Cast in Honor (The Chronicles of Elantra) (20 page)

“Kattea is not an anchor in the sense that your boats—”

“Ships.”

“—ships have anchors. But she serves the same purpose. She is part of her own time, and only in that time is there a road into—and out of—the
gardia
, by which Nightshade might leave. Only through Kattea do I have the confidence that I am able to return to that time. But that connection will wane.

“It is almost irrelevant at this point. I did not intend to stop here. I did not intend to come here at all.”

“You meant to return to Castle Nightshade.”

“Yes. I followed the sound of Annarion’s voice until it abruptly ceased. When I could not longer hear him, I attempted to correct my course. I could not. It is not that I am trapped here,” he added. “I can move, if I so choose.

“But there is nowhere to move to.”

* * *

Kattea, determinedly unaware of the weight of the ensuing silence, busied herself with floating plates. “Gilbert asks a lot of questions. Some of them are kinda funny.”

Gilbert smiled. “I have come to understand mortality from Kattea’s answers. I understand that you contain no true words, no paragraphs, no stories. Such words do not form, guide or control the shape of your life.”

When Kaylin made no immediate reply, Helen said, “You have choices that we do not. The Ancients created us for a purpose. They devised the beginning of our conscious lives, and they saw to the end of them. Everything within the parameters of our creation is open to us. Everything beyond or external to them...is not.

“You have said we have the power of gods within our own boundaries. We do not. We cannot create life, although we can destroy it. We can speak, but if no one crosses our threshold, we cannot be heard. We have purpose, but it is a purpose dependent, always, on others.” She reddened. “And I speak, of course, for myself, not for Gilbert. Gilbert can move independently. He can make decisions that I could not, before my injury, make. He can make connections that are still, by my very nature, denied me.”

“Yes. Apologies, Helen. Yet if I can make those connections, my interactions are nonetheless prescribed. Yours, Kaylin, Kattea’s, perhaps your companions’, are not. They do not exist in all of the planes of being.”

“We have names,” Bellusdeo told him, her voice unusually gentle.

“Kaylin and Kattea do not even have that. Yet they think, they speak, they plan. Perhaps the wisdom of their plans can be called into question—but they have a choice and they make it, unhindered.”

Kaylin cleared her throat. “We don’t.”

“You do.”

“No. We’ve got choices, sometimes. But what choice did Kattea have? Did she choose to lose her parents? Did she choose to lose her home? Did she choose to be hunted by Ferals?”

“Kitling—”

“Did she choose to meet you outside of Castle Nightshade?”

“Kitling, I think—”

“He’s romanticizing poverty and desperation, Teela. If he’s going to talk about
choice
that way, I want him to understand what he’s actually saying. Yes, our lives aren’t predetermined. They’re not fixed. But we need to eat. We need to keep warm. We need to sleep. We don’t get to choose where we’re born, or how, or to who. We’re not guaranteed to
get
any of the things we need. We’re just as trapped by the things we need and the things we fear as you are by the words at your core—but most of us will never, ever be able to do the things those words allow you to do.

“If Kattea had met Ferals instead of you, she’d be dead. You’d never find enough—”

“Kitling.”

Kaylin stopped.

Kattea, however, threw Teela a look that seemed far too old for her face. “Why are you making her stop? She’s right.”

“I think Teela is concerned about the effects discussing your death might have on you,” Helen offered.

“Because the discussion would change it? She’s right. If Gilbert hadn’t found me, I’d be dead. If Gilbert had been a different person, I might be alive—but I might not be free. At all. I have no family to protect me. No one who would care if I disappeared. I don’t expect Gilbert to understand all this—he didn’t even understand breathing. No, I mean it. He didn’t. He didn’t really understand eating, either. He doesn’t understand family. He doesn’t understand
anything
. But Kaylin
does
understand. And she should be allowed to speak.”

Kaylin shook her head. “I think you’ve just said everything I was going to say.”

“I didn’t. Do you know what the two days before I met Gilbert were like?”

Kaylin closed her eyes. “I can imagine.”

“Gilbert protects me. But I help him, too.”

“And how,” Mandoran drawled, “do you do that? If you’re so helpless, so powerless, how do you help him?”

She flushed, but continued, her expression clearly shouting
I don’t like you
. “Because he doesn’t know anything. I
explain
things.”

Mandoran was clearly not impressed with the ability of a mortal child to explain anything. Kaylin was about to kick him when Helen intervened.

“She explains her life,” she told the condescending Barrani. “And it is her life, and lives like it, that are most foreign to our experience. How she sees, what she sees, what she knows, what she doesn’t know—this information is of incalculable value. Do not deride it. It is information that we cannot otherwise possess.”

“It’s not just information,” Kattea continued, with less anger and more confidence. “If I’m not with him, Gilbert can’t go home.”

* * *

Squawk
.

Gilbert turned to the empty space occupied by an invisible familiar. He replied. Kaylin couldn’t understand a word he spoke, but the familiar didn’t have that problem. Neither did Mandoran, who joined in.

Kaylin and Kattea ate while they argued, as did Severn. There was no point in starving.

“Are they always like this?” Kattea whispered.

“Yes. And they can hear you two rooms away, even if you whisper.”

“Oh. I don’t like him.”

“Mandoran?”

“Is that his name?”

“It’s the polite version.”

“What’s the rude version?”

“Kitling,” Teela warned.

“It’s not a name,” Kaylin clarified. “Look, I won a bet, right?”

Kattea nodded.

“So, let me ask you some questions.”

“About the murders?”

“Got it in one.”

Kattea nodded. “We didn’t kill them,” she said.

“Did you see them alive at any point?”

Kattea’s voice was hesitant, wary. “...Yes.”

“They’re dead, Kattea. They can’t hurt you; they can’t take offense at anything you tell me now. Did Gilbert speak to them?”

Kattea nodded. “But only one time.”

“When?”

The girl’s eyes slid off Kaylin’s face, which was pretty much an answer. Kaylin asked anyway. “The night before they died?”

Kattea nodded again. “Gilbert doesn’t get angry. He was angry then. It was the first time I’d seen it.”

“How could you tell?”

“He—he hit one of them.” Kattea hesitated. “But not—but not with his hand. I think it was magic.” She spoke the single word with both reverence and a touch of fear. “They shouted. I think they tried to use magic, too.”

“Did Gilbert speak to all three of them?”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“There were four,” Kattea insisted. “I can count to
four
.”

Kaylin winced. “Sorry.”

Kattea exhaled. “Me, too. But—honest, there were four. It was the fourth guy Gilbert didn’t like. The fourth guy hit Gilbert.”

“Physically?”

Kattea nodded. “But...they were standing in the middle of the street, and the street wasn’t empty. So the other three didn’t stick around. They went into their own house.”

“Can you describe the fourth man?”

“No, but he was Barrani. He was Barrani and he was wearing a thing on his head. Not a crown, but—”

“A circlet? Was there a gem across his forehead?”

She nodded. “It was yellow, I think.”

“Teela—”

“On it,” Teela said. “You’re certain the circlet had a yellow stone? It wasn’t green or blue?”

“Or red?” Kaylin added.

“It was yellow or clear.”

Teela said something short and curt—in Leontine. “I surrender,” she said, to Kaylin.

“What did I do this time?”

“Nothing is
ever
simple, where you’re concerned.”

“I had nothing to do with this!”

“Yellow is bad?” Severn asked. Given Teela’s expression, Kaylin had decided against it.

“Diamond,” Tain said, “is bad.”

“So we’re hoping for yellow.”

“Yellow doesn’t exist—not if we’re assuming the involvement of Arcanists.” Tain looked at his partner. As far as Kaylin knew, Tain didn’t know Teela’s True Name, and Teela didn’t know his. But they’d worked together for as long as Kaylin had known them. When things got serious, words were superfluous.

“Kattea, how did you get to your house?”

“We walked.”

“Did you walk through the halls in your basement?”

Kattea nodded. She hesitated and then added, “Gilbert wanted to leave the fiefs. I told him it wasn’t safe, even at night. No one crosses the bridge. So we went back to the Castle.”

“You didn’t get here through the Castle.”

“No. But there’s a well—a dry well—behind it. Gilbert said it connects to the city.”

Kaylin started to tell her that Gilbert was wrong, and stopped. She had climbed down that well, using it as a back door into the Castle itself. What it connected to was water. Elemental water. The uneasiness in prominent display in Teela’s and Tain’s eyes took up residence in Kaylin’s mind, as well.

“Did you discover water at the bottom of the well?”

“Yes. And a boat.”

“...A boat.”

Kattea nodded.

“I didn’t get a boat when I had to climb down the well.”

“Complain later, kitling.”

Squawk.

“You used the boat?”

Kattea nodded. “There was a river, an underground river. We got into the boat, and the boat began to move. Gilbert spoke.” She took a deep, nervous breath and said, “The water
answered
.”

“What did the water say?”

Kattea’s brows furrowed. “You believe me?”

“I’ve spoken with the water beneath Castle Nightshade before. Yes, I believe you.” She wanted Gilbert and the familiar to shut up. Their voices quieted instantly. Kaylin immediately turned to make sure they were still there.

“I am sorry, dear,” Helen said. “When you think with such ferocity, I can’t quite tell if you mean for me to act or not.”

“...Sorry. I just— It’s hard to hear Kattea with all the squawking.” She turned back to the girl. “What did the water say?”

Kattea’s shoulders curved toward her knees; she rested her chin on them. “I don’t know. I couldn’t understand it.”

Gilbert looked up. “I did not understand most of it, either.”

“You’re sure it was the water you were hearing?”

“Yes, Chosen. The water carried us to the halls beneath my current residence. We found the stairs, and the house itself was unoccupied.”

“And you just...stayed there.”

“I did not know where I was; Kattea had a better understanding. She seemed...excited.”

Kattea nodded. “We can’t cross the bridge,” she told Kaylin. “No one who crosses the bridge returns.” She said this in a hushed voice.

“No one who crosses the bridge wants to return?” Kaylin asked.

“I don’t know. No one knows what’s on the other side of the bridge. No one can see anything past the Ablayne. Four people left two years ago. They crossed the bridge. We could all see them until they reached the banks of the opposite side.”

“What happened?”

“They disappeared. They just—they just weren’t there anymore. They were supposed to cross the bridge and return. They didn’t.” She continued to look at her knees. “My dad used to tell me stories about the city across the bridge.” Lifting her chin, she added, “He was born here. This is where he grew up.”

“If your father grew up here—”

“He was a Sword.”

Kaylin felt her stomach drop about two feet, which would put it somewhere beneath the floor. If Gilbert was right, Kattea was part of a nebulous and suddenly threatening future in which Elantra itself had been destroyed or swallowed; a future which saw Swords—or former Swords—living on the other side of the Ablayne.

If Swords had crossed the bridge, it explained Kattea and her view of Nightshade; it explained Kattea’s resolute belief in the Hawks. Unfortunately, it explained almost nothing else.

* * *

“Fine.” Kaylin exhaled. Turning to Severn, she said, “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Severn rose.

Teela stepped in the way. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To see Evanton. I want to speak to the elemental water.”

“Now?”

“I have to go now, or I won’t get back in time. In theory, we have dinner tonight with a very important guest.”

“In practice,” Bellusdeo said, “we don’t. Don’t give me that look—I had no idea when you would wake or if you could be moved. The Emperor accepted the deferral for reasons of his own.”

“And those would be?” Kaylin demanded.

Teela’s lips thinned. “Did we not agree that this was not a pressing concern?”

“Kaylin appears to be materially unharmed. She’s going to find out anyway.”

“What exactly is Kaylin going to find out?” the private in question now asked.

Bellusdeo exhaled smoke. “Tiamaris has fallen off the mirror network.”

Chapter 17

“Pardon?”

“The fief of Tiamaris can no longer be reached by the mirror network.”

“And the other fiefs?”

“The only other fief in which the Halls had a known contact was Nightshade.”

“Have you tried? Andellen—and the rest of his men—should still be there.”

Teela hesitated. “Yes,” she said, voice a shade too quiet. “Word has been sent to Lord Andellen. The fief of Tiamaris can be reached on foot, and Tiamaris is unharmed. The mirror network, however, will no longer cross the Ablayne.”

Kaylin shook her head. Lifting her hand, she began to count. “One: Evanton’s. Two: Tiamaris. Three: the Winding Path. Four: never mind.”

“Four is Nightshade.”

Kaylin glanced at Severn. “Four: Nightshade. Am I missing anything?”

Teela held up one finger. “Five: the Arcanum.”

Bellusdeo held up a hand. “I might as well play. Six: the Arkon.”

Kaylin grimaced. “Teela and Tain can cover the Arcanum. You can speak to the Arkon.”

“Nightshade?” Teela asked.

“I’m not sure what we’re supposed to find there, but yes, I can go to the Castle and attempt to speak with Andellen. But I really think we should ask Tara about the whole push-forward-in-time thing. If we understand how it works, we may be able to figure
something
out.” She massaged the back of her neck as she considered. “I don’t know if you heard what Kattea said—”

“We heard,” Teela replied.

“—but we need to know what she actually knows. If something happened in her past, it’s something that’s going to happen in our present. With our luck, probably now. Any information she can give us might point us in the right direction.”

“I’m going to bet on Arcanist and ancient basement myself,” Teela said. “We’re heading out.”

Bellusdeo said, “I’ll get Maggaron. We’ll speak to Lannagaros—but he’s not going to be happy that you’re not there.”

“Why? Because he’ll have to be polite to everyone in the room?”

Bellusdeo grinned. “Maggaron is too earnest for Lannagaros’s taste; he begins to feel guilty if he teases him.”

“I’ll have to try that approach.”

“I don’t understand it myself—I find teasing Maggaron both amusing and irresistible.” Her smile faded. “I won’t insist on following you to the Keeper’s or Tiamaris.”

“Nightshade?”

“I am...uneasy. I can, however, deal with Lannagaros; it’s far better than having to speak with Arcanists.”

“It’s far better for
you
,” Teela countered, an entirely different smile coming to the fore. “If Tain and I go, any difficulties are entirely a matter for the Caste Court.”

“Meaning?”

“If anyone happens to die, it’s not murder, according to Imperial Law. If we have to drag any of you, on the other hand, things become messier.”

“That’s only assuming the Arcanist in question is actually Barrani,” Kaylin felt compelled to point out.

“Yes. You have problems with that assumption?”

“Not all Arcanists are Barrani, Teela.”

“No. But mortal Arcanists have seldom caused large-scale destruction and danger.”

“Hello? The last time—”

“Oh, hush. Don’t rain on the only possible bright spot in an increasingly dreary day, hmm? And try not to get yourself killed in our absence.”

“In general, your
presence
has caused me more trouble.”

* * *

Gilbert turned to Kattea, who was still seated, knees beneath her chin, against the wall. “What do you wish us to do?” he asked quietly.

“If you were a Hawk,” Kaylin told him, “we’d send you to keep an eye on the basement that contains the possible murder victims.” She frowned. “You haven’t seen the bodies, have you?”

“No. As Kattea has mentioned, I had some very small interaction with three men the night before the Hawks were summoned. If they are the same men who were disincorporated—”

“Killed,” Kattea corrected, although she still didn’t look up. “I told you—people don’t evaporate. Only water.”

“Ah. Yes. If they are the same men, I have not seen them since their deaths.”

Kaylin, who was watching Kattea—or what she could see of the girl, which at the moment was a bowed head, forearms and legs from the knees down—frowned. Kattea’s arms had tightened. In a quieter voice, which she hoped was somehow comforting, she said, “All of this is off-record. If for some reason you
have
, tell me now.”

“I have not.” Gilbert looked slightly bewildered. “What is off-record?”

Kattea snickered into her kneecaps.

“It means that I won’t mention it to anyone who would get angry about it. More or less.” Teela and Tain were gone; Bellusdeo was upstairs. That left Helen and Severn. “I was hoping to leave you and Kattea here. It’s safe. Helen won’t hurt you—but more important, she won’t let anything else hurt you, either.”

“Who would attempt to hurt me?”

“Someone apparently did, according to Kattea.”

Gilbert frowned. “There was some difficulty, but it was minor in nature.”

Kattea lifted her head then. She looked both outraged and—well, differently outraged. Gilbert’s obvious stupidity—because it was clear that Kattea considered him to be just about too stupid to live at the moment—cut through her fear of the future. “It was
not
minor.”

“What happened?” Kaylin addressed Kattea.

“People came to the house. They knocked. We ignored it.”

“When was this?”

“The night before you came back.”

“Before I healed Gilbert?”

“Before you won the bet, yes.”

“Fine. These men came after your neighbors were murdered?”

Kattea nodded. This nod was...off. Kaylin glanced at Severn; his face had become a mask. But he nodded; he noticed what she had.

Fair enough. Kaylin, at Kattea’s age, would never have answered a door at night. The only people who went out at night in Nightshade were fools—or worse, people powerful enough not to have to fear Ferals. “What time was it?”

Kattea shrugged. “It’d been dark for
hours
. No one you want to speak to comes that late at night.” She spoke this as if she were repeating something she’d heard in her childhood. A lot.

Kaylin resisted the urge to bend or otherwise diminish the difference in their height. “How many were there?”

“At least three.”

“Four,” Gilbert replied.

“I said
at least
.” She exhaled. “I only saw three.” She tightened her arms, lowered her chin, inhaled. Kaylin thought she would fall silent again, but no—this time, she was gathering her courage. “It was the
same
three. The three that you said were dead.”

* * *

Apparently, this was news to Gilbert; it certainly caught the attention of both remaining Hawks and Helen.

“I do not think—” Gilbert began.

“Yes, I know,” Kattea shot back. She stood. “Gilbert doesn’t—he doesn’t
see
people the same way we do.”

This was making assumptions, but Kaylin was fine with that. “No, I don’t think he does.”

“Kattea has explained what death means to the mortal. If you, as Hawks, were called in to investigate deaths, it follows that the men in question could not be the same men.”

“That would be the hope, yes.” Kaylin hesitated. “Did they
look
dead to you?”

Kattea rolled her eyes. She didn’t expect to be believed. But Kaylin had believed her about the water. She was willing to
try
. “No. They looked exactly the same as they had the night before.”

“Exactly the same?”

Kattea nodded. “But there were only three this time.”

Gilbert said, “There were only three that
you
could see. There was a fourth. I am sorry, Kaylin—but they did not appear, to me, to be the same men. I have some difficulty recognizing individuals.”

“Kattea, are you
certain
?” Kaylin asked.

Kattea nodded. She was done with hesitation. “Gilbert was staring at a wall when they knocked. When Gilbert stares like that, it’s really hard to get his attention.”

“Kattea does manage,” Gilbert said, with a faint smile.

“You told me how. You didn’t tell them.”

“If you didn’t open the door and Gilbert was busy, how did they get in?”

“They came around the back and kicked the door in. I woke Gilbert up,” she added, “when I heard the back door. It took them a while.”

“Gilbert doesn’t sound like he was fully awake.”

Kattea’s snort was not particularly delicate. “He was awake enough to talk.”

“What did they want?”

“Mostly? I think they wanted to kill Gilbert.”

The three corpses, such as they were, had been invisible when viewed through the wing of her familiar. They had, however, been examined by Red—and by Hawks who had seen enough death to be able to recognize it.

“I meant to leave you both with Helen, where you’re safe. But I think we need to visit the Winding Path. I need you to look at the three bodies.”

Two days. Two
days
, she’d slept. “Next time,” she said to her partner, “wake me up.”

* * *

Annarion and Mandoran chose to remain with Helen. Given the look on Mandoran’s face, “chose” was probably the wrong verb, but the argument his expression implied was not audible. This meant, on the other hand, that Kaylin’s small and flappy familiar came out of hiding; Helen was capable of muting their voices.

He appeared in midair and landed on Kaylin’s right shoulder.

“He’s back,” Kattea said, voice hushed but perfectly clear.

Kaylin, who would have sworn that the familiar was nothing but a pain on most days, was surprised at how
right
it felt to have him there. She endured the quiet squawks that sounded suspiciously smug.

“He’d better be useful to you,” Mandoran told her, his perfect mouth folding into a not-entirely-unattractive pout. “He’s most of the reason we’re staying put.”

“You don’t—”

“Sedarias doesn’t want us anywhere near theoretical bodies. Or Gilbert, if it comes to that.”

Although she’d stayed behind in the West March, Sedarias had Annarion’s and Mandoran’s True Names. She could see what they saw, and was free to offer advice and opinion. Sedarias’s opinion carried a lot more weight than anyone who happened to be present.

* * *

Kattea was, in spite of her fear, excited. Kaylin felt ambivalent about this. There was something wrong when a child was excited about seeing
corpses
. She attempted to hint at this, but Kattea saw it as Hawk work, and she wanted to be included. Any hope that she would stay—quietly—with Helen when Gilbert left was instantly dashed.

Kaylin, remembering herself at thirteen, couldn’t bring herself to put her foot down. Severn, who had grown up in the same fief that Kaylin had, didn’t blink, either. She expected Marcus to be growly about it, but hoped to avoid actually
telling
him. She’d have to write a report, but Marcus didn’t usually read those all the way to the end.

The Hawks were in evidence when Kaylin approached the house. She let Severn do most of the talking, because if Kaylin and Severn did not consider a murder site—with bodies—unsuitable for a child, they were probably the only humans on the force who didn’t. In the end, Kaylin said, more or less truthfully, that Kattea was needed as an interpreter for Gilbert, who lived across the street.

“And the neighbor has information that he can’t give us without seeing the bodies first?” This was a perfectly reasonable question. Kaylin tried not to resent it. Gavin had never been her biggest supporter; he was practically purple now.

Kaylin waited while Gavin glared at Gilbert. He did not glare at Kattea; she was too young. At least in that, he was better than Mallory.

“This is highly irregular,” he said.

“I know. I only get called in on the weird magical problems, and this is definitely that.” She almost volunteered to route his request through Marcus, but waited. Marcus would put Gavin at ease, but it would eat time.

Time they didn’t have.

“Gavin, I still have to consult with Evanton, and if there’s time today, I have to go to two of the actual fiefs. I need to get this done. They won’t touch anything; I’ll be there to supervise.”

Gavin’s estimation of Kaylin’s ability
to
supervise was vanishingly small. “
I’ll
be there to supervise. Are you going to stand here all morning?”

* * *

Viewing the bodies—or having Gilbert view the bodies—had seemed like a smart idea in the comfort of her own home.

Gavin took the lead, which was to be expected. Kaylin followed, and Gilbert trailed after her. Severn took the spot behind Gilbert and Kattea pulled up the rear, at Gilbert’s insistence and to the child’s annoyance. She did not feel endangered in the presence of Hawks—and Gilbert himself—and she was old enough, barely, that she didn’t want to be treated like a child.

Gilbert abruptly stopped walking as they approached the stairs that led to the subbasement. Gavin continued down the stairs, stopped and turned when he realized that no one was following. “Is something wrong?” he asked. Well, demanded, really. Asking was not entirely Gavin’s style.

Gilbert didn’t answer.

Kaylin turned and froze herself; Gilbert’s eyes were black.

And there were three of them.

* * *

She almost reached up to close the third eye, but knew it was pointless. The eye looked like a normal eye, except for its placement; closing it wouldn’t make it disappear.

“When,” Gilbert said, in a voice that implied he had more than one mouth, although only one, thankfully, was visible, “did you disturb this place?” The stairs shook.

Gavin’s eyes were slits. “Private Neya.”

She exhaled. “He’s here to look at the bodies because he can see things we can’t. For obvious reasons.”

“What
is
he?” Gavin’s hand had fallen to his dagger; he didn’t have a sword.

“Gilbert. He’s—he’s not from around here.”

“I can see that. Where is he from, exactly?” He retrieved a pocket mirror with his left hand.

The small dragon leaped off Kaylin’s shoulder and flew at Gavin’s face. She dived after the translucent familiar while Gavin attempted to swat him out of the air.