Cast in Sorrow

“If blood hadn’t been shed during the recitation—if it hadn’t fallen on the green—what would have happened?”

“It is a question much discussed,” he replied. “We have no answers, of course; it is not an experiment that has been repeated.”

“The people of the West March don’t trust her.”

“No. She is the daughter of the man who ordered the deaths in the heart of the green. She is of the High Court. She survived what none of the others survived. Had she been older, or wiser, she might have parlayed that survival into a formidable base on which to build political power; she did not.”

“Why was she spared what the others weren’t?”

“I am not the green, Kaylin. I am not of the West March. Teela bears the blood of Wardens in her veins. Her mother was—”

“Barian’s aunt.”

“Yes.”

Kaylin frowned. A thought occurred to her, but she was tired. “Why did they try to kill you?”

“I am Outcaste,” he replied.

“The Consort clearly doesn’t care.”

“No.”

“Teela said that it’s considered treason to try to kill the harmoniste.”

“While he or she wears the blood of the green, yes.”

“But not the Teller? Even if the Teller is chosen in the same way?”

“Is he?”

“Well, the green chooses.”

“Yes. But the criterion for such a choice is opaque. To my kin it is a random act, a choice that ignores the individual and his power. The robes of the role chosen for me are not significant in the same way; they are not the blood of the green. But the crown is significant. There have been no attempts to kill the Teller in the past; I believe, given the lack of reaction to the assassination attempt, there will be more in future. The harmoniste, however, is safe.

“We learn from past tragedies.”

“The problem with this one, as I see it, is that it isn’t.”

“A tragedy?”

“In the past. It’s not finished. It’s not done.” She grimaced and sat again. She also fidgeted; Nightshade might have been a statue, he moved so little. “The children are—and are not—trapped in the Hallionne. The Barrani are—and are not—corrupted. Iberrienne was—and was not—Iberrienne, but regardless, he almost certainly came to Elantra to—”

“To find sacrifices.”

She stood once more, her hands in fists. She felt no raging fury, though. She accepted that Nightshade was Barrani; he wasn’t human. If she were honest, the Exchequer probably had had some idea of what was going on, and he was human, and didn’t care, either. The Exchequer was unlikely to escape unscathed.

And she hated him more because he, at least, should have known better.

But Nightshade was Nightshade. He was what he was. He had power. He had gold. If you wanted a man in power to pay attention to what you wanted, you either had to be a power yourself, or you had to have something he wanted. “I can help you achieve whatever it is you hope to achieve, but I want something in return.”

He waited.

“Change the way you rule the fief. What Tiamaris does, you could do. You’ve never done it. It’s probably not as easy as Tiamaris makes it look. But if he can do it, it can be done.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and then he laughed. It was bitter laughter, but contained genuine amusement. “You do not even know what I want.”

“No.” She met, and held, his gaze. “I’ll know. When—if—it happens, I’ll know. You’ll push me. You’ll guide where you can. You’ll manipulate. You’ll do everything in your power to use my power to do whatever it is you want done. I won’t fight you, in this. I will do whatever you think needs doing.”

“And if I told you to kill An’Teela?”

“Within reason.”

“I do not choose to expose it.”

Kaylin shrugged. “Suit yourself. I can’t pick it out of your thoughts.”

“If you wished to assert sovereignty, if you wished to exert power, you could.”

“No, I can’t. I’ve had one enraged Barrani Lord hammering away at the inside of my skull for days now, looking for weaknesses. If I knew how to forget a name completely, believe that I would. I don’t. I have the energy—or the sense of self-preservation—to resist. I have nothing left over—at all—to start playing games with you.”

“Kill him.”

She’d given it serious thought because she was fairly certain she could. Not in a fair fight, but she could probably force him to stand still long enough to slit his throat. “I can’t.”

“You won’t; they are not the same. In any other case, I would not counsel such a killing; in yours, there is no advantage to his survival. You will not use him.”

“I won’t use any of you.” But Ynpharion wasn’t like the others.

“No. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Ynpharion will be called—and questioned—by the Council of the Vale. Listen to him when he answers if you will not force truth from him. You will know when he lies.”

She thought of Ynpharion and exhaled sharply. “Ynpharion was a forest Feral when I found him. I don’t know if he could shift shapes, but it’s my suspicion he could: he could appear to be Barrani, and he could be— whatever it is you call them. But I’m not sure he chose to become what he became. He’d kill Iberrienne slowly if he found him; Iberrienne is the only person he hates more than he hates me.

“He had to have agreed to whatever was done to him; I don’t get the impression that he was kidnapped and dragged to Iberrienne kicking and screaming. He allowed whatever happened. He would never allow it again. There’s something laid on them, over them—something that changes not only what they can be, but what they want.

“But I swear he’d cut off his own head before he’d serve Iberrienne again in any way.” She hesitated. “Iberrienne wasn’t one of the lost children.”

“No.”

“But he was the one who attempted to destroy Orbaranne.” She paced for a bit. “I don’t understand where the children are, what they are, or what they want. I don’t understand what they attempted to even do with Orbaranne—if we assume they didn’t intend to just destroy her.

“And I think we need to know.”

“You will find that the Imperial Hawk does not confer either privilege or responsibility in the West March.”

“No.”

“I will not agree to your conditions, Lord Kaylin; I have no reason to do so. Were I to tell you everything, were you to understand the whole of my part in this tale, it would change nothing. You will do what you do. If I am Nightshade, you are Kaylin Neya. You have my name. If you wish change in the fief, use it. Try.” His smile was cutting.

“And if you will not, when you are a Hawk and everything I do is a crime, ask yourself why. I am one man. Those who suffer under the neglect of my rule are multiple. You spend a life attempting to apprehend those who break Imperial Law; it is your highest duty. You have risked your life—you will no doubt continue to do so—in pursuit of imperfect justice. You have the means.

“You are merely squeamish, Kaylin. It is a weakness.”

“Yes,” she said, facing the water. “But I’m human.”

“Are you?” He offered her an unexpected bow, and left her by the side of the water that had fallen without pause throughout their conversation.