There were always enough chairs in the parlor; it didn’t matter how many guests Helen—or Kaylin, in theory—was entertaining; she was aware of the needs of her guests, and she met them. The chairs that appeared were different from the usual chairs; they seemed more formal to Kaylin, and therefore less likely to be comfortable. Teela, on the other hand, didn’t seem inclined to sit. She was pacing.
“Helen, how much of an exotic botanist are you?”
“I’m not really a botanist at all, dear. What I know of plants, I learned from my various tenants: some were avid, even ferocious, gardeners. You are asking about the flower Kaylin saw in the painting.”
“I am. You can see it clearly?”
“I can see it as clearly as Kaylin did. Kaylin, do you mind if I show the others?”
Kaylin shook her head. Had she thought to do it, she might have requisitioned one of the Halls’ portable mirrors, or one of the palace’s memory crystals. The latter request was less likely to be rejected, given events involving Sanabalis, and the man who served as quartermaster to the Hawks had never quite forgiven Kaylin for the destruction of nonstandard but very expensive kit.
Helen, however, served the function either of the two devices would have served. “Do you want to take a seat?” Kaylin’s home asked Teela. “The chairs are arranged in a messy circle, and I would like to create the projection in its center.”
Teela took a seat. She hadn’t personally seen the painting. Kaylin had. The younger Hawk wondered if this projection, this illusion, was the sole reason Teela had practically marched Kaylin home.
“It is,” Helen replied. “This will be larger than it was in the painting for better visibility,” she added to the cohort at large, none of whom were yet in the room. That changed as Helen worked. Mandoran and Terrano joined them. The others chose to watch from a distance.
A green ball of light appeared in the center of the chairs, at chest height. It was larger than Kaylin’s head, and it started to spin. Filaments darkened and solidified as it did; Kaylin recognized the color those filaments adopted. It was just as unattractive in midair in the safety of her home as it had been in the painting.
Severn watched; if human eyes could change color to suit mood, his would have been as dark as Teela’s.
The flower unfurled, the three petals falling slowly open; at their heart, pulsing in a way that was uncomfortably reminiscent of beating hearts, was something purple.
“Do you have other images of flowers similar in shape and size?” Teela asked Helen, without once moving her gaze from Helen’s projection.
“I do, but I believe you are looking for a specific flower.” She frowned then and turned to Severn. “You are certain?”
Severn nodded. To the group at large, he added, “Helen is asking my permission to search my memories of the West March. I’ve told her to take anything of use that she can find.”
“I can see why she wanted confirmation,” Teela said. “It’s not an offer I could make.”
“No, and I wouldn’t ask it of you. I didn’t intend to ask it of anyone.” Helen could be anywhere in her house at the same time; she could do two things at once with ease. A second ball of light—green, and the same size as the first—appeared. It began to spin, and filaments of light formed in the same fashion, but the color the light shed was markedly different. When the shape itself had come to rest, it was—in size, in texture—identical to the first flower.
But colors, however, were different. If Kaylin saw this flower with its white-green leaves, she might have assumed it one of the prettier weeds; most flowers had more color.
“Do you want to tell them?” Helen asked Severn.
“I think Teela already knows. Terrano?”
Terrano nodded, frowning. His eyes weren’t the color that Teela’s had adopted, but they almost never were; when something went badly, badly wrong he was just as likely to let curiosity rule his actions as caution. The only time she’d seen him exercise any was when they had fled through the outlands to the fiefs, or the place that the fiefs overlapped. He had avoided Ravellon entirely; even approaching it in the outlands had caused flickers of unease in his usual ready-to-go expression.
“Sorry—I think you’ll want Serralyn for this,” he finally said.
“I thought Barrani had perfect memory?”
“For anything we happened to be paying attention to, yes. This one looks like a weed to me—how much attention do you normally pay to those?”
“The green doesn’t have weeds,” Severn told Terrano. “Not the way the carriage roads here develop them.”
Kaylin didn’t generally come to Terrano’s defense, but felt he had a point. “Pretty sure I saw weeds when I had to enter the green.”
Teela lifted her fingers to massage her temples, which was Teela code for Stop being stupid or I will strangle you. While it had been an expression directed at Kaylin in her early years in the Hawks, it was most often used when she dealt with Terrano these days. “When we go to see the Consort, you will not talk about weeds in the green.”
“Do I look stupid?”
“At the moment, it would be better if I refrained from answering that question.” Teela’s eyes lightened very slightly from the indigo shade they’d adopted. “This is going to get ugly.”
“Sedarias thinks so as well. She wants to know what Severn knows.”
Kaylin looked to Severn.
“She says he called it a seed-bed.”
Kaylin was aware, then, that he had said the phrase because he was with Kaylin, and he felt he needed to impress upon her the seriousness of the situation. But they weren’t words she’d heard from him before. Although it wasn’t reasonable in any way—and she knew it—she disliked the fact that he knew things of import that he had never shared.
“Do you want Serralyn in person, or will you trust me to convey what she says?”
“In person,” Kaylin told Teela, her answer overlapping with Helen’s.
Serralyn immediately appeared in the room, without having to bother with something as trivial as the door.
“No, she did not, as you put it, pull a Terrano; I created a portal for her use,” Helen explained. She gestured another chair into being, and nodded to Serralyn, indicating she should be seated. Serralyn, however, was staring at the two flowers Helen had visually created as show-and-tell in the center of the parlor.
She turned instantly to Kaylin. “You saw the viridescent flower?”
“Not in real life. In a painting.” Kaylin then offered the group Mrs. Erickson’s childhood remembrance.
“She didn’t say the painter was Barrani?”
“No. Beautiful. Graceful. But she didn’t mention Barrani.”
“Would she have known?”
“She might not have known then—but she’d know in retrospect if her parents never explained the difference.”
“She said the painter had this in a flowerpot?”
“Yes—I think she thought the pot itself was interesting and different. The painter told her that it was a special flower—Mrs. Erickson didn’t want her to pick it because that would kill it.”
“Did she add anything else?”
“Only that the painter said it was meant for a special occasion, and painting such a happy family was special enough. I’m paraphrasing,” she added.
“I’d guessed.” Serralyn frowned. “That’s all?”
“Well, the painter arranged Mrs. Erickson’s hair. It’s a really odd style—nothing like you’d normally see in Elantra, or at least not the parts of it we grew up in.”
“Odd how?”
Kaylin frowned. “Lots of small braids but bound up?” She turned to Helen’s Avatar. “Could you show them?”
Helen nodded. The flowers moved, although they remained in the center of the circle; between them, the image of Mrs. Erickson as a child formed. Kaylin couldn’t remember it clearly enough to describe it well, but whatever remained in her memory could be accessed by Helen. Helen really was a miracle.
“No, dear, a construct, although I do take your meaning.” Her smile implied a hint of joy in an otherwise grave situation.
“This is...not good,” Serralyn said. Of the cohort, she was often the one with the greenest of eyes; whatever she had sought in the confines of the Academia, she had found, and it sustained a wellspring of happiness that made her seem very unlike most Barrani. Her eyes now, however, contained no visible trace of green.
“Do you recognize the hairstyle?”
“Maybe. The historical books I’ve read have drawings, not paintings; the drawings are line drawings or woodcuts, where they exist at all.” She hesitated, and then said, “Some of the drawings were meant to be instructional.”
“This is a book in the Academia’s library?”
“No, it’s a book from the Arbiter’s library.”
“The place where Azoria was once a student.”
Serralyn nodded.
“What does it mean?”
“It’s—In theory it’s ceremonial. Severn has correctly pointed out there are no weeds in the green.”
“Is this a flower that grows outside of the green?”
“Not usually, no. And if it did—if this flower was somehow taken from the green and preserved—something was done to it while growing. It’s mutated while retaining form and shape.” She hesitated. “I would be very interested in the composition of that soil and the make of the pot in which the flower was transported—but I doubt we’ll have access to that.”
Kaylin felt she’d stretched her limited ability to be patient to the breaking point. “What’s the significance of the hair?”
“In this case, only that it’s ceremonial. What ceremony, we don’t know.”
“But you have suspicions.”
“I honestly don’t. I remember that it was a ceremony that was sometimes conducted in the green prior to a significant marriage—a ceremony of blessing that was intended to invoke peace and harmony.” She hesitated. “The blossom braided into the child’s hair was entwined there, or would have been, because of her age: too young for marriage except as a ceremonial joining of families of significance.
“Were the groom to be likewise underage, his hair would be similarly bound.”
“And the flower?”
“It’s a symbol of fertility—an important element of marriage for my people. But the blossoms are given by the green; if they grow, they are used. If a single blossom grows, it is given first—and always—to the bride; if more than one, both wear the flower.”
“This wasn’t done as a symbol of marriage.”
“No, apparently not. Nor was the blossom given by the green, although it is possible it grew there.”
“And she took it?”
“It isn’t a flower that grows outside of the green, or outside of similar environs the Hallionne of the West March create. No Hallionne would create this.”
“You think Azoria had something to do with it.”
Serralyn was silent.
Kaylin exhaled. “Does anyone in this room not believe that Azoria was the painter? Show of hands?”
No hands rose, although Teela gave her the stink eye.
“We know that in form, the preparation was in theory for a Barrani marital ceremony. Mrs. Erickson was unaware of the significance of any of it, so clearly that wasn’t its purpose.”
“Awareness or permission are not actually required,” Teela said softly. “The head of family makes the decision. There are historical examples of marriages enacted in this fashion that went spectacularly wrong when the child was made aware of the purpose of the ceremony itself—and ran off into the green.”
“I doubt her parents intended to affiance her to anyone at that age, either.”
Teela nodded, grim now. “And the painter was not in any way a legal guardian, at least by Elantran standards. She was a stranger.”
“A stranger who owned a house that’s mysteriously disappeared, but that would’ve encompassed the lot on which the Ericksons’ much smaller, mundane house now exists,” Kaylin said, voice even, temper beginning to fray.
“In case it is not clear,” Teela replied, lifting a hand in Kaylin’s direction, “I no longer believe we have any hope of abandoning any part of this investigation.” To Serralyn, she said, “Tell Sedarias there’s likely to be further trouble.”
“She’s intent on causing some herself,” Serralyn replied. “She was not pleased to find that the opening salvo in communication was the death of her agents; it’s poor manners. If it’s all right with you, I’m going to head to the library. I want to speak with the Arbiters.”
“Should I go with you?”
Serralyn grimaced. “It’s not necessary. The Arbiters won’t hurt me, and the chancellor has made clear what a very dim view he has about inter-student violence.”
Terrano said, “Sedarias wants them to return here for the duration. Serralyn said no. How much do you trust the chancellor?” He asked the question of Kaylin.
“I’d trust him with Serralyn’s and Valliant’s lives, if it came to that.”
“Theirs? Not yours?”
“Well, I’m not a student, and my survival won’t increase the general health of the Academia going forward. Look, he makes no claim of ownership. But they’re necessary if the Academia isn’t to crumble—and the Academia is the former Arkon’s genuine hoard. Serralyn will be safe there.”
“Not safer than here.”
“Given our current guests and our utter ignorance of who or what they are? I’d bet on the Academia.” She also bet that Sedarias was still feeling a tiny bit abandoned, and having a reason to have all the cohort under one roof again was a huge incentive for her.
Terrano nodded. “I’ll go with her.”
“Don’t break anything. I have work in the morning and the Consort in the evening, and I am not looking forward to that.”
“Neither is Teela,” he replied.
“Teela is present and is fully capable of speaking for herself,” Teela snapped. “Honestly, I cannot recall how it is that I have not strangled you yet.”
“You’d regret it.”
“I’m almost willing to take that risk.”
Serralyn laughed. “I’m heading back to the Academia, and taking Mr. Not-Yet-Dead with me before he really makes you angry.”
Sedarias came down to the parlor after Serralyn and Terrano had left it. Helen put away the fully dimensional images of the flowers and the young Mrs. Erickson. Kaylin was brooding.
“She’s lived in that house for the entirety of her life, and she’s been safe,” Helen said gently, knowing exactly what worried her tenant. “A few more days are unlikely to harm her.”
“What if she’s never been entirely safe?” Kaylin demanded. “The children—I’ve never seen them like they were today. She has. What if they’re somehow connected to that room, that painting? Look, I can’t imagine a Barrani Lord of power being interested in cozy, happy families. I can’t imagine them being so touched by sentiment that they would do all this work for free, as a gesture of kindness.
“Whoever painted that picture wanted something, and given the recipient of that flower, it was something from Mrs. Erickson.”
“And do you believe that the painter received what she desired?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she hasn’t received it yet.” Kaylin frowned. “Maybe the reason Mrs. Erickson can do whatever it is she does is somehow the result of what was attempted. Until we understand the intention behind the ceremony, we don’t know. The new Arkon seemed to feel that Mrs. Erickson shouldn’t have the power she does possess—it’s why he was caught off guard.”
“Did he believe that this was because she’s mortal?” Sedarias asked.
“I think so. To be honest, things were chaotic enough I don’t remember everything that happened.”
“Teela does,” Sedarias said, although Teela could in theory speak for herself. “I would have assumed the same, but Helen’s reaction changes things.” She then turned to Helen. “Could our guests shed light on this if you could communicate with them efficiently?”
“It is possible, but I have doubts that the light they could shed would be visible. The lack of ability to communicate heavily implies that there’s almost no overlap between us and their current predicament. What we can say with certainty is that Mrs. Erickson has strong shamanistic powers, powers that have never been trained. My memories were somewhat damaged, so my recall is incomplete and cannot be the final word, but I have no memory at all of a successful attempt to imbue someone with a power to which they were not born.”
Kaylin cleared her throat and lifted an arm.
“The marks of the Chosen are a different matter.”
“Why? The power was granted to me when I was a kid; I wasn’t born with it.”
Helen’s eyes darkened considerably as she considered Kaylin’s words. Teela’s couldn’t get any darker, and Sedarias had adopted indigo prior to her arrival. Severn’s eyes were brown and almost unblinking as he, too, considered what Kaylin had said.
“There may be conditions that must be met for the marks of the Chosen to be granted,” Helen said. “No comprehensive experimentation has been done, and some research went into finding a definitive answer before it was finally abandoned.” At Kaylin’s expression, Helen said, “You are correct. The marks are external to the person who wields them, and there are many who would have killed—and did—to attempt to receive the power of those marks for their own use.”
Silence then.
Kaylin’s only hope was that Serralyn would find out more information that might prove useful now that she knew exactly what she was looking for.
Kaylin’s last day on the front desk was the usual blend of annoyance and confusion; she had two missing persons reports, which she treated seriously and handed off to the correct people instantly. For these, she had no difficulty being almost perfect as a Hawk; she considered the possible consequences serious.
It was the vampire reports, the arguments about dogs, the he stole my cat, and the general attitude of people who expected that Kaylin, as an officer of the law, was somehow a gofer, that tended to wear her—or any other person who sat at this desk for too long—down.
Mrs. Erickson was late, which didn’t help the background anxiety much; it cleared when the old woman entered the office, familiar basket over her arm. She smiled brightly at Kaylin, and Kaylin was reminded of just how much she loved the older woman’s face because the lines etched there had clearly been etched there by time and that gentle smile.
She rose and retrieved the basket; it was heavier than usual.
“I bake when I’m worried,” Mrs. Erickson said.
“That’s...a lot of baking.”
“I’ve been a bit more worried than usual.” The smile with which she framed the words was apologetic.
“It’s not your fault,” Kaylin replied, with some heat.
“As I’ve gotten older,” Mrs. Erickson said, “I’ve come to realize that fault doesn’t really matter.”
Kaylin exhaled, wondering if she’d ever reach that frame of mind. She was a Hawk because she believed in justice, in the laws—and fault featured very much in her job. “What are these?”
“Brownies. I haven’t made them in a long time because cocoa is mostly too far out of my price range—but I had some I’d been saving for a special occasion.” She smiled. “I’m not getting any younger, and I know from personal experience that I can’t eat it when I’m dead. You should share it with the rest of the Hawks.”
Kaylin nodded, but took a seat behind the desk and the basket she’d placed on it. “How are the kids?”
“They’re perfectly fine this morning.”
“They don’t remember anything?”
Mrs. Erickson shook her head. “They never do. But it’s better that way, for them—I think they’d live in terror for eternity if they couldn’t forget.” She hesitated. “You were concerned about the painting.”
“Teela was concerned about the painting, but...when Teela’s worried, it’s never a good sign.”
“Can you tell me what you fear?”
“Not yet—we’re looking into it. Serralyn is a student at the Academia, and she headed out last night to begin research in earnest.”
“About what?”
“About magic, painting, ceremony, plant life—anything that might give us answers, or at least better questions. I’ll walk you home after work. Or Teela and I will walk you home. I have a meeting Teela considers important after that, so I won’t be able to stay. Was the neighbor out this morning?”
“No. I’m a bit worried about him.”
“He won’t do anything—” At Mrs. Erickson’s expression, Kaylin said, “You’re worried for him?”
“A little.”
Kaylin wanted to hit the desk with her head a couple of times to clear it.
Mrs. Erickson smiled. “Very good, dear. You should have heard Jamal when I let that slip.”
“I’m afraid I’m in agreement with Jamal. If you’d like, you can pull up a chair and join me.”
“I don’t think Bridget would care for that.”
“She certainly wouldn’t.” Sergeant Keele was looking into the room from the door behind the desk. “Our job at the desk is to take down reports and get yelled at by people who are panicking or upset. I do not want any of them to shout at a civilian when a perfectly respectable officer is here.” To Kaylin she said, “Don’t get up, I’ll take that basket.”
Teela joined Kaylin, as Kaylin had expected she would. Kaylin had removed her tabard before leaving the office, but Teela bypassed the lockers, and still wore hers.
“We will change when we reach the High Halls; I have appropriate clothing in my quarters there for both of us.”
Kaylin failed to argue because Teela had used that tone.
Hope sat up on Kaylin’s shoulder and smacked her face with his wing, covering her eyes as he often did when he thought there was something she should see.
In this case, it was Amaldi and Darreno. They were watching Mrs. Erickson from a distance, which was unusual for them. Kaylin immediately realized why. Teela.
“She can’t hurt you,” she told them, as she made her way to where they were standing. “She can’t see you.”
“Do you know who she is?” they asked.
“Yes. She’s Corporal Teela. I’m Corporal Neya. We work together in the Halls of Law, which I’m assuming you haven’t visited.”
“We visited the palace,” Amaldi said, “and the place you call the fiefs. And we’ve gone to the harbor and to see the ocean. Everything’s different. We don’t remember the city ever looking like this. And...” She lowered her voice. “There’s a Dragon Emperor.”
To people who had probably been Barrani slaves when they had first been put “somewhere safe,” the idea of a Dragon as Emperor was probably shocking. Kaylin had told them about the race of the Emperor, but clearly they hadn’t fully believed it.
“He’s my boss,” Kaylin told them.
“Kitling? We are going to be late if you keep this up.”
Kaylin grimaced. “The woman who is about to start a lecture is an officer of the Halls of Law—the place Mrs. Erickson goes to every day, rain or shine. You probably don’t recognize her. She wasn’t a power when you were last allowed to walk the city. I have questions for you about the real reason you don’t visit Mrs. Erickson’s house.”
They nodded. Amaldi’s gaze slid off Kaylin’s face, which wasn’t generally a good sign.
“Kitling, you know what the Consort is like when she’s angry.”
Kaylin held up a hand, palm facing Teela. “Tell me why you’ve avoided Mrs. Erickson’s house.”
They both glanced at Mrs. Erickson, who was now looking worried, although it was clear the worry was not for herself.
They glanced at each other again, and then looked at their feet as if their feet were the only compelling thing on the crowded street. People did pass through them as they attempted to avoid answering Kaylin’s questions. It made them seem very much the age they appeared.
“It’s not safe,” Amaldi finally said. “For us. It’s safe for Mrs. Erickson because she can see. And you,” she added, voice shaking slightly. “You can see.”
“What do you see, when you approach her house?”
“Shadows,” Amaldi whispered. Darreno reached for her hand and held it, his knuckles whitening; Kaylin wasn’t certain whether he’d meant to offer comfort or receive it. “We see shadows—long shadows, and familiar ones. And when we approach that house we...cast shadows ourselves.” She hesitated, and then as if steeling herself, lifted her chin and met Kaylin’s gaze directly. “We each cast two shadows when we come close to that building. When we’re anywhere else in your Empire, we cast none.”
Kaylin cursed. The word seemed to mean little to Amaldi or Darreno, which was good; Mrs. Erickson heard it, which was less good.
“One more question before Teela comes and drags me off.”
Amaldi nodded.
“Do you recognize the name Azoria?”
Amaldi and Darreno froze, wide-eyed.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Was she the woman who, to protect you from the consequences of war, hid you away?”
Darreno nodded. He glanced at Amaldi and exhaled, or appeared to exhale. “Yes. She was our owner, our master. She treated us well. But she said she had plans for us, that we were special. She hid us away in order to preserve us—and we remained where she hid us, waiting.”
“To be found?”
“To be freed. To discover to what ends our ‘special’ nature was meant to be put.” He spoke with bitterness. “We didn’t expect to survive it.”
“You don’t know that,” Amaldi said.
Darreno did not argue.
Kaylin turned to Mrs. Erickson. “I’m sorry—I want to continue this conversation but I’m expected at the High Halls, and for some reason, normal Hawk wear is forbidden.”
“You are not there as a representative of the Imperial Law, for reasons I’m sure even you know. I apologize for my own impatience; the last time Kaylin crossed the Consort’s will she was depressed and unhappy for far too long.”
Kaylin reddened.
“You’re going to the High Halls?” Darreno demanded.
Kaylin nodded. “We’re going to escort Mrs. Erickson home, first.”
“Can we go with you to the High Halls?”
“Probably not to where we’re going, but yes, no one can see you so it’s probably safe for you to follow.”
The only thing for which Kaylin felt grateful was that Teela hadn’t chosen to drive. The High Halls grew as they approached it, and she thought she’d be happier to see Castle Nightshade right at this very moment. Teela didn’t give her a chance to say as much. She ushered Kaylin into the High Halls in a hurry.
“You shouldn’t have said yes,” Teela told Kaylin while Kaylin was attempting to dress herself in the clothing Teela had deemed suitable. It wasn’t that Kaylin disliked dresses, but they always seemed so fragile, and, given Kaylin, likely to suffer for it. The quartermaster wouldn’t forgive her for damaging an expensive dress for at least the rest of this decade—if ever.
She also didn’t like the way the garments revealed skin; the marks would be visible, and she’d hidden them as much as possible ever since they’d appeared on her skin.
“Stop slouching; you look like you expect to be hit at any moment.”
“I’m not slouching—”
“Remember what you’ve learned. If you wear the equivalent of a sign saying, Please don’t hit me, half of the people you meet will pity you, and the other half will assume you’ve done something to deserve punishment.”
“Can I at least get a fancy jacket? My back is exposed.”
“A jacket is unnecessary; it will ruin the line of the dress.”
“Can I get a shorter dress? This one drags on the floor.”
“We do not have time. Inasmuch as it is possible to do so, you wish to blend in with the fashions and customs of the court. You will not be met in the greater gathering space; the Consort will no doubt send servants to guide you. I will be beside you; if someone wishes to mislead or attack you, they will be attacking An’Teela.” The Barrani Hawk smiled. “I am first of my line, but my line was born of a desire for vengeance that never once faltered.
“There is no family, no matter their import, that could forget that; they will attack me only in desperation—and the desperate are often foolish and incompetent. Come. You are ready. Put on the boots—and be grateful I chose boots instead of lighter footwear.”
“You did that because you didn’t want to listen to me complain.”
“And my reward is...to listen to you complain. Why haven’t I strangled you?”
“You’re too busy trying your best not to strangle me?” a familiar voice said.
Terrano.