The Chronicles of Elantra 5 - Cast in Silence (29 page)

Tiamaris was standing, utterly still, in the open and deserted street. Before him, in the distance, she could see the swirling motion of something that looked like it should be cloud. Some glimmer of the azure of clear sky could be seen through its folds, even though it was dense and dark, roiling in the air as if it were at the heart of a maelstrom.

“Clear the streets!” She lifted her voice, raising it so it could be heard clearly. She’d learned, in the Hawks, not to shout, or rather, not to sound as if she
were
shouting; she knew how to keep her voice level and even, regardless of how panicked she felt.

There was almost no point, though—the three of them were in the streets; the streets were therefore as clear as they could easily get. They weren’t entirely empty—some people had nowhere to go. They huddled in doorways or the mouths of alleys formed by the spaces between tall buildings. In this part of the fiefs, there wasn’t a lot of land to go around; near the White Towers, there was more of it, but it was usually filled by whatever weeds could survive the total lack of any human care.

“Tiamaris!”

He turned to look at her, his expression uncharacteristically grim. “Yes,” he told her, although she didn’t ask. “It’s a storm.”

“Where is it going?”

“If we’re very lucky, somewhere else.”

She cursed in Leontine, and he raised a brow. “My luck’s been crap lately, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

He shrugged; it wasn’t exactly a fief gesture, but for a Dragon Lord, it was damn close. “You’re still alive,” he pointed out.

“According to Morse,” she said, raising her voice to be heard, “their effects can at least be expected—” She stopped. It didn’t look the same as it had the last time. Then, she had seen something she thought was a sigil. Now?

Now she could see only the vaguely repulsive hint of swirling colors, like a rainbow in a black sky, but ugly. She looked at Tiamaris’s stiff back, and remembered the Arkon’s story.

Severn said, “I think we’re about to find out where it’s going.” The streets did empty. Even those who could only move slowly found unexpected reserves of energy. But the streets weren’t wide. Kaylin didn’t even remember the name of the one she was standing in. If Elantra had its obscenely wealthy quarters, and its own brand of poverty, the fiefs echoed it in subtle ways. There were always people who struggled their way to the top of the heap, no matter how much that heap looked like garbage when seen from the outside.

Tiamaris was so tense Kaylin was afraid to touch him. He didn’t look at her; he didn’t look to the buildings that lined the side of the road—as both Kaylin and Severn did. The whole of his attention was caught and held by the storm that spread across what, moments ago, had been clear sky. Tendrils of shadow moved against the breeze, reaching into the blue as if to anchor themselves.

She watched as they suddenly pulled themselves back toward the center. The sky
tore
as it followed them.

What was left in the wake of shredded sky, revealed as azure crinkled and vanished, was starlight, the shape of the moons and the clarity of the air turning the back end of Summer, for a moment, into the heart of Winter.

The streets were no longer empty. They weren’t crowded—in this cold, they couldn’t be—but Kaylin was shocked by the sound of moving wheels and the bells that sometimes rang when a carriage was politely asking for right-of-way. The ruder version, which was more common, was to ignore anyone who weighed less than your horses.

Tiamaris’s back was still stiff and still directly in front of her; Severn was by her side. They were—all of them—underdressed for the weather. At least there was no damn snow.

Kaylin shook her head and scanned the streets for signs of the shadow that had lain across the entire width of a watchtower. It wasn’t there.

“Tiamaris?” she said quietly. Or as quietly as coach bells allowed.

He turned.

“Where are we, exactly?”

He shook his head. “You see no shadow?”

“No. There’s a lot of street and a bloody loud carriage. Come on,” she added, stepping off the street and into the lee of a building. “Let it pass.”

Severn joined her, as did the Dragon Lord; Severn, however, was looking at the street and the people it contained. He was looking at the buildings to either side of the long road—a road that was in good repair.

“Kaylin?” Severn said quietly. The second syllable tailed up, making it a question. She understood.

“I see it,” she told him. “The streets can support a carriage without making cartwrights rich.” As she spoke the side of the carriage went past, and she forgot what she’d been about to say. Not only could the streets support a carriage without destroying its wheels or axles, it could also support a carriage that made the Imperial carriages look plain and dowdy in comparison.

The horses were tall, and they were a uniform color that the night made look gray. Their manes were plaited, and even though the lamplight in the street wasn’t bright, glints of the gold braided into those manes could be seen. The carriage itself was pale, possibly white, but that’s not what made it remarkable.

“It’s Barrani,” she said. “It’s a Barrani carriage.” She frowned, and then, seeing the markings on the side of that carriage, said, “Stay here.”

“Kaylin, wait—”

She ran after it. The driver, his face framed by a scarf, his hair by an oddly peaked hat, was in no hurry; the horses weren’t even breaking a sweat. She pulled even with the carriage, wishing she could say the same. The windows, which were long and wide, were covered by the fall of dark curtains, and they were higher off the ground than she could easily reach.

She glanced up at the driver. “Stop! Stop for a minute!”

He didn’t appear to hear her. Given the noise a carriage made just by moving, that wasn’t a big surprise. On the other hand, given Barrani hearing, it was probably deliberate. Cursing, briefly, in Leontine, Kaylin reached out, grabbed one of the decorative door handles and hoisted herself up onto the step.

The carriage rolled to a stop. The driver glanced down at her, but didn’t move his hands from the reins. She was standing a little too close to the doors—as in, almost plastered against them—when the curtains on the other side of the glass, and it
was
glass, were pushed aside. She couldn’t see the carriage’s interior, but it didn’t matter.

She recognized the face that open curtains revealed.

“Nightshade,” she said, softly.

He raised a brow. It was, of course, perfect; his skin was the same flawless skin he’d always had, and his hair trailed down his back and into the shadows of the carriage interior; across his brow he wore a slender circlet, at the center of which rested a sapphire. He didn’t wear armor; he wore what looked like a greatcoat beneath the folds of a cloak.

Something was wrong. She knew it the instant his eyes met hers; they were green, but shading to blue in a hurry.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I thought you were someone else.” She let go of the door and stepped back, landing roughly against the stone.

Before she had taken three steps, the door opened. Nightshade stepped out of the carriage and into the street, his breath leaving a thin cloud in the night air. “You thought I was…someone else.”

She nodded.

“I see.” He stepped forward, and she had the choice of either backing up or standing her ground. The former was seriously tempting; the latter, given he was a Barrani, was smarter. She settled for smart.

“This is intriguing,” he said softly, so softly his voice shouldn’t have carried. He approached her and lifted one hand. “I am Lord Nightshade. There is no other. But I am not cursed with the fallible memory of your kind, and I have no memory of you.” Blue, blue eyes, now. He reached out to touch the side of her face.

She stepped back, avoiding his hand. He let her.

“More intriguing,” he said, watching her, “is that you bear my mark. I would think this a game, and a dangerous one for you, were the mark not genuine.”

“Game?”

“I have marked no one. There are other ways of making ownership clear. And yet, here you are, like an accusation or a taunt.”

The hair on the back of her neck rose, and her skin turned to instant goose bumps. Magic washed over her as if it were warm breath.

He frowned, and then turned in the street. Tiamaris and Severn were watching in silence. When he saw Tiamaris, his brows rose slightly—and for the Barrani that was as close to open shock as possible.

Nightshade—this other Nightshade—was utterly still, but Kaylin felt the painful tingle that spoke of magic. He did not lift hand or move lip; he simply called it. Sanabalis, she thought, would be impressed. Or as impressed as any Dragon was when confronted with a competent Barrani Lord.

“You are far from your own lands,” Nightshade said to Tiamaris, his voice a cool warning. He did not touch a weapon. Nor did Tiamaris, but Kaylin felt the answering wash of magic surround him;
his
hands moved slightly, though.

“And you from yours,” Tiamaris replied.

Lord Nightshade raised a brow. “I am not far,” he replied, “from my kin. You are far, indeed, from yours. Why are you here, Dragon?”

The streets around Nightshade and Tiamaris did empty, then.

Nightshade,
she thought,
leave it, please. Leave it be
.

His brows rose, his eyes widened, and he turned to her, paling in the uneven magelamps that adorned the street.

She bit her lip. She hadn’t intended the thought to be heard—but she had never been good at hiding her thoughts from the Lord of Nightshade. Not even, apparently, when he didn’t recognize who she was.

She lifted both hands, exposing the palms, as if to show she was harmless. But harmless, to a man who suddenly
knew
that she held his name, didn’t exist.

The magic that flared from him then wasn’t subtle, and it was painful in a more direct way: fire blossomed around her, turning the night a shade of white-orange that singed her hair.

She bit her lip to stop from crying out, and raised her hands; her skin began to glow. But it was not her magic that guttered the fire; it was Tiamaris’s.

“Lord Nightshade,” he said. “We are not, strange though it seems, your enemies. I would be obliged if you did not feel the need to destroy my companion.” His voice was lower and deeper than normal, but he spoke perfect High Barrani.

“And if I feel the need?”

“We will damage much of the real estate in the streets,” was the Dragon’s reply, “and you will never have the satisfaction of answers.”

Lord Nightshade stood for a moment considering the Dragon’s words; Kaylin felt the edge of threat in him as if he’d spoken—but she also felt, to her great surprise, amusement. Acknowledgment. Tiamaris had scored a point.

“Very well, Dragon Lord. I will hold my hand if you will offer answers.”

“I will,” Tiamaris replied. “But I fear this is not the place to offer them. I am a stranger here,” he added. “If you will not risk it, I will speak in the open street, but if you choose, we might repair to someplace less…public. It would, of course, be a place of your choosing.”

“And what oath can a Dragon give a Barrani Lord that would vouchsafe his safety?”

“None that would be acceptable,” Tiamaris replied. He glanced at Kaylin. “Not at this time. Perhaps one day, in the future.”

Lord Nightshade chuckled. “Indeed,” he said grimly. “If then. Come.” His gaze brushed Kaylin’s cheek; he wanted to say more. But he didn’t.

His driver was less copacetic than Nightshade himself, but it was Nightshade—thank the gods—who was Lord, here. They exchanged a few words, and then the carriage pulled away in the streets. Which was good, as the horses became instantly skittish when Tiamaris approached them. It had never occurred to Kaylin to wonder how well-trained—or calm—Imperial horses really were; they stood in the presence of Dragons, and they did their job even when a Dragon was literally at their back.

“You sent warning?” Tiamaris asked quietly.

“There is little warning that would arrive in time, should you intend me harm,” was the reply. Kaylin filed it under yes. “He was not, however, as controlled as he could be. Many of his kin were lost in the war. I will not have him embarrass either himself, or me.” Of the two, Kaylin knew which would be worse for the man, and she almost pitied him. In as much as she ever extended pity to the Barrani.

“And yours?”

“All of the Barrani are my kin,” Nightshade replied, and again, his words were threaded with amusement. It was very Barrani humor, however. “Come. This is not perhaps the finest part of this city, but you are also likely to cause less…surprise here. Are you familiar with the city?”

“I am familiar with parts of it,” Tiamaris replied. “But it is not my city.”

“No,” Nightshade said. “It is not. Who do you serve?”

“The Emperor,” Tiamaris replied.

Nightshade raised a brow. “Emperor? And what Lord of what Flight has styled himself Emperor among your kind?”

“We just call him the Eternal Emperor,” Kaylin said quickly. She touched Tiamaris’s sleeve in warning, because his eyes had shaded almost instantly to an orange bronze. Nightshade was amused. Dragons, in Kaylin’s experience, had as much sense of humor as wet eggs.

Nightshade raised a brow, and then shrugged. Kaylin slid between Nightshade and Tiamaris as they began to walk down the almost empty street. She wanted to stop and to ask questions of the passersby, but she didn’t want to be separated from Tiamaris. Severn, who hadn’t spoken a word, walked behind them all.

Still, if she couldn’t stop to ask questions, she had eyes, and she could look. The buildings here didn’t imply disinterest—at best—on the part of their owners; the streets were in good repair; there were no weeds, or at this time of year, shriveled husks of weeds, growing in the cracks between stones. The people were decently and warmly dressed, and if their clothing looked a little odd to Kaylin—and it did, the shoulders too pronounced and the colors too bright—they were obviously well cared for.