actually said any of this, she thought it unfair.
But life wasn’t fair on most days, and she’d managed to survive it so far.
“What,” Bellusdeo said, changing the subject pointedly, “concerns you about our destination?”
“You are certain that you are to go to Ashwood, and that this is the only Ashwood in your city?”
“I am reasonably certain,” Bellusdeo replied.
“I’m completely certain,” Teela said, at the same time. “And I now feel some qualms about it. I would be happy,” she added, with emphasis on the two syllables that somehow implied the opposite, “to know what your concerns are.”
Tara said, after a very long pause, “The house on Ashwood is as old as I am.”
* * *
Mandoran was the first person to speak. He perked up. “That does sound interesting. Can we come alon
g?”
He really did remind Kaylin of some of the foundlings: he could go from crushing depression to wild enthusiasm in the space of a word or a heartbeat. Kaylin had never been that emotionally flexible. She glared.
He smiled brightly, like a puppy. Exactly like a puppy. Given what had happened at Evanton’s, Mandoran was about the last person she wanted to take with her. If the rooms were halfway decent, and they somehow met the strict demands of the bloody Dragon Court, Kaylin needed to make a good impression on the landlord.
She opened her mouth to say as much, but the puppy eyes defeated her. She couldn’t kick him in the figurative face.
Tara, however, said, “I think that is a very bad idea.”
Mandoran’s brows rose.
“I wouldn’t have let you cross the bridge if Kaylin hadn’t asked it as a favor. I wouldn’t happily let you wander the streets of the fief, now, although I am comfortable having you as a guest in the Tower itself. Because you are here, and because you are speaking with me in ways that Kaylin and Teela can’t hear, I understand that you have no ill intent. But Mandoran—and Annarion—I could hear you from the bridge. And there are things that can hear you from farther away.”
“You haven’t explained how we’re talking,” Mandoran finally said.
Tara looked troubled. “I don’t understand how you can’t understand it,” she finally said. “But I think...you are used to speaking with your friends in a very specific way.”
It got a lot quieter.
“Your friends are used to hearing what you say or think. They see what you see and hear what you hear, even if they cannot otherwise see or hear it themselves. You, in turn, hear what they think of your experience; it becomes part of what you individually believe.”
Mandoran snorted.
“Not all your responses are verbal. Many of them are conscious; none of them are what would normally be considered speech among the rest of your race.” She turned to Teela. “The Lord of this Tower was, for centuries, a Barrani High Lord. He, like all of you, possessed a True Name. Unlike the three of you, his hatred of this weakness was so vast, he all but destroyed himself in an attempt to be rid of it. He would not—and did not—make the choices that you made. The existence of the name itself was anathema to him; he would not have shared it, even to preserve his life. You did. You did so willingly, and I believe it brought you joy.”