Cast in Sorrow

Teela caught her before she could fall. “Lord of the West March,” she said, above Kaylin’s head.

He turned, glanced at Kaylin, and nodded. “We will call a brief halt.”

* * *

The two mortals were not the only people present to benefit from the break. Lord Evarrim joined them. He barely acknowledged Kaylin’s existence. That was normal. He didn’t spare a glance for the small dragon perched like a bad shawl around her neck, which wasn’t. His lower jaw sported some of the same bruising that Severn’s eye did, but it was less obvious on the Barrani face.

On the other hand, he was Barrani; any obvious injury was unsettling.

Evarrim was no longer wearing the tiara that Kaylin had once considered so pretentious. Nor was he dressed in Court robes; he wore an unadorned chain shirt and plate greaves. “Cousin,” he said.

Teela’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you determined to remain for the recitation?”

Even the insects fell silent.

“I am determined, cousin, to escort the Consort and the harmoniste to the green.”

Evarrim was apparently immune to the glacial cold of Teela’s voice. It was impressive; most of the office— or at least the mortal parts—would have been under their desks or scurrying for a convenient just-remembered meeting. “And not the Teller? Interesting.”

The Teller was Nightshade.

Kaylin’s gaze bounced between the two Barrani. Teela’s eyes were a shade darker; Evarrim’s were as close to green as they’d been all day. The bastard was enjoying himself. “Your concern is noted,” she finally replied. “It is irrelevant, but noted.”

He rose. “Very well. The Consort and the Lord of the West March have expressed a similar concern; they are, of course, more guarded.” He bowed, stiffly. He actually walked stiffly. But he walked away.

“Teela—”

“Don’t even think it.” Teela rose, as well. She didn’t march into the forest, but she left Kaylin and Severn alone with their lunch, hovering ten yards away, sword in hand.

“What was that about?” Kaylin asked—quietly. Teela was far enough away that whispers shouldn’t carry, but they might; Barrani hearing was in all ways superior to human hearing.

He exhaled. “What did Teela tell you?”

Kaylin grimaced. “What makes you think she told me anything?”

“You’re fidgeting.”

Kaylin shot a guilty glance at Teela’s back. “She hasn’t told me much that we don’t already know. We know the recitation involves True Words; it’s like the story Sanabalis told the Leontines. We know that the story isn’t chosen by the Lord of the West March, the Teller, or the lowly harmoniste; the heart of the green decides.”

“Did she explain what the heart of the green is?” When Kaylin failed to answer, he asked, more pointedly, “Did you ask?”

Teela had been talking about the death of her mother. So no, Kaylin hadn’t really asked.

She feinted. “It has something to do with the Hallionne. I’m not sure the Barrani understand it fully.” She removed the small dragon’s wing when he stretched and covered half her face. “The recitation of the regalia has an effect—a lasting effect—on those who listen to the telling. It’s the biggest reason the Barrani make the pilgrimage to this insect-plagued, weed-covered, Feral-infested—” She stopped as Teela glanced over her shoulder, and lowered her voice again. “The Barrani who’ve passed the test of name in the High Halls are expected to travel to the West March and listen to the recitation.

“There, if they’re lucky, they’re empowered. Somehow. Don’t give me that look. I wasn’t making lists. I don’t know how the effect is measured. But...the ceremony has an effect.”

“On all participants?” He gave the dress a pointed look.

She frowned. “I’m not sure. I’d guess no. But on some.”

Severn nodded.

“Some ambitious moron on the High Council came up with a great idea. It was during one of the Draco- Barrani wars.” She frowned. “I’m guessing not all adults are affected by the regalia in an obvious way. Maybe someone thought adults were less malleable. But anyway, one of the nameless High Lords suggested that if the regalia had subtle effects on the adults, it might have stronger, more useful effects on children. Those children would then be like a super–next generation, and they might make a difference in the wars.

“The High Lord of the time liked the idea.

“So twelve children were chosen. Teela was one of the twelve. Or maybe there were thirteen—they speak of twelve lost, and Teela’s not lost. The children were considered gifted; smarter, faster, that kind of thing. They all came from significant families.” She glanced past Teela, and caught a brief glimpse of Nightshade. “The children were brought to the West March.

“The denizens of the West March were not happy. Because they weren’t happy, they didn’t offer the visitors from the High Halls the hospitality of their homes; the children—and the Lords they traveled with—were placed in the Hallionne of the West March.”

“The Hallionne that’s considered unsafe by the rest of the Hallionne.”

Kaylin nodded. “It wasn’t considered unsafe at the time—but staying in the Hallionne was the equivalent of being told by family that they don’t have room for you and you should go to the nearest Inn.”

“The Barrani of the West March didn’t want the children exposed to the regalia?”

“No. But most of the Barrani of the West March aren’t Lords of the High Court, so they didn’t have a voice. They couldn’t prevent the children from appearing at the recitation—but they tried anyway. They died.”

“During the recitation?”

Kaylin nodded, remembering the cadence of Teela’s voice. Teela, who never really talked about anything except drinking and work. One of those Barrani had been her mother. “The children listened to the recitation. It was—it was a complicated tale. I think Teela said that a harmoniste and a Teller had been chosen by the heart of the green, and both collapsed the moment it was done. It was considered auspicious; most of the recitations have neither. Just the Lord of the West March.”

“A harmoniste and Teller have been chosen for the upcoming recitation.”

“I’m the harmoniste. Believe that I noticed.”

“What happened?”

Kaylin shrugged. “The children changed. It wasn’t obvious during the telling; it became obvious after. They’d returned to the Hallionne before it became clear how dangerous they were. They didn’t apparently feel much loyalty toward the Barrani; I think most of the Lords responsible for their journey died in the Hallionne at their hands.”

“How did Teela survive unchanged?”

“That would be the question.” She hesitated again. “The Ferals that almost killed us—”

“Don’t call them Ferals around the Barrani; it annoys them.”

“They haven’t come up with a better name. Fine. The Not Ferals that almost killed us are related, somehow, to the lost children the Barrani said were dead. When we were fighting in the forest before we reached Hallionne Bertolle, one of our attackers called Teela by name.

“And she answered. She called him by the name he used to use before he—before. Nightshade recognized the name: Terrano.” She hesitated again. She glanced around the smallish clearing; Nightshade wasn’t visible. “Severn, I think Nightshade wanted me to attend the regalia because of the lost children.”

“Was one of them his?”

Kaylin blinked.

The thought had honestly never occurred to her. Nightshade wasn’t married. He had no consort. But when the children had been taken to the West March—the same West March she was approaching—Nightshade had been a Lord of the High Court, and not Outcaste. She literally had no idea what his life had been like before the fiefs. He might have had a consort, a wife, of his own. Barrani loyalty was always situational; if Nightshade was made Outcaste, what were the odds that a wife of any position would choose to accompany him into the dismal exile of the fiefs?

“I...I don’t know. I have no idea if Nightshade has—or had—children.” And she wasn’t going to ask. But the