Cast In Courtlight (21 page)

“When has that ever mattered to either of us?” Hints of life on the wrong side of the river. But she nodded. “It’s not that different from gangs,” he added, staring out of the carriage window. “The person in charge is always looking over his shoulder and waiting to see who wields the knife that’ll mark a change in leadership. If he’s smart and canny, there won’t be anyone, if he’s too soft or too brutal, there will be. It’s a game.”

She understood that game.

“It’s the same game,” Severn added. “But with more money and a lot more history and education.”

“Don’t forget to mention subtlety,” Teela added, looking vaguely bored.

“Severn, did you pass
everything?
”

He raised a brow. “I was a Wolf,” he said with a shrug. “We have different duties.”

“You hunt.”

“At the Emperor’s command, yes. But Kaylin, sometimes what we’re hunting isn’t running. Usually because they don’t have to.” It was more than he’d ever said about the Wolves.

“No,” he added before she could ask – and damn him, she was thinking about it – “You wouldn’t make a good Wolf. The Hawks are different. Remember what we used to say?”

“There are two laws.”

He nodded. “One for the powerful, and one for everyone else.” He shrugged.

“There will always be two laws.” But the way he said it turned everything on its head. “You serve the latter. It’s better work.”

“It’s slower,” Teela said, looking out the window. “But it has very little relevance where we’re going.” She looked at Kaylin’s face, and her eyes narrowed when they fell on the mark of Nightshade. They almost always did.

The carriage continued in silence for some time – if by silence one meant the bumping and squeaking of wheels pulled by a set of thundering hooves.

“Remember that you are here as
kyuthe
to the Lord of the West March, that your actions will reflect on his choice.”

“And his actions?”

“He is the Lord, you are merely mortal.”

The carriage rolled to a halt. “Will I be staying?”

Teela smiled. It was not a kind smile. “You will,” she said quietly. “But your clothing may need some work.”

“Work?”

“Never mind. You’ll see.” She looked pointedly at Severn, who rose and opened the carriage door. He offered his hand to Teela, and she accepted it gracefully. Kaylin accepted in her turn far less gracefully, because she was staring at Teela’s back.

“Teela?”

“Yes?”

“What exactly does one
do
in the High Court?”

“If you’re very, very lucky? Nothing.” She paused. “The High Halls were created to be an open space in the confines of a smelly, dark city. They are, even by our standards, graced with beauty. You, however, are graced with lack of education. I am not certain how much you are capable of appreciating.”

“Thanks,” Kaylin said sourly.

She stood by the carriage, Severn’s hand in hers.

“How bad can it be?” she asked of no one in particular. The fact that she was about to find out was no comfort.

The fact that she was about to find out flanked by Barrani who served an outcaste was even less of one. Andellen allowed Severn to escort her, but it was clear from the shade of his eyes that he barely tolerated the intrusion. Samaran, however, was more sanguine. Or perhaps he was simply more aware of where they stood: the High Halls. She wondered, then, if he had lived here before he had chosen to follow Lord Nightshade into exile.

But Tain hadn’t, and perhaps he was like Tain. She could hope.

The High Halls, when seen in a state of emergency that didn’t involve imminent death – well, not someone else’s at any rate – were impressive. Kaylin entered them on Severn’s arm. She tried to mimic Teela’s graceful, stately walk, and gave up after about five steps; she didn’t have the carriage or bearing, and trying to develop it without a few years of training probably made her look even more out of place.

The statues that had impressed at a run were more impressive at a walk. She looked up to see carved and impassive faces. Perfect faces; she would have recognized them as Barrani no matter where they stood. But the color that graced the Barrani was absent, and in its place, a sharp, hard line of detail left nothing wanting.

She didn’t ask who they were, or who they had been. She had the distinct impression she was supposed to know. She passed them, lingering in their shadow, and entered through the right arch. She wondered, given that they both led to the same long hall, what the difference was – but Teela had chosen the right this time over the left, and Kaylin followed suit. The door was wide enough to allow four people passage while they walked abreast.

The Hall was almost empty. One or two Barrani Lords and Ladies traversed it, involved in their own conversations. They looked up, but they did not look long. Kaylin wondered if they could actually see her.

Teela led them quietly. She paused as Kaylin paused, and moved when Kaylin’s attention was once again in the present. She did not ask what had caught Kaylin’s eye. Sometimes it was the floor; the stones there had been laid out like a mosaic, or a series of mosaics. She almost hated to walk across them. She saw trees, birds, deer; she saw swords, armor, and crown; she saw caves and mountains. The rivers that passed down the mountains were real; fountains were set at intervals throughout the Hall, blending with the floor. So, too, were flowers, and these were at least as remarkable as the floor itself.

“It has been long since mortals walked these halls,” Teela told her not unkindly. “And they often tarry. It will be expected,” she added, “and lack of attention to detail might be seen as a slight.”

Given permission, Kaylin did tarry. The sunlight seemed endless, and the permutations of light through glass – for the walls were half glass, and all of it colored and composed like hard tapestry – blended with the stonework of the floor.

She tried to remember that death was waiting. But it was hard to see death in these things.

The hall came to an end, and the doors were not familiar; they had wandered in a different direction. Kaylin was certain she could find her way out – but not quickly; she was used to navigating by landmarks that were far more mundane.

Teela was kind again. She opened the doors. Then again, she was the only Barrani Lord present; Kaylin wasn’t certain what happened to someone who wasn’t if they tried the same thing. She didn’t much want to find out.

“Now,” Teela said softly as the doors began to open, “be wary.”

” ‘Say nothing’ wary, or just wary?”

The brief frown was answer enough.

The doors opened into a garden. Or a forest. Or something that was so dense with living plants, it had no name. Kaylin tried not to gape. “Are we still inside?”

Teela’s smile was slightly brittle.

Right. Say nothing. But Andellen said, “Yes.” And after a pause, he added, “The Barrani do not revere life. Do not think it. Do not make that mistake. They cultivate, and they claim, and they change what grows. They are masters. That is all.”

Kaylin looked at Andellen’s face. It was as impassive as it had been when he’d left the skiff. His eyes were the same shade of blue – given High Court, no surprise there – but his voice had been, for the space of those words, a different voice. “Did they ever love living things?”

He did not answer. But the weight of his silence acknowledged her question. She wondered briefly if this had been covered in Racial Relations classes, and for the space of a few seconds, actually managed to regret not paying attention.

Teela watched Andellen carefully, as if he had only just become worthy of notice. But she did not speak. Instead, she led them onto a small path. Like the stones in the outer hall, this path was composed of small works of art that often lay beneath leaves or blossoms.

Human minds, Kaylin thought with a grimace, could only hold so much beauty; it was like sugar, really. After a while, it was so overwhelming, you almost wanted its absence. Well, her mind, at any rate. She risked a glance at Severn. He looked almost Barrani in the artifice of sunlight and shade.

But no one drew weapons; everyone offered a polite and respectful silence, broken here and there by the clink of armor and the rustle of silk – or whatever it was the skirt was made of, damned if she knew – and the slight turning of leaf. They walked the path, hemmed in on all sides, as if the plants were, rooted, responsible for herding them.

Above, birds flew from branch to branch; they were colored so brightly, they caught her eye. Their voices were not the tiny, fluting voices of sparrows. They were raucous and squawking. She hoped they didn’t crap on her dress.

Severn’s lips compressed in a line that almost resembled a smile. She wondered if he’d had the same thought. But the forest – or the trees – cleared, pulling away like a planted curtain, and the stones beneath their feet broadened in a large circle. Flowers were interspersed among those stones, and small fountains were laid along the circle’s edge.

If she had wondered where all the Barrani were, she now had an answer: they were congregated here, in this odd chamber, trees rising like columns, and hemming them in like walls. They sat upon the edges of fountains, and stood, as if on display, among the careful artistry of flowering plants. They spoke in groups of three and four, moving slowly and gracefully when they moved at all.

In the center of the huge circle – and it was huge, once it was entered – was a chair that was, like the others she had seen, a living symbol; it had branches that flowered with white blossoms and golden hearts. They rode above the seat like tines, and cast similar shadows, smaller than the ones that rose above, higher and higher, until it broke the line of trees that hemmed them in.

A Barrani Lord sat upon this throne, and it
was
a throne, even if it hadn’t yet been cut from the wood that formed it. He spoke with a woman who stood by the side of the chair, dressed in pale green and gold, her arms and shoulders bare, her pale hair bound in a braid that seemed to be composed of equal parts hair and blossom. She looked young, delicate, ethereal. Kaylin had to tighten her mouth to stop herself from gaping. She was the only Barrani Kaylin had seen whose hair was not black.

This was the castelord and his consort. Not even Kaylin could have mistaken them for anyone else. She hesitated, feeling so profoundly awkward she was suddenly certain a step in the wrong direction would crush flowers and crack stone. But Teela moved with a quiet confidence
toward
the throne, and if that was the last place Kaylin wanted to go, it was also the only place she would be allowed.

She knew it. And because she’d been in places far worse – although she had to force herself to remember them, they seemed so far away – she followed Teela, trying not to cling too hard to Severn’s arm. She was grateful for the presence of the two Barrani guards, simply because they
were
Barrani. They had their orders; they followed her like shadows cast by unseen light.

The castelord looked up from the gentle dalliance of conversation, and his lips creased in a smile. That the smile didn’t touch his eyes was no surprise. How could it? She wanted to cover her cheek. She wanted to fall to her knees. She wanted to be anywhere else.

“Anteela,” the castelord said, rising from his throne. “You grace us again with your presence.”

Teela’s bow was as low a bow as Kaylin had ever seen her offer; it was shorn of her usual insouciance and sarcasm. “Lord,” she said, rising at some invisible signal, “I bring you guests, at your command.”

His eyes passed beyond Teela, and settled upon Kaylin. She felt as if she were the only person in the circle. As if, in fact, she were the only living thing; the only thing that mattered. His gaze was equal parts green and blue; he was master here, and he weighed her worth in that glance.

It was hard to be found wanting. But she’d had a lot of experience with that.

“You are
kyuthe
to the Lord of the West March,” he said. “My son.”

She nodded awkwardly. Unfortunately, she had tried to nod elegantly. Teela’s command to say nothing was superfluous; she couldn’t have spoken a word had she wanted to.

“And you bear the mark of Nightshade.”

Her hand slipped up to cover her cheek. But it paused an inch from her face, and she forced herself to lower it; it was harder than bench-pressing her own weight would have been. What had the Lord of the West March said? Ignorance excuses nothing.

“I bear the mark of Lord Nightshade,” she said quietly.

“Come into the light, child.” For the first time in recent memory, the word
child
didn’t bother her. She stepped awkwardly around Teela, who had not moved. Severn came with her, but stopped just beside Teela. She walked past them both, and stopped three feet from the castelord of the Barrani.

He lifted a hand and touched her chin, raising it. This close, his eyes were flecked with gold and a hint of something that might be brown. He didn’t look at her eyes; he looked at the mark, as if by looking, he could will it away.

He did not release her chin, but raised his free hand. It hovered beside her cheek, and she thought – for a moment – he might slap her. She tensed; she couldn’t help that. But she didn’t move.

“Brave child, to come into this den,” he said softly. “And foolish, but that is the way of your kind. You are perpetual in your youth. Even age does not relieve you of its burden.

“The Lord of the Green has spoken on your behalf. Is that not strange?”

She said nothing. There was nothing at all she could say to this man.

“You have not met him. Had you, I would know. But you bear the symbol of my younger son.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “And you bear, as well, the sign of the Imperial Order of Mages.” His hand fell away from her chin.

Her eyes widened in sudden horror as he reached for the medallion. “Don’t touch it – ”

His smile was cool but genuine; he did not hesitate, but he did stop for a minute. “I know the name of fire,” he whispered. “And I see it, writ there. It will not burn my hand.” And he lifted the medallion Lord Sanabalis had placed around her neck.