“I don’t usually have a pool when I bathe; I have a small basin with barely warm water.”
“If you weren’t too lazy to boil enough—”
Kaylin threw up her hands, which caused a cascade of water. “Fine. I’m lazy.” She pulled herself out of the pool by its edge and navigated dangerously slippery floors as she headed toward towels that she hoped had survived the deluge. “I’m worried,” she said, words muffled as she applied dry towel to wet everything else.
“About yourself?” Teela asked.
“Of course about myself. I have no idea what a harmoniste is—”
“I told you.”
“Yes. And I’m always good at applying theory to real life.”
Teela chuckled. “You aren’t terrible at it, kitling. In a decade, I think you’ll be very good. But it’s not just that.”
Kaylin exhaled, knowing full well how annoying Teela found it when someone worried about her. She was fairly nonracist about the annoyance; she didn’t like it when Tain did it; she didn’t like it when the rest of the Barrani Hawks did it, and she certainly didn’t appreciate it from the merely mortal. She did make an exception for Caitlin, but everyone did that, even Marcus.
“Kitling, if you tell me you’re worried about me, I’ll give you something to worry about.” Case in point.
“You’ve been on edge since we left the City,” Kaylin said as she avoided meeting Teela’s eyes. “If I’d known that the West March—if I’d known what it meant—”
“You would have forbidden me from traveling there?” Her voice was distinctly chillier.
“No, it’s not that....” Mostly because Kaylin stood no chance at all of forbidding Teela anything. “…It is that.”
Teela sighed heavily as she pulled herself from the bath. She caught Kaylin’s shoulders in her hands and turned her around so that they were facing each other. Kaylin was wrapped in a towel; Teela showed the usual Barrani reticence about nudity. Her eyes weren’t green, but they weren’t quite blue, either. “Kaylin, I am not you.”
“I know.” Kaylin shook her shoulders free, picked up Teela’s discarded bathrobe, and handed it to her. Teela took it, slid it over her shoulders, and watched as Kaylin did the same. The small dragon decided at this point it was safe to land, and did so. He didn’t, on the other hand, seem to care for wet hair in his face, so it was probably convenient that he didn’t actually breathe fire.
“Why are you worried?”
“I don’t know.” Kaylin headed into the bedroom.
“What are you worried about?”
“Teela—” Kaylin turned. “First, I don’t really want you to be so pissed off again that you don’t speak to me for an entire day. Second, I don’t want you to be so pissed off that you blacken my eye.”
“I promise I will not blacken your eye.”
“What about the first one?”
Teela raised a black brow. “Sometimes, kitling, you take your chances. I don’t know what the hells you’re worried about, so I don’t know whether or not it’s offensive. I’m not promising anything I can’t deliver. Not,” she added, “to you.”
“Why were you so angry about the dress?”
“I don’t recall saying I’d answer questions.” Teela walked over to the bed and sprawled across its width. Since the bed was large, none of her body parts draped over the end, the way they did when she did this in Kaylin’s apartment.
In Kaylin’s previous apartment.
“I wasn’t angry at you,” Teela said. She reached out and grabbed two pillows.
Kaylin raised a brow in a fair attempt at mimicry. “It just looked that way, right?”
“It just looked that way, yes. I was against this from the beginning,” she added. “I was against it, but I accepted it—we did need the information. But if I’d known that you’d end up wearing that dress, I would have cut off the Hawklord’s wings first.”
This shocked Kaylin into momentary silence. The silence caught Teela’s attention; she lifted her face off the pillow. Her eyes were still the same odd shade of not-green, not-blue. “What is your worst childhood memory?”
Kaylin blinked. Sometimes Teela could change the subject so quickly, it gave her whiplash. “My what?”
“You heard me.”
Finding room for herself on the bed—toward the headboard, rather than the foot—Kaylin grabbed the last pillow and curled her arms around it. The small dragon hissed in her ear and readjusted himself. “Finding my mother. She was dead,” Kaylin added quickly. “I was five, I think.”
“Five mortal years of age.”
Kaylin nodded. “Do you even remember being five?”
“Of course. The Barrani do not forget.”
“The Barrani don’t get sick. My mother did.”
“We don’t get sick the way mortals do. The belief that we are immune to disease is not entirely accurate, but we are immune to diseases that afflict mortals.”
“And you don’t grow old.”
“Not once we reach maturity, no.”
“Does it take a long time to reach maturity? Don’t make that face; this wasn’t covered in class.”
“In terms of your years, yes, we take much longer than mortal children of any race. We have a long coming-of-age, a long childhood, in comparison. I am not considered young by my people.” She reached out and ran her fingers through Kaylin’s wet hair. “You should stop cutting your hair. And maybe leave it down a little more.”
“My hair gets in the way of everything. It even gets caught in doors.”
Teela snickered. “I remember that. I remember the first time you cut it—Caitlin shrieked. You’ve got to do a lot to make Caitlin shriek.”
“Not apparently.” Kaylin rolled over. “Why did you ask?”
“Ask what?”
“What my worst childhood memory was.”
“I was curious.”
“You were thinking of yours.”
Teela nodded, her hand stilling, strands of dark brown, some with split ends, twined and drying around her alabaster fingers. “You’ve heard a bit about the regalia.” When Kaylin nodded, Teela continued. “And you know that the recitation can grant power—stature—to the Lords of the Court.”
She nodded again. “Does it work for everyone?”
“No, kitling. It is not entirely random, although it is not entirely predictable, either.”
“Especially for the young. The children are too young and too—” Kaylin grimaced, desperately wanting Barrani memory “—unanchored in their names. I think. I didn’t learn what that meant. But…I was told it is now forbidden for children to hear the regalia at all.”
“It is considered one of the worst of our crimes, an act of treason against our race. It is one of the few crimes the Barrani take seriously.”
“But, Teela, you—”
Teela nodded. The lights in the room had dimmed; Kaylin wasn’t certain when. Color faded to shades of gray in slow stages. “Yes, kitling. I was brought to the West March when I was a child. I was one of the children who were destined for greatness.” The words were bitter, but they were softly spoken.
* * *
After a long pause, Kaylin asked, “Did you know your parents?”
“Pardon?”
“Barrani never mention their mothers or their fathers. Sometimes they mention cousins, but to be honest I find that confusing. As far as I can tell, every Barrani is every other Barrani’s cousin.”
“Mortals seldom mention their parents, either.”
“Are you kidding? I can tell you sixty-five things about Joey’s mother on a slow day. I can tell you Reena’s mother’s pissed about her marriage, and Kathy’s mother is pissed about her lack of children. Clint’s mother, well, that’s more complicated. I’m not sure I want to meet his father, though.”
Teela laughed. “Stop. I surrender. Very well. Barrani don’t speak about their parents much. But compared to mortals, they don’t speak about anything much. Mortals always feel that the m
inutiae of their lives are interesting. I am not particularly interested in the ephemera of their daily existence. They will speak about the bargain they found in the market in the morning, about the lineup at the well, about the run in their socks—anything. All the time. It’s one of the best things about your Corporal—he doesn’t chatter.”
Self-consciously, Kaylin said, “I do.”
“Yes, well. I’ve learned to find your babble interesting. Or at least tolerable. I will admit it didn’t even take that much effort; you had so much energy when you were thirteen you were like a puppy or a kitten. Even people who don’t care for pets seem to like the puppies and kittens, have you noticed?”
Kaylin failed to answer, which made Teela laugh. Being the butt of Barrani laughter was never fun, but at least Teela was laughing. “Teela? Your parents?”
“My mother, like yours, is dead. And at least we have this in common, kitling; of my childhood memories, it is the one that haunts me. But we differ in one regard: I didn’t discover her corpse; I watched her die.”
Kaylin’s arms inexplicably began to tingle and itch. It was the marks. “Teela, are you using magic?”
“No.” Teela pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Why?” The word was sharper and smoother in the darkness.
“My arms. The marks are tingling.”
“They aren’t glowing.”
“…No. But—” Kaylin shook her head. What else did she expect in a place like this? “Sorry. I don’t know what’s bothering them. They’re not getting any worse.”
Teela reclined again, but she was now on guard. Perhaps because she was, she could continue. “My mother died in the West March.”
Silence. Even the small dragon was utterly still, as if he could understand the import, the gravity, of every word.
“Teela—your father—”
“You have a Hawk’s ears,” was the fond answer. “Yes, kitling. My father killed her.”
* * *
She thought of Severn, in the darkness. She had promised that she wouldn’t mention Steffi or Jade, and she’d kept that promise, but Teela’s words brought them back, like cold, accusing ghosts. Severn had not killed her mother. But Severn had killed Steffi and Jade.
“Did he survive it?” Kaylin finally asked, voice thick.
“For a few centuries, yes.”
“He’s dead now?”
“Yes.”
“Teela—”
“Yes, kitling. I killed him.”
“Did you—before that, before he killed your mother—did you love him?”
“You are such a mortal. Of all the questions you could ask—most pertinent how I managed to kill him, given his superior rank, his superior status, and his relative power—you ask that one. Not a single one of my kin, not a single member of this High Court, not even the Lady, would think to ask that question.” The words were laced with affection and fondness; in the dark it didn’t matter what color Teela’s eyes were.
“When I was a child,” the Barrani Hawk continued, relaxing into her familiar, full-body lounge, “I did. But I loved as a child loves, in ignorance and with a desperate desire to have that love returned. I believe it is the only time I lied to myself in my earnest fervor. My father was not a young man when I was born; I was the youngest of his children at that time and the only daughter. My brothers are half brothers; my mother was a new wife. She came from the West March,” Teela added. “She was not accustomed to life in the High Court; the Courts of the West March are different.”
The tone of her voice was not the same in the darkness. Kaylin reached out and wrapped an arm around Teela’s shoulder.
“I know mortals think all Barrani look alike—it’s really quite confounding. To me my mother was beautiful, far more beautiful than the Lady.”
“Than you?”
Teela laughed. “Far, far more beautiful than I. She had a voice that could stop songbirds in their tracks; they would sit on her arms and shoulders for hours, listening. They could starve to death, that way, and never notice. I loved her voice,” Teela added. “Many did. My father, among them.
“You are aware that we do not have many children. We have brothers and sisters, sometimes—I was never graced with a sister.”
“Until me?”
She laughed again, and this time, she draped an arm across Kaylin’s neck. The dragon hissed; they both ignored him. “Until you, kitling, although I think I daydreamed of having an older and wiser sister. We seem like we breed, but we breed slowly, if at all. There are whole families whose proud lines faded from existence because no children were born to them over the centuries. But my father was blessed in his choice of wives, and my mother bore him a child: me.
“My mother was an only child. Her parents were not significant, and more: they were not Lords of the Court.”
“Did the Court exist then?”
“Oh, yes. And the High Halls existed as well, although the territory was bitterly contested by the Dragon Flights. We were a people—my father’s people—bred for war. But I do my mother’s kin a disservice, Kaylin; she was not some gentle rustic, living in peace and harmony with nature in the outer reaches of our lands. Regardless, her parents had not chosen to undergo the test of name. They had no rank and little obvious wealth; their wealth, such as it was, was in their only child.
“They were fools,” she added roughly. “Fools, all. They spoiled her, they adored her, they indulged her; they dried her tears—and she cried them. No one of my kin would have cried so openly as she; we wouldn’t have dared. But she did. She apparently cried at my birth.”
Kaylin, who had seen many, many births in her tenure as emergency volunteer at the Guild of Midwives, said, “That’s a normal reaction.”
“Only for mortals. Not for Barrani. It is considered a poor start to a child’s life.”
Kaylin said nothing. She could hardly remember her own mother’s face, she’d been so young when her mother died. But…she remembered the feel of her mother’s arms, her lap, the soft sound of her voice. She remembered braiding her mother’s hair. She remembered feeling loved.
“My mother followed her parents’ path. She was overjoyed at my birth, at my existence. But she was raised in the West March, and she raised me in the High Halls. I remember her,” Teela said, her voice softening and slowing. “I remember her beneath the endless heights of the ceilings in the halls. Sometimes she would sneak us both into the forest that surrounds the High Lord’s seat. There were forests in Elantra at the time, although they were dwindling; they were not considered safe. But the forests of the High Lord were.
“She taught me the names of trees, flowers, weeds. She knew them all.”
“I envy you,” Kaylin whispered.
“Why? Aside from the usual.”
Kaylin hit her with a pillow. “I can’t remember what my mother looked like, not clearly. I remember images, but—they’re so far away now. Barrani remember everything.”
“They remember what they notice, yes. But, kitling, let me ask a different question. Do you remember, clearly, what your mother’s corpse looked like?”
Kaylin flinched. But in the darkness, she realized she couldn’t. She could remember what she felt. She could still feel it, if she concentrated. She could remember the feel of her mother’s cold, stiff hands and the utter absence of her breath. But she remembered them because what she’d felt wouldn’t leave her; they were twined and anchored in her emotions. “…No.”
“I remember. I remember what she said before she died. I remember where she was wounded and how often. I remember how her blood flowed, and, kitling, I remember the color of her eyes. I remember her expression and if I reach out, like this, I can almost touch it.” Her hand now rested against Kaylin’s forehead.
It was the first time that Kaylin clearly understood how double-edged the gift of near-perfect recall could be. She couldn’t, even if she tried, see the two bloody corpses of her girls—and they were clearer, and the emotional scar newer.
“No gift comes for free,” Teela whispered. “Your kind consider mine gifted, blessed. Consider the cost and the price paid for those gifts. I would be you,” she continued, which was almost shocking. “Even given your life to date, given your losses, I would be you. You live in the moment, Kaylin; your past does not walk so clearly and heavily beside your present, and your future? It is always shadowed, a thing made of hope, dream, and fear. You barely have time to learn who you are before the burden of that knowledge must be laid down.”
“But we’re—”
“Yes. You are weak. My kind can enslave you without much effort. You are killed by the slightest of storms, the smallest of fires. You are feeble in your age, and you lose so much so quickly. I imagine that if I was granted my idle wish, I would loathe it in the end. But that is the nature of wishes. Do not forget it.”
“You turn everything into a lesson, don’t you?”
“Oh? What have you learned from brawling?”
“Don’t get caught by the on-duty Swords, don’t give your real name, and, most important, avoid drinking with Barrani when at all possible.”
Teela laughed and hit her with a pillow; she hit hard, even at play. She always had. “My mother died attempting to spirit me away from the West March. When she understood fully what my father intended for me—for me, kitling, but not for his sons—she was horrified, terrified.”
“She didn’t know?”
“She was foolish, I told you. He knew what her reaction would be; I am certain he knew what he would be forced to do should she discover the truth. I do not know how he intended to hide it. Perhaps he truly believed that I would emerge as a significant power at the end of the recitation, and I would be his: his daughter, of his line. Perhaps he thought that she would forgive him when she realized that he had favored me—favored me—with the chance at such a gift.
“But she was raised in the West March, and she was afraid. She pleaded with him, she begged him. My mother, on her knees. It is an image that burns me still. When he agreed to abide by her wishes, she knew. She hugged him, she hugged me, she took me home. But she knew.
“The worst of it is this: I wanted that power. I wanted to be the golden child. I wanted to be my father’s pride.” She fell silent.