Cast In Courtlight (46 page)

“I have granted you clemency, although you do not require it.”

“Not for me.”

“Ah. Your
kyuthe?
”

“I don’t think your brother – ”

“I meant Lord Severn.”

“Oh. No.” She exhaled. “Lord Andellen,” she said quietly.

His eyes shaded blue. “You ask much.”

“For a day. For this day. Give him the High Court. Give him the High Festival and the rituals that will follow.”

“It is longer than a day,” he said gravely. But he did not look entirely displeased. Then again, he didn’t look thrilled, either. He turned to the Lord of the West March and said, “See that it is done.”

And the Lord of the West March bowed.

“You will eat with us,” he told her.

She winced.

“It is the only part of the ritual which you must attend, and I would be honored by it.” He paused, and then added, “You won the right to be called a Lord of the High Court when you returned from the tower. But you took the test for reasons that I cannot comprehend, and having finished, having survived it, you did more. Why?”

She wanted to lie. But his gaze was pressing and cutting at the same time, and she couldn’t retreat into the safety of silence, because it wasn’t there.

“Because,” she said quietly, “I have my own dead to answer to. And I saw them here, in you. I saw Severn – my
kyuthe
– in your father. I saw myself in your brother. He honors you above all others, even himself.”

“He is foolish that way.”

“You – ” She had no way to speak of
love
. Not to the Barrani. Oh, there was a Barrani word for it, but it was one of those words that was sung or written. She had never heard it spoken aloud without heavy sarcasm. Not between Barrani. They guarded all their weaknesses. So she couldn’t tell him that the love his brother had for him defined his brother, in her eyes, couldn’t tell him how much she wanted to preserve life because of that love.

She said instead, “Because not all weakness has to be weakness. Weakness, strength, power, failure – they’re just words, and
we
can define what the words mean if we have the will or the courage.”

“You can rewrite a life?” he asked, his smile heavy with irony. He looked at her mark for a long time. There was no suspicion in his gaze, or if there was, it was not for her.

“No one can do that,” she answered softly, aware of what he meant but unwilling to descend into his levity. “But we can give it a different meaning.” She paused, and then in frustration said, “Because I’m
mortal
, and sometimes we need each other. We aren’t perfect, and we aren’t always smart, but we’re what we have.”

“Sometimes,” she added, looking at Severn, who stood a little ways off, “it’s enough.”

And Lord Andellen arrived at the side of the Lord of the West March. He looked wary, but in a cautious way. He knelt before the Lord of the High Court.

“Lord Andellen,” the Lord of the High Court said in a voice very different than the one he had exposed – and that was the word for it – to Kaylin. Andellen lifted his head, and only his head; he did not rise.

“You are welcome, should you choose to accept it, to the hospitality of the High Court. And while Kaylin Neya lives her span of years, and in her name, you will be welcome in the High Halls.”

There was gold in Andellen’s eyes. Just… gold.

This was so much more than she could have asked for. And he didn’t ask Andellen about his allegiance to Lord Nightshade; he didn’t ask him to revoke whatever vows bound them. He could have done either. She knew that his father
would
have. But this High Lord was a different man.

She would have hugged the Lord of the High Court had he been anyone else, even the Hawklord. Instead, she turned away and quickly rubbed her palms over her eyes.

They were bright and shiny when she turned back.

And her stomach grumbled.

There was a very awkward silence that bracketed the unfortunate noise, and then the High Lord laughed. So, too, did the Lord of the West March, and even the Consort’s smile was one of joy and indulgence.

Severn, on the other hand, snickered, and she could hit
him
. So she did.

In the morning – and it was morning, although there hadn’t really been enough night for Kaylin to appreciate it more than she usually did – she packed up what was left of the dress the Quartermaster had been so apoplectic about. The Lord of the West March was waiting for her, as was Severn; the former had taken leave of the gathering in order to escort her out of the High Halls.

Seeing the dread with which she rolled up the dress, he offered to have it burned. She considered this with care. “You don’t have to leave,” he told her quietly, although Severn was listening.

Given just how angry the Quartermaster was likely to be, the option had its attractions. But so did the real world, and geography that didn’t change, and tests that didn’t have such a catastrophic cost for failure.

She looked up at the Lord of the West March.

And he smiled. “It was a simple offer,” he said, “and no offense is taken by your refusal. This place – you are now of it, but it will never be yours. You seek a type of flight that the High Court cannot provide you.”

“Tender my regards to Lord Sanabalis,” he added quietly.

She nodded. Samaran was waiting; Andellen had not left the High Circle. She had no doubt he would, eventually. But she didn’t want him to leave yet.

She glanced at Severn, who nodded genially. There wasn’t much left to say. And besides – she had the Lord of the West March’s name, and she could talk to him anytime she wanted.

So she walked by his side until they reached the statues that stood at the front of the entrance, and when he reached their shadow, he bowed formally. “Hunt,” he said softly, “and kill when you must.”

She nodded again, as if it made sense.

And then the carriage rolled up, along the stones, and after ascertaining that the driver
wasn’t
Teela, she let Severn open the door and help her in. She’d kept the Barrani dress because changing into what was left of the old one had about as much appeal as wearing something that hadn’t been washed in so long it stood up by itself.

The drive to the Halls of Law was peaceful, and involved no screaming pedestrians, which was a distinct improvement. Even the jarring movement of the wheels added a sense of reality and familiarity to the experience, and she treasured it. When she left the carriage, she left it at the front doors, and not the courtyard, and entered between two rather grumpy Swords. Festival had passed, all right; one had a black eye. And a scowl.

She guessed he’d had as much sleep in the last three days as she’d had, and tried not to smile too brightly.

Inside, the Aerie was waiting, and if it was not the utter perfection, in architectural terms, of the High Halls, it was still perfect; the Aerians were flying maneuvers above her head, and she almost tipped over backward, watching them. Severn caught her before she fell. She’d put the shoes on, but still hated them. Those, she was damn well going to burn, Quartermaster or no.

But she moved past the Aerians somehow – Severn pulling probably had a lot to do with it – and made her way to the office that was ruled by a Leontine. By a besieged Leontine with – yes – a fortress of paperwork behind which to hide. If a wind didn’t blow it all over.

He knew she was coming; his sense of smell was just as impressive as his hearing. He was up and around the desk before she’d set foot in the office proper, beating Caitlin, who had to rely on her eyes to notice that Kaylin had returned.

Marcus growled and sniffed the air.

“It’s the dress,” she offered.

“It’s formal enough,” Marcus replied.

She didn’t like the last two words in combination. “Formal enough for what?”

“A meeting,” he said, “with a mage of the Imperial Order.”

She groaned. “Can’t you tell him I’m dead?”

“I could try,” Marcus replied, touching her shoulders as if to ascertain that she was actually there. “But – ”

“But it is considered less than wise to lie to a Dragon Lord.”

She turned; Lord Sanabalis was standing ten feet behind her. “Private,” he said. “I am glad to see that your visit to the Barrani High Court has not altered you beyond recognition. I would like to speak with you,” he added, and pointed to the West Room.

The bastard made
her
open the door. And then walked in first. Not really a good start, given that Dragon hearing and Leontine swearing weren’t a good combination. He lifted a gray brow as he took a seat.

She saw a damn candle in the center of the table.

After everything she’d been through – well. If he wanted to play games, fine. She started to speak, and he lifted a hand.

“First,” he told her quietly, “I would appreciate the return of my medallion. I see you managed to retain it. Given the rest of your records – and the Quartermaster’s rather harsh evaluation – I consider myself blessed.” He held out a hand.

She removed the heavy gold links and placed them, with the medallion on top, in the curve of his palm. He closed his fingers and smiled. It was a teacher’s smile. Which was to say, unpleasant and slightly smug.

“Now,” he told her, “the candle.”

But she wasn’t an idiot. She was tired, and her body ached, and she was about to be a corpse if the Quartermaster had his way, but she wasn’t stupid. Her brows rose. And fell.

“The fire – ”

“Ah. Yes.” He offered her the lazy smile of a cat. Or a very, very large lizard who was sitting on a warm rock in the sun. “It was yours.”

He shrugged. “It was not, as you so emphatically put it, mine. It was, however, augmented.” He shook his head. “Students are often lazy,” he told her, “and prone to believe in their own brilliance unless corrected by a firm hand.”

While she did her best imitation of a fish, he studied her face. His eyes were gold, but he lidded them. “I believe that I was incorrect.”

“That has to be a first,” she said sourly.

“The High Halls have left you changed. But not,” he added, feigning disappointment, “in a way that is of use. You will be able to light the candle, Kaylin. You know the word. But saying it without my power to guide the shape will be vastly harder, and what you achieve will be less… reliable.

“I am aware that you called the fire,” he added. “Three times.”

She nodded.

“Given that you are still alive, and no formal war has been declared, I am going to assume that you did so at need, and in a way that did not displease the Lord of the High Court.” His eyes changed shape and shade; they were orange now. “There is a new Lord of the High Court?”

Her brows rose again. And lowered. She did her very best not to swear. Which, given she was in the Halls of Law, wasn’t enough to stop her.

“You know,” she finally said.

And his expression was, for a moment, a Dragon’s expression; it wasn’t a comfort. “I was here, at the founding of the Empire,” Sanabalis replied, and his voice was a Dragon’s voice, loud and rumbling. “And I know why the city of Elantra was founded in this place.

“But the High Halls still stand, and that is all that is required.” He paused. “Of the Barrani. You, however, have other work ahead of you.”

“But I want to – ”

“Learn magic.”

“Seen enough of that to last a few, oh, decades.”

He looked pointedly at the candle, and she wilted. “
Kyuthe
to the Lord of the West March,” the Dragon said, “and friend to the Lord of the High Court. You’ve done well, Kaylin Neya. If faith and risk were bound together in you, you have begun to unwind the strands.

“You might be the last pupil I take,” he added, his voice softening until it sounded almost human. “And if this is the case, you must be a memorable one. Students are in part our legacy.”

“Tell that to my teachers.”

He chuckled. “I have. They were not pleased with the observation.” He lifted his medallion and set it around his neck before folding his hands on the tabletop.

The Lord of Castle Nightshade sat upon a throne in the Long Hall of Statues. Silence and stillness were gathered here, as if they were scarce and rare, and therefore to be hoarded. Where statues stood, movement, however instantly captured, suggested life; none of the statues were of the Barrani. Nor, of course, the Dragons. What remained, mortal all, would pass – was passing – into age and decay, with time.

But one Barrani Lord was present, and he waited upon one knee, his head bent, before the throne upon which Lord Nightshade sat, casting no shadow.

“Lord Andellen,” Lord Nightshade said, “rise.”

Andellen unfolded slowly.

“The Lord of the High Court?”

“He is well.”

“And the ceremony?”

“It was completed.”

Nightshade nodded gravely. “I heard the horns,” he said at last, looking toward – and beyond – the Ablayne, where the High Halls stood behind the statue of the first High Lord and his Consort. That a wall stood between them – several, in fact – counted for less than nothing; he knew where the High Halls lay.

Andellen nodded. If there was any desire or regret in the room, it was – as much as it could be – hidden. “I was not present when they were sounded.”

“No.” The Lord of Castle Nightshade rose from the throne’s stone confines. “Who now sits beneath the first tree?”

The silence was hesitation; Lord Andellen showed none. But after a long pause, he said, “The man who was once Lord of the Green.”

Nightshade closed his eyes a moment. “And the Lord of the West March?”

“He will return to the West March,” was the quiet reply. “And he will bear word.”

“What did she do, Andellen?” High Barrani shaded into Barrani. Inasmuch as two such complicated men could be, they were friends.

“Kaylin Neya? She proved herself worthy,” was the quiet reply.

“Of the High Court?”

“No, Lord Nightshade. That was never in doubt.”

“Then?”

“Of you.”

Nightshade smiled; it was a weary smile. “That,” he said softly, “was never in doubt to me. But she is changed, I fear.”