It took two days for the household to recover. Emmerian and Bellusdeo had finished their discussion by the time Sedarias and the cohort could even begin theirs. Bellusdeo didn’t closet herself in her room, but she was orange-eyed and almost silent when she joined Kaylin in the dining room for meals. Mandoran was likewise mostly silent; he did dredge a smile out of Bellusdeo.
Although Helen said she wasn’t worried about the cohort now, she was tense; Kaylin could tell because when tense, Helen forgot little details in her appearance—especially her eyes. They had been obsidian for two days.
Bellusdeo came to breakfast on the third day. She wore a dress, not the familiar Dragon armor; her hair was pulled back and up, but it was the only concession she made to possibly martial action. Mandoran was at the table when she entered the room, as was Kaylin. Terrano and Annarion had joined them. The rest of the cohort—or those who were present—did not.
“How is she?” Bellusdeo asked Mandoran.
Mandoran grimaced. “She’d be a lot happier if I left off accompanying you.”
“Then stay.”
“I’d be a lot happier if I believed it wasn’t necessary.”
To Kaylin’s surprise, Bellusdeo didn’t argue. She seemed subdued. Subdued but not beaten. “I will not argue. I owe you a debt.”
Mandoran winced. “I would vastly prefer no talk of debt between us.”
“Believe that I would prefer it as well. But it is simple fact. I would leave Kaylin at home, but that would cause arguments with the Emperor, and I am not up to those arguments at present.”
“And Lord Emmerian?”
“He will meet us in the fief of Tiamaris; I believe he had questions to ask of Tara, and she agreed to answer what she could.”
“Tara’s worried about you?”
“He was kind enough not to mention it, but—you know Tara. What do you think?”
Tara was definitely worried. But that was fair. Kaylin had spent two days worrying while trying to look cheerful.
“You don’t have to go back,” Terrano told the gold Dragon.
“I don’t want to go back,” Bellusdeo replied. “But I could not live with myself if I did not choose to face Karriamis again. I will not descend into cowardice.”
“Do you still want the Tower?”
“That is the question, isn’t it? If you had asked me four days ago, I would have said yes. Now?” She exhaled a bit of smoke. “Now I am uncertain. I admit that although I’ve known Tara since my arrival, it did not occur to me that I would have to compromise with another individual—and at that, a Dragon. I assumed that the Tower would conform to the conflict that has defined both of our lives—mine and Karriamis’s. That we would be compatriots.
“I am uncertain of anything now. And I am uncertain that I could prevent Karriamis from taking risks I would never, ever take. We could fight—if he confronted me in combat, I think I would almost enjoy that—but I could not win that fight in the only sense that matters. He is the Tower. Agree with him or no, he gave the remainder of his eternity to become sentinel against Ravellon.
“What we want, the war that we each perceive, is not the same. What I must decide is whether or not there is enough overlap that we might work together.”
She did not add that Karriamis had to decide whether or not he wanted her to be the Tower’s captain. Kaylin thought he couldn’t do better—but no encounter with Candallar had been pleasant or helpful, and in the end, the fieflord had tried to kill Robin, a crime from which he couldn’t recover in Kaylin’s view.
It had killed him.
The Arkon—the former Arkon—had hoped to spare him for Karriamis’s sake. Candallar had not allowed him that grace. Kaylin felt no grief at his passing, but wondered if Karriamis did. She was almost certain, if the circumstances had caused Kaylin to be like Candallar, Helen would still grieve.
“I would,” Helen said softly. “And perhaps that is true for Karriamis, as well. Tara grieved the slow withdrawal of her previous captain.”
“She’s never going to have to deal with that again. To Tiamaris, Tara is his hoard.”
“Yes. I believe she will be happier than she has been in her long existence as the heart of a Tower. I am less certain about Karriamis, but Dragons are not famous for their ability to be transformed by joy. It is time,” she added, voice gentling.
Bellusdeo stood. “Past time. His choice is only one half of what is necessary. Today I wish to know if he is worthy of me.”
Mandoran smiled.
Emmerian was waiting, as promised, in the fief of Tiamaris. He was not alone; Tiamaris was also waiting, his expression folded into familiar impatience.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Kaylin told him. “I was ready to leave on time. I wasn’t even informed there was an ‘on time.’” Hope was draped across her shoulder; he lifted his head and squawked at Tiamaris.
Tiamaris grimaced. “I have been asked to make sure that your travel through my fief is pleasant and without incident,” he told them, still looking at Kaylin. “And I will check the border while I am there. Tara is worried.”
“Tara’s fief was without a fieflord for a long time. It’s been weeks and Karriamis is not Tara. I get the sense that he’s enjoying the peace and quiet. He really doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry.”
“That is your impression, yes. Tara, however, is concerned.” And Tara’s concerns took precedence over anyone else’s. Always. Kaylin suspected they were more important than Imperial concern—but was also uneasily certain that Imperial concern did exist.
Bellusdeo immediately turned toward the fief of Candallar and began to walk. Tiamaris joined her, and Emmerian pulled up the other flank. Kaylin and Severn took the rear; Mandoran and Terrano were neatly bracketed between the two groups.
Bellusdeo therefore raised her voice so that it carried to the back ranks. “Why is Tara concerned? Kaylin’s observation is materially true.”
“While she concurs with Karriamis—that the freeing of Spike was in some ways essential to the future of the High Halls—she considers the outcome almost random; it is not a risk that she would take unless pressured to do so.”
“By you?”
“By me.”
The gold dragon snorted. “Which means never.”
“It is not a risk that you would take, either.”
“No. But I have been reminded that risks were taken that I would not have countenanced either, and my people—and I—directly benefited from them. I would not have allowed it. The cost of failure was too high. I am here because I was not asked to make that decision. I am grateful for the outcome. I believe the High Halls, while unsettled, is grateful, in the end, for Spike.
“And Lannagaros is beyond grateful for the existence of, the emergence of, the Academia.” She exhaled a steady stream of smoke. “I feel old,” she said. “And young. And callow with youth. It is unpleasant.”
Mandoran missed a step. Terrano caught him. Neither of the two Barrani spoke a word out loud—but that made sense. They were walking behind three Dragons, and they considered only one of them a friend.
That is not why he stumbled, Hope squawked.
“Why, then?”
She is openly calling attention to her failings, and in a louder than usual voice. It is...not like her.
“So...worried?”
I am uncertain. I have far more knowledge about many, many things than you will likely ever possess. He spoke without pride. But what you did for Sedarias, I could not do. Nor could Helen.
“She could have.”
No, Kaylin, she could not. What bridged the gap between you and Sedarias was your personal experience and your willingness to expose it. The living, as Helen knows, change. Mortals change very quickly; immortals less so. But as you have seen with Tara, change can and does happen.
“Are you worried?” She spoke as quietly as she possibly could, but suffered no hopeful illusion; she was certain Bellusdeo could hear her.
No. Not yet. But we have not yet arrived.
The Tower of Candallar no longer looked like a standing column of rock. It had lost the impressive majesty of height, although it was taller than any of the surrounding buildings. It hadn’t lost the look of an entirely natural outcropping of rock, but where before it had been a craggy, rising column, it now resembled a cave.
Kaylin tried not to complain; it was clear that the cave entrance—girded with flickering torches—was the only possible entrance, and it waited like an invitation. Then again, so did plants that trapped and devoured insects.
Bellusdeo approached the cave entrance and then turned back toward Kaylin. “It is, as you suspect, a portal.”
Kaylin closed her eyes and thought of the Emperor. “I’m not staying behind.”
Bellusdeo did not insist, and Kaylin didn’t point out that she was by the gold Dragon’s side at Imperial command. They both knew it, and Bellusdeo didn’t need to be annoyed or irritated by the Emperor right at this moment. “If you will not be sensible, come. Take my arm.”
This was not how it was supposed to go. But sentient buildings didn’t particularly care about hierarchical manners and customs. Kaylin, mindful of the fact that she could traverse Nightshade’s portal without ill affects if he personally escorted her—by arm—into his castle, had some hope that this entrance wouldn’t be as unpleasant as portal entrances generally were.
Sadly, Karriamis was not Castle Nightshade. She was grateful for the anchor of Bellusdeo’s arm because she had to close her eyes to move, and the Dragon’s grip was strong enough that she could allow herself to be dragged in the right direction. Portals weren’t always particular about their connections from one place to the next.
It took Kaylin ten minutes to recover enough to stand on her own two feet, but Severn quietly replaced Bellusdeo, offering Kaylin the brace of an arm at her back and beneath her own arms until she could breathe without almost throwing up.
Sorry.
Don’t apologize.
Can I apologize if I throw up on your shoes?
He appeared to think about this. Maybe.
She laughed. She felt the strength of his arm, envied his ability to ignore the disorienting shift of a portal’s passage, and found her own feet again.
Karriamis was waiting in person when Kaylin emerged from her unpleasant fog. He stood in front of a large arch that had no doors. Emmerian stood by Bellusdeo’s side, but one step behind, as if he intended to leave no doubt who was in command here. Mandoran, however, stayed beside Kaylin, his hands behind his back, his expression neutral. His eyes were a very dark blue.
Bellusdeo’s were orange with flecks of red; Emmerian’s were orange, with flecks of gold.
Karriamis’s were black; there were no white bits. He surprised them, or at least surprised Kaylin; he bowed to them all. “My apologies if the color of my eyes discomfits you, Corporal. It is not what you are accustomed to unless there are difficulties at home.”
She couldn’t hear Nightshade, but could imagine what he’d say. She didn’t think he would ever consent to enter Karriamis, even if he trusted its captain.
“No, he would not. But I would not extend that invitation. He is captain of perhaps the most difficult person it has been my displeasure to meet; I cannot imagine being confined in one place has done anything to improve Durandel’s extremely regrettable disposition. If Lord Nightshade is naturally suspicious, it is no wonder; I consider it a minor miracle that he has held the Tower for so long.”
“Durandel saved his life,” Kaylin said quietly.
“I am astonished.” If the Dragon Avatar didn’t look astonished, he did look surprised. “I would not have thought he could show even that much care.”
“I believe they have a partnership, and if Durandel is as difficult as you believe, he might not wish to train another suitable candidate.”
“Most would not survive the training. It says much about Lord Nightshade that he did.” None of it, by his expression, good.
“I don’t think many people would necessarily survive yours either,” Kaylin said.
“That was not training,” Karriamis replied, his voice more pleasant than his expression. “It was a simple test. Ah, no, it was a complicated test. Many tests among your kind are pass or fail. This was not entirely that. You experienced something similar when you first entered the Tower of Tiamaris.”
“I didn’t want to be fieflord.”
“No. And I did not test you. Such a test would be irrelevant, you are so completely open. But Maria was not Durandel. I liked her but I did not think her suitable for the position she occupied. She was fragile, and isolation increased her fragility. You were necessary,” he added, “even if the Tower was not to be yours. And I believe she will be happier now than she has been since her ascension.” His smile was gentle. It seemed genuine.
“It is. If I would not have chosen her, I found her warm and almost charming; I wanted happiness or safety for her. I see I have surprised you.”
He certainly had.
“Anyone who wanted happiness for a person would never wish the fate and responsibility of a Tower upon them. It was almost our undoing.”
“That wasn’t her fault. It was the fault of the captain who abandoned her.”
“Indeed. And I would not suffer the same fate, but perhaps, with my experience, I have more of a sense of how to avoid it.” He turned to Bellusdeo, or perhaps to Emmerian.
“You have been thinking. I expected you to return the day after your departure. I am pleased you did not.”
Bellusdeo didn’t look pleased.
“Come, if you will. I have shown you very little in the way of hospitality. Let me now be host.”
Kaylin had an admittedly academic knowledge of hospitality. Helen understood the general rules far better, and she was chagrined to admit that she relied on Helen to prevent the career-limiting gaffes that would otherwise have been guaranteed.
But even enduring Diarmat’s harsh lessons did not prepare her for Karriamis’s version of hospitality. He led them, not to a parlor of the kind Helen created for important guests, but on what appeared to be a tour of the interior of the cave.
The interior was not a cave. Not to start. It looked very much like the interior of a Barrani hall—but not the halls of stone that informed most of the High Halls. If the exterior of the Tower had been an entrance, the cave was a tunnel; when one emerged, one emerged into carefully cultivated forest. The trees made Kaylin think of the West March.
“I much preferred that decor,” Karriamis said. “But there is stone here—good stone, and warm. It is not appropriate for guests at this time.”
Probably meaning mortal guests, if Kaylin had to guess.
“Indeed. And two of my current guests are mortal, but I assume you are aware of this.”
“We are,” Bellusdeo said, glancing briefly and pointedly in Kaylin’s direction. “But I admit I have seldom seen interiors with this style of decoration.”
“You have not visited the rooms the cohort occupy,” he replied.
Mandoran winced; Kaylin sympathized. He was about as good at hiding thought as she was. But he had Sedarias to drive home the necessity; Nightshade, today, was absent, no doubt by Karriamis’s choice.
“We are said to be creatures of air and fire, and the latter is not conducive to preserve trees such as this. It is true,” he added, “but it is not the whole of the truth. I was born in stone and warmth and darkness, but it was only when I could take wing as an adult that I encountered trees such as this. They were a marvel to me, something that existed in attenuated songs, in old stories meant only for the young.
“It was the start of my interest in studying the world and the mysteries it contained, and when left to my own devices, I prefer it. It is not like Castle Nightshade.”
It certainly wasn’t.
“I am not Arkon. I was once considered for that position, but I would have had to surrender too much of my academic work, and I was reluctant. I envy your Lannagaros; he accepted the weight of responsibility himself. I was younger than he when I was considered.”
“Would you do it now?” Kaylin asked.
“Now? In a theoretical universe in which the heart of the Tower could be changed? I do not know. I have not asked myself that question; it is irrelevant, a daydream. There is no practical use for any answer I might offer.”
“That’s a no,” Mandoran whispered.
Karriamis raised a brow in the Barrani’s direction. He chose to otherwise ignore the comment.
“You will find rooms to the left and the right, but there are no doors to enclose them. For now, I will take you to one of the most important rooms within the Tower. It is a room that has never lost cohesion, and it has never been replaced; nor will it be in future. It is the heart, not of the Tower, but of the Tower’s heart.”
Kaylin was surprised to see a library. She shouldn’t have been. It was as large as the Imperial library on first sight, but not as large as the library whose only entrance or exit existed on the grounds of the Academia.
She wasn’t surprised to find books she could read, but they were perhaps a third of the collection. The rest, language made opaque. They might have been about cutting fingernails.
Karriamis coughed. His orange-eyed glare reminded Kaylin very much of the Arkon. She touched nothing but wondered why these two Dragons were so powerfully attached to words, even dead words—languages that no living person spoke in daily life.
“You cannot know that,” the Avatar said. “There are worlds that are hidden, even from the wise, and it is possible that that language, or variants and descendants of it, survive. Once, we might have discovered it. But the ways are—with some exceptions—closed.”
“Do you want them to be opened again?” It wasn’t the question Kaylin had intended to ask.
Karriamis turned to her, orange-eyed. “You did not see Ravellon in my youth. You do not know what was lost when it fell. Could I have that city again absent the danger? Yes. Yes, I would like it, even if it is no longer something I could visit. We all have desires that are considered impossible. An end to war is one of them.”
Emmerian lifted his head. “And what would you do were there an end to this war?”
“An unkind question,” Karriamis replied, although his eyes didn’t darken.
“It was not meant to be unkind,” Emmerian replied, bowing.
“No. It was not, which is why you are still here.” Before Kaylin could speak, he added, “It is my home, and my rules apply only to visitors.”
“My home would never, ever do this.”
“Your home has done worse to intruders; you do not consider intruders guests. When I have no captain, you are all intruders. Today,” he added, “is different. Today, I have invited you in; you are guests. There will be no tests, no testing.”
“We were intruders when we first visited Helen, by your definition.”
“Yes. And in this, Helen and I have something in common. But if we are searching for a tenant or a captain, their role of necessity will be different. Helen can exist without a tenant.”
“Towers can exist without a captain.”
“You witnessed, in person, what almost happened to the Tower of Tiamaris. That did not, and would not, happen to Helen.”
“And to you?”
Karriamis said nothing for a long beat. He turned toward the highest of the shelves. “I am arrogant enough to believe that I would not be subject to that fate. But young Emmerian’s question is a relevant question.
“Lack of war will not immediately dissolve the boundaries of the responsibility I voluntarily accepted. There is no freedom in that, for me. Perhaps the Ancients will return to release us.”
It sounded like death.
“That is my supposition, yes. And perhaps we, like Helen and other abandoned, sentient buildings, will dwindle in significance and import. I am not Helen. Had Candallar not lost himself, he and I would have continued into the eternity that is our birthright.
“If Bellusdeo were to become the captain of this Tower, the same could be said.” He turned, then. “I would, however, have you answer Emmerian’s question. In the absence of war, what do you plan to do?”
Bellusdeo did not answer.
“We cannot eradicate war. In some corner of the land, war will be fought, by different people, for different reasons. If our war with Shadow ends, do you intend to leave this place in search of a war you can fight? Will you continue until you can find a war that can finally kill you?”
Emmerian stiffened, but remained silent. Kaylin couldn’t see the color of his eyes, because he closed them. His hands by his sides were completely still. Unnaturally still.
Bellusdeo smiled. With teeth in. “I may appear impulsive in your eyes; I cannot deny that I have earned that. But I have no desire to throw my life away on some distant battle that will be swallowed by history and leave no trace.”
“As your war was?”
“No. I remember. My people remember. My people’s children will remember.”
“They are mortal.”
She said nothing. It was true.
Karriamis nodded, as if in approval. “I would have you answer my question.”
“I cannot conceive of an end to this war. What I do when there is peace has not been my driving concern, it seems so impractical—a daydream, surely. The dream of—”
“A tired parent, perhaps, who desires their child to know peace and happiness for the brief duration of their life.”
She said nothing.
“Consider the question, then. Consider the answer. You are living, you are breathing, and you dream. You have daydreams. None involve peace in the context of war. Come to me, return to me, when you have an answer. I will accept any answer you wish to offer.
“I will accept any lie you wish to offer. I will not believe it, of course; I am far too old for that. But I will accept it. I had hoped that we might dine, but I do not believe you will offer what I require today. Therefore retreat—in honor—and return.”
He gestured, and the cave’s mouth reasserted itself, a thing of rock and darkness, punctuated by torchlight.
“Honestly, Lannagaros, I cannot remember why I ever thought this was a good idea.”
“You will regret it far more if you continue to damage my desk,” the chancellor replied, although his eyes remained predominantly gold. Kaylin suspected the orange flecks denoted worry or concern for the Dragon who sat in the chair so close to his desk’s edge she could damage it simply by holding on.
“I don’t understand why you chose such a fragile desk,” Bellusdeo snapped back. She sounded almost petulant.
The chancellor rose and came around the desk to stand beside Bellusdeo. After a moment, he reached for the hand that was gripping the desk’s edge. “If you cannot remember why, will you change your mind?”
“You never wanted me to approach that Tower.”
“Candallar was its lord.”
“His.”
The chancellor shrugged off the correction. He really didn’t like Karriamis.
“He is annoyed, greatly annoyed, by Karriamis at the moment,” Killian helpfully said. He coalesced—slowly—in the air beside Kaylin; she had taken up a guard position near the wall in a vain attempt to give Bellusdeo some privacy. Bellusdeo didn’t care.
Emmerian, however, had wisely chosen to vacate the chancellor’s office; Mandoran followed immediately on his heels. Bellusdeo was not in need of protection here, in the heart of the former Arkon’s territory; of all of the living Dragons, it was Lannagaros who understood Bellusdeo best, and who held her in the greatest affection.
“You’re not?” Kaylin whispered.
“It is a matter for Karriamis and Bellusdeo. I owe Karriamis a great debt, and when this moment has passed, Lannagaros will remember that he, too, owes Karriamis a great debt.”
“I don’t think he’s forgotten,” Kaylin replied. “But...gratitude isn’t the same as love.” She flushed at her use of the word.
Killian didn’t appear to understand her embarrassment, or at least not to feel it. “I do not. Is it the wrong word? Did you wish for a different one?”
“It makes me sound naive. Like a child.”
“Because only children love?” Right. Building. Kaylin didn’t understand the odd alchemy that transformed person into building—but it seemed to leach experience from them, or understanding; Tara had once been human or at least mortal, but mortal subtleties caused her the same confusion they seemed to be causing Killian.
“No, of course not.”
“I fail to understand why you feel the word inappropriate. Lannagaros loves Bellusdeo and the ghosts of her many sisters. She was a gift to him; when you brought her back to Elantra, he felt a hope and an affection from his long-buried youth. She was proof that the home the Barrani destroyed in the wars still survived in some fashion.
“It would grieve him to lose her now; it grieves him almost as much to see her in such pain.”
To Kaylin, Bellusdeo looked annoyed. Clearly she couldn’t see what the chancellor—or Killian—could.
“No, but that is for the best. I do not think it is something she wishes to share. She is strong, but she is fragile, and fragility is weakness. She cannot afford to become someone so easily broken.”
The chancellor ignored Killian’s words, if he even heard them at all. He spoke to Bellusdeo, and only Bellusdeo. “What will you do? You cannot reduce the Tower to rubble, as you well know. Even could you, I very much doubt you would make the attempt; you understand why the Towers are essential.”
“I would not attempt to destroy someone for asking a question I could not answer. If I had simply chosen not to answer, I would not be here. I could not answer.”
“No,” the chancellor said softly, laying a hand on the back of her head with infinite gentleness. “And he knew it. It is not a question that anyone has asked of you since your return. We know what you lost.”
“He will not allow me to enter if I have no answer.”
“No.”
“And if I have an answer and he doesn’t like it, he will...”
“He will choose a different captain. That will not change your import to me, or to us; that will not change or invalidate your life.” Very gently, he said, “It seems to me that he is telling you, in however unkind a fashion, that he cannot fill the void of purpose in your life. He cannot be your Tara.”
“I do not want Tara. It would be suffocating.”
Kaylin said nothing. The chancellor said nothing.
“He has told me what he cannot be,” Bellusdeo continued, when it was clear interruption wouldn’t save or at least distract her. “He has not told me what he can be.”
“No. But Bellusdeo, neither have you. You are not mortal; what he builds with you will last for some time, and even its dissolution—should it happen—will be a long, long unwinding. He is asking you, very indirectly, that question as well. Decide what you need; it is clear that he believes he now knows what he does.”
“You’re growling.”
“I admit a certain displeasure, yes.”
“With me?”
“With Karriamis, as you are well aware. And you are in a delicate state if you can ask that.”
She was silent. “War shaped my life.”
“Loss has shaped it far more strongly. War shaped my life. What I wanted, I could not have. I was considered a competent soldier.” At Kaylin’s cough, he emitted a thin stream of flame—in the direction of Kaylin’s feet. “I accepted the responsibility I was given. I accepted the responsibility of Arkon in the wake of the cessation of hostilities between the Barrani and our kind. It was not what I had dreamed of. It was not what I wanted.
“This,” he said, “unlooked for, was everything I once dreamed of having, but there is a weight to it, a responsibility to it, as well. Perhaps I needed all of the early responsibility to be able to bear the one I would have chosen without thought in my distant youth.
“Were I to visit your Karriamis—and I will not until I am less angry—I would have an answer almost immediately. If my life was shaped by war, and by the responsibilities that followed because those more suitable to be Arkon had perished in the wars, it was never the whole of what I wanted for myself.
“If you define your life by the things you do not want, you cannot answer the question. I thought the Academia lost,” he added, his voice softening. “And in time, a miracle such as this might be offered you—but you will not see or understand it clearly, and perhaps you will fail to grasp it with both hands.
“Think, Bellusdeo. Think of what you dreamed of, think of what your sisters dreamed of, when your life was confined in the Aerie. And if your answer is vengeance, so be it—but after vengeance, what will you seek? What will you do? If you desire the Tower, there must be an answer.”