Cast in Sorrow

Kaylin said nothing.

But I now understand that in serving you, I serve the Lady. I serve the Lord of the West March. I serve a sorcerer. I see legends walking—and flying. I see the twisted ruins of a Hallionne long lost to my distant kin. If disaster follows in your wake, it is not unmitigated. He hesitated, and then added, I remember what the transformed remember. Iberrienne would have drained the name that was released upon the death of my companion.

You preserved it.

You preserved it, and you wear it, but you do not destroy it in the wearing. The Consort believes that you will return that life to the Lake. And if you can, it means you have seen what she has seen, and you have survived. I know what she hopes to achieve. We all know. But if she fails, she believes that you might succeed. It is her highest duty. I will serve with what small grace I can muster. You live such a short time.

Chapter 23

What do you remember? Kaylin asked Ynpharion. What did you think you were fighting for?

Freedom.

From the tyranny of name?

You understand.

No, I don’t. You still have a name or you wouldn’t be here. Was the name supposed to be transformed, somehow?

If we understood the form of our hidden selves, we could, with will and careful intent, revise it. If it became known, we could change it enough that knowledge was not a weapon that could be wielded against us. And we discovered that we could change more. The tyranny of form no longer bound us. We could walk the fixed lands—the world, as you call it. But we could walk the outlands, and we could walk the space between spaces. We could speak with the hidden and ancient things that live where the living cannot— creatures of which we had had no awareness before we were given the keys to unlock our cages.

He spit.

They were not cages. Had he been speaking out loud, his voice would have trembled with the intensity of his anger. They were the essence of what we are. The shadows bled the strength from the words, but they could not completely change them; they could change their meaning in the gray spaces where names do not exist.

Kaylin frowned. She turned to Barian, who walked by her side as they left his home. “When the Lords come to the West March to listen to the regalia, it is rumored that some are empowered by the experience.” She spoke in careful High Barrani.

His nod was cautious; it didn’t encourage discussion.

The advantage of belonging to a lesser race was the expectations it engendered; he had far fewer of her. “It is why the most promising of the young were chosen, was it not?”

“Yes.”

“How were the Lords changed?”

His eyes widened. They were blue; she didn’t expect their color to shift in any way. “I am not certain I understand the question.”

“How was change measured?”

He frowned.

“Lord Lirienne? Does it still happen?”

“Yes. It is not predictable, Lord Kaylin. It is not a dependable change, and there are no indicators prior to the recitation; men and women with great power are changed; men and women with almost no discernible power are changed.”

“Yes, but—how? The Barrani I know imply a lot of power but don’t demonstrate much of it. I’m certain I haven’t seen a tenth of what Evarrim can do.”

“That is a question that Lord Evarrim would be able to answer.”

“And not the Warden?”

“Very few of the Lords remain in the West March; it is rustic, and the Court of the Vale is less...active. Such changes would not necessarily be marked in a venue in which displays of power are less necessary.”

She thought of Lord Avonelle, and Lord Lirienne graced her with the slightest of smiles.

“Does the change involve elemental powers?”

“Elemental powers?”

“Does it strengthen the ability to summon?”

The Lord of the West March was silent.

“Does it give more insight into the between, the gray spaces, the outlands? Does it change the ability to draw wards and runes, to imbue them with power?”

The silence grew. At length, he said, “Yes. There are other abilities which are also strengthened. What do you now suspect, Chosen?”

What did she think? That something, somehow, was altering the base structure of a name? Nudging it, tweaking it, somehow pushing it into a very slightly different shape? The changes that occurred—where they occurred at all—didn’t destroy the person who received them. It didn’t do what had been done to the lost children, and what had been done, in turn, to the Barrani who had become Ferals.

Why?

A name was a name. It was given at birth. Did the Barrani somehow grow into it? Was it more rooted, stronger somehow, with age and experience? Were the children susceptible because they had not yet grown into the word that would define them? Were they altered because they had no way of protecting what they didn’t fully understand?

Or was Ynpharion altered not because of the shadows but because of the length and constancy of the exposure to the things that weren’t meant to live here? Did the recitation give a glimpse of that world to those who could retain it? Did it sensitize them without altering the nature of what life meant?

Ynpharion—

Yes, I understand the question. I do not remember being told a story.

Did you understand what Iberrienne was attempting to do when we—when we first met?

No. He hadn’t finished, but was silent for a long moment. Yes. I think I believed that he was trying to change the world. To make it freer. To rid it of the constraints and the limits placed upon us by our creators.

Was this his idea?

It was our idea; we believed it. We could see the world that he could see. We did not have the power to change it, but the power exists in the words left us. We could use those words. We could use them to alter reality.

The names.

She felt his revulsion. He didn’t bother to mention the Lake of Life; even the thought of it in this context revolted him. Yet it was what he had believed.

Do you have any idea of how that was supposed to work?

No.

And Iberrienne seems to have only half a brain left. Did you ever see his brother?

Brother?

She took this as a no, but said, Iberrienne lost his brother to the recitation. He was one of the