The very clear, blue skies above this artificial garden darkened.
“You are correct,” Karriamis said, to Bellusdeo. “My assumption about polite company was clearly an overabundance of optimism.”
Bellusdeo’s face would have cracked had she smiled; the question Kaylin had asked was the heart of her concern. Kaylin realized, watching her, that although the gold Dragon had seriously considered captaining a Tower—this one—the reason she’d come here was to ascertain that the Tower itself hadn’t been dangerously corrupted.
This world wasn’t the world she’d ruled at the end, but she’d been born here, and if she had a home—if she could make herself a home—it was here. What had happened to her people on their world must never happen here.
The Avatar of the Tower met and held Bellusdeo’s gaze. “I did allow it.”
“Why?” It was Kaylin who spoke; Bellusdeo said nothing.
“Candallar had done, for me, a great favor, and my thoughts were turned towards that favor, and the possible outcomes of it.”
“You were willing to risk Shadow infiltration for those outcomes? Why did you volunteer for these responsibilities in the first place?”
“I understood the danger Shadow presents.”
“And yet you allowed this? We don’t know enough to—” Kaylin stopped, snapping her mouth shut over words she might be unable to easily retract.
“I would tell you not to interrupt me, but you are deliberately choosing to keep the words to yourself. You think, however, very loudly.
“We do not know enough, yes. But in our ignorance, in the risks we take, we have changed the constitution of the High Halls, and returned to that building the capacity for defense that was thought to be lost at the dawn of the long wars between our people and yours.” This last, he directed to Mandoran.
“It is often considered crucial in times of war not to see one’s enemies as people. But I will note that, according to Kaylin, those who were combatants in time of war greet former enemies as if they are comrades. Your Teela, your Nightshade, your former Arkon. Death lies between them all, but those deaths no longer define them. Causing death is no longer their reason for interaction.
“You are at war,” he continued, watching Bellusdeo. “And I understand, now, the reason for its continuation. But Spike—that is the name you gave them, yes?” When Kaylin nodded, he once again turned his focus to Bellusdeo. “Spike, in the end, was freed. I believe it was through the efforts of your Terrano,” he added, obviously to Mandoran, although he didn’t look away from Bellusdeo. “But it may well have been through the combination of Terrano’s effort and the effort of your Chosen.
“Regardless, the outcome was positive.”
“That wasn’t your intent.” Kaylin’s eyes narrowed.
“My intent, as you must suspect, was to save the Academia. And Candallar’s work to bring students to the Academia gave Killianas just enough power that the Academia could, finally, leave the stasis in which it’s been trapped. Much of my power, and much of my thought, has turned to the Academia of late.”
“Candallar’s effort was to kidnap people and toss them into what was basically a prison,” Kaylin snapped.
“And yet there are students there who considered it a blessing. As you yourself thought you once might.”
Leave, Nightshade said quietly. This Tower is far more of a danger than your Helen. What Helen wanted was the patina of domesticity—
That is not what Helen wanted. It’s not what she wants now.
—but Karriamis is not Helen. He knows far, far too much; you have not consciously been thinking of all of these things during your visit. What he has read is deeper than even what the Hallionne would read. He is dangerous, Kaylin. Do not remain.
Kaylin didn’t reply. No answer she could give wouldn’t cause a deepening of the argument; she wasn’t leaving without Bellusdeo, and Bellusdeo wasn’t leaving.
“The Academia is awake, and it grows stronger as the chancellor finds those students from whom the very institution draws life and power. And no, Corporal, the Academia is not feeding on them. As the Academia grows stronger, much less of my power is required to stabilize it. I am content.”
“Is that your way of saying that you’re not going to let the next fieflord fish Shadows out of Ravellon?”
His eyes were now orange-red, rather than the obsidian they had originally been; it was a Dragon warning.
But...Kaylin felt she had to ask, because Bellusdeo couldn’t. And in the end, Bellusdeo lived with her. They were friends.
“In a fashion, yes. But consider this, and consider it carefully. Spike did not choose his captivity or his enslavement. No more did Bellusdeo, hers.”
Silence.
Bellusdeo had come out of Ravellon. Just as Spike had.
“They are both free, and I cannot imagine that their freedom is not more preferable—for all of us—than their enslavement was. You think of all Shadow as one will. Even if experience has now taught you more, you are still wed to that mode of considering a war. You will take no risks, or rather, would counsel that none of us do.”
Kaylin hesitated. She was now in territory that Bellusdeo herself would barely acknowledge and would not consider; she couldn’t speak for the Dragon here, couldn’t speak in her stead. “The cost of a mistake...”
“Yes. That is fear speaking. Fear is, with the correct mix of experience and knowledge, the foundation of caution, and caution is admirable. But tell me, Chosen, did you not have this very argument with the Consort of the Barrani?”
“No?”
“Ah, perhaps the term Shadow is confusing you. Let me say, instead, the Devourer.”
Kaylin looked down at her food as all appetite deserted her. “Oh. That.”
Karriamis’s eyes had shaded toward gold as he chuckled. “I see them as fundamentally the same. Bellusdeo does not. It was the remnants of her people that you saved. But the risk was as large as the risk of unknown Shadow: the loss of an entire world.”
He then turned to Bellusdeo. “Or is it different for you because you have, and have had, a vested interest in the outcome?”
“I wasn’t aware of the struggle at the time.”
“Ah, no, forgive me. Bellusdeo does not and would not fault the Consort for her decision or her anger. Had you been mistaken, this world would be gone. I personally believe the Consort was correct; the risk was too high. And yet, again, the outcome is desirable. It is certainly desirable for my people. It is not a risk I would have taken. It is not a risk the Consort could take. And I believe that it is not a risk Bellusdeo herself would condone.
“Would you change what you did?”
Kaylin shook her head.
“It is a combination of risk and belief that allows such changes to happen. When they do not work well, it’s considered an act of dangerous idealism, dangerous naivete after the fact. But without it, I feel that too little would change, and whole new avenues of existence would never be explored or brought to light.”
“That’s not why you let him leave the border zone with a Shadow in his hands.”
“They were not in his hands. Perhaps, however, you do not understand the function of your Spike prior to the fall of worlds. Spike would have been at home as an Arbiter in the Academia. They would have been at home—more than at home—as one of the experts and scholars who dwelled there. In the fullness of time, I believe they may apply to do just that. I believe your Robin would be delighted.”
Nightshade was right. This Tower was dangerous in a way the other sentient buildings were not. His advice—to leave immediately—was going to be difficult to follow without the building’s permission.
Karriamis chose not to comment on that. “Spike was a historian. A recorder of truths and events.”
“Wait—how do you know this?”
Karriamis said nothing.
Bellusdeo, however, said, “Did you know Spike?”
“I knew of Spike’s people—they were, like Starrante’s, few.”
But the gold Dragon shook her head. “You thought you recognized him.”
“Enslaved as he was? How would that be possible?”
“You tell us. I will concede your points: Spike was enslaved. When freed from that enslavement, that control, he was helpful.” She exhaled. “He was more than helpful. And I, too, was enslaved for years beyond count. But I was not of the Shadow, and I believe Spike was.”
“Both Spike and Starrante’s people require certain environments in which to thrive, yes. But you speak of Shadow as if it is one thing.” He held up a hand before she could breathe flame. “And those who are enslaved by it become part of it. It drives their thoughts, their desires, their intent. Do you understand, you who spent so much time in its thrall, what Shadow is?”
“No.”
“A pity. And a further pity that I cannot visit the High Halls in person to ask the question of those who might have a broader perspective. But Spike—honestly, I am trying not to find the name offensively dismissive—was, if I am not mistaken, instrumental in your escape from the West March. You have seen what Spike is capable of, and you have seen it put to a use of which you must approve.”
“The most dangerous incursions are always the subtle ones.”
“Indeed. But if, as a people, we assume that nothing changes—”
“The very nature of Shadow is change.”
“—then we make assumptions that can be harmful to both our own development and our defenses. If you demand, of a Tower, that rigidity, you have failed to understand the nature of Towers.”
“She has not,” Kaylin snapped.
“Oh?”
“Tara would never, ever take that risk. And Tiamaris wouldn’t ask it.”
“Ah. Perhaps you think all sentient buildings are somehow the same? That the beings who agreed to become their heart or part of their core become so uniform you cannot tell one apart from the other?” He snorted smoke, exactly the way the former Arkon would have.
“Candallar did not command me.” He rose and turned to Bellusdeo. “Had he tried, he would have been reduced to less than ash. I understand my own duties, my own responsibilities. But it has long been my belief that knowledge is essential, that new knowledge sheds light on the incomplete knowledge it replaces.
“It is the reason I wished to preserve the Academia in whatever small fashion I could. It is in the Academia that the library can be reached.”
“Candallar was your captain, but he did not command you.”
“Yes. Does Kaylin command Helen?”
“Yes, in her own particular fashion.” Bellusdeo exhaled. “And no, as it is clear you must know. Kaylin is her tenant. If Kaylin commanded Helen, I believe Helen would be forced to obey—but that is inferred. It is not a proven or known fact.”
“I don’t think she would be forced to obey,” Mandoran said.
“Helen has implied that she would.”
“She’s just being polite. Look—she damaged herself enough that she doesn’t even have all of her memories. She did this because she wanted the freedom of choice. And apparently the freedom of choice means she chooses mortals as lords, and offers them a home until age kills them. But she doesn’t need a tenant; there was a long gap, in mortal time, between her prior tenant and Kaylin.
“She wouldn’t take a tenant who would command her to do things against her will. And Kaylin’s garbage at hiding her thoughts, so she’d absolutely know.”
“You are not much better, young man,” Karriamis said, voice stern, eyes far less orange.
Mandoran shrugged. “I don’t care. You can’t keep me trapped here if I want to leave. You can possibly kill me—” He winced, no doubt at something Sedarias was saying. Or shouting.
“Let us not talk of killing. You are not interested in becoming a Tower’s partner.”
“So you only attempt to kill or injure those who are?”
“Any injuries you have suffered since you entered my domain were not caused by me.”
Mandoran’s eyes went indigo. Kaylin opened her mouth, but Bellusdeo reached out and placed a hand very gently on Mandoran’s arm. “My biggest regret is not that I didn’t injure you,” she said, head tilted slightly, “but that I will never be allowed to forget or live it down.”
Mandoran’s eyes lightened almost instantly as he laughed. So did Bellusdeo’s.
“I’ll let you take this from here,” Mandoran told her.
She raised one brow.
“I’ll do my best to let you take this from here?”
“More accurate, unfortunately.”
Karriamis gestured at the food on the table—food that Kaylin and Severn had been eating. “While I will not say that the food will be wasted when the starving might appreciate it, it would be a pity if you failed to avail yourself of my hospitality.”
Kaylin was severely underimpressed by the Tower’s hospitality, but struggled not to put it into words. Yes, the Tower would know—but Mandoran and Bellusdeo wouldn’t.
Karriamis snorted in her direction before turning, once again, to Bellusdeo. “Your rage and pain are dangerous. Were that rage and pain aimed only at Shadow, this would be a survivable flaw, at least among our kin. But strands of that anger threaten to overwhelm what would otherwise be pragmatism or common sense.”
“That’s not true,” Kaylin snapped. Mandoran got his arm patted; Kaylin got a warning glare. Sometimes life sucked. “No, I’m not going to stop talking.”
“Talking isn’t a requirement.”
“It is if he’s making statements like that.”
“My rage and pain are dangerous.”
“You can control it—you’ve done it before. You did it with Gilbert. You did it with Spike. You weren’t happy about it, but you didn’t blast the rest of us into ash and you didn’t try to hurt either of them.” Her eyes narrowed as she turned to Karriamis, who was watching with interest. And amusement.
It was the amusement she hated. “You know so much about my life and about things that haven’t even been brought up in conversation here, there’s no way you didn’t already know that.”
“I fail to see your point.”
“You’re being unfair to her, and you know it. Why?”
Bellusdeo coughed. Mandoran nudged her foot under the table, as if Karriamis wouldn’t notice.
“Would you care to field that question?” Karriamis asked Bellusdeo.
“Not particularly. Not here. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Later being?”
“When we get home.”
“Ah, home.” Karriamis smiled. “Is that what you call Helen?”
“It’s what Kaylin calls Helen in a fundamental sense, and I live with her.”
Karriamis rose. “Is that how you see it, then?”
Bellusdeo’s face was utterly neutral. “Yes.”
“Very well. I will ask no further questions, but will say one thing: you have made excellent choices in your friends. Even this one,” he added, glancing at Mandoran, “who would be considered at best an acquaintance by most of our kin—or his own—given the scant time you have known him.
“And you, boy, are a friend worth keeping and preserving. You were willing to risk your own life to preserve hers.”
“It wasn’t her life I was worried about. She’s a big, scary Dragon.”
“It wasn’t her existence, but her life as I understand it.” He then turned to Kaylin. “How much has Helen discussed her previous tenants with you?”
Kaylin frowned. “She’s talked a bit about the very first tenant, but other than that, she’s said nothing.”
“And you have failed to ask.”
“No, I...I did ask.”
“And she refused to answer?”
“She cares about them, even if they’re dead. She’s protecting their privacy.”
“It is not practical. It is not pragmatic. In my experience, the dead care very little about their privacy; the dying frequently care about their legacy: they wish to be remembered.”
Kaylin thought about this. “I don’t care if I’m remembered. It won’t do me any good.”
“Ah, yes. Yes, that is true. But I will talk just as much as Helen does about my previous partner.” He then turned again. “And so we come at last to Lord Emmerian.”
Bellusdeo rose.
“You should take notes from this one,” he said, although he did not look away from Emmerian. “He is adept at layering his thoughts to protect his motivation. Were it not so obvious to these old eyes, I would not know most of what he is thinking.”
“He is not generally discussed in the third person when he is present,” Emmerian said.
“Not generally, no. Pardon my manners. You are angry.”
Emmerian inclined his head. He looked alert and cautious to Kaylin’s eye, not angry.
“I understand. But surely your ability to stand by while Bellusdeo is in danger makes you ineligible to be guardian of your race?”
Emmerian said nothing for five seconds. Kaylin counted, almost holding her breath. On the sixth second, Bellusdeo breathed fire directly at the Avatar.
The flame of her breath was red, not the white-gold that could melt stone. Among Dragons, it was very much like swearing. Kaylin could still feel the heat of the flames.
Karriamis’s clothing did not turn to flame and its resultant ash. “I see,” he said, “that the time for temperate conversation has passed. It might be difficult to believe this, but I am pleased to have made your acquaintance. I am uncertain that you are right for the Tower, but there is one major mitigating factor in any judgment I might render.”
Bellusdeo’s very red eyes indicated that she didn’t give a crap about either his judgment or his so-called mitigating factors.
Emmerian, however, remained orange-eyed.
“I will note you have not answered my question,” Karriamis said to Emmerian.
“No.”
“And will not.”
“No. It is, in the parlance of the young corporal—” and here he nodded in Kaylin’s direction “—none of your business.”
Silence. It was broken by Karriamis’s unexpected and booming laughter.
“I have no desire to captain a Tower, even this one. The question is therefore irrelevant.”
“And neither you nor Bellusdeo has any interest in my mitigating factors?”
“I have none; they are irrelevant to me. But I cannot and will not speak for Bellusdeo.”
Bellusdeo was silent.
Mandoran, however, said, “I’d like to know, if it’s all the same to you.”
“You are in the same position. You have no desire to captain this Tower, and even had you, I would not consider you a possibility. You are young and foolhardy. You are immortal, but not—as I often told the hatchlings—invulnerable.” At Mandoran’s expression, he added, “She could have killed you.”
“She wasn’t trying.”
“She was.”
He snorted. “I’ve seen her fight. Trust me, she wasn’t trying.”
“Your loyalties are entirely too personal.”
“You’ve clearly met Sedarias.” He winced. “But, regardless, I’m not here as a candidate, if this is what this lunch is for. I’m here as an emissary.”
“You have an interesting idea of diplomacy.”
Mandoran shrugged, as if he’d heard it all before. He had, of course. While Kaylin had sometimes wished she could join the cohort group mind, she was distinctly glad at this moment that she wasn’t part of it.
“Very well. I will not accuse you of failing to understand the import. I see that this is not strictly speaking the truth. The mitigating factor in any decision I might make does not reside directly with Bellusdeo or your Sedarias.
“It is with you. With Lord Emmerian. With Lord Kaylin. Bellusdeo has chosen her allies wisely.”
“She didn’t have much choice, and allies isn’t quite the right word.”
“It is exactly the wrong word,” Karriamis said, smiling. “You are her friends. She has chosen her friends wisely. Necessity makes some choices mandatory, of course—but the friendship she has offered you has clearly been returned. She values you. You value her. This is a striking point in her favor.
“But you are aware of this, surely? It is what Sedarias herself has done. If she formed bonds for reasons of necessity, she would die for any of you.”
Mandoran grimaced. “I really wish you hadn’t said that.”
“Oh?”
“Among our kin, it’s not considered a compliment.”
“I am not responsible for your reaction to my words; that lies with you. Or in this case, with your Sedarias. Regardless, for today, we are done. You may see yourselves out; I have much to think about.” He rose. “And you may tell Sedarias—or whoever feels they have the merit to captain a Tower, to captain me—that they may take the risk that Bellusdeo has taken. They may visit in person.”
The walk back from the Tower of Candallar was not as quiet as the walk there had been. Bellusdeo was silent until she passed through the portal that led to the fief; she offered Kaylin an arm and a shoulder as Kaylin also passed through the portal. The passage was rough.
There was no way, in Kaylin’s admittedly minor experience, that Karriamis would do what Tara had done: take the risk of opening up the Tower to unwanted guests in order to allow Kaylin a single entrance that didn’t rely on portal magic.
But when they had left Candallar and entered Tiamaris, the woman in gold plate armor turned to the man in blue plate armor, her eyes once again orange-red.
“Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let him talk to you like that?”
“Because he is not wrong,” Emmerian replied.
“He is wrong in every particular!”
“I did stand back. When he tested you, when you were...in distress, I waited.”
“And that somehow makes you unfit?”
“I intruded on Helen’s sanctuary. I...lost my temper. It has been a long, long time since I’ve experienced such a loss. If I cannot remain in your presence and allow you to be who, and what, you are, I have no business being in your presence. You are not, Lannagaros’s opinion aside, a child. It has been some years since you have been one.”
“And?”
“Adults make their own decisions, weighing the possible consequences. Mandoran,” he added, glancing at the silent member of the cohort, “understood the nature of the consequences to you before I did or could. My concern was your health, your well-being; I did not think that the Tower was intent on causing you physical injury.
“Mandoran understood where the true danger lay. Had Kaylin been killed as collateral damage, it would have harmed you in ways that mere physical injury would not. You would, if you survived, heal from physical damage. The...other damage would have been profound.”
“What did he mean by guardian of your race?” Kaylin asked.
Both Dragons swiveled toward her, their eyes the distinctly unfriendly color.
“Forget I asked.”
“Karriamis was not wrong,” Emmerian said again. “What would you have said were you in my position?”
“I said it,” was the curt reply. Bellusdeo stared at Emmerian for one long moment, and then pulled ahead, picking up the pace in a way that would have been punishing for any mortals not used to spending an entire day on their feet.
Helen was waiting at the door when they arrived, her eyes obsidian, which was never a good sign. “Dear,” she said, to Mandoran, not Kaylin, “what exactly did you do?”
He shrugged. “I tagged along with a Dragon and a person who can’t stay out of trouble to save her own life?”
Helen frowned. “Things have been a bit...uncomfortable here. I believe your friends are arguing.”
He groaned. “Look, I’m just going to go for a walk.”
“I believe they’re expecting you.”
“That’s why I’m going to go for a walk. Somewhere safer and quieter. Like, say, Ravellon.”
Bellusdeo smacked the back of his head. “Not even as a joke,” she said. She didn’t look angry.
“Lord Emmerian, I am not certain this is the best time for a visit. I am sorry.”
Emmerian nodded.
Bellusdeo, however, said, “It’s not a good time, no. It is a necessary one. If Emmerian enters, can you keep him relatively safe?”
Helen closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were brown. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said, opening her arms to enfold Kaylin in the “welcome home” hug. “Yes, of course I can keep him relatively safe. I have not sent the cohort to the training room, but I am seriously considering it.”
“Definitely going for a walk.”
“Oh no you’re not,” a familiar voice boomed from the top of the foyer stairs. Since it was Sedarias, Mandoran sighed.
“Or not.”
“Come upstairs. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
“I’ve already heard most of it.”
“You can listen again, but this time, you can pay attention.”
“I was kind of busy,” he said, as he dragged his feet toward the stairs.
“Yes, we know.” She glanced, once, at Bellusdeo and her guest, and turned heel without comment.
“Has she been like that all day?”
“Yes. I believe she is arguing with Terrano, as well.”
“Terrano came back?”
“No, dear. That’s why she’s arguing.” Helen frowned. “Would you like to tell me about your day?”
“Not the long, normal way, no. But you can see it, right?”
Helen nodded.
“Good. I’ve got questions about Towers and captains and tenants.”
“Let me see Lord Emmerian and Bellusdeo properly settled,” Helen said, her expression almost sorrowful. “And then I will meet you on the patio.”
The patio, such as it was, was not actually a normal version of a patio—not that Kaylin had a lot of experience with normal patios, given her life to date. This one was reached from a door at the end of the hall that otherwise contained the private rooms of Helen’s guests. And Kaylin.
Severn had chosen to remain for dinner, but dinner wasn’t going to be served in the dining room; there were too many discussions happening, and some of them required Helen’s focused attention.
Kaylin was therefore down the list. Nothing she could do constituted a possibly dangerous emergency.
“That is not true, dear,” Helen’s voice said. Her Avatar was serving tea—or drinks—to the two Dragons who were now ensconced in the parlor.
“Compared to the cohort?”
“You would, admittedly, have to put in some effort, especially these days. But I have confidence in you.”
The patio no longer contained a dining table suitable for several people; there was a single, round table suitable for four, but only two chairs; Helen didn’t need one. “I may take a bit longer to answer your questions than I otherwise would. What do you wish to ask?”
“Well, Karriamis told me to talk to you about tenants.”
“Yes, I see that. He was perhaps overly impressed with my abilities.”
“We want to know—”
“Bellusdeo wants to know.”
“Fine. Bellusdeo wants to know why Karriamis accepted Candallar as a captain.”
“Ah. What he told you is materially true: people change. Life changes them. Fearful people become more fearful—or less—as they gain experience. Candallar fled the High Halls when he was declared outcaste.”
“We don’t know why he was declared outcaste.”
“With your friends at Court? You should be able to find out.”
“Do you know?”
“No. I believe the cohort might, but their information sources are not as good as yours, given their long absence, and the information they’ve received has been conflicting.”
She wondered what Bellusdeo and Emmerian were doing.
“Talking.”
“About what?”
Helen tsked, and Kaylin fell silent. “I’m worried about Bellusdeo.”
“I know. So am I. Mandoran is more concerned about her welfare than he is about the cohort, which is why Sedarias is incensed.”
Kaylin could understand that, as well. She didn’t approve, but it wasn’t her job to approve or disapprove.
“I find it odd that here, Barrani and Dragon can become friends in a fashion familiar to you. Odd, but gratifying.”
“Fine. You can’t tell me about Candallar, and Karriamis won’t. Your previous tenant died before I arrived to apply for a room.”
“Yes.”
“How long had he been dead?”
Silence. Kaylin thought Helen wasn’t going to answer. “Years. I’m afraid a more accurate measure would take—Excuse me.”
“Helen?”
“I have either a fire—or worse. I’m sorry, dear. I’ll be back.”