She was silent. The small dragon was not. He didn’t generally seem to care for Nightshade, but tonight, he had remained flopped across both of her shoulders and the back of her neck, as if the conversation was trivial. Or boring.
“Is he right?” Kaylin asked.
She didn’t expect an answer, but the small dragon lifted his delicate head and rubbed it against her cheek.
“Is it just because I’m squeamish?” She lifted her hands; they hovered above the water’s rippling surface. She hesitated for one long minute, and then let them fall to her sides. The Tha’alani feared and distrusted Kaylin’s people because they felt they were all insane—the outcome of living a life in the isolation of fear, anger, and ignorance.
Tonight she was afraid, angry, and ignorant, and the Tha’alani didn’t deserve to be stuck with her thoughts. Or with her.
But she frowned as she looked at the fountain and its base, because it was so familiar. She couldn’t change fear or anger tonight. But ignorance? Ignorance could be, as the Arkon said, alleviated. She walked around the fountain’s perimeter, pausing to kneel on flat stone to look at the underside of the basin. She had no light; all she could see was the general shape, and it was pretty much what she’d expect of a normal fountain.
Tomorrow, then. She rose, brushed off her skirt with way more care than she’d brush clothing she actually owned, and headed back to her rooms.
Sleep was a problem.
By the time she’d removed the dress and taken the bath that seemed to be expected, she’d made a list of things she needed to understand. She didn’t number the points, because the number shifted; she couldn’t be objective.
She needed to understand Iberrienne.
She was certain that the Human Caste Court believed his experiments might pave the way to immortality for the chosen—murderous—few, but people often heard what they wanted to hear. She didn’t believe it herself.
But the Arcanum—or at least three of its members—had been involved. She would bet her own money that the other two had no idea of what Iberrienne had intended to do with all of his kidnapped mortals. They thought he intended
They were Barrani. Barrani were less likely to hear what they wanted to hear—or at least less likely to trust it. None of the Barrani expected the full story when they negotiated, not even from their allies. So...they had to have suspicions. The suspicions had been wrong. No matter how Barrani intended to gain power—and they always did—planning the Consort’s death was outside the parameters of acceptable risk.
What had Iberrienne showed them?
She could understand how Iberrienne could reach the rest of the Barrani he’d likely ensnared; he was a member of the High Court. He could walk in—and out—without comment. How did he choose? Was choice even necessary?
Argh.
Iberrienne might have gone entirely undetected if he hadn’t tried to level the city block Kaylin lived in with his Arcane bomb. His reaction to Bellusdeo—to a female dragon—implied that he was, at heart, Barrani, no matter how much he’d changed. Unless the Dragons somehow presented a threat to the lost children, and Kaylin couldn’t see how that could be true.
She was certain that Iberrienne was involved with the lost children. The transformed. But how? The Hallionne Alsanis was forbidden. But Kaylin had seen with her own eyes that the lost children weren’t trapped in the Hallionne. They weren’t trapped in the outlands, either. Terrano had approached Teela on the forest path, on land that was technically outside of the green.
And of course, the end point of her worries, and the start of them, which kept her mind running on a narrow, visceral track: Why had the lost boy approached Teela? He had been—he had sounded—delighted to see her. Delighted, surprised. If the lost children had freedom of movement—or enough freedom to somehow contact Iberrienne, couldn’t they have contacted Teela on their own?
What did they want from Teela?
Why had Teela been part of the nightmare?
Why had she shattered?
She rolled over, and the small dragon smacked her nose with his tail. He generally slept just above her head on a pillow, the back of her neck being unavailable. She might as well give up on sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d gotten almost none. She rose, dragged herself back into the dress that was the best armor—against Barrani—she’d ever wear, and headed out of the darkened room.
She found servants. One man and one woman. They hadn’t, from the look of it, been conversing the way she was certain mortal servants would. But they were doing something. Her arms began to itch as she approached them. She was glad, then, that she’d chosen to wear the dress.
She was too tired to care much about tact or appropriate behavior. She wasn’t too tired to worry that Teela would be pissed at her. She left the ruder words out, which meant High Barrani as her chosen language of communication. “What are you doing?”
Their eyes were blue. It was a darker shade of blue than the usual; there hadn’t been a lot of green in these rooms. The man bowed. “We are securing the room. Mortals sleep.”
She really was in a bad mood. Everything made her suspicious. Even the explanation, which on the surface made sense. “No one is going to try to kill me—”
“You do not wear the dress in your sleep, Lord.”
She let her arms fall to her side, glancing at the layout of the hall. It was too narrow for sword work; daggers would be fine. But daggers against at least one mage? One Barrani mage? Toss-up.
Teela could—and occasionally did—use magic. She didn’t use it often. Kaylin couldn’t offhand think of another Barrani Hawk who could. She’d wondered about it at thirteen—and for several years after—because the mages who came to the Halls were pompous men who considered the ability
Teela, however, was the only Lord to work as a Hawk. The rest of the Hawks—according to Teela—hadn’t taken the test of name. Kaylin had assumed, when she’d discovered Teela’s patrician background, that that was the difference. Maybe it hadn’t been. Maybe it was the test of name that somehow conferred that ability.
The test of name seemed to be a bit of a political sore spot for the denizens of the West March. Kaylin couldn’t believe that men and women who had survived it would work as servants.
The small dragon was sitting on her left shoulder, watching the servants. Watching Kaylin, as well. He didn’t seem to be concerned. Kaylin forced her hands to relax. These were Lirienne’s people. She recognized both of them; they hadn’t switched between shifts.
But they weren’t normally servants. She was now certain of it. She exhaled. “Were you both born in the West March?”
This caused them to exchange a glance, although they kept all expression off their faces. It was the woman who answered. “Yes.”
“Have you ever traveled to the High Court?”
“We have both made that pilgrimage. If you mean to ascertain whether or not we are Lords, we are not.”
“Actually, what I want to know is whether or not you’re normally servants.”
The woman’s eyes lightened; the man’s darkened. “We serve the Lord of the West March,” she said. “
“You spent more time in Elantra than your friend.”
“I spent a great deal of time in Elantra,” she replied—in Elantran. “I will not ask you to return to your room,
