Cast in Sorrow

“He’s not likely to close the doors in our face—for one, I don’t think there are any.” But she moved as she spoke.

“I suspect the ring you’re wearing would grant you entrance, regardless. It won’t, however, speak for me.”

She hesitated. “I couldn’t help but notice that the Barrani here don’t like your weapon much.”

“It’s not the weapon,” he replied as he cleared the stairs. “It’s the wielder. I suffer from mortality.”

“It’s a curse,” she agreed. “How much trouble are they going to cause?”

“I’m uncertain. The weapon was damaged in our melee with Iberrienne. There are only two places in which it might be repaired. The West March is the least hostile.”

“I don’t want to know where the other place is.”

He chuckled. “No, you really don’t.”

She did, of course. But she’d already said too much. The hardest thing about Barrani Courts was the amount of silence they demanded.

Learn, Kaylin. Learn quickly. When you last attended Court, you were considered an oddity, a distasteful necessity in a city infested with them. In the West March, that is not the case. The Emperor’s shadow does not reach the green—but the shadows of three wars mark it. When the Consort wakes, you will be called to give your report of the events that occurred when you went missing in the Outlands. The fact that the Hallionne Orbaranne is standing—and whole—is the only point in your favor.

Dress, remember?

Ah. You mistake me. There is not a Barrani here who will attempt to dispose of you while you wear that dress. But the moment the telling is done—if you survive it—you will not be wearing the dress.

She froze. You won’t be wearing the crown, either.

No.

And you’re Outcaste.

I believe I am aware of that. I understood the risk, Kaylin. It is my opinion that I will be in far less danger than you yourself will be. The Barrani are not Dragons; Outcaste is a political statement. It is only relevant if the Outcaste in question has no power—but it is rare indeed that those without power are made Outcaste. Think of what you will tell the Court of the Vale when they bid you to speak. Think of how you will handle their accusations.

They haven’t accused me of anything.

Not yet. But if you falter, they will. It is the nature of Courts.

It’s the nature of carrion creatures, she snapped.

He chuckled. But he entered the hall without comment from anyone, and Kaylin scurried after Teela and the Consort.

* * *

The interior of the building—the parts that were visible in a straight walk from the door to a large suite of rooms—was distinctly different from the High Halls. There was far less stone here, and the wood was warm and bright; the floors were pale, but hard, the frames and lintels of doors carved out of the same wood. There were small trees, small fonts, and—as Teela stepped through a wide set of open doors—a large, circular courtyard.

In the center of the courtyard was a fountain.

Kaylin stopped walking. The Barrani at her back didn’t run into her, but they did move pointedly to either side. Teela, however, stopped. The Lord of the West March, sensitive to his sister, returned from the head of the procession. Kaylin was aware of them both, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the fountain—and she wasn’t even certain why.

Fountains weren’t exactly common in Elantra, although they weren’t unknown. Where they existed in crowded, well-traveled, public areas, they accumulated dirt, dead leaves, small sticks, and an assortment of pebbles. They also generally sported small children who were likely to get their ears boxed in the immediate future.

The water here was clean. It was clear as new glass. It reminded Kaylin of the height of summer, not because there was anything about it that suggested seasons, but because it promised blessed relief from the heat. The only noise in the courtyard was the fall of water and the slight weight of footsteps. Barrani didn’t have thunderous, heavy steps unless they were making a point.

“What do you see?” The Lord of the West March asked.

“Water.” As answers went, it defined inadequate—it was a fountain. Of course it had water. She was aware of the basin into which the water fell; the fountain was not the heavy, worn stone she was accustomed to seeing. A layer of what she assumed was gold-leaf gilded the basin, and writing, again in gold, the base into which it was set.

“I see the bridge,” she said, after a long pause. “And mist or fog.”

The Lord of the West March nodded, eyes narrowed. “An’Teela?”

“I see a fountain,” she replied. “Water is, apparently, falling from a small rift in the air above the basin.”

“You don’t see a bridge.” Kaylin’s voice was both flat and resigned.

“No, kitling.”

“And I shouldn’t, either.”

“It is not a test,” the Lord of the West March said with a tight smile. “There is no correct answer.”

Kaylin glanced at Severn.

I see what Teela sees.

Damn it. The small dragon squawked and pushed himself off her shoulder.

“Kitling,” Teela said sharply. “Remember what happened the last time your pet was near water.”

The Lord of the West March lifted a hand—in Teela’s direction. “What does he intend?”

Kaylin, however, reached for the small, winged rodent. She caught his legs and pulled him down as gently as she could; he wasn’t amused and let it be known. He sounded like an enraged chicken.

“His previous interference,” Teela said, “forced the Lady to wake Hallionne Kariastos.”

Brows rose over green-blue eyes. “Is he as he seems?”

“A familiar?” Teela shrugged. “If he is, legend proves unreliable in its particulars. But it is clear that Kariastos understood him in some small measure, and he proved himself useful on the forest paths.”

He’d done more than that, but Kaylin didn’t argue. “What,” she whispered, “is the problem?”

The small dragon nipped her hand. He was still annoyed, but not so much that he tried to take a chunk out of her. A cat would have, by this point; he was trying to lift the wings over which her palm was cupped. He chose to squawk instead. She heard his voice, and mentally adjusted her description. He sounded like a crow.

She couldn’t make out words; she wondered if Teela was right. Hallionne Bertolle had seemed to understand him, and he’d certainly said something more complicated than “hungry” or “sleepy” or “get lost.” Maybe she wasn’t listening the right way—but she wasn’t an ancient, sentient building. She wasn’t even immortal.

The small dragon caught her hand in his jaws. He continued to squawk while doing it, but the sound was muffled. Sighing, she lifted her head and froze.

The bridge was gone, as was the mist; water fell, but it fell in a sheet, and the sheet had the shape of long, flowing robes. “Teela,” Kaylin whispered. “Has the fountain changed?”

“No. Not to me. You no longer see a bridge?”

Kaylin shook her head. “I see the Tha’alaan.” Lifting her face, she stepped toward the water elemental on her pedestal.

Kaylin.

She reached out with one hand; the small dragon seemed content to spread his wings without leaping immediately into the air.

You are far from home.

“Tell me about it.” She hesitated. Water rose in the shape of a transparent limb and an open hand. Kaylin slowly raised her palm. When the two—flesh and water—connected, she heard the voices of the Tha’alani.