“He is Lord of the West March,” the Consort said with a soft smile. “He has his duties and his responsibilities. Even if he did not, it is not his way to throw a stray mortal into the path of the unknown within his own domain.”
Kaylin nodded, but scurried immediately after him. The Consort was forced to let Nightshade follow, which at least two people disliked, Ynpharion being one. This surprised her.
The Barrani Lord failed to answer. He couldn’t cut the Consort off, as Nightshade had; he didn’t wear the Teller’s crown. But he followed the Lady stiffly. He could feel Kaylin’s confusion and her amusement, and the last was definitely not to his liking.
“What will you do with the dragon?” the Consort asked as they descended.
“I’m not certain. I don’t think his part in this is done yet.”
“No. Do you understand what his part in this is?”
Kaylin shook her head. “I would have said it was impossible that he have one—this story started long before either of us were born.”
“You don’t believe that.” She spoke in Elantran.
“I did. But...no. He doesn’t really have an age. I, on the other hand, do.”
Nightshade said a word, and the stairs were flooded with light. Kaylin blinked different tears out of her eyes.
But it hadn’t been, to Kaylin, which was a first. If the Barrani found it too dark for vision, Kaylin was usually bumping into walls, or anything else that stuck out.
She still saw stairs. She realized, with a start, that there were no walls; the stairs descended in a winding, tight trail, toward the distant earth. They were narrow stairs, without rails, and without an obvious central pillar. But they felt familiar. She could have been running up—or down—the stairs that lead to the Hawklord’s tower.
She couldn’t run down these ones without knocking Lirienne out of the way, which seemed the very definition of career-limiting. He reached ground as she did, and he approached roots that looked very familiar.
“You must lead,” he began. But he looked up, over the rounded surface of root.
Kaylin, however, looked down. “Can you see the river here?”
Lirienne frowned. “No, Lord Kaylin.”
The Consort caught her arm. She could tell, from the expression on the Consort’s face, that she could. It was not a comforting expression.
Kaylin turned to the Lord of the West March; he was climbing. He was climbing with confidence and grace, and he stopped only when he had reached the height of a root that was very close to trunk. Kaylin could see shards of wood and something darker in the air. “Don’t touch those,” she told him.
He maneuvered carefully around them, heading to the gap in the trunk that Kaylin had caused by touching a lone ward. Nightshade passed Kaylin.
“Lord Kaylin,” the Consort said quietly.
Kaylin nodded and followed. She followed with vastly less grace, and had to accept help from both Severn and the Consort to find enough purchase to climb. Climbing was one of her strengths, but she didn’t do it with grace—which, come to think, was an apt description of the way she lived the rest of her life, as well.
Lord Barian came up after Kaylin, and he stopped at the gap in the trunk, staring. In the light cast by Nightshade, she could see his expression; she could also see his pallor.
“It was like this when I found it,” Kaylin said. She felt compelled to add, “but the damage was concealed by a ward.”
“You invoked the ward.”
She nodded. “I walked into the gap, and I heard the green.”
“You are certain that it was the voice of the green speaking?”
“Yes.”
Lord Barian turned to the Consort. “I spent so little time in your city,” he told her. “Are all mortals this...surprising?”
“In my limited experience, no.”
“That is some small relief. The mortals outnumber us; they always have.”
“Kaylin?” the Consort said.
Kaylin nodded and once again entered the breach.
She stepped into sunshine, and lifted her hands to shade her eyes. The Consort followed; Kaylin could see debris in the folds of the Barrani woman’s dress. Ynpharion entered behind them, Iberrienne in tow. The enmity he felt for Iberrienne was gone; it had been replaced by a wordless, nameless pity. Kaylin couldn’t blame him; she felt it herself.
Severn pulled up the rear, but she found herself waiting for him, as if afraid he would be sent back, somehow. His eyes widened slightly as they adjusted to sunlight. There was sun here. And there were trees, grass, even the sound of running water. In the distance, trees formed horizon, or as much of it as could be seen.
“It wasn’t like this,” Kaylin said quietly. “Not the last time. This is what the heart of the green looked like, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
But the Consort said softly, “There are shadows, Warden. Can you not hear them? Stay on the path.”
The Warden’s smile was soft. “It is a gift, Lady. I will gladly walk this path again.”
“Even if you understand what occurs at its end?”
“Even then. I can hear the green. Lord Kaylin?”
“I can’t hear them,” she confessed. “And I’m happy with that.”
The Lord of the West March continued—once he had ascertained that no one had been lost in the passage —to lead. The Consort released Kaylin’s arm, and to Kaylin’s surprise, scurried ahead to catch up with her brother. He bent his head to listen to whatever she had to say, and to Kaylin’s greater surprise, laughed. His laughter was deep and almost musical, and it reminded her that he was capable of mirth.
