“But there is an urgency about mortality that creates wonder, that heightens both joy and fear. To my eyes, you live an eternity in a short span.”
She shrugged, thinking about death. The deaths that had scarred her because they had happened long before she could understand them; the deaths that scarred her because she couldn’t prevent them.
“It is my belief that you love life more because you have so little of it. You live in a moment that eludes us in anything but acts of war. Because in war, we face death, the loss of eternity. Our greatest moments, our greatest acts of nobility, our profoundest acts of cowardice have always occurred in war.”
“Why are there no Oracles from the other races?”
“I have thought about this,” he said, his voice rumbling as he paused in the act of opening the door, the hinges creaking ominously beneath his weight. The fact that the carriage hadn’t quite stopped didn’t seem to bother him. “The Tha’alaan holds moments of birth and moments of death while the race lives to remember it. They know death, and they may fear it, but it does not drive them. In some sense, they are never forgotten. They are remembered.
“The Leontines have so much in common with beasts it’s a small wonder they can speak at all. And I would thank you never to repeat that, as it is considered—”
“An offensive racial position to take, sir.”
“The sir is not necessary, Kaylin. Technically, the Lord is, but I will not hide behind formality. Neither is your extreme sarcasm. I understand that you are fond of your Sergeant and I wish him no ill. But they have many bestial instincts, and even their tribal system is fraught with the—let me call it the earthy. I do not believe they fear death in the way that humans do.”
“And the Aerians?”
“The Aerians have, in the past, had their Seers,” he told her quietly. “But those Seers have never been granted to the Oracles. Whether they are exalted or shunned, I do not know. They are few. In ways, they are most like your own kind, even though your kind is denied the gift of flight. But they are more tribal than your kind, because they are less numerous. They cede very little to others.”
She was silent for a moment. “In the Foundling Hall,” she said at last, as the carriage wheels sprung up at the sudden loss of his weight, “there are only human children, as well.”
He held the door open for her. “It would almost be best,” he told her gently, well aware of the fact that in different circumstances, one of those foundlings might well have been her, “if you thought of the Oracle Hall as a similar place to the Foundling Hall.”
“They have no Marrin,” she told him.
“No,” he replied, his gold eyes lidded, the arm he offered a reminder of her brief time at Barrani Court, and also a command. “And I think it a loss, for those here. What I have never fully understood is why the Foundling Halls have Marrin.”
“It never occurred to me to wonder,” she answered, because it was true—up until this moment, it hadn’t. “She started the Hall. It’s hers. She’s made the orphans her life, and she’d give her life to protect them. She sees that they’re safe, fed, clothed, and as well-educated as they let themselves be.”
“And she had no pridelea of her own, no cubs, no mate, on which to spend this endless devotion?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“You are surrounded,” he told her, “by works of art, by acts of magic, and by things that are unique or unusual—you are one such. But in a way, so is your Marrin. You do not question why she has made the choice she made. She does not question why you are gifted with a talent for healing that beggars all healers the Imperial Service has discovered over the years.
“But I digress. You have that effect on me, child.”
She bristled very, very slightly.
“It would be best if you thought of the Oracle Hall as a place similar to the Foundling Hall, and yes—” he added, lifting a hand to forestall the words that were about to fall out of her mouth, “you will see why for yourself.”
The why was not answered when they were met at the gatehouse by men who wore more metal than Imperial Officers of the Law. They also wore swords, but as they were technically not in a public place, they were slighting no laws that Kaylin could easily recall. They did not wear surcoats, and the metal caught sunlight like sharp, pointed spears of light, it was that polished. She pitied the apprentices whose hands had done that work.
Her instinctive fear of armored men had long since given way—it would have to, as she often was one—but in its place, she harbored a mild resentment. They could hide in safety behind what they wore.
And they now challenged her as she neared the guardhouse. On the other hand, they didn’t lack a certain bravery—they also stopped Sanabalis, and it would have to be obvious, even to the most ignorant, that he was a Dragon. “Halt and state your business,” one articulated tin can said.
“I am Lord Sanabalis, in service to the Emperor, and I have been invited to attend Master Sabrai after the contemplations this afternoon.”
The shining tin can turned and spoke to another tin can behind him, and the second man hunkered off, making a lot of noise as he walked. Sanabalis didn’t seem put out by this. Then again, formalities never seemed to bother Dragons when they weren’t actually in a hurry, and he seldom seemed to be in a hurry. As if he could read her mind—and gods knew everyone else seemed to be able to today—he said, “When you have all eternity, the word hurry is relative.”
“And the guards, being mortal, have less of it, and their version of sluggish doesn’t approach your version of fast?”
“Something very like that.” He looked past the man—the Dragon lord was tall, although he usually hid it by slouching, and added, “The gardens here are surprisingly tranquil, and if we are given the opportunity, you should visit them.”
“I’m not much of a gardener.”
“Pity.”
“You are?”
“Not as such. That was always more of a Barrani pastime.”
“It still is,” she told him, thinking of the High Court. “But I wouldn’t use the word tranquil to describe their gardens.”
“Tranquil, like hurry, is a relative term.”
The second man returned, and, lifting his visor, spoke a few words to the first man.
“The Master will see you,” the guard said, and, signaling the others, stepped aside. “He will also allow you to bring your guest.” If there was criticism in the words, it was slight and hidden by formality.
“That is kind of him,” Lord Sanabalis said. “I have been busy of late, and asking the requisite permission slipped my mind.”
“Lord Sanablis,” the guard replied, bowing in a way that all that damn plate should have made impossible.
With a regal nod of the head, Lord Sanabalis preceded Kaylin through the gatehouse doors.
The gardens weren’t much in evidence as they walked the path from the gatehouse to the Halls. Well, maybe they were, but they didn’t seem all that impressive to Kaylin. They might have, had she come here at thirteen or fourteen, when she had been new to the Ospreys, and many of the Hawks who failed to remember how sharp the memory of a young and homeless girl could be had often called her their mascot.
But she’d seen enough since then to think Grass, grass, more grass. Pretty nice grass, for grass, though.
“It burns very easily,” Sanabalis said quietly. “And it is apparently quite soft to the touch. People would be upset if one were to take a true breath, here.”
“People,” she told him archly, “would be upset anywhere.”
“True enough. And please do not even think of quoting the Law at me, Kaylin.”
“It’s one of the few things I can quote.”
“And I hear it makes a very good lullabye.”
“Only hear?”
“Dragons don’t sleep much.”
She nodded.
“And the Emperor, never. He watches what he’s built.”
She nodded again.
“Do you like him?”
“Like him?”
“The Emperor.”
“The Emperor is above things as simple as ‘like’ or ‘hate.’ And I will say that this is possibly the first time I’ve been asked that question. Why did you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Have a care what you ask,” he said quietly. “Mortals are allowed more leeway for folly, but in truth, not much.” His eyes were a pale gold, but they were lidded; he walked with a slight stoop to his shoulders, which robbed him of height and made him seem, well, ancient. Clever, that. Pointless, but clever.
“You will understand what I mean when you meet him,” he added.
“When? Not if?”
“The Hawks have done what they can to keep you from the Imperial Court, but I can see the day coming when they will no longer have that choice.” His expression was completely neutral; his face seemed like a mask. But when the lines shifted, he smiled. “But most certainly that is not today. Today we have nothing more terrifying than the Oracles. Have a question prepared for them, Kaylin.”
“What kind of a question?”
“Something harmless.”
“Why?”
“Because it is customary to come to the Oracles with questions. It focuses their thoughts, and leaves them less leeway to babble.”
“And that’s going to be a problem?”
“You’ll see.”
Dragons were enormously arrogant, and known for it. They seemed to be in a close race with the Barrani, but as there were more Barrani around, most people gave the nod to the Barrani. Kaylin wasn’t so certain. Dragons were definitely quieter about it, though. She’d give them that.
But maybe more smug.
They were met at the front doors—the wide, tall doors with ascending peaks that looked ridiculously ornate to Kaylin—by armed…matrons. Which is to say, women who looked like human versions of Marrin, the Leontine who guarded the Foundling Halls. The armor admittedly helped; Marrin, being composed of bristling fur, obvious fangs, and claws that left indents in hardwood, didn’t really need it.
They were a bit less friendly than Marrin was with strangers, but then again, Marrin depended on the generosity of strangers, and had to rein her protective instincts in whenever someone crossed the threshold.
But their eyes—hard to tell the color, really—were like Marrin’s eyes when she gave someone as much of a once-over as she was allowed by polite multiracial society. They grimaced at Sanabalis, but most of their suspicion centered on her; clearly, they had met the elder Dragon before.
Kaylin, however, was wearing the Hawk, and while she personally hated being sneered at, she could swallow that. Mostly. Sneering at her while she was in uniform, on the other hand, was a whole different story. She straightened up, and assumed as formal a position as she ever did.
Sanabalis stepped on her foot.
This was not the reaction she had been expecting—she hadn’t expected him to react at all. But Dragon feet were bloody heavy, and if he spared her some of the weight, it wasn’t much. Still, she was pretty sure nothing was broken.
“Kaylin,” he said, speaking to the twin matrons, and not to his student, “has never been here before. Believe that I sincerely regret the disruption of your routine, and the routine of the Oracles, but the Oracles themselves are in a state of near-panic at this time, and if there is some solution to be found to their current panic, it is most likely to be found by this young woman, as improbable as that may seem. She has come to view Everly’s artistic endeavors.”
“He’s been in a state all morning,” one of the women told Sanabalis grimly. “And you never know what will set him off. You know he reacts a bit strangely to the sight of you,” she added.
“He generally dislikes most of the nobility.”
“I’m as far from nobility as they get,” Kaylin told them both, edging her feet out of Sanabalis’s easy range.
“Dear,” the second woman said, relenting slightly, “if you’ve never been here before, things are a bit unusual. Everly doesn’t speak,” she added. “He draws. Sometimes he draws maniacally. He has drawn some extremely unflattering portraits of his visitors before, and it has caused us some difficulty.”
Kaylin nodded. “I don’t really expect him to speak.”
“He does. But with his hands. With pictures.” She paused and then added, “He’s a good boy. We’re all very fond of him.” She spoke the last two sentences in the soft voice of death threats everywhere.
“You’re certain about this, Lord Sanabalis?”
“Unfortunately, Sigrenne, I am. And I cannot guarantee that it will not be upsetting for him.”
The two women exchanged a glance, and then the woman he had named Sigrenne sighed. “Very well. Do not speak to the people you see in the halls,” she told Kaylin sternly. “The Oracles often wander when they are in vision or dream states, and only people who’ve been properly trained know how to handle them without causing them alarm. There are people here who will see that they do not walk off balconies or stairways.
“Do not touch them at all. Even the Oracles to whom you are introduced in the rooms where visitors are normally sequestered are not to be touched unless they request it.”
She paused to see if Kaylin understood, and Kaylin nodded, wondering just what kind of Hall she’d entered.
“Do not make loud noises. If you feel the need to shout or scream, hold it in, or you will be escorted off the premises and denied any chance at further entry.”
“Got it. Anything else?” She attempted to keep the sarcasm from totally overwhelming her voice.
She might as well not have bothered; the sarcasm that was already there was pretty thick and they seemed to have missed it entirely.
“Usually the list of rules is sent to the supplicant in advance of their visit,” Sigrenne said, frowning over Kaylin’s head at Sanabalis. “And we have not allowed supplicants to enter the Hall for a week.”
“Lord Sanabalis being a special case, I take it.”
“All direct servants of the Emperor being excepted, of course.” She gave Sanabalis a decidedly odd look, and then added, “But they’ve been good about who they send. Lord Sanabalis upsets many of the Oracles, but fascinates many more.”
Sanabalis nodded amiably in her direction. “We have no desire to upset the Oracles,” he said quietly. “It suits neither of our purposes.”
“Well, try to remember that,” Sigrenne said curtly. “Let’s get this over with. It’ll be lunch soon.”
The first thing Kaylin noticed about the occupants of the Hall—and it was possibly an odd thing to notice first, given her occupation—were the colors they wore. Their clothing was garishly mismatched, something that Kaylin generally avoided by wearing blacks or undyed cloth. If the matrons guarded their charges with recognizable ferocity, they certainly didn’t dress them.
Here and there were deep shades of purple, brilliant shades of red, a cacophony of blues and greens and turquoise, a hint of yellow-gold. Whole robes looked like quilts, and Kaylin had to do a double-take the first time just to make certain that the one that caught her eye had sleeves, and was not, in fact, pulled off a poor bed.
Some of the robes looked like a small child’s idea of magic—dark blue, with golden stars, golden swirls, and vivid, red eyes. Well, the eyes were maybe not so small child, but the rest was. Although the person wearing the robes was definitely long past the age at which child could be remotely applied to him, there was something about the way he looked around, picked up objects—like, say, the lamp, which made one of the two Matrons cringe slightly, although she said nothing—and looked at them with curiosity and open wonder that made him seem young.
“Christen is new here,” Sigrenne said, by way of comment. “He was not treated entirely well in his former home, and he is perhaps a bit unusual by even our standards. He speaks,” she added, “and has not yet adapted to our rules.”
Kaylin nodded. Her eyes wandered
around the room, taking in the clothing—one man was wearing a very real crown, and sported a beard in a style that was better suited for stiff portraiture than life—and the silence of the occupants. She had thought that Oracles were like the so-called nomadics who wandered in during the summers and sold fortunes by the pound. Of gold. She thought that they were possibly pretentious liars. That they indulged in mystery and the mysterious—seeing so very few people—for reasons of commerce, of manipulation.
She had even met one or two in the Halls of Law—but they were nothing like this.
What Sanabalis had told her to do before they’d left the carriage, she did now: she threw out all of those conceptions. She understood in that one sweeping, slow glance why so few were allowed here. It would be very, very hard to take anything these people said seriously. If they spoke at all. It would be hard not to treat them as deranged, drunken idiots. Or just idiots.
And…she understood the reaction of the Matrons to new people, because on occasion, as if furtively, these steel-haired women did throw an alarmed or affectionate glance at the strangely attired men, women and children who roamed freely in the wide spaces, or who plastered themselves against the walls of the long hall, or who draped themselves limply over the stair rails, kicking their feet slowly and steadily behind them. These ferocious women clearly had no desire to see their charges exposed to ridicule or condescension.
This was supposed to be a house for very odd people, who might have a glimpse into the future. Kaylin wasn’t certain she believed this, but given how odd the people were, she was certain they did. And intent mattered, both for the law and for Kaylin.
Sanabalis did not speak, and their passage through the hall drew no attention until they were almost at the far door. But when they were about ten feet from its safety, a small child darted out—in a green-yellow dress with large purple patches—and latched onto Kaylin’s leg.
Her hair was sort of braided, although strands of fine gold had worked free; her eyes were a wide gray-blue that should have looked cold in the pale white of her face. Her lips were small, and they were moving; Kaylin thought she might be all of six years old, although she could be younger or older by a year or two.