Cast in Sorrow

attached himself to her shoulders. “You don’t have to come with me. You can find Severn and keep him out of trouble.”

The small dragon bit her ear.

“Listen, buddy, if I wanted pierced ears, I’d’ve had it done years ago.”

* * *

Walking through Barrani-owned halls was not as relaxing as a stroll through the city streets. Then again, walking through the city streets often ended up being less relaxing than intended; it was most of the reason Kaylin didn’t bother when she wasn’t on the job. But she felt caged by expected behavior standards when in the rooms that were theoretically hers.

She felt caged in the halls, period.

The Consort, Teela, and every other person willing to condescend to speak with the merely mortal had made clear that the residence of the Lord of the West March wasn’t a safe space, but Teela’s little story about blood on the dress made Kaylin bold. That, and it was harder to find a target that was constantly on the move.

She wandered through the halls and found herself in the courtyard. This took less time than she’d feared; this building—at least so far—appeared to be geographically fixed. She could memorize it, as if it were the Imperial Palace, and make an internal map she could follow. At the moment, she wanted air.

Oh, who the hells was she kidding? What she wanted was water. She wanted the fountain. Men in armor passed her in ones and twos as she walked. They weren’t Imperial Palace Guards; they didn’t stand at attention all over the bloody place. They did notice her; they didn’t stop her or ask her business. She couldn’t bring herself to ask them for directions; she might have asked her servants if she’d cleared her head before she’d left them behind.

But she did find the exit eventually. The doors weren’t guarded—but they weren’t closed, either.

She hesitated, and then walked toward them, through them, and beneath the night sky. The moons were high, but not full; the light they cast was subdued. Kaylin’s eyes adjusted as she listened to the fall of water into water. Fountain.

From this distance, at this hour, it was exactly as it seemed. There was obviously some enchantment laid on it, because water didn’t normally fall from thin air, but the enchantment didn’t make the marks on her skin itch, so she didn’t class it as magic.

And she didn’t classify the water as magic, either, although anyone in their right mind would. She took a seat at the edge of the fountain; she wanted to touch the Tha’alaan, just for a minute. She wanted the feeling of welcome, inclusion, and acceptance—because she wasn’t going to get much of that here.

“Lord Kaylin.”

She exhaled in frustration, lowering the hand she’d lifted before it made contact with anything wet. She wasn’t alone. “Lord Nightshade. How long have you been here?”

“I have only just arrived. The Consort kept us for some time.” He emerged into the shadowed light, walking around the curved basin of the fountain. “She did not choose to answer many questions; nor did she choose to ask them. She held court,” he added. He was smiling; Kaylin couldn’t see the color of his eyes. “She held court almost as if she were her mother. I think she intended to spare you interrogation, where at all possible.

“Lords Barian and Evarrim are not pleased.” He glanced at the falling water as if it were of passing interest to him. It wasn’t at the moment, and he knew she knew it.

She wanted to touch the water. “Did you attend the recitation where Teela served as harmoniste, or was it after you left the Court?”

He watched her without answering. Kaylin hardly ever found silence comfortable, but she waited this one out. “What did you see in the nightmares of Alsanis?”

She didn’t answer. After a pause that was just as long, she said, “I couldn’t speak to you when I was there.”

“You made the attempt?”

She nodded. “You couldn’t see what I saw while I was there, either.”

“No. You were unsettled upon your return, if return is the word for it. Were it only you, I would be less concerned—but Kaylin, the Consort is disturbed, as well. What did you see? What did you do?”

This was why he had come. She felt the sharp edge of something that was far more than idle curiosity.

She rose. Pacing beneath moonlight felt far more natural than pacing in an enclosed room. “Who did you lose?” Her voice was quiet.

Chapter 12

He could have pretended to misunderstand; he was tempted to do exactly that. But it would not get him the information he wanted—and Kaylin realized, with a distant surprise, that he couldn’t just pluck it from her thoughts the way he usually did.

No.

He’d tried.

Yes.

She didn’t understand why, but at the moment, she was grateful. It didn’t bother her that Severn might read her thoughts; he’d always seemed to know what she was thinking—and why. Sometimes he’d understood it before she did, and they were her thoughts.

But...no one—no one—had caused her as much pain.

“There were eleven. Eleven Barrani. They weren’t children—not by our standards—but they weren’t adults, either. Two girls, nine boys. If you don’t count Teela.”

“You have been speaking with Lord Barian.”

She didn’t deny it. “I don’t know what most of them were called. I don’t know their names in the legal sense of the word name. The dreams of Alsanis insist that none of the children have left the Hallionne—but I saw Terrano. Teela saw him. You recognized his name.”

He said nothing.

“Nightshade, were you there?”

“For the regalia which destroyed the children? No.”

“Were you there when Teela returned to the West March?”

“Yes.”

“And when she served as harmoniste?”

“Yes.”

“Did you understand either recitation?”

His answering smile was thin. “No, Lord Kaylin. I am not entirely certain either of us will understand the recitation in which we are meant to play a large part.”

“You think it has something to do with the children.”

“They are not children now.”

Kaylin watched him. “Do you think they can be saved?”

He watched the water fall. She realized that he wasn’t going to answer, because he believed two contradictory things: that they could be saved, and that they couldn’t. It wasn’t a matter of hope, although he did; the hope was too painful to touch and examine. She shied away from it because it wasn’t hers and she had no way of responding to it. He believed that both outcomes were possible; that both were probable. She couldn’t tell which he actually wanted.

“What did Teela do?”

“She will not tell you?”

“No. And you knew that.”

“I knew you were foolish enough to ask—but An’Teela has long been unusual; there was always the possibility she might answer.”