“Don’t try to shift blame,” Bellusdeo said. “You were bored.”
“Well, I was until the street cracked,” Mandoran replied with an unrepentant grin. “Pursuit was interesting, as well. Everything else has been a letdown.”
Nightshade glanced at his brother, who was glaring at Mandoran silently, but not, Kaylin was certain, wordlessly.
“Annarion said only that there had been an attack, a possible assassination attempt. Did he not refer to Lord Bellusdeo?”
Mandoran snorted. “No. I’d understand it if someone tried to kill her.”
Maggaron was destroying cutlery in the sudden tension of his grip. His very large grip. No one spoke.
Interesting. Who was the target? Nightshade asked Kaylin.
She really hated Mandoran at the moment.
And that is interesting. You lie even when no one else can hear you.
Someone can always hear me, she shot back.
I have been somewhat occupied of late. Your Helen does not trust me at all. She is willing to tolerate me, but only for Annarion’s sake. She does, however, bear obvious fondness for him. I am therefore guarding myself on two fronts, and even this conversation is likely to annoy her immensely.
He was probably right.
I cannot hear your thoughts when you are in your home.
You can hear them now.
Yes, and that is unexpected. I am not certain why she allowed my words to reach you. Perhaps she hoped that it would make the rest of the discussion less awkward.
What discussion?
He chuckled, although his face was perfectly composed. You did not answer my question.
Not mine to answer. She thought of Moran—just a brief flicker of awareness of how little Moran wanted to be the subject of any discussion. And of course, that stray thought was enough.
But she hadn’t expected the stillness that spread out from Lord Nightshade. She’d thought him still and composed when he sat; she’d thought him still and composed during the opening salvos of what promised to be a less-than-comfortable dinner. He was frozen now, for one long minute that threatened to spiral out of control, taking what little sound and light there was entirely out of the room.
“What,” Nightshade said, “are you doing housing the lllumen praevolo? Have you lost your mind?”
* * *
Kaylin wondered, briefly, why he’d asked the question out loud.
“I thought it best,” Helen replied. “I am somewhat occupied at the moment, and I did not feel that dinner conversation would become difficult. I apologize for my lapse in supervision.”
Kaylin realized two things then. First: Nightshade would no longer be able to speak with her through the bond of True Name; Helen had killed that avenue of private discussion. Second, and more troubling, that Helen had allowed it to begin with. Kaylin didn’t believe that the lapse, as she called it, was accidental. Nor did she think that Helen truly believed that the conversation would not be difficult, given the way she clearly felt about Nightshade.
Her house had lied to her. What she couldn’t understand was why—and just in case Helen was listening in, she made it clear that she didn’t need to understand why right this very second. Later would do, if they all survived the meal.
“What did you say?” she asked Nightshade.
“I asked if you had taken leave of your senses.”
“Before that.”
“Illumen praevolo?”
They were the exact words Lillias had spoken. Lillias had been fragile, nervous, afraid. Nightshade was none of those things. “Yes, that. What does it mean?”
“It means nothing to humans,” he replied. His eyes were a glittering blue, hard as sapphires as they absorbed the room’s light. “It means much to Aerians. Was it the Illumen praevolo who survived the assassination attempt?”
“Yes.”
“They do not belong here.”
“Thanks, but it’s my house. My castle. I get to decide that.”
“Did you know, before you offered shelter?”
Kaylin was irritated. “What do you think?”
“I think you were ignorant.”
“Good. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, tell me why you think she doesn’t belong here.”
“She?”
Damn.
“How did you even come to meet her? I suppose I should not be surprised; you are certainly acquainted with the Lady and with Lord Bellusdeo.”
“She’s not like the Lady,” was Kaylin’s flat and certain reply. “And she’s not like Bellusdeo, either.”
“No. She is not, but she occupies a central, singular place for the Aerians, as the Consort does for the Barrani, or Lord Bellusdeo for the Dragons. It should not surprise me,” he said again, “but it does.”
“Do you know what her role is?”
“We will trade information, perhaps. How did you encounter her?”
There was a beat of silence before Kaylin exhaled. “She works in the Halls of Law.”
His eyes shifted from blue to a very surprised gold, a color she very seldom saw in Barrani. “You must be mistaken.”
“I think I know the Halls of Law, and I think I know a sergeant when I see one. She works in the Halls.”
“A...sergeant.” He closed his eyes; when he opened them again, they had reclaimed the color blue. It was a lighter shade than Teela’s. So was midnight sky. “No wonder they tried to kill her. This has happened before?”
“Not while she’s been a sergeant.” Kaylin set her cutlery down and folded her arms, tilting her chair back on two legs. She wasn’t hungry, and while that didn’t usually stop her from eating, she wanted to concentrate.
“Never?”
“Not that I know of, no. But I’d say ‘never’ covers it.”
“Ah. And before that?”
“It’s not in Records.” She stonewalled. He couldn’t read her mind now. He couldn’t see her thoughts. “Why would you expect that this wouldn’t be the first attempt?”
He smiled. “Because she is living here, Kaylin. Perhaps you do not understand why this is a crime in the minds of the Aerians.”
“Some of the Aerians.”
“As you say. Why does she not dwell with her kin? Why does she choose menial employ? She is Illumen praevolo.”
“And I’m the Chosen,” Kaylin shot back. “But I need to eat.”
“The Chosen does not mean to humans what your Aerian will mean to the Aerians. Perhaps it should.”
“It certainly should,” Bellusdeo interrupted. “She is not treated with nearly the respect her burden is due.”
Kaylin lifted a hand in Bellusdeo’s direction, and the Dragon fell silent. She probably wasn’t happy about it, but Kaylin didn’t check; she was watching Nightshade as if he were the only person in the room.
“Do your Aerians not speak of it?” Nightshade asked her.
“No. And I can’t ask them.”
“And she does not explain?”
“No. She thinks it’s not safe for me to know.”
He smiled; it was winter, but beautiful. “And so you come to me.”
“I didn’t—” She exhaled and regrouped. “Yes. Yes, I’m asking you.”
“Has it occurred to you that your companion may be correct? No, don’t answer. You will say yes, but mean no. It is vexing. If you wish to know how I come by this information...” he began.
“I know how.”
“Ah. I forget. Yes, you probably do. The praevolo is not a position like the Consort within the Barrani. To become Consort, there are tests. Tests of the Tower. Tests of the Lake. Failure does not always mean death, but the closer one comes to success, the higher the possibility of death becomes. We are not, like humans, a people to who
m children come quickly or easily; the risk of death can be a strong deterrent.
“But it is the line’s risk to take. Your friend did not have the distinction of determination or choice. She was born to it. It has been an essential part of her nature since that birth.”
Kaylin nodded, trying not to be impatient. Or not to be obviously impatient, at any rate. “I understand that part. I don’t understand why it’s significant. I don’t understand what it means.”
“As I have said, to humans, it means nothing.”
“She’s not a human, and she’s living here.”
“How much do you feel you have a right to know?” he asked, almost gently. It was gentleness from Nightshade that she didn’t trust. His violence, his arrogance, his intimidation were things that were obvious threats. “If she does not wish you to know, and it is her secret, her life, how much do those wishes count to you?”
There was a disgusted snort—a sergeant’s sound—from the doorway; everyone looked up. Moran stood in the frame, arms folded, eyes a blue that almost matched Teela’s in shade. “Lord Nightshade, I presume.”
He raised dark brows.
“You were the Barrani who marked Private Neya?”
Kaylin almost stood; Annarion’s expression had drifted from mild interest into disgust and anger and disappointment.
“It is not one of my many titles,” came the cool reply. He was staring at her, at the rise of her wings, or her one wing, at the bindings that kept the other more or less safe and in place. “Is it you?”
“Don’t ask questions when you already know the answer.”
“Among my kin, it would be considered polite.”
“We’re not among your kin here.” She glanced at Annarion. “We’re in Kaylin’s home. And Kaylin has never entirely grasped the intricacies of manners.” She entered the dining room as a place—with a stool—magically appeared for her at the table. It was beside Kaylin, and required some minor shuffling.
“I asked you,” Moran told the private, “to stay out of this.” She didn’t sound enraged. She sounded disappointed, which was worse.
“They tried to kill you.”
“Believe that I’m aware of that.”
“I’d like them to never try again.”
“And I’d like to have normal, healthy wings and a living mother,” Moran said with a shrug. “We don’t always get what we want, especially when it comes to the big things.” She glanced at Nightshade. “You were about to explain to the table what the praevolo is.”
“But you are now here; your knowledge has precedence.”
Moran shrugged again. The gaze she leveled at Nightshade was about as warm and friendly as Teela’s. “My view is colored. If you’ve heard about the Illumen praevolo, you didn’t hear about it from the Caste Court or the Upper Reaches; you heard about it from the rank and file. I’d like to know what they think.”
“You’ve never asked?”
“No. It’s not something that is ever discussed in the Halls. By any Aerian.”
“Very well, if you have no objections.”
“My objections have rarely counted for so little.” She shot Kaylin a glance, and Kaylin flushed the color of guilt. There was so much awkward tension in the room, it might as well have been a fractious office meeting with the Lords.
“This is not the world to which the Aerians were born.”
“No.”
“It is the world they reached, in an era long past, through a stretch of endless sky, the etande, as it was called.”
Moran was staring at the side of his face, her brows slightly furrowed.
“They had their reasons for leaving their home.”
“The World Devourer?” Kaylin asked.
“No, nothing so immediately deadly. You are aware that the Aerians’ flight is...improbable? They are, in build and general density, almost human. The activities that do not depend in any way on flight are not hampered by physical strength or build. Their wings, were they attached to the body of similarly weighted avian, could not achieve flight.”
Kaylin frowned. No, she hadn’t been aware of that, and she wasn’t in a great hurry to claim her ignorance.
“They are not magical creatures. In an absence of any magic, they will not cease to exist. They will, however, cease to fly.”
Moran was really staring at the side of his face now, but the midnight of her blue eyes had drifted into an early shade of clear night sky while she listened.
“So...their world ran out of magic?” Kaylin asked.
“Yes.”
“And our world is more magic-rich?”
“Yes. Understand that in a world without magic, door wards and streetlights would not function. In order to utilize magical energies, there must be some sort of conduit—in most cases, training. But not in all.”
“And the Illumen—”
“Yes, the importance of the praevolo in this escape was critical. It was the duty of the anointed to find a different world; the Aerian ancestors entered the etande without a compass.
“The praevolo is said to have preserved the power of flight for the people, and the praevolo followed a trail that only they could see; it led to this world. It is here they arrived—a world of Dragons, Barrani, humans, Leontines.
“And here, too, there was Shadow.”
“Too?”
“I believe—although I am not certain, as the legends were somewhat garbled—”
“That it was Shadow that drove the Aerians from their first home,” Moran said quietly. “At least that is most of our tale. The Shadows deprived our wings of flight.”
“You are skeptical?” Nightshade asked her.
“Yes, actually. The Shadows seem a thing of magic, to me. But it’s possible that, to destroy Shadow, the ancestors found some way to destroy magic. I don’t think they understood what the cost would be, and I think that the Shadows did wane in that world. But the people could not survive—not as they had.”
“Ah. And so, indirectly, the necessities of war with Shadow did cause the death of flight.”
Moran nodded.
“So the praevolo was born during that time?” Kaylin asked.
“It’s complicated,” Moran finally replied. “Understand that we have legends and tales; we’re not Dragons. We don’t have ancient Records to which we can refer. I’m not sure that born is the right word.” She hesitated. “It’s the word that’s been used. In theory, the praevolo is born to the Aerian people at a time of great need or great conflict. But I believe, even in the tales that are handed down, that the first praevolo was born then.”
“You don’t think born is the right word?”
“I was born. I wasn’t created. There was no cabal of ancient, powerful mages standing beside my mother as she conceived me; there were none in the birthing rooms where I was born.” Her smile was wan. “When I first encountered Records in the Halls, I searched them. And I went outside of the Halls, searching. I wanted information.”
“Were you not told anything about your wings?”
“I was told a great deal,” Moran replied. “I heard times beyond count that I was unworthy of the gift I had been given. I was told constantly about humility, chief among the characteristics I was to develop to be worthy.”
“Yes, of course, dear,” Helen said, although no one had spoken. She carried a drink—a hot drink, in a very mundane mug—to Moran, and set it in front of her, where lazy swirls of steam rose.
“I asked, in the beginning, what I was to be worthy of.”
Kaylin leaned forward, hurting for the child that Moran had been, and hoping it didn’t show. No one wanted pity, and Moran was not that child now.
“I was told that to prove my worth, I was to respect the authority of the Caste Court. They were wise and l
earned and of course, deserved their positions by consequence of birth. I was a bastard, illegitimate, and my father refused to step forward to claim kinship with me. I still don’t know who he is,” she added, staring at the rising steam as if reading some fortune in it. “I doubt I’ll ever know.”
“Would it make a difference?” Teela surprised Kaylin by asking. “Before you reply, I feel it necessary to point out that I killed mine—and I spent centuries building enough of a power base that I could survive doing so. He murdered my mother.”
Moran took her time digesting this information; it wasn’t information the Barrani who worked in the Halls would ever think to share. Her wry grin, and eyes that were now drifting into a more normal Aerian gray, cut years off her apparent age. The grin dimmed. “It’s possible that my father murdered my mother. I don’t know. He certainly did nothing to protect her, and he did nothing to protect me, either.
“But for all I know, my father might have been a younger son—no, less, a younger cousin, part of an Upper Reach flight in name only. He might have had no power.”
“You don’t believe it, though.”
“...No.” She shook herself. To Teela, she said, “Did killing him change anything?”
“Yes. I became the line.”
“That would never happen—I was illegitimate.”
“The Barrani do not fuss with legitimacy in that fashion,” Teela reminded her.
“I confess I don’t understand it; the Barrani inheritance wars are brutal enough when they start that legitimacy would seem to be of paramount import.”
“To an outsider, yes. But primacy is decided by power. What I take, I must be able to hold against all. If I am foolish, stupid or incompetent, I will die. The line, however, requires someone who is none of those things. My death might be regrettable, but it would be seen as necessary. And our children are not so numerous that the parentage defines them. The only exception is the lineage of the High Lord—and even in that case, new reigns are ushered in by politics and death in almost all cases.”
“Not the most recent one,” Kaylin said quietly.
“No. And believe, kitling, that there are lords who have been working constantly to ensure that the throne is in the hands of a ruthless, powerful man. A different man.”