Cast in Sorrow

Mortality defines you. You never leave your youth.

We do.

No, Kaylin, you do not. You have decades in which to live with the decisions you have made; decades in which to work to keep love and loyalty alive. You change because you age; you choose different lives. You are not bound, in all ways, by the past; you come from it, it informs you, but it does not imprison you.

You do not understand the ways in which we are always caged. It is not just the matter of a name—although you have seen the extents to which some of my people will attempt to escape even that weakness.

She had.

This was not an example of that, not directly. The twelve had barely discovered the joy of the bonds one can make with true names.

Those aren’t generally considered joyful, Kaylin replied.

Not by the wise, no. But the wise do not consider love or sentiment a joy, either. They are weary, Kaylin. They have seen the failure of too much.

She frowned. If you’re unchanging—if we’re defined by change, and you’re not...

Yes?

...isn’t your love unchanging? Doesn’t it last longer?

He offered her an arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it. It is a weakness, he said. You have heard that; it is true. What we love, we love forever; what we love we fear to lose. We are held hostage by affection. No; affection is too slight a word, although it is the one most commonly offered, where love exists. The joy, we remember, but the pain of loss lasts as long, and, as with mortals, as with all who feel emotion, we come to doubt that the joy was worth the pain.

We do not always love our kin. It is not wise. We are often placed in situations in which we must disavow—or kill—them. You despise this.

She often did.

But it is irrelevant. You define us by the politics. If we had that strength, we would define ourselves the same way.

You do.

No, Kaylin, we do not. It is the politics we are willing to share. Come; we are almost there.

Where?

The heart of the green. The true heart. I do not know what you will see. I do not know what is waiting. I have hope, he added softly.

And is that hope worth it?

I do not know. Ask me in a century. Or two.

She glared at the side of his face, and he surprised her. He laughed out loud, the sound just as rich, just as deep, as Lirienne’s.

Judging from the expression on Ynpharion’s face, it had surprised him, too—but Iberrienne’s smile was just as wide as Nightshade’s, and just as excited. He wasn’t skipping—that would have been enough to assure Kaylin she was dreaming—but he was practically beaming. She’d worked alongside the Barrani for almost eight years, and she’d never seen anything like it.

It broke her heart.

Don’t see them as children, Severn warned her.

I don’t.

But...she almost did. She could see the youth in them; it seemed so fragile, it made her want to hold her breath. Hope was pain. She knew that. But for moments at a time, before it broke, it was joy.

And it was with joy that they walked this path, in something that seemed almost like a city garden, and came, at last, to the heart of the green.

* * *

Kaylin recognized the two trees that stood there, although they had almost nothing in common with the two husks she’d seen; they were taller, fuller; they were in blossom, and in this case, blossom meant flowers. The flowers were a delicate shade of pink at the edge; the hearts implied something darker and brighter. Petals were strewn, almost artistically, across the grass in the shade beneath their bowers.

But she was certain they were the trees she and Teela had touched when they’d arrived in a barren, desert version of this place.

It was the fountain that caught her attention; there was—no surprise—water in its basin. The water, however, was not clear. She almost stumbled, but Severn slid an arm around her shoulders, because—of course —he’d seen what she’d seen, and seen it first.

The basin was full of not water, but blood.

Chapter 25

The blood set a different tone. The Lord of the West March lifted a hand in warning, and they stopped; only the Warden ignored his subvocal command. Only the Warden had that right. He walked to the fountain’s basin and stopped there; he didn’t touch the water. Kaylin thought he was making certain that nothing from the fountain reached the ground itself, and given the various warnings she’d been given, that made sense.

But she approached the fountain, as well, once Lirienne had lowered his hand. So did the Consort. “Be cautious,” the Consort said quietly.

Kaylin nodded. She didn’t attempt to touch the liquid in the basin, but she examined it more closely. At length, she turned to the Barrani. “It’s not blood,” she told them. “I mean, there’s blood in it, but the water is here.”

“You are certain?”

“You can hear the green. You,” she said softly to the Consort, “can hear the shadows. I can hear the water.” She could. Its voice was so quiet it might have been easy to miss it, but it was here.

The only thing missing was Teela.

No, she thought. Not the only thing. She turned to look down the path that had led them here, but wasn’t surprised when she couldn’t find it. Sometimes, there was no way back. She couldn’t see the dragon. She couldn’t hear him.

She started to ask, but stopped when the Lord of the West March came to stand beside her. He didn’t look at the fountain. He didn’t look at Kaylin. Instead, he began to speak. She glanced at his face, and saw his eyes: they were midnight-blue. Which made sense because she didn’t recognize the voice he spoke with, and she didn’t recognize the words he spoke, either.

No, Nightshade said. He didn’t approach Lirienne; instead, he walked to the base of one of the trees, just as Teela had done only the day before. It is time, Kaylin.

But—but nothing’s been said, there’s been no...

It is time. Can you not hear him?

She could. She couldn’t understand a word. She glanced at the Consort; the Consort’s eyes were now the color of her brother’s, although she spared Kaylin one sharp glance which clearly said “Move your butt.” But minus the vulgarity.

Kaylin made her way to the same tree she’d stood beside. Or at least a tree that stood in the same relative position. She lifted a hand to touch its bark, but noticed that Nightshade hadn’t.

She’d never been clear on the role the Lord of the West March was supposed to play. She didn’t understand the difference between his role and the role of the Teller; couldn’t understand why the green needed two. Until she heard Lirienne’s voice.