Evarrim said nothing.
“The request, however, that he make that demand? It came from one of the Barrani Hawks. They’re guarding him against ‘accidental’ in-cell suicide.”
“And you believe I had some hand in that request?”
It hadn’t really occurred to Kaylin until he asked the pointed, chilly question. Kaylin knew that the composition of racial Caste Courts varied—often greatly—by race and racial customs. She’d assumed that the Caste Court of the Barrani was, to all intents and purposes, the High Lord and his Court.
And Evarrim was a member of that Court.
“We didn’t come here today to question you about your role in the Caste Court,” she replied, picking her words with care, but resolutely clinging to Elantran. “We came to ask you questions about your acquaintance with both the Arcanum and the Aerian Arcanist.”
“Which Aerian?”
“The Arcanist.”
“There are currently two.”
“Fine. With the Aerian Arcanists, plural. If, however, you would like to volunteer information about the role of the Barrani Caste Court in this entire mess, we’d be grateful.”
“Human gratitude is ephemeral.”
And Barrani gratitude was almost nonexistent, in Kaylin’s opinion.
“Mortal gratitude persists in comparison to the length of mortal lives,” the Consort said gently. “To expect otherwise is to fail to understand mortality.”
Kaylin exhaled. “We want two things.”
“Oh, do continue.”
“We want to meet the Aerian Arcanists.”
“And?”
“We want the Barrani Caste Court to stop interfering in matters that are none of its damn business.” Ynpharion coughed. Teela exhaled. Kaylin inhaled, held her breath and turned to face the Consort. “Apologies, Lady,” she said, voice curt. “I spent the night with the midwives, and I’m hideously short of sleep.” It wasn’t a very gracious apology, but it was an explanation.
An explanation that possibly only the Consort would accept with any grace. But she was the mother of her race, in a way that a mortal couldn’t be to their own. “I see.” Her eyes were no longer the dark blue that all the rest of the Barrani eyes were. “I cannot, of course, compel Lord Evarrim to make the introduction you demand. I am not, and have never been, a part of the Arcanum. Even were it my calling, it would have been forbidden.
“I can, however, find out what the Caste Court barter is or was. If we aid the human Caste Court in some fashion, it will of course be to our theoretical advantage.” Her tone implied heavily that she could see no advantage the human Caste Court could possibly offer. She glanced at Evarrim.
Evarrim was a peculiar shade of white. He bowed to the Consort, and held that bow for much longer than necessary. When he rose, his expression was composed, almost neutral; his eyes were all midnight, but at this point, the surprise would have been green, not indigo.
“I am not at all certain the Arcanists in question will agree to a meeting.”
Kaylin said nothing.
“At the moment, both of those Arcanists are residents of the Southern Reach. They have quarters in the Arcanum, but those quarters were not designed with Aerians in mind; for obvious reasons, they find them uncomfortable. If the Arcanists agree to meet with you, you may be required to visit the Southern Reach.”
“Fine.”
“As you no doubt suspect, Lord Kaylin, one of the two is involved in an unusual branch of magical study. It is considered somewhat esoteric.”
“And forbidden?”
“We are not children, to be forbidden our natural curiosity. Our responsibilities are to our own studies, and their relative safety. We do not police other members of the Arcanum. I believe that would be considered your job.”
“Arcane bomb, did I forget to mention?”
He stiffened.
“Arcane bomb,” she continued, “with a very, very small magical footprint, an unfamiliar-to-me sigil. The bulk of the splash effect appears to have been Shadow.”
Kaylin had seen corpses in rigor less stiff than Evarrim.
“And this...Shadow, was it unusual in any way?”
“Funny you should ask that. It appeared to be inert. If I had no experience at all fighting Shadow, I would say that it was simply an alternate form of magical power. It did not distort or transform anything it touched; it seemed devoid of any purpose of its own.”
The Consort shifted position slightly, a polite demand for attention, which she instantly received.
“Lord Evarrim,” she said in a winter voice, “you will offer Lord Kaylin all necessary aid.”
Necessary was generally a weasel word, in Kaylin’s experience. Clearly her experiences with the Consort hadn’t been broad enough in the past. Evarrim bowed instantly, and the bow he chose—if Kaylin was remembering her lessons correctly—was one offered a superior of far greater rank.
When he rose, he was pale; his eyes were indigo, his posture stiff. But something about his demeanor had shifted between the start of the bow and the end of it.
“You’re aware of what this Aerian has been studying,” Kaylin said, voice flat.
“I am aware that he has received a large bursary from the Aerian Caste Court; it could be entirely unrelated.”
“It’s unrelated.” Kaylin had shifted her positioning on her feet, as if she expected a brawl to start at any moment; she locked her arms to make certain she wasn’t the one who started it.
“Is it? You are certain?”
“Almost certain.” There was no way that the study of Shadow would or could receive a bursary from the Caste Court. It was a visible, obvious act of treason that cut across Exemption Laws. Private funding, maybe. But if the castelords knew that Shadow was involved, Kaylin doubted they’d front the money in a way that was obvious to a Barrani Arcanist.
“Well, it is your duty to police, not mine.”
“When did the funding arrive?”
“I am not privy to all financial details.”
“Was it this decade?”
“Ah. The rumors of the influx are older than a decade.” He paused. “You feel this has something to do with the praevolo? The praevolo has been an interesting side study for a small handful of our members.”
“Why?”
“The power appears to be passed on, whole, with some bloodline markers. I believe there was a great deal of embarrassment at the birth of the current praevolo, however. She was not legitimate, and this matters for mortals.
“The actual power of the praevolo is not well understood. Where the Aerians were or are religious, it is assumed to be a grant, a gift, a decision made by gods.” His tone made clear that he thought the religious were idiots. “Where the Aerians are not religious, it is assumed to be something other. The other, of course, has consequence. Some study was done—discreetly—on the regalia of the praevolo. It was determined that the bracelet was key, but it could not be studied with any great efficacy unless one also had access to the praevolo.
“You are aware of the effect the bracelet has on one who is not praevolo?”
“Not specifically. I know it kills them. Or at least I’ve been told it kills them.” Kaylin tightened the arms she’d folded, as if she was holding her temper.
“Indeed. Was more information forthcoming?”
“No. The Aerian Hawks aren’t Arcanists or scholars. They just know what they’ve been told. They don’t know the details, but the details are irrelevant to our lives and our jobs. We don’t—we didn’t—need them.”
“And now they have become strangely relevant.”
“Yes—because Barrani ancestors got pissy and tried to destroy the High Halls we were defending. If it weren’t for that, none of this would have happened.”
“
None of this, Private Neya?”
Kaylin bit back every intemperate response she wanted to make. Ynpharion’s disgust was tempered by the barest hint of approval, mostly of the about damn time variety, although that wasn’t how it was worded. “Do you know the effect the bracelet has on an Aerian who doesn’t have the wings?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” His smile was almost pure malice. Or maybe she was being unfair. Evarrim wasn’t above being petty, but clearly neither was Kaylin. She struggled to keep this in mind.
“Are they devoured by Shadow?”
“A curious question. Why do you ask it?”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“It is, Private Neya, both a yes and a no. They are not devoured by it; they are often, however, claimed by it.”
“The Shadows we’ve seen used have no will of their own to make such claims.”
“No. It is my belief—and I offer it as a sign of my good faith in the discretion of the Hawks—that where the infusion of Shadow is small, it is very like fire or air: summon it, and it has no notable will. You might light candles or torches, and the effort would be similar to the nonmagical attempts to do the same. The fire does not fight you, except in the act of summoning; you must have an understanding of what you call.”
Since this had been the question that Kaylin had been trying very hard not to ask of the people who might have some knowledge, she fell silent for a long beat. “And if you summon a lot of it?”
“It is my belief—and again, this has not been tested—that it is very like fire. The summoner must have, and must retain, control. In the case of the immortal, it is a small Test of Name, each time. But in the case of the mortals, it is an act of pure will.”
“Do you think there’s any possibility that the bracelet itself is somehow a repository for contained Shadow?”
“That would be the question, yes. It is considered the primary source of legitimacy for the praevolo. I believe that your sergeant has donned it?” Kaylin failed to answer, which was a yes, and Evarrim understood it as such. “She has not, I assume, been consumed by it.”
“No.”
“She is rumored to have been gravely injured in the actions surrounding the defense of the High Halls.”
Kaylin nodded.
“She is also rumored to have flown, very recently, in spite of those injuries.” His smile was slender.
“You’re in contact with the Arcanist.”
“Yes, Kaylin, I am. We are not friends—that is far too much a stretch of the word—but I have, oddly enough, been tasked by the High Lord with minor surveillance of certain branches of mortal study. The Barrani have their reasons for disdaining research into the nature of, and the utility of, Shadow. As a Lord of the High Court, you must know what those reasons are.”
Kaylin nodded.
“I have seen no evidence, however, that the research that was being conducted was more dangerous, or more insidiously dangerous, than prior research into different disciplines.”
“What happened to those who put the bracelet on?”
“They died.” At a small inhalation from the Consort, Evarrim surrendered his side of the game. “The Shadow that inhabited them did not seem to have will in the way fire does when it burns. It had a similar effect: it destroyed them, reducing them to the pools with which you are familiar. But it did not, in that act of destruction, appear to consider taking them over or remaking them in a different image.”
“Our Shadow does.”
“Yes.”
“Which implies something.”
“Yes. Our Shadow—the Shadow beneath the High Halls, the Shadow that attempts, on a daily basis, to escape Ravellon, will transform anything it inhabits, turning it into a tool that follows only the will of Shadow. But this Shadow did not.”
“You saw this personally?”
“I am unwilling to incriminate myself further, given Imperial Law.”
“Suicide isn’t illegal,” Kaylin replied, but she felt the slow clench of the pit of her stomach. “I assume there were volunteers.”
“Yes, actually. Those who believed they were strong enough to deserve the power of praevolo, without the wings, were given permission to don it. Permission, not commands. You may choose to disbelieve me if that is more comfortable.”
“It really isn’t.”
He shook his head, and Kaylin saw a reflection of her I will never understand Barrani expression written clearly across his face. She tried, for a moment, to think as Evarrim did—or as she believed he did. “What were they promised?”
“That, I cannot tell you. It is possible they were offered power, or the possibility of power.”
“Do you have any of their names?”
“No. I am certain the Arcanist does.”
“Do you have the Arcanist’s name?”
“May I remind you that membership in the Arcanum is not illegal?”
She shrugged. It was a fief shrug. “What is the name of the Aerian Arcanist?”
“Aguila. Aguila dar Carafel.”
* * *
Teela’s eyes were already about as blue as they could get; they didn’t get any lighter. The same could be said for the Consort. Evarrim, however, was happier, for a Barrani value of the word happy. Severn’s eyes changed shape rather than color.
He was not very happy to hear the name.
You knew. It wasn’t a question; it was almost an accusation.
No. I didn’t. But I’ve done some research in the past week into the Aerian Caste Court and the members that comprise it.
Let me guess. Aguila’s one of them.
Yes. He is not the castelord, however.
And the castelord is?
His father. Fauconne.
“We’d like to speak with Aguila.”
“Of course you would.” Evarrim turned to the Consort and bowed. “With your permission, I will leave to make the arrangements.”
The Consort’s nod was regal, even stiff. Evarrim departed. The Consort did not, however, excuse the rest of her informal guests. She rose instead. “Come. I find this chair confining at the best of times—and clearly, this is not the best of times. Kaylin, attend me. I wish to know everything about this case you are allowed to impart.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
* * *
Severn had some disagreement about what Kaylin was allowed to impart, and to her surprise, he made this known, lifting a hand or speaking where it was necessary. The Consort didn’t seem to find this offensive; she accepted his corrections without comment and without changing eye color.
“Think what you will of Lord Evarrim,” she said, as she led the way to the fountain at the far end of the internal forest. “But he has saved my life many, many times. He has put his own life in danger in each of those cases; in two, I was concerned that he would not survive.
“He does not care for mortality—but, Kaylin, most of my kin don’t. He finds it somehow offensive that you bear the marks of the Chosen. At first, he thought it was due to your natural deviousness.”
“He thought I cheated?”
“Yes. He has come to understand, however, that that particular type of devious is not in you. I believe he feels some kinship in this one regard with Aguila.”
“Aguila doesn’t feel that Moran should have the wings of the praevolo.”
“Yes.”
“Is he trying to figure out a way to somehow transfer them?”
“That is what I took from Evarrim’s elliptical answers, yes.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Is it?”
Kaylin thought of Lillias then, and froze in place. Lillias had no wings. They had not been chopped off or crippled; Clint said they had been removed. A
nd if the Caste Court had that in their power, why couldn’t they remove Moran’s wings and give them to someone else?
Except someone had said—Evanton? Clint? Lillias?—that Moran could not be made outcaste. Not the way the rest of the Aerians could. Kaylin considered this in a different light, and came to a conclusion. The praevolo could not lose his or her wings.
“I wish Evarrim were still here.”
“I am almost shocked, Lord Kaylin.”
“I’m worse than shocked,” Teela said, in Elantran. “Next time, give me enough warning that I can sit down first.”
“Very funny. I’m thinking about the process of making an Aerian outcaste.”
“I really do need to take a seat.”
“I’m being serious.”
“I know. I was wondering when and if you would get to this part.”
“You could have said something.”
“I could have,” Teela agreed, stretching like the cat she sometimes reminded Kaylin of. “You’re not stupid. You would have gotten there eventually. And I was thinking about Caste Courts and politics, just not the Aerian version.”
“Lillias has no wings. I would bet you every cent I’ve ever earned that that’s literal: she has no wings. No hint of ever having had wings.”
The Consort’s expression was one of pity.
“If they can remove the wings of any Aerian—any other Aerian—the idea of transferring the wings themselves doesn’t seem as stupid.”
“Is it reversible?” the Consort asked.
“I have no idea. I’m not sure who to ask. I’m only sure that it’s important, relevant, and magical.” Ugh.
“The expression you’re making is priceless. None of my kin—not even the very young—would do so in public.”
“And by ‘in public,’ she means where any other living person could see it,” Teela helpfully added.
“Mandoran does.”
“Another reason never to let him leave home.”