“Why are you here?”
“Actually, I’m not here to follow the two of you—Sedarias trusts Teela to keep both herself and you safe. I wanted to speak to the heart of the building, and the Shadow that’s currently keeping it company.”
“Why?”
“They like me?” She heard him chuckle at her expression. “I learned a bit of chess while I was wandering the streets of your city, and it seemed like an interesting game. So I’m teaching them both to play it.”
Hope, artfully arranged on her shoulder, lifted his head and opened one eye in invisible Terrano’s direction. He squawked.
“Yes,” Terrano said, more seriously. “That, too. You’ll keep an eye out on the two of them? Because I’m kind of lying when I say Sedarias trusts them to stay safe.”
Squawk.
“Don’t let me make you any later,” the cheerful, invisible joker of the cohort deck said.
“Is he gone?” Kaylin asked Teela.
“Yes.” The Barrani Hawk’s eyes were martial blue, an improvement over the indigo they’d adopted yesterday. She turned and headed toward the large gallery that marked the public entry—for a value of public that seldom included people like Kaylin—into the High Halls.
Two people, however, were waiting in the gallery; they wore shades of ivory and green, flowing robes that were not designed to impress, but did anyway.
“Do you know why she wanted to meet with you?” Kaylin whispered.
“Yes. You as an addition has probably altered all of her plans and intentions.” Teela’s expression didn’t change. “I am not looking forward to this.”
As expected, at least by Teela, the two robed Barrani were not simply loitering; as Teela approached them, they moved to greet her. The grace and fluidity of their bows—and the length those bows were held—denoted actual respect, which implied that these were servants to the Consort, rather than minor lords allied with her.
They are, Ynpharion said. But they are also Lords of the High Court, having passed the test set them. They come from minor families—and before you deride me as hopelessly judgmental, understand that I came from a family of similar stature.
I haven’t heard from you in a while. It was pleasant.
She could practically feel Ynpharion rolling his eyes. Your house has been far, far more secure in the past few days than usual. But you leave your house enough to give me some sense of what’s happening.
Are you going to be at the meeting?
What do you think? He snapped in obvious frustration. Ynpharion was a bundle of frustration with a heavy side of judgment thrown in.
I take it that’s a no.
It is my privilege to serve—to truly serve—the Consort, but I am Barrani, and of the court. She cannot be seen to favor me in the fashion she favors you; you are considered a possibly useful pet. She can show favor to An’Teela for reasons I hope are obvious.
Teela’s powerful.
Yes. She also holds one of The Three. I have nothing to set me apart from the two who have come to greet you. The Lady can be certain of me, can trust me, only because she has my name.
Does she know about Azoria?
Yes. The name has caused ripples through the High Court; I would almost say the name is feared. I am not old enough to have been privy to rumors when they were current, and not stupid enough to search for them now. You will not listen—I do not believe you are capable of it—but tread with caution. If it is permissible to the Consort, allow An’Teela to do the speaking.
The Consort won’t allow it, Kaylin replied, although she absolutely agreed with the advice.
No, likely not. She knows that you open your mouth and let words fall out—something Teela is far too cautious to do. I am astonished just how much trouble you can stumble into while blindly flailing.
And envious of it, which surprised Kaylin.
The High Halls were never what could be called crowded; although they were the absolute seat of Barrani power, they weren’t like the Imperial Palace, with its many, many dignitaries, visitors, and bureaucrats. The halls seemed almost empty to Kaylin; they didn’t seem empty to Teela, given how alert she now was. Hope was standing on Kaylin’s shoulder, although both of his wings remained folded across his back. He was as alert as Teela.
As alert, Kaylin realized, as Kaylin herself. If the shape and the layout of the High Halls had changed when the Shadow trapped at their heart had been freed from both his cage here and the fetters that had enslaved him, she was uncertain that the High Halls had ever valued the safety of its guests.
“We value the safety of our guests.”
Kaylin turned instantly in the direction of this new voice.
“Welcome to the High Halls, Lord Kaylin.” A Barrani man had joined them, his feet moving without touching the marbled floors. This must be the Avatar of the High Halls.
“Indeed, as you suspect. It has been long since I have felt such freedom, and my gaze has turned outward, as well as in. I am not Hallionne,” he added. “My purpose is not the purpose laid into the Hallionne upon their creation. The Hallionne were created as sanctuary fortresses in times of war. I was created to house those who ruled—and rulers are ever subject to the detritus of war, both obvious and subtle.
“I owe you a debt. I am not Barrani, to consider such debt a shame.”
“Maybe you can answer a question for me as payment.”
Teela stiffened. “Do not ask that question in the open halls.”
The Avatar of the High Halls surprised Kaylin; he laughed. “There is no question Lord Kaylin might ask that would cause either offense or danger—to her. I am aware that your visit is considered sensitive, and many are the ears that desire to hear of it. They will not hear what she says while I accompany you. Nor will the people who are now bound to her. Ask in peace.”
“Do you know of Azoria An’Berranin?”
“That is not entirely the correct name,” the Avatar—who looked very much like a Barrani man to Kaylin’s eye—said. “She was not An’Berranin when last I was aware of her presence.”
“It’s the name I was given—or the name that was used for legal documentation in the mortal areas of our city.”
“It is the belief of most of the court that she perished after the first war. It is not your belief.”
“I don’t know, but if I had to bet, no.”
“Then you must interrogate those who are certain she is dead.”
“That’s been tried. It didn’t go well; it just caused more death. Whatever information there is, whatever is feared, people will kill to keep hidden.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“Let’s start with a couple of questions that might seem unrelated.”
“Very well. An’Teela, with all due respect, it is safe for her to ask these questions of me, which is clearly not the case in general. I was not Hallionne, no—but like any living building, I am aware of those who dwell within my confines. I was fully awake at the time Azoria and her line were of significance.
“I was fond of An’Berranin—her father. Her brother was heir to Berranin, in the event of her father’s passing, but I had no sense that he wished to rush toward his inheritance. If she adopted the title, both father and brother were dead.” There was no question in his voice.
“The excision of Berranin occurred after the first war, when the building had significantly changed,” was Teela’s quiet rejoinder.
Kaylin nodded. “I’ve spoken to scholars at the Academia. They felt that she had a voracious hunger for knowledge, but murky ambitions.”
“Even if my opinion was, like your scholars, entirely superficial in nature, she styled herself An’Berranin. Facts strongly imply that she had at least that much ambition.”
“Or that she was the last of her line left standing,” Teela added, voice soft.
The Avatar nodded. “Much of my thought was turned inward, after the first war; knowledge of what passed outside of the Tower in which I had imprisoned our foe was no longer within my purview. That has changed, although many of the lords of the current court are...uncomfortable with these changes.”
“How much say do they get?”
“Your language is oddly colloquial; perhaps that is why young Terrano prefers to speak it.” The Avatar smiled. “The Lord of the High Court is not uncomfortable with my reach; he has, indeed, encouraged it, much to the chagrin of those who nominally serve him. He is the final authority, where such authority governs me at all.
“But the imperative is the protection of the Lake, the succor of our race. And that was not the question you intended to ask.”
Kaylin shook her head. “I’ve met two mortals who I believe are...trapped in the same way the occupants of the Academia were trapped when the Towers rose. But I think part of that entrapment was centered in the High Halls itself.”
“Why?”
“Because they recognize the High Halls as they are now. I don’t think they’ve ever seen the High Halls that took shape after the disastrous battle in the first war. It’s only recently that they’ve been...awake, in a fashion. That’s suspiciously the same period in which you’ve been awake, or at least more aware of things that occur outside of the Tower of Test.”
He frowned.
Hope squawked loudly, and the Avatar stopped moving, arrested. He replied in a language Kaylin didn’t understand. Hope continued his squawk while Kaylin attempted to cover the ear closest to the noises he was making.
“You feel that the power used was somehow mine?”
“Or that it was attached to you in some subtle way, yes. I’m not certain. I’d hoped that you’d remember if you were somehow asked to house a couple of mortals.”
“I have housed rare animals that required very specific care; mortals would not be difficult.”
Kaylin’s knee-jerk reaction—which the Avatar was no doubt aware of—was instant annoyance at the comparison. She kept it to herself not because she hoped the Avatar wouldn’t be aware of it—she had no illusions on that front—but because Teela would probably be annoyed.
“And An’Teela is indeed more terrifying,” the Avatar said, smiling. The smile faded. “These mortals would have belonged to Azoria?”
Kaylin hated the use of the word belonged, but nodded. She knew that before the Empire rose, Barrani owned slaves, and most of those slaves were human. “Yes.”
“I will retreat to examine my history. It is not as simple a task as you believe it to be. Ah, but first, I have a lesson with Terrano. He is teaching us—”
“Chess, yes. I know. I’m certain Terrano would be forgiving if the lesson was put off.”
“Perhaps, but others would not be.”
Kaylin wondered if those others included the Shadow in the High Halls.
“I will lead you to where the Consort now waits. I was reminded that you have not been to the High Halls of late, and the changed geography might cause both confusion and delay.”
Geography, as the Avatar called it, had indeed changed. Although the High Halls remained composed of towering stone walls, arches, and ceilings, natural light—for a value of natural that involved a sentient building—was far more prominent. Where arches opened to the right as they walked, they opened into forest—aged forest that reminded Kaylin very much of her uncomfortable journey to the West March.
“At least there don’t seem to be insects,” she murmured.
“I offer apologies in advance,” Teela told the Avatar. “Kaylin is second to none when it comes to whining. It’s a small wonder she’s survived it.”
The Avatar chuckled. “She is not so adept at whining as some who make their home in the High Halls; her whining is merely more publicly accessible. It is almost charming in comparison.”
“You have a building’s view of charming,” Teela replied, but she was distracted. “This is new.” She’d clearly visited the High Halls since its transformation.
“Indeed; it was requested by the Consort. And Lord Kaylin, it is the Consort’s will that moves us; the High Lord is subject to the rules and the games played by politicians. The Consort has historically played some part in the politics of her time—but her duties are duties that affect all of the Barrani.
“It is to safeguard the race that I was created, and to safeguard the race that I withdrew almost the entirety of my power to the Tower in which I had imprisoned the slave of our ancient enemy. I have spent much time in conversation with the Consort, the High Lord, and a handful of Barrani Lords of his court; I have spent some time in similar discussions with those who seek—as they always did—a change of ruler, a shift in power.
“But I confess that I find Terrano fascinating, and he is one of the few who has come to offer us information that seems to have no political use whatsoever.”
“It’s a game,” Terrano said, losing all invisibility as the syllables finished. “There’s no political use in a game—you play them for fun.”
“I see. I will leave you here,” he said to Kaylin. “You have your...familiar, and he will preserve you should unfortunate political games go awry. An’Teela. Lord Kaylin. I will take Terrano with me. I will return to guide you out when your meeting is done.”
Here, as the Avatar had called it, was yet another entrance into a forest. A path, however, had been laid between trees that were taller and more impressive. It was odd to pass through the arch, and to see, as Kaylin turned to look over her shoulder, that the wall that arch was cut into on one side had vanished from view. It wasn’t shocking; she’d expected it; she was in the hands of, if not Hallionne, a sentient building, and that building meant her no harm.
“You’re thinking the High Halls will be far safer than they were before,” Teela observed as she began to follow the path.
“You’re not?”
“This was the heart of Barrani power, and the Barrani—as you have constantly pointed out—made games of both war and assassination. If the High Halls were created to protect the cradle of our race, they were created with an awareness of the games Barrani play. For the most part, the Consort is considered apolitical because lack of a Consort is lack of progeny, lack of continuity. But do not believe that apolitical, for the Barrani, means what it means for humans.”
“Do you feel less safe?”
“Me? Of course not. But I feel no safer. My safety is not in the hands of the Halls; it is in my own hands. Sedarias is the same. And were the High Halls to be safe—as you use the word—Sedarias’s agents would not now be dead, and Sedarias not girding herself for ugly war.”
“She was girding herself for ugly war before they died,” Kaylin pointed out.
“She was girding herself, as you put it, for ugly war because she expected that she would not be the only claimant for the title. She is An’Mellarionne—but only while she lives, and she expects there are cousins and distant relatives who desire to change that state.
“This, however, is different.” Teela lifted her head to look up at the height of the trees between which they walked. “You like the cohort.”
Kaylin nodded. “I mean, I want to strangle Terrano half the time, I’ve bruised Mandoran’s shins, and when Sedarias is in a mood, I want to huddle under the table with the quieter, sensible members—but...I do.”
“Sedarias would have garnered instant respect at any point in the past. She has it now because the Barrani equate fear with respect, or respect with fear. But she has a flaw that is not entirely obvious to those who consider her either impediment or enemy. What is it?”
“It can’t be her temper.”
Teela chuckled. “As you say, it can’t be her temper.”
Kaylin considered Sedarias and her relationship—or the parts of it Kaylin had seen—with the rest of the cohort. She considered her relationship with her immediate family—brothers and sisters bent on killing her, both in the distant past and in the present. “She doesn’t take it personally if people are trying to kill her,” she finally said. “She expects it. She’ll kill them first because that’s what it takes to survive—but...she expects it.
“She takes it very personally when people attack the people who serve her, or the people she considers hers. And she’s pretty possessive.”
“You are becoming far more perceptive,” Teela replied, nodding. “Most will not notice the difference—ah, no, most Barrani will not mark the difference. You could cause Sedarias great harm should you choose to work against her.”
“She’d kill me.”
“I did not say you could harm her in a full-on assault, no. But that is not generally what work against means among my kin. Inasmuch as she trusts at all, she trusts you.”
“Because I can’t actually harm her.”
“Is that what you truly believe? Perhaps that is what Sedarias would have you believe. What of Mandoran?”
“He trusts me.”
“Because you’re harmless?”
“He doesn’t actually think I’m harmless,” Kaylin countered.
“He thinks you are chaos incarnate—a title previously reserved for Terrano, who has the advantage of deliberately choosing chaos as an outcome. He trusts your intent, but given the difficulties that have occurred in the wake of an intent that is trustworthy, he feels pragmatically that you might as well be Terrano.”
Kaylin wasn’t certain how to take that. “Mandoran likes Bellusdeo.”
“Yes. I like her, as you know. Serralyn likes her, but considers her tragic. Sedarias tolerates her because, in the end, the cohort owes her a debt. I have wandered off my point. The cohort can stand as more traditional Lords of the High Court because of Sedarias, but they are not well versed in the games of the court. I am, and Sedarias was raised on them.
“You will think Sedarias cold-blooded. Understand that the motivation for that appearance in the end is the safety of those she values. If she is considered to have sentiment for any of them, they will be the weapons wielded against her for the greatest amount of damage.”
“Will her enemies believe she actually cares?”
“That is the question, isn’t it? It is not unknown among my kind; some of our greatest lays involve such doomed love, such costly devotion. Sedarias wanted the Tower because she knew in the Tower, the rest of the cohort could be safe. She does not have the Tower. She has Helen, while you live—but this will be a long war, and you are likely only to see the very edges of its beginning before age takes you.
“The cohort is Barrani only inasmuch as Sedarias has traditional ambitions. If she did not, I doubt most would care. Some of the cohort are willing to politick in order to build—or rebuild—their familial lines; some are willing to risk their lives reclaiming the lines that survived. But they do it in concert—they do it, in part, for Sedarias and her survival.
“In all of this, the Consort plays no part. She may have preferences, but as I’m certain you are aware, she is likewise singular in her ambitions. But the whole of the High Halls will bend toward her should it become necessary. There are very few who would dare to harm or usurp the Consort; there are many who desire their own progeny to be Consort.”
Kaylin knew why that would fail.
“I think that the High Halls and the interaction with the cohort now and in the future might cause subtle, but very real, changes.” Teela’s voice held firm.
“You want those changes.”
“Is that what you think?”
Kaylin nodded. “You were the only member of the cohort who wasn’t trapped inside Alsanis. You had to walk forward on your own. But you never forgot them.”
“I have Barrani memory.”
“That’s not why.”
Teela exhaled. “No, kitling, that’s not why. But understand that if that information is known, it will have the same effect upon me as it would upon Sedarias. None of us is invulnerable; all of us project invulnerability to discourage those who might otherwise think it safe to attack. It is safe for the Consort to mimic affection, or to openly display it, because of her import to the Barrani people as a whole.
“It will become far less safe if a replacement suitable to the duties she undertakes is found. So far, there has been no likely candidate.”
“You check?”
“Frequently, but I am not the only one. Should a suitable replacement be found, should that replacement be credible, all of that will change or the Consort will perish. I know I have said this before, but it would be best for both of you if you refrained from public displays of affection that involve the Consort.”
Kaylin nodded, remembering how little she liked Barrani society. If people could just care about the things they cared about, Barrani society would be a very different place. Why did so much devolve, in the end, to power?
Survival, Hope said.
The path through the forest continued when the trees fell away; they ringed a large clearing that was every bit as impressive as the space the high thrones occupied. There was, however, no throne here. There was a fountain in what seemed to be the center of the clearing, and sculptures that stood where trees otherwise might have grown, their lines clean and precise, draping cloth of stone replacing more martial, obvious armor.
The Consort sat on the lip of the fountain, gazing into the ripples of water as if she sought to read meaning from them. She looked up as they approached, and rose.
Her eyes were indigo, her expression remote. Kaylin regretted getting out of bed in the morning.
Teela offered the Consort a low bow—it was formal, elegant, and, as Barrani manners so often were, distancing, as if they were meant to be a wall. Kaylin internalized a grimace and bowed as well, secure in the knowledge that no matter how perfectly she executed her bow, it would always be inferior to Teela’s.
The Consort made no move to stop her or interrupt her. Sometimes she hugged Kaylin in greeting, but that wouldn’t happen today. Kaylin prayed this had nothing to do with Azoria.
“This garden,” the Consort said, “is a reminder to me. You will note the statues; I asked the High Halls to create statuary—with a fountain—and a representation of all of the Consorts within his memory. Their presence is a comfort to me—a comfort and a command. I have heard, Lord Kaylin, that you are investigating an old criminal. It involves mortals, and their murders, and such investigations have nothing to do with the Barrani—or so we claim.
“But in the course of that investigation,” the Consort continued, turning to face Kaylin, “you came upon a name that is not spoken at court.” She didn’t speak it now, either.
Kaylin nodded slowly, wondering if the Consort was familiar with this because of Ynpharion. If he was the source of the information, he didn’t confirm.
“It is a name known to me, not because I had cause to interact with the person in question—I did not. She was executed before my time.”
“You did not know her personally?”
“I did not. And I would not see her name raised in any place where Barrani might hear it spoken. Yet it has been raised.”
Kaylin wondered, then, if the Consort was behind the death of Sedarias’s agents; she froze at the thought, and kept it—with effort—from her expression.
“In some quarters,” the Consort continued, “it has caused suspicion and death.”
“Were you responsible for those deaths?” So much for effort.
“And you were doing so well,” Teela said.
“Do you suspect my hand in this?” the Consort asked. “And if the answer is yes, as I fear it must be, does it make clear how much of an emergency I consider this? I would ask—I cannot entirely command, given your position in the Hawks—that you abandon all investigation as it pertains to that lone Barrani woman.”
“And if I can’t?”
“I will not threaten you, Lord Kaylin; I am well aware that threats would be of little use. I ask of Teela that she keep her former comrades in check, if it is at all possible.”
“Terrano is playing chess with the Avatar,” Kaylin quite reasonably pointed out. “And he’s not exactly the most subtle of players.”
“No.” The Consort exhaled. “No, it was not at my command that those agents perished. I am not the only lord of this court who considers the history surrounding this one woman to be a great and terrible secret that must not be shared. But had they not died, I would have considered giving that command.”
Kaylin glanced at Teela; her eyes were now as dark as the Consort’s. Neither woman spoke. Kaylin, uncomfortable with the indigo silence, chose to fill it. “Her name is known in the Academia. One of the librarians and at least one of the scholars were involved with her when she was a student there. She’s old,” Kaylin added, as if it needed to be said. “I did attempt to ignore her name when investigating what is definitely a cold kidnapping case and a...questionable series of murders. Of children.
“But she used to own a house that no longer stands on the lot; it’s vanished, almost as if it never existed. She owned that house less than one of our centuries ago. If you believe she was executed, you believe she’s dead. But we have reason to think that she was not, in fact, dead when she signed the deed for a house that mostly doesn’t exist.
“It’s possible that someone signed her name with appropriate identification—forgeries exist and some are quite good.”
“There is a reason,” the Consort said, her words stretched and thin, “that you do not believe that to be the case.”
“There’s more than one.” Kaylin glanced at Teela, who didn’t give her the stink eye which meant, Stop speaking right now. “The first: I can see the ghost of a house when my familiar places his wing over my eyes. It seems to fade in and out, but the outlines are clear and they’re nothing like the small house that currently stands on that property.
“I’ve had some experience with buildings that are not-quite-there, the most recent being the Academia. I’ve also had experience with the students and teachers who’d been trapped there since the Towers rose to ring the fiefs.
“The house I can see only with Hope’s aid isn’t a normal building. The events that have occurred in the small house that seems to have replaced it are...not normal events. Teela didn’t care,” she added, sliding more firmly into Elantran, which did earn the stink eye, “until we were investigating the small house.”
“You were searching for signs, then.”
“That’s not why we escorted the current owner home, no. She’s had some trouble with a bullying neighbor, and while she’s generally considered dotty, she’s harmless and she bakes for the Hawks.
“But the neighbor was stricken at the sight of Teela—a reaction many Hawks would sympathize with. It’s just...he thought she was someone else, and he fell to his knees groveling and weeping. He was apologizing for losing something precious, which he believed his elderly neighbor must have stolen.
“His behavior was so...wrong.” Kaylin grimaced. “There’s more, but technically we’re not supposed to talk about ongoing investigations.”
“You refer to the elderly woman’s stated ability to see ghosts?”
I did not inform her of the petty interactions of mortals, Ynpharion said before Kaylin could ask.
“I said technically,” Kaylin said, wondering who among the Hawks—if it was a Hawk problem at all—would have passed the information on. It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered either, given the effect the name Azoria had on the Barrani. “Clearly we have an informant in the Halls of Law. Do they report to you?”