Cast in Sorrow

beyond our reach. But the hope, he drew into the depths, and the pain, he cast out. Come. I hear my brother, and he is not best pleased.”

“Can we just leave?”

“While you are in the West March, you will never entirely leave this place. I am sorry. I did not intend to embroil you in the affairs of the heart of the green.”

“But you—”

“Yes. But I am Consort, and I have seen the Lake of Life; it is my gift and my duty to touch the words that wait therein. And, Lord Kaylin, in ignorance, you have also done the same, and you survived.

“Many of my kin did not. Lord of the West March, have you chosen to convene a council meeting in my chambers?”

Kaylin’s eyes flew open. She was curled in a crouch beside the Consort’s bed, her hand—knuckles white— around the Consort’s. She was aware of the glares aimed squarely at the back of her neck, and worked to separate their hands, although the Consort’s tightened briefly before she let go.

Kaylin stood and met the Consort’s blue eyes. She looked far healthier in real life than she had looked at the end of the not-quite-dream, but she still looked pale and exhausted. Her eyes, however, darkened as she looked at Kaylin.

Kaylin looked down.

There was a small jagged hole in the dress. In size and shape it matched a shard of ice. Kaylin froze, her eyes widening in panic.

“Yes,” a voice said, and she looked up. There were now three eagles on the other side of the bed. The one in the middle was doing the talking. “Everything comes to an end, Chosen.”

Could it come to an end when I’m not wearing it?

“Endings and beginnings are often intertwined.”

As answers went, this one sucked. It had that street-corner dispensed-wisdom tone. Which would be fine, but she was the first mortal to wear this dress, and of course it would take damage while she was doing it. That it hadn’t so far was some sort of miracle, and Kaylin did not want to come to the end of miracles while still wearing it. She was almost afraid to turn around.

“Lord Kaylin.”

Kaylin blinked as the Consort held out an imperious arm. Kaylin realized that the Consort, at least, was still lying in bed. She immediately bent to offer an arm to help the Consort to her feet. It gave her something to do, other than panic, but it also made her feel almost ashamed of herself; she was hiding behind the Consort, who was physically far frailer at the moment than she was.

She was grateful anyway, because she turned, supporting the Consort’s weight, to face the room at large.

The Lord of the West March was at the side of the Warden. Nightshade was standing to the Warden’s left, Evarrim to Lirienne’s right. Behind them, stood Barrani in the livery of the Lord of the West March; they had not drawn swords, but their eyes were the color of midnight as they met Kaylin’s.

No one spoke. They looked at Kaylin, looked at her dress—and at the hole that wasn’t actually all that big—and said nothing. They said it really loudly.

“Warden,” the Consort said, nodding regally. “You have my gratitude.”

He looked genuinely surprised; the blue of his eyes was ringed by a slender, but visible gold.

“You brought the Chosen to my side. I do not think I would have escaped the nightmares of Alsanis, otherwise. Brother,” she continued, using the familiar term in a particularly emphatic way, “the nightmares have never been this strong or this cold; nor has he sent five, if indeed the nightmares are sent at all, before now. The Warden could not have known; the nightmares and the dreams of Alsanis have never been under his control.”

The Lord of the West March didn’t retreat into plausible denial. “I am heartened to know,” he told his sister, “that you retain some of the optimism of youth. I have not accused the Warden of deliberate malfeasance. Intent, or its lack, control, or its lack, are irrelevant. You are awake.”

“Yes. I will take a light meal in my outer chamber; this is not the room in which I would choose to greet guests.” She turned to Kaylin and raised a brow. Kaylin took the hint and accompanied her to the doors, which opened before she reached them. Kaylin would have rushed to get out of her way, as well, given her expression. She didn’t entirely understand the Consort, but she understood her expression: she was in charge, at the moment, and she was Not Pleased.

Kaylin didn’t have the option the doors had, being attached at the arm. Then again, the doors didn’t need the Consort’s regal disdain as a shield, either.

* * *

The outer chamber was pretty much a hall. It wasn’t a small hall, either, but the Barrani never did anything modest. There was a long table, visible through a broad, slender arch that didn’t look as though it could actually support the weight of the ceiling above it. Before the arch, there was a wide, sparsely furnished room, with a small font in the corner farthest from the bedroom door; natural light—during the day, which this wasn’t—would probably fill the room. Kaylin glanced at the Consort; the Consort looked straight ahead.

Dining room, then.

Although her guests were all men of power and import, the Consort headed straight for the exceptionally tall chair at the head of the table. Her hand tightened once on Kaylin’s arm before she slid into the seat. “Unless you enjoy stilted conversation and the suspicion that causes it, you may take your leave.”

“The dress—”

“I know. I would like to tell you it is the least of your worries, but that is unlikely to bring you much comfort. You are not in the Hallionne, Kaylin. Your role as harmoniste makes attempts on your life unlikely—but that is not now my concern.” She glanced, once, at the small tear in the dress. “I mean you no harm, but I am not certain I am...safe.” She looked pointedly at Kaylin’s shoulder.

Or rather, at the small dragon that was draped across it.

“I will not tell you to avoid An’Teela. I feel the opposite is almost necessary—but you are in the most danger while you are with her. Take your companion with you wherever you go.” She looked down the table as the rest of the guests entered the chamber. She didn’t rise to greet them.

Kaylin hesitated, but the truth was, her ankle was throbbing—so much for imaginary injuries—and she was exhausted. As usual, she was hungry, but a table full of political, angry Barrani wasn’t much of an inducement to stay. She offered the Consort the most perfect bow a groundhawk with a bum ankle could muster, and then backed out of the room—also an awkward maneuver, given the ankle.

For her part, the Consort accepted the obeisance as if it was her indisputable due.

* * *

Kaylin.

Great. She could hear two voices on the inside of her head. She wondered idly if they could hear each other.

Nightshade was amused. No.

Lirienne didn’t answer.

When I was in the Hallionne, she told them both—she hoped it was both— I couldn’t speak to either of you. I couldn’t reach you.

No. It was Nightshade who answered, but that made sense—she had never tried to speak to the Lord of the West March the same way.

You could reach me when I was in the void. You could reach me when I was in the High Halls, healing— She broke off, not that it would make much difference.

Yes.

Why was this different? Did I—did I disappear?

No. To the eyes of all observers, you remained in the room.

Does this happen often?

No, Kaylin. I do not think it could happen anywhere but the green. When you leave, find your Corporal. If you encounter difficulty, call upon the eagles of Alsanis; I believe they will hear your