Cast in Sorrow

Imperial Hawk; before the Dragon Court, she claimed her ties to the High Court, and her rank as a warrior in the Dragon wars.

When? When did she do this?

You were younger, Kaylin. You were considered, I believe, a child by everyone but yourself. And the Emperor understood the danger of the marks you bear. He wished to see you destroyed. She wished to see you preserved. Her presence as a warrior, her title as a senior member of the High Court, and the weapon she bore, all made a threat she herself would never utter. She was willing to go to war—for you. If he desired your death, he would have had to kill her first. And, Kaylin—you did not see her.

You didn’t, either.

He chuckled. No. But my brother did. My sister did. The Consort attempted to reason with her. She listened. She listened with the respect due the Lady. She agreed with every argument the Lady made. She would not, however, be swayed. She was unconcerned with the loss of face.

Let me guess. Attachment to mortals is right up there with dying for your cats.

It is exactly like that; I am informed that it nonetheless happens among mortals. It does not happen among my kin. She strode into the Palace to make her argument to the Eternal Emperor. She did not threaten him, as was expected. Her accoutrements were all the threat she allowed herself to make.

Kaylin looked at Teela; Teela was staring into the distance in a “don’t talk to me” way.

She pleaded, Kaylin. She told the Emperor that your life was measured in decades—mortal decades; that it would end soon enough on its own. Lord Tiamaris argued against those years; he pointed out that if decades were so insignificant—in a city in which the majority of the occupants faced exactly that fate—what difference did they make? The harm you might do in those decades, the possibility of destruction, and at that, unpredictable destruction, warranted your death. It was prudent.

That, I knew.

Oh?

Marcus—my Sergeant—still hates him for it. She frowned. She had heard that Teela had gone to Court on her behalf. She hadn’t questioned it; she barely remembered because she hadn’t been asked to attend. She’d been told after the fact.

You think that Barrani do not love. I love my brother and my sister.

I know. That’s what makes you—

Unusual? Or weak?

Unusual, she said, firmly.

It is a weakness, he said. No, Kaylin. For you it is not. But the survival of your kind depends on numbers. You do not survive in isolation. It is not the same for my kin or the Emperor’s. You think of love—when you think of it—as a strength, as a binding. And for you, it is.

But bindings break when they are tested for eternity. Nothing, not even mountains, last forever. What has been a strength can shatter—with a single death, in a single moment. You call it a risk, he added softly. But it is not a risk, for us; it is a certainty. But we live, Kaylin. We live. Love is not therefore unknown to us; it is sharpest when we are young.

But I believe you understand. And if you do not, it is both my fear and my hope that you will.

* * *

“An’Teela.”

Teela met the eyes of the Lord of the West March. He said nothing further; she said nothing. To him. To Kaylin, in Elantran, she said, “If the Exchequer doesn’t hang for this, I will hunt him down and kill him myself.”

Kaylin said nothing because the nausea was increasing. The passing trees and grass spun in circles; she closed her eyes, which helped—but not enough. She could still feel the ground vibrating beneath her feet; had she not been surrounded by Barrani, she would have dropped to her knees.

Hells with it. She dropped to the ground anyway. She was never going to gain Barrani approval; she could spend her whole life being as perfectly mannered and viciously political as they were, and she might get a pat on the head. At the moment, it wasn’t incentive enough; she sat, crossing her legs beneath the flowing folds of her skirt. Having more ground beneath her—and a shorter distance to hit it if the dizziness overwhelmed her— helped.

She was momentarily grateful when the world stopped moving and very carefully opened her eyes.

She wasn’t certain what she had expected of a place called the heart of the green. Mostly, a lot of well- tended grass—the kind that only rich people had—and trees. Maybe a fountain, or a small pond.

There was no grass here. There were two trees—two leafless, winter trees. There was what might once have been a fountain; the stone was preserved, but the basin was dry and empty. Kaylin approached the fountain, pausing once to ask silent permission of Barian, who frowned but nodded. If there were wards here, she couldn’t see them. She glanced at the small dragon, who’d folded himself into the shawl position; he could only barely be bothered to lift his head. He sighed and lowered it again, without doing anything helpful first.

Fine.

She touched the fount’s rim. It was warm; the clearing was warm. Not hot, not arid, but warm; it suggested sunlight on a day that the sun didn’t choose to be punishing. But nothing grew here that she could see.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Chapter 17

The small dragon whiffled.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“You were, of course, talking to yourself again. What have I told you about that?” Teela came to stand by her side; she didn’t touch the stone. Her hands were loosely clasped behind her back.

“People will doubt my sanity.”

Teela nodded. “Unless you happen to be the Arkon.”

“In which case it’s irrelevant.”

Teela’s smile was stiff, but genuine. “Yes. What, specifically, don’t you understand?”

“This is the heart of the green. But—it’s not very green.”

“No.”

“Was it always like this?”

“It has been like this for a long time.”

“Which is a no.”

“Kitling, honestly, if I could pack you up and send you home—with any hope that you’d arrive in more or less one piece—I would. No. In my childhood, it was not.”

“What did it look like then?”

“The trees bore leaves. The fountain was active; it was similar to the fountain in the courtyard of the Lord’s hall—but it was, in all ways, more impressive.” Her lips curved in a strange smile as she lifted her face. “The water spoke. Not often, not reliably, and not always in a language that the pilgrims could understand—but its voice...”

Kaylin thought of the Tha’alaan.

“Sometimes, the water offered glimpses of past history—again, it was not reliable; one could not simply ask. But on quiet days, the waters in the basin grew still, no matter how strong the breeze in the greenheart, and images would form; they were like—and unlike—our Records in the Halls of Law. We could not ask.”

“Why is the water gone? If the fountain in the Lord’s hall—”

“A question you should never ask in Lord Avonelle’s hearing.”

“That is a question that An’Teela has asked before,” Lord Barian said. He joined them, his arm bent and lifted, the eagle upon it.