Michelle Sagara (9 page)

The eagles, silent until this moment, turned the intensity of their focus upon the Lord of the West March; they might have been puppies, given his reaction. “We asked. If we have transgressed, forgive us. We had hoped to have more time.”

“You will not remain among us.”

“No. We do not know how long we have, but the pull to oblivion is strong. The Chosen said that the Lady absorbed three of the nightmares, and has since remained asleep. Has she awoken in the Chosen’s absence?”

“No.”

“We would like to see her.”

All of the Barrani in the hall except the Lord of the West March tensed.

For no reason she could think of, Kaylin said, “I’ll be with them the entire time.” This would not have brought much comfort to most of the people she shared an office with.

“With your permission, I will also remain,” the Warden said. It sounded like a genuine offer, not a demand.

“It will be a very crowded room,” Lord Lirienne replied.

“Lord Kaylin is your
kyuthe,
Lord Lirienne. I have not asked the circumstances that drew her to your attention; I am sure there is a story behind it, when we have the leisure to indulge in them. I know, however, what drew her to mine: she touched the nightmares of Alsanis, and the eagles woke. We have argued long about the fate of Alsanis—but the dreams speak with his voice; they see.”

“I have never argued that Alsanis is dead,” Lord Lirienne replied. “Nor has the High Lord.”

“You have argued that he is altered beyond all recognition. The Hallionne has not opened its doors since the day of the betrayal; were he so transformed that he did not prize the safety of his guests—”

“His guests are not confined to the Hallionne,” Kaylin said, in anxious High Barrani.

Lord Barian stiffened and turned to face her after glancing briefly at the Lord of the West March. What he saw confirmed Kaylin’s words.

“If you’re speaking of the children who were lost.”

“We are. You cannot comprehend Alsanis’s sorrow,” he told her softly. “Although he was Hallionne, the children confined within his walls killed all but a handful of the Barrani Lords who had traveled with him. He could not protect his guests; the minds of the lost children were too chaotic, too unordered. They thought all things simultaneously—and none. He offered what warning he could; he closed whole wings in an attempt to contain the lost.

“And he closed his doors entirely to the Wardens, and my line. Only through the dreams of Alsanis could we speak to him at all. He chose to sacrifice himself in order to prevent further deaths; he could not offer hospitality in safety to any.”

“Except the lost children.”

“He did not consider it hospitality—but he could not immediately destroy them. He tried,” he added softly. “They were anathema to the green.”

“They didn’t leave through the front doors,” Kaylin told him softly. “They left through the portal paths. When they attacked Orbaranne—and they were involved, I’d bet my eyes on it—the brunt of their attack was on the portal paths.”

“They fielded a large force on normal roads, as well—but I concur. They did not slip out through the literal front doors.”

She turned to the silent eagles. “Did Alsanis grant them permission to leave?”

“They did not leave,” the eagle on her arm replied gravely.

“They did—”

“They are not as you are. They did not leave the Hallionne.” He turned to the eagle that now rested upon the Warden’s arm, and they conferred in their lilting and entirely unintelligible language.

“Are they at war with Alsanis now?”

“No.”

“Are they at home?”

“Yes.”

The Lord of the West March raised one hand. “That is enough, Lord Kaylin. If you have come to offer aid to the Consort, we must not tarry.”

* * *

Not a word was spoken as they traversed the great halls, not even by the eagles. They might have been part of a funeral procession, given their expressions. What the eagles meant to Lord Barian, they clearly did not mean to Lord Lirienne, but the almost open suspicion with which they’d been greeted at the doors had been set aside.

No,
kyuthe
, it has not. Avonelle’s questions this eve were an open act of hostility available only because you are both mortal and foreign. Had Lord Barian’s brother succeeded in his test, it is likely he would now be Lord of the West March.

But—but that’s a hereditary title.

Heredity, like any other custom, is subject to the demands of power. If I could not hold the West March against her son, I would not deserve to rule it. Her son failed.

She frowned.
You liked him,
she said, in some surprise.

It is not relevant. Had he become a Lord of the High Court, one of the two of us would not have survived.

Lord Barian didn’t take the test.

No. His brother’s failure was vindication for his cowardice.

Kaylin frowned.
I don’t think he’s a coward.

No?

No. I think he feels responsible for the West March. He can fulfill those responsibilities as Warden. He can’t, if he’s dead.

He is not like his brother; he looks inward, rather than out.

I don’t think the green cares.

“The green does care,” the eagle on her arm said.

Lord Barian’s brows rose slightly; Lord Lirienne’s expression did not change at all.

This is why you don’t care for the dreams of Alsanis.
Kaylin grimaced.

The Lord of the West March laughed.
It is one reason among many. At the moment, I am enraged by their existence.

To Kaylin’s surprise, this was true. He made no attempt to hide the depth of his fury; it opened up in front of her like a door.

I do not know what Barian told you,
he continued when she failed to find words,
but my sister cannot be woken. We have tried. Lord Nightshade and Lord Evarrim
have been by her side since dinner. She does not respond to touch, to sound, or to the enchantments it is safe to cast. Barian allowed her to take the burden of his responsibility upon herself. If she fails to wake, I will kill him. I will not kill him quickly. I may be moved to allow his mother to live.

Kaylin glanced at Lord Barian. Swallowing, she said,
I’ll wake her.

You are so certain you are capable of it?

She wasn’t, and he knew it.

* * *

To her surprise, Lord Evarrim and Nightshade were still in attendance when they at last arrived. The Consort lay between them; they stood watch. Evarrim noted Kaylin’s presence with a grim nod that all but screamed distaste; Nightshade offered her the nod that passes between equals. Neither man spoke, but as she approached the Consort, they stepped back to give her both room and their silent permission.

Evarrim seemed ill-pleased by the presence of both Barian and the eagle that rested, weightless, on her arm. As it was clear that the bird was there with the Lord of the West March’s permission, he said nothing.

Lord Barian seemed entirely unconcerned that an Outcaste wore the Teller’s crown.

Kaylin knew the Consort’s skin shouldn’t be the color it was. Barrani skin was generally flawless and pale—but this had a sallow, green tinge that looked worse than unhealthy. She stopped herself from checking for a pulse, and then realized it didn’t matter. The only person present she would have spared her sudden fear already knew what she was feeling.

She knelt by the Consort’s side, and very carefully touched her hand. It was cold. Morgue cold. “Lord Barian,” she said, in High Barrani, “if you have anything of import to tell me about the nightmares of the Hallionne, now is the time.”

“I can tell you less about the nightmares than our companions can,” he replied. “They are one.”

She resisted the urge to snap something rude in Leontine.

“He is not wrong,” the eagle on her arm said. She released the Consort’s hand and attempted to remove the bird; his weightless claws tightened. “Do not be foolish. We have accompanied you for a reason, Chosen. If you set us aside, how will you speak to the nightmares?”

“Probably the same way I’m speaking to you,” she replied. “But less politely.”

The bird spoke to its companion; their voices rose.

The Barrani found their discussion fascinating. Kaylin, hand once again touching the still iciness of the Consort’s, found it annoying. She closed her eyes and counted to ten; she made it to four, and not for the usual reason.

In the silence of watchful Barrani, in the darkness behind closed lids, she could hear the eagles speak, and the language that sounded so painfully familiar took on the tones and the range of sound she associated with song. There was a distinctive cadence to the words, a stretching and thinning of syllables that speech didn’t normally contain.

Music—even wordless music—had a feel to it. It evoked emotion. There was a simple harmony to the speech of these creatures, although she couldn’t quite place how—they seemed to take turns, to be singing different parts, and their voices were distinct. They didn’t overlap. But there was no point in expecting dreams in the shape of eagles to actually make sense.

“Lady.” Kaylin’s voice was rough and tuneless in comparison.

The Consort didn’t answer—no surprise there.

Kaylin inhaled, exhaled, and then reached out with the power that she used to heal the injured. If there was nothing wrong with the Consort physically, there would be nothing
to
heal.

The dreams of Alsanis continued their song, and as Kaylin listened, she understood why it sounded so familiar; she had heard something similar before—but never in voices like these. The Consort had sung something with the same feel, the same tone, when she had been forced to wake the Hallionne Bertolle. There was a yearning, a desire, and an emptiness to the song of the dreams of Alsanis that reminded Kaylin very much of the Consort’s song of awakening.

She started to tell the eagles that the Consort wasn’t a Hallionne and couldn’t be woken that way, but stopped. She had no idea whether or not that was true, anymore, because something about the Consort was subtly different from the other Barrani she had healed. She almost forgot to breathe, the panic was so sharp.

But it was hard to hold on to it; the song of the dreams of Alsanis was too insistent, too urgent; there was a warmth—a heat—to the urgency. She felt it pass through the Consort’s hand into her own. As it did, she heard a second song.

If the first song was the conversation of the dreams, the second was the construction of the nightmares. It should have been cacophony. It wasn’t. Somehow, the two disparate songs overlapped and blended; they were distinct, but they were—as the eagles had said—part of a single piece.

Kaylin’s arms began to burn. So did the back of her neck, her legs, and a small spot in the center of her forehead. She knew the marks that adorned over half her body were now glowing.
Lady,
she thought, squeezing the Consort’s hand.
Wake
.

There was nothing wrong with her body. There was nothing to heal. But Kaylin knew, as she listened, that the Consort wouldn’t wake without intervention. Barrani didn’t require sleep, but even Barrani could starve to death.

The small dragon bit her ear hard enough, she was certain, to draw blood. She let loose a volley of Leontine as she opened her eyes and grabbed for him with her left hand. Her right remained tightly clasped around the Consort’s.

“Lord Kaylin, your ear is bleeding.”

“I kind of guessed that. I don’t suppose you have a cage?”

The small dragon squawked. He batted her face with surprisingly heavy wings as he pushed off her shoulder, roundly berating her in his unintelligible bird-speak.

Except what she heard was cadence. Rhythm. Nothing in his lizard vocal chords evoked music, but she realized that he was trying to sing when both of the eagles fixed their gaze on him. Their voices rose; she was caught instantly by the shift in their song, as if it were current and she was almost drowning.

Her very frustrating companion squawked back. It was a harsh noise; it blended with nothing. If he’d tried to coax notes out of a drum, he’d have had an easier time. As if he could hear the thought, he then turned his attention back to Kaylin, and this time, his voice was softer and almost plaintive, although it wasn’t any more musical.

“You want me to sing?” she asked.

He nodded with his whole body, bobbing up and down in place.

“Only because you’ve never heard me.” She glanced once, apprehensively, at the gathered Barrani lords. Singing off-key and out of tune in the West March was not the same as singing with the foundlings in the foundling halls, and that was the only place she readily joined a group song.

But the small dragon landed on her shoulder and nudged her cheek, and she knew he not only meant her to sing, but meant to join her. How much worse could she sound?

“What,” Nightshade said sharply, “do you intend to sing?”

“Badly, and probably off-key, whatever it is,” she replied. “But not on purpose. The eagles are singing,” she added, “and I think small and squeaky wants me to join them.”

“The eagles are not singing,” the Lord of the West March said.

“But they are,” Lord Barian said. The two men’s gazes met, and both fell silent.

Kaylin wanted to ask Lord Lirienne what he heard, but the eagles’ voices had grown higher and more urgent, and she turned to listen, closing her eyes and concentrating on a song that was two parts. Two parts, and what seemed like a dozen. There was no room for her voice in the throng.

She made room. She wound her voice—dissonant, unmusical, and uncertain—around the squawking of her small dragon, finding words that spoke to what she heard, even if there were no similar words in the music of the dreams and nightmares of a Hallionne. Feeling self-conscious made her voice even weaker than it usually was, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d made a total fool of herself.

Her arms ached. The burning, she was used to—if one could ever get used to that sense of skin being seared. But they also trembled, as if she’d been carrying way too much for too long. She looked at the small dragon; he was watching her, his squawk gentled to a croon.