“How do you know?”
“I don’t. I merely surmise.”
She let her arm drop. “I want to see the Lord of the Green.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t actually need your permission.”
And the Lord of the West March turned to Severn, who had remained silent throughout. “Is she always this difficult?”
“He’s going to die anyway,” Kaylin told him. “Isn’t it time to try something different?”
“Not,” the Lord of the West March replied grimly, “if it will kill him.”
He didn’t trust her, but there was no reason he should. He led her back to her room, and as he entered the wing, four of his men joined him in silence. They, unlike the Lord of the West March, favored her face with a fixed blank expression; the mark of Nightshade drew and repelled. They wouldn’t trust her, and they certainly wouldn’t listen to her.
She wanted to scream. For just one insane minute, she wanted to use the Lord of the West March’s name to force him to listen.
It passed, but only with a lot of effort, and with the distinct help of less suicidal impulses. She could speak his name; she could not contain him by its use. And if she could, she was no better than the darkness that lay at the heart of the High Halls, waiting to devour the weak.
Andellen and Samaran were shut into her room with her. Andellen was silent until the door was closed. He approached it with care, inspected it with more, and then gestured almost dismissively. Had she not known the Barrani, she would have assumed the wave of his hands to be theatrical. She did know them; she didn’t have that comfort.
“You are prisoner here,” he told her quietly. “What have you done to offend the Lord of the West March?”
“I asked to speak with his brother.”
“After what we saw?”
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because I had some hope that something I took from the tower during my damn test would be helpful,” she said, spitting fury.
Andellen looked at her for a moment, and then said, “You spend too much time in the company of Leontines. It is not a habit I would encourage.”
She laughed out loud, and he raised a dark brow. Obviously, the comment was not meant as humor. But how he spoke the words, and how she received them, were a matter of choice.
Choice. Her smile eased off her face. “Why can’t they wait?” she asked him.
He could have pretended ignorance but chose instead to answer. “The Consort has all but lost the path,” he told her quietly. “In one more year—which should have no significance to those of our kind—she will not be able to find it. And if she cannot, she cannot pass that knowledge on.”
“The Lord of the Green won’t be present for leoswuld.”
“I can’t see how he could.”
“But everyone else will be.”
He nodded. “Not one such as I,” he added in a softer voice.
“You’re commanded to be my escort—”
“Not to leoswuld,” he told her firmly. “As you will find, if you attempt to press this. You, of course, will be expected, as will Lord Severn.”
“Andellen—”
“I understand your urgency, Kaylin. It is not our way to speak quickly or bluntly, but believe that I am making the effort.” His frown was thoughtful. And damn slow. “The Lord of the West March will be present. Were I the High Lord, I would condemn my eldest son for his absence from the rite, and I would do so publicly. His condition is not widely known.
“He will offer the gift to his second son.”
“But the Lord of the West March will refuse.”
“Will he?”
“Yes!”
“Kaylin, you understand much about the High Court that even I did not. You led us to the heart of the darkness,” he added. “Not even I have seen it before, who lived here for centuries. But in this, your certainty is misplaced. I believe that the Lord of the West March intends to refuse what his father will undoubtedly offer.
“But his father will offer it. The daughter will accept the mother’s gift. But the mother’s gift is tied to the source, not the High Halls. And if the father makes the offer, the High Halls will be—for one moment—without its ruler.
“Without its guardian.”
She froze. “But the darkness—”
“Yes. It will rise. It is almost uncontained now.”
“You think this will be a game of chicken.”
He raised a brow. “I fail to see what fowl has to do with leoswuld. You will, no doubt, enlighten me.”
“A game. It’s a stupid game. You can play it with knives or almost anything. You can play it on the edge of rooftops. You can play it near the wagons by the market. It means—it’s just—whoever blinks first. Whoever surrenders first, loses.”
“Ah. And you think that the High Lord will place us all in jeopardy in order to force his son’s hand?”
“No—you think that. The Lord of the High Court can’t be certain that the Lord of the West March will take the gift. But if he doesn’t—”
“Yes. We will almost certainly perish.”
“Can anyone else take what’s offered?”
“Anyone else can try,” he replied. “But Kaylin, there is no guarantee of success. Although in that circumstance, war is less likely. Even the Barrani value their lives. Perhaps, given how much is lost with the life, they value them more. The Lord of the High Court is canny. He is also desperate.” He looked at Kaylin. “You are certain the Lord of the West March will refuse?”
She said, instead, “You know I hold his—”
He lifted a hand. “A simple yes will suffice.”
“Then yes, damn it.” She looked at the doors. “We can’t get out of here?”
“Not without killing the guards,” he replied. “And that would be unlikely to earn you the freedom you seek.”
“Then what will?”
“Time,” he told her. “How long can you wait?”
“I can’t wait. We don’t have time.”
There was something too close to pity in his expression. “You will wait,” he told her quietly. “Because the only time you will have any chance of success will be on the way to the rite itself. At that point, all Barrani Lords will be required to leave their quarters, and their plots, behind. They will attend at the command of the Lord of the High Court.”
Kaylin frowned. “The Lord of the High Court gave me free run of the High Halls.”
“Yes. And were you to be able to reach him, he would most assuredly enforce that grant. Welcome,” he added with just the hint of a cruel smile, “to the High Court.”
She cursed. A lot.
Two hours later, she gave up and retreated to her bed. It was like a besieged island in the sea of her unfortunate temper, and if her temper was childish, she really didn’t give a damn. It’s not like anyone could see it.
Sleep came eventually. She really needed it.
She heard Andellen’s voice; it was pitched not to carry. So, for that matter, was Severn’s. She was irritated, but not enough to get up and shout at them. Her voice was a little on the hoarse side for that, and besides, she’d already done it, and it hadn’t had much of an effect.
Her arm ached. Her head ached. Her eyes ached.
How long had it been since she’d really slept?
How long could she afford to sleep?
She closed her eyes, and tried to relax her jaw muscles; she kept grinding her teeth.
They woke her from the edge of nightmare when food was delivered. It came in the hands of guards, and they left it with care and silence. Her stomach was growling, but she wasn’t hungry. Or rather, the thought of food made her distinctly queasy.
Severn looked at her.
She shook her head. She looked at the windows. “Was I out long?”
“Long enough,” he replied. “I wasn’t with you when you…saw the Lord of the Green.”
“Uh, no. I t
hink I’d remember that.”
He batted the side of her head. “Can you find him again?”
She nodded. “I think.”
“Can you find him at a run?”
“I don’t know. If you mean, can I find him while I’m being chased by Barrani who are a hell of a lot faster, then probably not.”
“They’ll be a bit distracted.”
She frowned. And woke up. “I don’t want anyone to risk their lives—”
“From what’s been said, there’s no way around that,” Severn replied calmly. “All we can do is choose when and how, and if we wait, we won’t even get that choice.” He paused, and then added, “I trust you.”
Which was another burden.
He watched her face for a moment. “You’re not certain,” he said. It was almost a question.
“No.” She held out a clenched fist. “I’m not. He could be right. He probably is. I’ve helped to birth a lot of babies—but I’ve always done that the normal way, and most of those babies weren’t a hundred times older than I am.”
He hesitated. “And the risk?”
“What risk?” She swallowed.
“Kaylin, you could have died the first time.”
She threw Andellen a dagger-sharp glare. Andellen failed to notice. “So you can choose the when and how but I can’t?”
“No. You can. I just wanted to know.”
“When, then?”
“In an hour. Maybe an hour and a half.” He paused and added, “I can’t see the moon, but apparently, this close, Andellen can.”
She swallowed air. Food was beyond her ability to cope with. “All right.” She paused. “When I first came here with Teela, we were almost killed by a door.”
Severn nodded.
“Who laid that trap?”
Andellen shrugged. “Anteela has her enemies at Court. It is part of why she left.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because it was powerful, it was magical, and we can’t afford more enemies.”
They waited.
The chimes started first. They were distant and high, clear as free birds’ song. They were also sustained; once they started, they didn’t stop. A single note was joined by another, and then another, and then another. All were harmonious.
Andellen rose. “It is time, Kaylin. Lord Severn.”
Severn rose, as well. “On my signal,” he told her quietly.
She nodded. She took her shoes off. Outrunning Barrani was impossible. On the other hand, outrunning an ant, in these shoes, was impossible. She left them in the corner.
She wore the ring given her by the Lord of the West March; she wore the medallion given her by Lord Sanabalis. She wore the dress of the Barrani, but her hair was unbound. She pulled it back from her face in a knot, and then cursed at the absence of sticks. “I really hate it here,” she told no one in particular.
“It looks better down,” Severn said.
She glared.
The doors opened.
Guards stood there. She counted four. They wore different armor, and they did not bear obvious weapons. They wore headbands with different runes written in their center.
“It is time,” one of them said gravely.
They left the room. But Severn indicated, by the slight motion of one hand, that she was to go first. She obeyed, trying to find calm, as if it were a place or an object she could hold.
She almost found it, too.
But over the beauty of the chimes, she heard the familiar sound of baying.
She turned to look at Severn. He had stiffened. All of the Barrani had. “Ferals,” she said grimly.
“We can hope,” Severn replied.
It was a pretty piss-poor day when you hoped to see ferals.
The guards were holding the hilts of their swords; they did not draw them. She wondered if they were Lords in their own right. Decided they must be when they politely indicated that Samaran and Andellen were to remain behind, in the room.
“They follow the outcaste,” one guard said when Kaylin began to argue. “They are no longer part of the High Court.”
“I bear his damn mark, and I’m going.”
“Yes,” he replied. If a word could be a slap in the face, this was it. But he clearly had his orders.
Severn’s breathing changed, but only slightly. It was enough to tell Kaylin that he’d expected Andellen to be beside him for at least the journey between these rooms and the High Court Circle.
He walked when the guards moved; he was thinking.
She walked beside him, hoping he was better at thinking than she was. The sound of howling unnerved her because she knew what would follow if it was, at last, unleashed.
They passed through two halls contained by the crisp formation of Barrani guards—two in the front and two in the back. She knew where the halls would eventually lead, and knew, further, that once there, she would be allowed no escape. Well, not of any kind she actually wanted.
But when the guards stopped, she bumped into them. It was awkward, more than awkward. They pretended not to notice, but the disdain in the pretense was loud. It was not, however, long.
Standing before them, in a pale white dress, was a Barrani woman. She was tall and slender, as all Barrani were, and she was paler than the bright moon. Her eyes were green, but dark and hard; she seemed like ice personified.
They bowed to her.
Severn followed their lead; Kaylin just stared. Her jaw was still attached to the rest of her face, but not by much. The woman was beautiful. Beautiful and haunted.
“Lady,” one of the guards said as he rose. “You are without escort?”
“I need little in the High Halls,” was her reply. “And apparently, two mortals require more.”
“The Lord of the West March ordered—”
She lifted a hand. “The chimes have started,” she said gravely. “Do not speak of my brother’s orders, or we will stand until the song ends.”
Her brother. Kaylin was looking at the third child of the Lord of the High Court. She should have known; her hair was as pale, and as long, as her mother’s.
“I will speak,” she added quietly, “with my brother’s kyuthe.”
They were still for a moment.
“And if you will not yourselves be late to the High Circle, you will not gainsay me. She is a Lord here. And she was granted the freedom of the High Halls.”
Kaylin had never heard the word freedom used in that fashion before. And profoundly hoped never to hear it again.
“Lady,” the guard began again. She stepped toward him and he fell silent.
“I will not harm her,” the cold Barrani woman said. “She is kyuthe to my kin. Go.”
They exchanged a brief glance, and even the barrier of race couldn’t obscure its meaning. The Dragon in front of you was more of a threat than the Dragon at a distance.
They went; they took Severn with them. Kaylin was almost glad to see them go. Because Severn hadn’t been forced to start a fight in the High Halls.
“I am called The Lady,” the Barrani woman said quietly when they had retreated.
“Not of anything?”
“Of the Barrani,” she replied. Her eyes were green now, and she hesitated before smiling. It transformed the whole of her face. She looked, at that moment, like the Lord of the West March. “The Consort sent me,” she added. “And I fear we must go in haste. If my absence is noted, my brother will follow, and he will not be pleased.”
Kaylin nodded, and they hurried—there was no other word for it—down the hall. The Barrani was taller than Kaylin, and her stride was longer. Kaylin had to abandon all dignity just to keep up. Loss of dignity, she could handle. But she wanted to talk, and that was more difficult.
She heard growling in the distance, and almost froze; The Lady of the Barrani grabbed her hand and yanked her off her feet. “Yes,” she said. “It is almost upon us.”
They made their way, at last, to a familiar door.
/> The Lady lifted a palm and all but put it through the planks. Apparently, she had the same fondness for door-wards that Kaylin did—and a lot more muscle to back it up.
The door did not buckle or snap, and it didn’t fly off its hinges, but it did swing open with a great deal more speed than it had the first time. Kaylin stepped into the torchlit gloom of a familiar room.
The door closed behind them. The chimes were lost. The growling, unfortunately, was not, and without the sweet music to drown it out, it sounded obscenely close.
“Why?” Kaylin asked as the woman made her way across the rune-etched floor.
The woman turned to look at her. Turned away. But she answered. “I love my brothers,” she said quietly. “Both of them. And they will both be destroyed. I have waited,” she added bitterly, “and I have worked. But I am not Consort, and the tower is not open to me.”
“I’m not, either.”
“No. But I know what you did, Kaylin. The Consort told me. And she told me as well of her hope. It is a fool’s hope,” she added bitterly. “And we have proven ourselves, to the last, fools.
“But I am not the Lord of the West March. I am not what he will be, or what he has been. I am to be mother to my people, and I will not see them die without even the faint hope you offer.”
“Did he tell you—”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“Do not ask. It is best that way. My father fears your knowledge.”
“Will I kill the Lord of the Green?”
“He is almost dead,” was the stark answer. Shorn of cold and ice, it held only pain. “I will take the risk.”
She touched the lip of the seal, and Kaylin stepped forward to join her, watching as the runes lit up. She had seen this before, and had seen, as well, the waters—the thick, turgid waters—peel back like layers of something almost solid.
This time, she looked at the liquid.
“What is this?” she asked.
The Lady did not answer.
And rising from the heart of this circle, bounded on all sides by words too old to be read, rose the Lord of the Green for a second time.