“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Teela said, reverting to Elantran.
Kaylin now understood exactly why Teela had been so scrupulously careful to mention neither name nor address. Technically, neither she nor Teela were allowed—by oath and by law—to discuss ongoing investigations with anyone but Hawks or Swords. Teela skirted that edge here, for obvious reasons, but she did so with attention to detail. She had failed to mention many of the significant facts.
Kaylin hoped that the Avatar could not, or would not, remove those facts and lay them across the figurative table, but knew the Consort would find out; Ynpharion could no doubt listen in, and probably was.
There was silence in the wake of that thought. Perhaps he couldn’t at the moment; Helen could also prevent the namebound from reaching out or listening in on any conversation that occurred within her confines, unless she deemed it an emergency.
“She is mortal. This investigation has already caused a handful of deaths—but those deaths fall under the auspices of the Barrani caste court. Any harm done to the mortal will most assuredly not. She is known to the Hawks, and she is held in affection by them; they will not let it go should the worst happen. Kaylin will be chief among them.
“I speak of these things only to offer you tangible reasons for my refusal to set the investigation aside. I will be pursuing all possible traces until solid answers are unearthed. There is too much at risk, given what you have revealed here; I am certain that the criminal continued to pursue other avenues of study—but those avenues were not Barrani in nature. Barrani, as you are well aware, are not the only Immortals.
“Kaylin’s early investigation produced some answers and raised questions. She went to the Academia. The chancellor and the living heart of the Academia owe Kaylin a great debt. What questions they felt they could answer, they answered, although in the chancellor’s case, that amounted to nothing. The Arbiters who govern the library space and the scholars who taught when the Academia was not what it has become also answered questions.” She turned to Kaylin.
Kaylin, mindful now of the consequences of too much information, forced herself to adopt High Barrani. “Killianas believes that the student in question was not interested in knowledge for power’s sake; he also believed that her father was fond of her, from their interactions on campus. This implies that the Academia—or part of it—came before she attempted to destroy the Lake.
“Killianas’s drive is scholarship; his responsibility is the health of, the well-being of, the Academia. There is dependence on a student body—but I believe that dependence requires the right kind of student. Were I to study there, I would not be what he requires. His requirements seem independent of race; they may well be independent of frivolous things like personality.”
“Yet he was aware of her ambitions?”
“Only inasmuch as they devolved to knowledge and study.” She frowned. “I might be misinterpreting; I haven’t spent much time in the confines of the Academia, and much of what I’ve said is inferred. One of her masters was Larrantin. One was Arbiter Androsse—an Ancestor. One was Arbiter Starrante. I believe each considered her an excellent student—someone who worked hard to untangle each lesson she was given.
“It’s possible that in her studies there, she chanced upon ancient ceremonies, or information that concerned them; it’s possible that in her studies there, she came upon information about the plant.”
“The plant in its healthy form grows only in the green,” the Consort said. “I have seen it there. Teela has seen it there. It is quite possible you stepped over it, considering it a weed. It is a flower that represents the heart of the green; it is not rare there. But those flowers do not leave the green.”
Clearly, one of them had. “Is that by law or custom?”
“It is by the will of the green.”
“The will of the green is not exactly spelled out,” Kaylin said. She had some experience with the will of the green—most of it life-threatening, all of it infuriating in its opacity.
“The Warden and his many servants interpret for those of us to whom the green does not speak,” was the Consort’s more stilted reply.
“The Lady is beloved of the green,” the Avatar of the High Halls said quietly. “Beloved, as well, of the Hallionne. She does not require outside interpretation. I believe she is fallible in many of the ways the living are—but in this, I would trust the information she offers.”
Kaylin nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said, in her native Elantran. “I think it was the flower that most alarmed Teela.”
“Teela,” Teela said, “can speak for herself. Yes. The flower alarmed me. The flower, the style of hair—I could not quite put my finger on why it looked familiar; it is not a styling given to our kin. Or perhaps it is no longer used; I confess I did not study ceremony. I knew what was demanded of me by the green on the occasion I was chosen—by the green—to perform the regalia. No part of that involved this flower, although in the area where the telling was done, these flowers were present.
“None of the flowers were so visually deformed; in none was the green so livid.”
The Consort nodded. “There is a reason the flowers are not to be taken from the green. On the rare occasions it has been tried, the green has been displeased with the scholars who made the attempt. But in all of those cases, the flowers wilted. The soil could not be found that would allow them to thrive.”
“I’m not sure I would consider this thriving,” Kaylin replied, frowning. “Is it possible that she removed the soil from the green when she took the plant?”
“No. When removed from the green, the soil retains the characteristics of the West March; whatever properties it possesses within the green are inherent to the green. It is possible that she experimented with the soil while in the green—but I consider that unlikely.” It was the Consort’s turn to frown. She looked to Teela. “It is possible that such experiments might be conducted in one place, and only one that I can readily think of.”
Teela was silent for a beat. “Hallionne Alsanis.”
“The Hallionne Alsanis, yes. Although Alsanis is not of the green, he is connected to it; if she was adept at hiding her thoughts, she might have asked permission of Alsanis.”
“Alsanis wouldn’t require the permission of the green?”
“I would think that he would, but it is not a subject much discussed between us; of the Hallionne, Alsanis was closed to me—to all of us—for centuries.” Because of the cohort. “But I believe some of your cohort grew close to Alsanis, and they may be able to ask him. The loss of Alsanis did not occur in the criminal’s time.”
Teela nodded. “Understand that if I broach this subject with my former confederates, I cannot entirely control the direction the inquiries will take. Would that be an acceptable risk to you? You are well aware of the difficulties they can cause, having been subject to them in the recent past.”
“I am. I have weighed the risk, and I do not believe the threat they pose could rival the threat that she once posed. In the worst case, they would have killed me. That would not harm the Lake.”
Kaylin stared at her for some time before remembering she had to blink. She had always understood how seriously the Consort took her responsibilities, but...to consider her own life of lesser value was unexpected.
“Yes,” the Avatar said, almost fondly. “There is a reason most fail the tests. There are those who do not value their lives—but they, too, fail; life must have value to them if they are to husband and guard the Lake. The Consort does not wish to throw away her life; she values it, and finds joy in it. But better that than to lose the eternity of possibility inherent in the names.”
“She can’t hear you, can she?”
“No. I, too, owe you a great debt. My responsibility and devotion must be given to the Consort—and indeed, there is joy in that. But were it not for your intervention, I would not now be here to protect the Lake and the woman who tends it. Your thoughts are clear, even to me, but none of them are turned toward harm. The Lake accepts you; in an emergency, you could be called upon to deliver the breath of wakefulness to the young. In her fashion, the Consort trusts you—but she thinks you are naive and idealistic, in a world where that is not an advantage.
“I will not reveal that which you do not wish revealed unless and until it becomes critically relevant. But I agree—the cohort, and your Terrano, are possibly the best source of information. I am uneasy; An’Teela’s concern is almost fear—and that is very, very rare.”
“Do you know anything about this flower?”
“No. I am not of the green, nor have I ever been. We do not move around very much,” he added, almost apologetically. “But I have captured too much of your attention; attend the Consort now.”
“I hoped, when I first asked you to join An’Teela, that I could convince you to halt your investigation. An’Teela’s words and demeanor have convinced me that this would be unwise. I will bespeak the High Halls to make certain they are aware of the possible danger. I believe Terrano regularly attends the Avatar; perhaps Terrano might be willing to talk about his own highly unusual research, undertaken during his long stay in Alsanis.”
“We call it captivity in Elantra,” Kaylin said, before she could stop the words from leaving her mouth.
“Perhaps. But Alsanis is fond of the cohort, as you call them, and it is my belief that the cohort, if they sought escape, sought to do so without damaging their caretaker; the fondness was reciprocated.”
Kaylin saw no reason not to agree; she nodded. “Toward the end, he couldn’t completely contain them.”
“Yes. Terrano has spoken, with an almost childish glee, of his successes. To the Avatar,” she added, with a fond smile. “Sometimes he recounts Terrano’s tales.” The smile slipped away. “But there is no similar fondness for the woman we assumed was long dead.
“Chosen. An’Teela. Find her if she exists. Give us as much warning as you can. She would be older than Terrano, and if she was likewise entrapped, may have learned similar tricks or skills.”
“She was nothing like Terrano,” the Avatar said. This time, given the direction the Consort looked, other people could hear him. “I was very angry with Terrano when I heard of what he had attempted, but his regret was genuine, and as with you, I owe him a great debt. He is...not what she was. Perhaps his time with the Hallionne preserved some innate youthfulness; I cannot say.
“But I would trust him with the Consort and the Lake.”
“And not her.”
“No, Chosen. You have asked how my powers may have been used; I will, if you desire it, allow you to enter what would have been her chambers, had she survived.”
“But—they’ll be in use.”
“Ah, you misunderstand. Your Helen could re-create any room that any tenant who has accepted her hospitality has occupied. When I was forced to withdraw the greater measure of my power and functionality to prevent the Shadow from destroying the heart of the Barrani, changes to the building did not occur. But she lived within my walls for the better part of what we assume was her life. As did An’Berranin.
“When you are finished, I will return for you, and I will lead you to that suite.”
“No,” the Consort said, standing so swiftly she would have knocked a chair over had they been seated in individual chairs. “I would examine these chambers myself. Kaylin is Chosen, and An’Teela is perceptive, but this now encompasses those responsibilities that are mine in their entirety.”
Ynpharion did not interrupt their somber passage through the forest.
“I do not think it wise if the Chosen is to examine anything,” the Avatar said. Kaylin glanced at him, and then at the Consort.
It was Teela who said, “The Avatar can create portals that move us from one section of the Halls to their destination; he is explaining the reason we are walking. Your inability to walk through a portal is well-known.”
“I can walk through a portal,” Kaylin said. It was true. But it was also true that she was wretchedly nauseous when she emerged. She frowned. To the Avatar, she said, “The painting of the mortals that Azoria created remains in the mortal’s home.”
“Ah, yes. I have taken the liberty of once again enclosing our conversation; the name that you mention should not be heard by anyone else.”
“It was dark in the room—and the darkness grew stronger when exposed to light.”
The Avatar nodded, eyes the color of obsidian.
“But...there was something about the atmosphere there that felt almost like a portal path, to me.”
The Avatar turned to the Consort. “With your permission, Lady, I would like to involve Terrano in this investigation and the discussions it spawns.”
Teela’s No was instant, but it wasn’t Teela’s permission the Avatar sought.
The Consort frowned, glanced at Teela, and then nodded. “An’Teela, any information, any conjecture, that might somehow solve this mystery, is necessary.”
“Terrano is almost—but not quite—as disaster prone as Lord Kaylin,” Teela replied. “I trust his intent. I am not at all certain I trust the consequences that might emerge from it.”
“If the High Halls feel it would be of aid, I am inclined to trust them,” the Consort replied. No hint of the frostiness of the powerful at having their decisions questioned was conveyed in her voice. “And if Lord Kaylin is considered the greater unintentional danger and she is necessary, I believe we are not increasing the risk.” As she spoke, she smiled, and the color of her eyes shifted to a regular, dark blue.
“It must be nice to be so optimistic,” Teela replied, in Elantran. But her eyes also lost the uncomfortable indigo that had characterized so much of the previous discussion.
“Serralyn wants to know if she can come, too.” It was Terrano, emerging from thin air, who asked the question. “She’s at the Academia now, but I think she thinks she has information we might want.”
“Far be it from me,” the Consort replied, “to deny her; An’Teela seems to feel that she will pose less of a danger than you might.”
Terrano’s smile was breezy, his eyes nearly green. “The quiet ones are always the ones you have to watch out for.”
If the group had left the confines of the Consort’s inviolable space, the rest of the High Halls had not been informed; there were no other people in the halls through which the Avatar now led them. No guards. No oathsworn. No one.
Terrano was chatting with someone in the silence, his expressive face shifting in such a way that Kaylin could almost hear the words he didn’t speak aloud.
“I do not recognize these halls,” the Consort said softly.
To Kaylin, they looked like any other part of the High Halls: towering ceilings with their impressive stained glass at heights that would make them impossible to clean. There were the usual stone alcoves, and each contained either a statue or a small tree of some kind; one contained flowers that seemed to have spilled out of their now-invisible planter to trail across the floors. Oh, no, they were vines of some kind that had flowers attached.
Since the flowers were not a livid green that hurt the eyes, Kaylin assumed they were safe, but as this was Barrani space she took care to avoid touching anything but the floor.
“Serralyn can travel quickly,” the Avatar remarked.
“She can—but she hates to do it; she says it makes her nauseous,” Terrano replied. “She’s worried enough that nausea seems a reasonable risk.”
“She does not have Lord Kaylin’s sensitivity to portals.”
“No—only Kaylin’s that lucky.”
“Good. It will save us time.”
Serralyn did look a little green to Kaylin’s eye when she appeared in the middle of the hall. Terrano immediately ran to her, although Kaylin noted he couldn’t be bothered to even mimic walking; his feet didn’t touch the floor. He slid an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into his chest, head bowed for three long breaths.
“I don’t know how you can stand this,” she murmured, the acoustics of this magnificent hall magnifying her softly spoken words. “It really makes me feel Kaylin’s portal pain.”
“It doesn’t make me feel sick.” His tone conveyed worry, but also comfort.
She nodded and looked up, pulling away from Terrano to offer the Consort a perfect bow. The Consort bid her rise when it became apparent that she intended to hold that bow until that permission was given.
“I am sorry that we must meet again under such difficult circumstances. But I am very curious about your experience with the Academia, and I would enjoy your company if you chose to visit when things were less dire.”
Serralyn’s eyes were a warring mix of blue and green; the Consort’s immediate words brightened them, but the situation dampened any surprise or joy.
“Terrano said you would travel from the Academia.”
Serralyn glanced at Terrano. “Yes. I did. He really isn’t supposed to do that.”
That referred to the public acknowledgment of the fact that Serralyn and he were in communication, which strongly implied that they were namebound. At home, within Helen’s perimeter, it didn’t matter; everyone living there already knew. But in the High Halls, it would—especially as Sedarias grew more active.
“We are aware that the circumstances of your captivity forced you all to become closer than is the norm for our kin,” the Consort replied. “And yes, I agree. He should be far, far more careful.”
“Careful isn’t in his nature,” Serralyn replied. “Not even Sedarias can force him to behave for more than ten minutes at a time. It’s a good thing he’s pretty hard to kill.” She said the last with a sunny smile.
“Sedarias might lose her temper?” the Consort asked, returning that smile. “When young, my older brother had a foul temper; it drove both my parents to despair.”
Serralyn’s brows rose. Teela’s did as well. The expressions were separated by laughter—Serralyn’s. Teela didn’t feel that speaking of the current High Lord in this familiar and familial fashion was in any way appropriate.
But if the Consort hoped to put Serralyn—and Terrano—at ease, it worked. Teela was stone-faced throughout, but made no attempt to argue against that ease; Kaylin wasn’t even certain she made the private attempt. On some level, and inasmuch as Barrani were capable of it, Teela trusted the Consort.
Kaylin trusted her as well, but had forced herself to accept that trust or no, the Consort was still a powerful Barrani woman. It was not wise to cross her, and if crossed, there were consequences. The Consort had attempted to cage and entrap the cohort.
Then again, the cohort, through Terrano, had tried to kill her, so...maybe they were even? Ugh, Barrani. Sometimes trying to untangle their interactions gave her a headache. Today, however, that wasn’t her concern. She hoped. She’d expected the Consort to ask that the investigation be shelved, and had braced herself for the anger that would follow the refusal. But Teela had taken the refusal in hand, and Teela had a weight and power in court that made the refusal make sense to the Consort.
And now they were following the Avatar of the High Halls down a hall that the Consort had never seen, to a room that maybe didn’t exist anymore, except in the building’s memory. Or a room that could be pulled out of the nebulous nothingness from which buildings worked.
“That is not quite the way it works,” the Avatar said. He then frowned. “You did not mention your Helen’s newest guests.”
“I had other things on my mind. Are they important?”
“Yes. Very.”
“Could you tell me why? Or how? Or...what they even are? They’re not like the words in the Lake.”
“No. They are not of and for the race known as Barrani.”
Maybe something good would come out of this visit. Kaylin was still not used to the idea that the High Halls was now a sentient building. “Do you know what they are?”
“Unless you wish to take the risk of transporting them here, I cannot be certain. I would not harm them, but I am uncertain that you could make that clear. I do not believe you would be in danger, but it is not yourself for whom you are concerned. And I consider it a risk.
“You left someone here, and he chose to remain; he is comfortable with us, and there are no misunderstandings. But he is, as you are aware, mobile in a fashion I am not. I can, however, ask...Spike to examine them; if you are willing, he can follow you home.” The Avatar’s expression was one of distaste.
“Has Spike done anything wrong?”
“Far from it. But I dislike the...name...you assigned him. It is entirely inappropriate.”
Kaylin shrugged. “So come up with an appropriate name. I don’t know anything about Spike’s people; I only know he was enslaved and I got tired of saying ‘it.’”
This seemed to scandalize the Avatar, who was silent for a long beat.
“I’m not sure I could pronounce his name. Starrante chose a name that could be pronounced by the majority of the student body, but I get the impression that that’s not his actual name,” Kaylin said.
“Let us go to the chambers; they are at the end of the hall. They are not re-created,” he added quietly. “They are the rooms. You are familiar with Records, in their oddly limited form—Terrano has explained them. I am like, and unlike, your Records. I know that while I was collapsed inward, no new rooms were created, and there was some...hierarchical demand for the rooms that remained, unchanging.
“That was not always the case.”
“So you’re going to make more rooms?”
“The High Lord has requested that I do not for the time being; I may alter halls and create spaces—such as the Consort’s—but he believes the political fractures such instant access would cause would be problematic. I have created no new rooms, at his request; he believes that the changes to the Test of Name, and the changes to the Halls themselves, require some time to fully absorb.
“I am not a Hallionne,” he added. “That was not my function. The Barrani are not children to be coddled or kept apart or protected. Barrani have murdered each other within my walls since I first rose. They will no doubt continue.”
“Couldn’t you stop them?”
“To what end? They would merely kill each other in different places, where sentience such as mine is absent. They are what they are. Ah, my apologies, Lady. Kaylin’s thoughts are very loud and very chaotic. The room that I will show you, the room that you will examine, are the Berranin rooms as they were when they were last used. The contents are the same; they have not been altered. Nothing has been taken from them, at the command of the High Lord of the time. My preservation functions were at the forefront of my will; I preserved them, although I could not replace them.
“I could bury them, but could not entirely destroy them. I can find the rooms used by various lords throughout my existence.”
Serralyn’s eyes nearly fell out of her head. “Any room? Any room with authentic contents?”
“Any room with the contents that were left in them when the rooms were retired. The Berranin case was special; the line was eradicated. No one wished to step up to claim any of the contents for fear that they would be considered part of the line. There were therefore no claimants. You will not find that to be true of most of the retired quarters.”
“But...some?”
“Some, yes. I see you are happy. Why?”
“It’s history,” she replied. “It’s like...living history. There are professors and students in the Academia that would be so excited to be here right now—it’s like we’re walking into the past, we’re stepping back in time.” She spoke Elantran, not the stilted High Barrani that dampened excitement.
“You really should learn to speak with Spike. You would find his experiences very interesting.”
The Avatar stopped in front of two ornate doors; they were closed.
Kaylin stopped for a different reason. “What are the markings on those doors?” she asked. “Are they door wards?”
“No. They were Berranin symbols; Helen marks the doors that lead to the quarters your friends occupy. Here, the Barrani who have the significance to be granted permanent quarters choose the marks that define their line. Why do you ask?”
“Serralyn?”
Serralyn stepped forward. She didn’t touch the doors, but did lean into them. To Kaylin’s eyes, they were carved of wood in a stylized representation of a vine, or vines, twined out from a central flower, as if they were leaves. “I am not familiar with the Berranin heraldry,” she finally said. “This was theirs?”
“This was the one that was chosen,” he replied. “Do you recognize it?”
“Did you carve it—I mean, did you cause it to be created as it was?”
“That is an odd question.”
“Why?”
“I was asked to use this pattern in the creation of the doors, yes.”
“So you did this, not someone from the Berranin clan?”
“I did.”
Serralyn was silent for a long beat. “I would ask that you carefully—carefully—unwind it.”
“Pardon?”
“If what you’ve said is true—if this is the actual room, the actual doors, preserved for eternity, I would ask that you very carefully unwind or unmake only the symbols on the door itself. I don’t think it’s safe for us to touch.”
“It is safe. I will not allow it to cause harm to any of you—you are with the Lady.” The Avatar’s eyes were black now, all whites lost to concentration and assessment, just as Helen’s eye color often was. “What is it that you fear?”
Serralyn frowned. “You’re like the Hallionne, aren’t you?”
The Avatar nodded.
“I’m trying to think at you. I’m trying to give you the information I think I have. Can’t you hear it?”
“No.”
Terrano cleared his throat.
“I can hear you clearly; your thoughts are the equivalent of shouting at great volume in an empty, stone room. They echo. But your companion’s thoughts are very murky.”
Serralyn’s eyes lost green. “How did she ask you to create these symbols? Did she simply visualize? Did she sketch? Did she show you the image by magic?”
“I fail to understand your questions, but there is an urgency to them. She had a very specific order in which the vines were to be laid—but the flowers at the center of the symbol were to be created both first and last. I can show you, if you are concerned.”
Serralyn nodded. “But not on the doors, and images only.” She frowned and then shook her head. “My apologies; I have been informed that my manners are appalling when I’m studying something too intently. I have no right of command—anything I say is a request, and if you are unable to accommodate it I apologize for asking for something difficult.”
“It is not difficult,” the Avatar replied, his eyes obsidian as he studied her face, her eyes, her expression. “But I am now concerned for other reasons. The Barrani—especially the elder Barrani—are careful to guard their thoughts or to hide them by emphasizing elements that would otherwise be considered gentle noise.
“You are not one of them. Terrano’s thoughts, as I said, could be heard clearly from any corner of my territory, but he is now as confused as you are.”
Serralyn’s eyes lost all green then. “Just what did she build here?” she whispered.
“That is a very relevant question. I would have answered: she did not build. I did. But there is an interference here that appears to be centered around the doors. And it is the doors that are your concern. You will, I think, become an important scholar in future.”
Serralyn should have been pleased by the compliment, but if she was, her eye color didn’t shift. “Please,” she said softly.
The Avatar nodded. Barrani buildings clearly had Barrani memory. Although the Avatar didn’t move, the space a yard in front of the doors began to shimmer in place. Absent the wood in which the pattern had been laid, the pattern began to form. As he’d said, he’d started with the flower at the center of the design. It was a flower Kaylin recognized.
“Was the flower that color when you began the making?” Kaylin asked, because the flower had color on the doors—it was the color of what she now considered a healthy plant.
“Yes.”
“But...it was going to be part of a door, and the flower on the door is...wood.”
“Yes. But I was asked to start with the flower in the center—and end with it as well.” As he spoke, the flower began to grow vines, slender vines with budding leaves; they curled outward, spreading in a circular pattern, one clockwise, one counterclockwise. The movement slowed as Serralyn held up a hand; she approached the illusion and walked around it, examining the leaves and the vines as if they were words she could read with great effort. She then nodded, and he continued.
She watched as the vines grew up, and up again, until they curved, as if to close a circle; they grew down in the same way. “This is exact?” she asked.
“It is.”
“Kaylin.” Kaylin joined Serralyn, leaving the Consort and Teela behind. “Do you recognize this? Look at the way the vines are being laid in circles against each other. Look at the way they entwine.”
Kaylin didn’t have Barrani memory, but she didn’t need it. She understood exactly what Serralyn was now looking at: this pattern, this odd braiding, had been done with Mrs. Erickson’s hair when she had been a child. Into that hair, the blossom had been placed—but Kaylin was almost certain that the flower placed there hadn’t been the livid, disturbing green that the painting had captured.