Cast in Sorrow

If her skin had melted, it wouldn’t have surprised her. She felt almost as if it should, the heat was so intense. Through the interior of sleeves that were more hole than material, she could see the marks on her arms: they were gold-white in color, and bright enough that she had to squint to make out their individual shapes. The light was not the subtle light that had imbued the Consort—but then again, Kaylin had none of the Consort’s restraint, none of her perfect, regal dignity.

The dragon continued to squawk, which was both a comfort and a distraction; the claws of the shadows cut deeper—but there was, to Kaylin’s eye, no resulting blood. Nor did the creatures sink into her hands and vanish, as they’d done with the Consort.

Instead, to her dismay, they seemed to grow more solid, not less, as the seconds passed. They were black, their wings developing texture, height, distinguishing characteristics. The light of her marks didn’t seem to dim— but they didn’t vanish, either. The shadows weren’t somehow eating them.

She thought they might become some echo of the small dragon, because they seemed to be listening to him, mesmerized by his squeaky, birdlike voice. He turned to look at Kaylin, hissed loudly in annoyance, and then turned back to his audience. They mirrored the motion. Kaylin’s hands were numb. Her arms were shaking. Shadows had no weight and little substance; what was now sitting in her palms was no longer entirely shadow.

Nor were they like the shadows cast by a gliding bird. The wings lengthened, brightened, and took on color; the indistinct, smooth surfaces of their shadow form cracked, giving way to—to feathers. As those wings snapped out, shards of shadow fell away, shaken off as if they were bits of shell.

Kaylin grunted. Two pairs of eyes turned to look at her; those eyes now rested above very, very prominent beaks. They inhaled and the golden feathers across their breasts rose; she could see white down beneath them. She had never seen birds this large. They didn’t really look like birds— they looked like predators. They were far too large for her hands, far too heavy; she struggled with their growing weight because she didn’t want to piss them off by dropping them.

As if aware of this—and the possible loss of dignity—they released her hands, leaping to the ground to one side of Kaylin and the Consort. When one of the Barrani Lords moved, they rose, their wings high in warning. That they didn’t knock either Kaylin or the Consort off their feet was a miracle.

A deliberate miracle. One of the birds turned to face them. “Lady,” it said.

Kaylin offered the Consort an arm—and her shoulder. The Consort was willing to let Kaylin absorb most of her weight, but her eyes—her eyes were a shade of gold, ringed in pale blue. They looked like the sun at the height of a cloudless sky. Kaylin had almost never seen that color in Barrani eyes before.

From the forest beyond them, Barrani approached. They were armed with bows, and they wore a different style of armor—if it was armor at all. But their hair was the ebony of Barrani hair, and it fell unimpeded down their backs. They moved slowly, and their eyes, as they approached, were the same gold as the Consort’s.

“The Lord of the West March requires aid. We go now,” the bird on the left said. His voice was clear, resonant; it had none of the squawk she expected of birds.

The Lady closed her eyes. Opened them rapidly, as if afraid that what she’d seen would vanish. The birds lifted wings again, and this time, the wings continued in a flurry of motion that took them into the night air.

* * *

The Barrani of the West March were silent as they watched the two birds take flight; silent as they watched them wing their way to the east, where the Lord of the West March was fighting. Only when they’d passed beyond sight—well beyond Kaylin’s—did they break away.

It was clear there were complicated rituals of approach. Kaylin shouldn’t have been surprised. Everything the Barrani did was complicated. But it was also clear that they’d dumped most of those rituals the minute they’d seen the birds emerge from the shadows. The gold of their eyes had given way to an emerald-green that Teela’s eyes rarely reached. They were happy.

“Lady,” the man in the lead said. He bowed. It was a low, complicated bow.

She felt the Consort tense—but the Consort was exhausted. There wasn’t a lot of strength left for tension. “Lord Barian. This is Lord Kaylin of the High Halls; she has made the pilgrimage to the green, as all our adult kin must.”

To Kaylin’s surprise, he turned to her. “I am the Warden of the West March,” he told her, and he offered a bow that was almost identical to the one he’d offered the Consort. The rest of the tension left the Consort’s body then. Kaylin grunted as she took the rest of the Consort’s weight. Barrani, while tall and slender, were not exactly weightless.

“We are in your debt, harmoniste.” He held out his arms.

Kaylin’s closed automatically around the Consort, and a black brow rose. So did the corners of his mouth.

“The history of the West March and the High Halls has not always been peaceful, but she is the Lady; she will come to no harm while my kin reside in the greenhome.”

“She’s already come to harm,” Kaylin replied. She spoke in less formal Barrani.

The Warden’s smile faded. “You are mortal. Rumor traveled that a mortal had been chosen by the green; it was only barely given credence. There are those who will not be pleased, Lord Kaylin. I would have been one of them. But I am grateful now that I came in person to greet the Lady, for if I had not I would not have seen...what we have witnessed this night.

“The Lady is welcome in the greenhome. She is welcome in its heart. And you, Lord Kaylin, have my welcome and my gratitude. I am in your debt.”

“The Barrani hate debt,” she replied.

He surprised her. He laughed. But he held out his arms again. “I will bear your burden with honor and dignity; you may travel as witness, Lord Kaylin.”

Kaylin knew she couldn’t carry the Consort. But she was fairly certain Teela could. “Teela?”

Every Barrani from the West March—there appeared to be eight—stiffened at the sound of the Barrani Hawk’s name, and their eyes instantly lost most of the emerald-green the sight of the giant birds had placed there.

Chapter 3

There were good career reasons why Kaylin had never been considered a diplomat. Since she had no desire to be one, it had never mattered much. There were also good career reasons why Kaylin was not the on-duty Hawk at investigations that involved the upper echelons of the Human Caste Court.

But not even Kaylin could miss the sudden chill in unfamiliar Barrani eyes. She gave the Consort a tiny shake; the Consort did not respond. More than a tiny shake was impossible, given the sharp intake of breath the tiny one had caused.

Lord Barian said, “Lord Kaylin.”

Teela proved that there were reasons why she was also seldom the on-duty Hawk in delicate investigations, besides the usual racial ones; the Human Caste Court didn’t like being questioned by arrogant immortals. She stepped forward, moving without haste and with her characteristic, arrogant grace.

The two Hawks now bracketed the Lady.

Lord Barian’s eyes narrowed. “An’Teela,” he said.

“I am Lord,” Teela replied. “The customs of the West March differ from those of the High Court, but surely not so greatly. Or perhaps you neglect the title as a subtle way of claiming kinship, cousin?”

Severn joined them.

The West March Barrani couldn’t have failed to notice that he was mortal. They’d noticed everything else. But...Severn unsheathed his weapon blades for the first time since they’d stopped running, and as Kaylin watched the Warden’s eyes darken, she lifted her chin. It was either that or cringe.

Evarrim came to stand beside Teela; Teela failed to notice him at all. Instead, she exhaled. “Kitling.” She turned to the Consort, and slid arms around the back of her neck and her knees. Kaylin supported some of her weight as Teela shifted her grip. She wouldn’t drop or desert the Lady while she lived.