Cast in Sorrow

than she had. She knew it.

“The Hallionne knew I had the medallion,” Kaylin told Teela. “They never made me leave it behind, and they did let me in.”

“This isn’t a Hallionne. This is the heart of the West March. These are the lands that have never fallen to Dragons—or any other enemies—for all of our long history.”

“Yes, I understand that,” Kaylin replied, because she did. “But I don’t think the Hallionne or the green really care about the Dragons. Or the wars. Not the way the Barrani and the Dragons do. I don’t think they care about me, and the mark of Dragon ownership—me being the owned—is probably irrelevant to both.”

“You’re betting on it.”

“Yes. This one’s a bet I’m willing to make. Now shut up, you’re distracting me.”

“That was the point.” Teela fell silent as Kaylin took the medallion in her free hand. It was warm to the touch—but it would be, given that it had spent most of its time against her skin. She didn’t know if there was a word for light, if light itself had a name. She’d learned only the name of fire. But the elemental fire—even Evarrim’s—had failed to burn her.

Sanabalis’s medallion amplified her own meager power. She had used it only once before, in a much more obvious emergency. And a much less terrifying one, in the end. Monsters were simple: they either killed you or they didn’t.

Loss? It lasted forever. She didn’t intend to let go of Teela while Teela was still breathing, because this was all she had. She didn’t have immortal, perfect memory. She couldn’t go back.

She searched that imperfect memory for the name of fire, for the now of it, and it came to her in grudging syllables. They were figuratively oiled; they slid from her grasp before she could lock them in place, avoiding her mental touch, rearranging themselves as if to hide. All names were like this. All. Even Ynpharion’s.

But if Kaylin had been a name, she’d’ve probably done the same thing. She didn’t. She didn’t have eternity, either—but right now, she didn’t need it. What she needed was light. What Teela needed was warmth.

And fire answered her call.

* * *

It came not as a candle flame, nor as bonfire; it took, instead, the form and shape of a man. His features were chiseled in lambent, orange-gold, his hair was like Barrani hair, each strand a hazy glow. He wore robes of flame, although they were the color of his skin. But it was his eyes that caught and held her attention: they were black, but hints of opalescent color caught light, shimmering and winking out of existence as if they were faint stars.

Kaylin.

Teela pried her eyes open. She exhaled and said something in Leontine. It was quiet enough Kaylin only caught half of it.

Kaylin, however, sagged in relief.

Why are you here? You are not in the Keeper’s garden.

“You knew that. I spoke to you in the outlands.”

The fire regarded her for a long moment.

“Do you know where we are? We need to find a way out.” She glanced at Teela, who’d managed to keep her eyes open, even if they were slits. “Do you know this place?”

Yes. He frowned. It is dark. He gestured and fire spread in a thin, thin sheet from his hands. It passed around them; it burned nothing, not even a strand of stray hair. In the folds of this translucent, burning blanket, darkness evaporated. Kaylin was surprised to see the color of the walls: almost white.

The fire looked at Teela, his expression shifting. She is cold.

“She’s not dead.”

No, Kaylin. Let me carry her.

Kaylin opened her mouth.

I have carried you, Chosen.

“Teela, he wants to carry you.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Let him carry me for as long as you can sustain him.”

The fire slid an arm around the back of Teela’s neck and the backs of her legs. Kaylin hovered; in the narrow staircase, this took work.

Where do we go?

“Up,” Kaylin said.

He said nothing else. She found the fire confusing at times. In the elemental garden, the fire didn’t use words. He seemed, to her admittedly prejudiced mind, almost childlike; he asked for stories; she told them. His idea of stories tended to lack things like character or narrative; he wanted stories about fire. About lighting a fire. About what fire did, what it was used for, and even how it saved lives.

But outside of the garden, fire had a different voice.

It is a smaller voice, he said.

Kaylin didn’t consider it all that small.

No, but you are very, very small, Chosen. In the garden, it is hard to hear your voice at all; everything makes too much noise. He paused. It is hard here, as well. You should not be here. It was said in a tone that implied concern, but Kaylin found it forbidding anyway.

* * *

Without Teela’s weight, climbing was trivial; the stairs went up in a straight slope. After the first dozen stairs, Kaylin stopped worrying that the fire would accidentally char Barrani skin, and she looked straight ahead. There wasn’t much else to look at; the walls failed to sprout windows, doors, or other hallways.

“Kitling?”

“I’m here. I’m here, Teela.”

“We’re almost out.”

Since the stairs and the hall that contained them continued for as far as Kaylin could see, she frowned and briefly placed the back of her hand on clammy Barrani brow.

“Remind me not to break your arms when I have the strength to do so. You know how I feel about your worry.”

“Why do you think we’re almost out?”

“I can hear voices.”

Kaylin could hear nothing. Even the fire was absent its usual crackle. “Do you recognize them?” she asked.

“Yes.”

This didn’t make Kaylin feel any safer. She could guess, from Teela’s expression, who she thought she could hear, and the last time anyone else could hear them there’d been a whole mess of injured and near-dead in their wake.

Kaylin couldn’t hear them—but Kaylin hadn’t seen the nightmares, either. “Tell me if you see them?” she whispered.

Teela nodded and turned her face toward the fire’s heart.

The stairs widened. The halls therefore opened up as well, to accommodate the shift in width. It was easier to walk two abreast, and Kaylin waited. She didn’t need to walk beside the fire, but she wanted to keep Teela in easy reach.

Her fear that Teela would see something she couldn’t proved to be unfounded. The stairs came to an end. Beyond them, white stone continued in a flat, bright plane. At their height was a Barrani Kaylin recognized: Terrano. The Terrano of the forest.

But she’d seen the glass statues in the heart of Alsanis’s nightmare—and this boy had not been among them. He was smiling as he watched the fire approach; he appeared to have eyes for Teela. They were not, sadly, Barrani eyes.