Cast in Honor (The Chronicles of Elantra) (26 page)

But at some point in Nightshade’s captivity—and Kaylin could think of it in no other way—Gilbert had chosen to speak with, to communicate with, the fieflord. To do so, he’d had to invert himself. What inversion meant, Kaylin still didn’t know. She understood only that it was risky and voluntary.

She closed her eyes.

Gilbert is lonely
.

Yes, only idiots would create something that got lonely. But...weren’t the idiots in part created
because
something wild and ancient and world-devouring...had been lonely? Maybe it was part of the essential nature of anything in the universe. Nothing existed in isolation. And maybe nothing
wanted
to. Not if it could think, move, feel.

Helen had observed Hasielle for a very small fraction of Helen’s overall existence. Thirty years? No. Less. Her decision to damage herself, to cut off her figurative limbs, had been arrived at without consultation with Hasielle. She had not, in any obvious way, revealed her presence, her sentience. She had gambled everything on Hasielle, on the hope that she could become the home in which Hasielle
wanted
to live.

Gilbert had actually spoken with Nightshade. He’d done so continually for three or four decades—if that was even accurate. And Gilbert had found Kattea; had rescued an orphan from the fiefs. A little girl whom he had not been built to even
see
—all because of that time with Nightshade.

“I’m sorry, Kattea,” she said—meaning it now. “I think you might be right.”

Kattea was young enough—barely—that the genuine apology made up for Kaylin’s earlier doubt. Kaylin turned to Gilbert, and the feelings of guilt evaporated as Ybelline’s knees buckled.

Chapter 21

She was there to catch the castelord; Gilbert hadn’t moved an inch.

It was hard to remember that they had anything in common; for one long moment, she wanted to deck him. But she didn’t have more than two arms and needed both. “Ybelline,” she said, urgent, her hands brushing the Tha’alani’s forehead.

Gilbert blinked. Well, he blinked with two of his eyes. The third eye, which had been more or less closed, snapped open.

“Yes,” he said, to thin air. “I see.”

Ybelline’s eyes were almost always gold; it was easy to think of them as normal—or normal human, at any rate. But when her lids fluttered open, they revealed irises of hazel. Kaylin could not remember what hazel meant in the Tha’alani; she imagined it wasn’t good. “I am...uninjured, Kaylin. Help me stand.”

Kaylin did so. Severn helped unobtrusively; Gilbert continued to stand, unmoving, as if people generally collapsed in his presence as a matter of course. Ybelline was not steady on her feet; Kaylin shifted position, sliding an arm under her arms and around her back, to brace her. Although she didn’t always notice this, Ybelline was not small.

“Come with me,” the Tha’alani castelord said. By default, this would have happened anyway, given that Kaylin was most of the castelord’s locomotive force at the moment. “Gilbert,” she added.

“Yes?” He didn’t actually look at her. Kaylin wasn’t certain what he was looking at, but whatever it was, he stared at it intently. The small dragon whuffled, apparently unconcerned.

“We’re leaving.”

“Yes?”

Kaylin snorted and looked to Kattea, who nodded and caught Gilbert’s arm. Gilbert blinked as she tried to move him—and failed. Kattea was not, however, a quitter. “Gilbert—we have to
go with them
.”

“We don’t,” he said, looking confused.

Ybelline turned to Kaylin and touched her forehead.
He is not human.
She used the broader word, the old Elantran one.

No. I—I trust him, though.

I think trust is almost irrelevant
, Ybelline replied.
But I will thank you for bringing him.

Given Ybelline’s collapse and continued shakiness, Kaylin had severe doubts that those thanks were deserved.

I am grateful.
She was.
It was so difficult to understand
what
I was seeing or hearing that it...removed me from the immediacy of so much death and so much fear. I am still...uncertain...that I understand what Gilbert attempted to tell me. I am also uncertain that he understood me.

He thinks he did.

Ybelline nodded.
I do not think I will make that attempt again in the very near future. But oddly, it is safer to have Gilbert touch the
Tha’alaan
than it would be to have your Barrani Hawks touch it. Gilbert’s thoughts and beliefs would be very like a poorly structured dream—and we have those in the
Tha’alaan
, in number.

Where are you taking us?

To the long house, the caste hall. The
Tha’alanari
will meet us there. I have asked them to do what I have done. If I can touch the experience of death—and I can—I cannot examine it with the care we now require, not at any speed. At leisure, when this crisis is behind us, I may return to it.
She meant it, too.
But not now. We cannot, I believe, direct our future selves; their memories are much like our own: they are resigned almost instantly to a past we cannot change and must simply accept and understand.

If Kaylin adored Ybelline—and she absolutely did—she didn’t adore the other Caste Court officials even one tenth as much. In general, officials were the last people Kaylin was sent to speak with; they made her feel instantly defensive, and defensive Kaylin offended the officials. Things generally went downhill from there.

Ybelline, well aware of Kaylin’s discomfort, shook her head. “They are more hardened in their suspicions of outsiders, but they are aware that you are capable of touching the
Tha’alaan
on your own, and they have seen what you desire for, and of, it. They find you...ill-mannered and hasty, but they respect what you have done in the past.

“And regardless, they are the men and women who are willing to visit—and revisit—their own deaths in an attempt to make sense of what occurred.”

“Did Gilbert have anything helpful to add?”

“Not intentionally.” She glanced at Gilbert. “And perhaps I am also too hasty. But—and I’m certain this will not shock you at this point—I believe the Arcanist in his memories may have some light to shed on the difficulty.”

“You didn’t recognize the Arcanist?”

Ybelline fell silent, in all ways. Kaylin was genuinely surprised. “Ybelline—”

“I believe I have seen that man before. Or one dressed very like him.”

“In real life?”

“No, Kaylin. In memory. In the memories that we are forced to invade, and of which we are allowed to speak only in the presence of Imperial court officials. I will speak with those officials when we are done.”

“I think Teela has some idea of the man’s identity. Or at least of the tiara’s significance.”

“You wish me to leave this to your Teela?”

“I’d just as soon you spent as little time with Imperial officials as possible.”

“Even the Hawks?”

Kaylin grimaced. “Maybe especially the Hawks.” Because it was through the Hawks, for the most part, that the Tha’alani “interrogators” were summoned, and through the Hawks that the Tha’alani were exposed, consistently, to the
worst
mankind had to offer.

“I understand why the Hawks were created. I understand their purpose. If it were not for the Hawks, we would never have met, and I would consider that a great loss on my part.” She straightened and pulled away from Kaylin, testing her legs for strength. They held her up, but she wasn’t going to be running anytime soon.

Kattea had managed to drag Gilbert in more or less the right direction; he still looked unfocused and inattentive. Kattea, however, looked more frustrated than worried.

Yes, Kaylin thought, the child had only known him for a handful of weeks. But she was right: she understood Gilbert better than Kaylin did. Maybe necessity had forced that understanding on her.

“Should Gilbert go, too?” Kattea asked. Gilbert’s reaction to being touched by a Tha’alani had eased the younger girl’s fear in a way that Kaylin’s interaction with the younger children hadn’t. And of course, that made sense: children were not powerful, or not more powerful than Kattea—but Ybelline, adult, was.

Gilbert finally noticed where he was. Or at least that he was somewhere that wasn’t strictly on the inside of his own head. “I am not certain that will be necessary,” he told Kattea. “Or that I would be welcome; I may cause...confusion.”

Ybelline actually laughed. She was careful not to touch Gilbert, but she did not look at him with worry or dread. “You will certainly cause that.”

“What is your preference?”

“I am torn—my people share thoughts and experiences, but we are not all of one mind, and we bring different knowledge to those shared experiences.”

“I can attempt to contain my thoughts.”

“I rather think that would be beside the point” was the castelord’s gentle reply. “They are waiting.”

* * *

To Kaylin’s surprise, Draalzyn was present. Draalzyn was seconded to the Hawks, but worked for the most part in Missing Persons. He was older than Ybelline, his hair streaked with gray, and at the moment, he was just as pale as Ybelline, although this wasn’t always the case.

His eyes did narrow when he caught sight of Kaylin.

Kaylin nodded.

“Private Neya,” another man said. Scoros. Of all the
Tha’alanari
, Scoros was the least intimidating, if one excluded Ybelline.

“You’ve grown a beard.”

“I am making the attempt, yes. It is supposed to make me look more mature, and therefore more worthy of respect. You don’t like it?”

“It’s...different.”

He chuckled. “My family is not enamored of it, either; Eladara says it is uncomfortable, and my son detests it enough that he tried to shave it while I was sleeping.” At Kaylin’s expression, his chuckle became a laugh—and his laugh, like Ybelline’s, was one Kaylin loved. But it faded as Gilbert entered the room, Kattea clinging to his arm.

“Corporal Handred is not of the
Tha’alaan
,” Draalzyn said.

“No. Nor are our other guests.” Ybelline emphasized the last word very slightly. “But in this, they are all intent upon preserving the city. You have seen some part of what we have only barely managed to contain; you cannot imagine that the deaths coming to Elantra will occur in our quarter alone.”

Draalzyn nodded slowly. He never looked precisely happy, and his beard framed his face in such a way that his pallor was the second thing you noticed, if you noticed anything at all. “Your point is taken. Have you spoken to Private Neya outside of the
Tha’alaan
?”

“Not in any great detail. Will you speak with her directly?”

Draalzyn looked as if he’d rather kiss a hundred toads. Which was fair, because Kaylin would rather kiss two hundred. They both shut up.

“Scoros?”

“It is as you know. We will retreat to this building and open the interior gates. Those who flee through the tunnels will not survive; they perish first. Those who remain to defend and guard their retreat perish shortly thereafter.”

“What attacks the quarter?”

“It is still not completely clear to us,” Draalzyn replied. The stalks on his forehead were weaving in a graceful way that was at odds with everything else about the man. “The deaths are not instant—but they are quick. Some are crushed. Some are, we think, beheaded; some are torn apart in a matter of seconds. Some feel the pain of fire—but only briefly. They are panicked. They are in their homes or in the streets; there is very little warning.”

“They don’t
see
anything?”

“No, Kaylin.”

“So—whatever kills them, whatever slaughters them, is
invisible
?”

Ybelline answered before Draalzyn could. “There are tactile impressions, but these are also confused. Yes. I would guess that the deaths will be the same across the city. In this possible future, I reach the mirror,” she added softly. She hesitated. “We manage to secure a safe area, a barriered hold. But activation of the mirror—” She inhaled sharply. “It summons death into our chambers.”

Kaylin’s hands were fists.

“Don’t,” Ybelline said, reaching for those fists and forcing Kaylin’s fingers to unbend. “It is a mercy. For all of us, it is a mercy; the pain and the fear of our people’s deaths have driven us all to the edge of madness.”

“Or over it,” Scoros said quietly. “We have attempted to piece more together. I believe it is Draalzyn who suggests the barrier.”

Draalzyn nodded, his lips twisted. “I have gained some knowledge among your Hawks. It is not, in future, enough. I do not cast the spell in question.” He didn’t say who did. Kaylin didn’t ask.

“Can you tell me what kind of barrier? What is it meant to protect you against?”

“It is an inversion,” Ybelline replied, “of a summoning spell.”

“A summoning spell?” Kaylin felt like a parrot.

“We have, prior to this, summoned water. And fire. It is a specific spell that requires the names of those elements. The barrier is comprised of that knowledge and the attempt to drive them out.”

“But—but why?”

“Draalzyn?”

Draalzyn looked as if he’d swallowed a rat that wasn’t quite dead. “Ybelline, must I?”

“If you prefer, I can visit the memories of your death and the hours before it occurred.” Her eyes, as she spoke, were gold.

Draalzyn grimaced. “You think I would spare you that pain when I have had to endure it myself?”

“Yes, actually, I do.” She smiled.

He threw both his hands up in disgust that was only partly feigned. “This,” he told Kaylin, “is what you must watch out for when Ybelline knows you too well. She will twist you around her finger; you will do what she wants you to do because you can’t bear to cause her pain. Even,” he added darkly, “when you wish to strangle her.

“The concept of a magical barrier exists among the mages. It was of interest to me, and of interest to my kin. It was not a priority, because it does not prevent actual
people
from crossing its lines. The barriers exist in a particular form; they exist as a counter to other magicians. There are many theories about magic—its use, its origin—and therefore many theories about the counters that can be put into play.

“The barrier was one such theory. I suggested it to Ybelline at an earlier stage in her education. She considered it with the same care she considers many foreign things.” The implication was not lost on Kaylin.

“The barrier works, in the future?”

“Yes.”

“Wait.” Kaylin held up a hand, although Draalzyn didn’t seem to be in a hurry to interrupt her. “You—you don’t think it’s the
elements
that destroy the city?”

“We
do not know
,” he said, drumming the table at which he sat. “We do not speak with the elements. We speak into the
Tha’alaan
. The
Tha’alaan
is part of the elemental water—but it is a small part, at odds with the whole. It is inconceivable to us that the water itself would destroy the city—but I am told I, at least, suffer from insufficient imagination.” This last, he said in a very sour voice, with an expression to match.

“It is, in theory, possible that magic as our mages currently understand it has its underpinnings in the elemental forces. Frankly, this makes sense to me, if we accept that the world itself is derived from those forces.”

“There’s no way the elements go to town if...”

“If the Keeper is still in control of his Garden,” Ybelline finished for her.

“If he
wasn’t
, the fiefs wouldn’t be standing in the aftermath. The fiefs are part of
our
world, right? Whatever happens here—or to the rest of the city—doesn’t destroy the fiefs. They’re still standing.”

Kattea cleared her throat.

This caught Kaylin’s attention immediately.