The Chronicles of Elantra 5 - Cast in Silence (13 page)

“Wait!”

He froze there, and she was reminded, by his glacial expression, that there were forms she was expected to observe. “Arkon,” she said quickly, bowing. This did not, judging by his expression, mollify him much. “What did the Outcaste find? He said he found—”

The Arkon frowned at about the same time Tiamaris stepped on her foot.

“He found shadow. Possibly the last resting place of the Old Ones. If the library existed at all, it was no longer his concern. Do not be arrogant, Private. Your marks—your existence—might afford you some protection, although what that entails, and what its boundaries are, none of us can say. But what
he
could not do in safety, you cannot do. Do you understand?”

She swallowed, remembering the great, black Dragon, his name so large and so intricate that she could not even begin to
say
it, although she could see it clearly. “Yes.”

“Good. Tiamaris, Sanabalis.” He nodded curtly, and this time, she didn’t call him back.

“Lord Sanabalis or Lord Tiamaris, however, may feel free to enlighten you.” He glanced at both of them. “I assume at least one of them was paying attention.”

Tiamaris’s grimace waited until the door had closed; Sanabalis’s expression, however, did not change.

“I think I like him,” Kaylin told them both, as she settled back into her chair. “What were his misgivings about me?”

The two remaining Dragons exchanged a glance. “The Outcaste,” Sanabalis said quietly, “went to Ravellon. What he found there changed him. He was not without power. He is not without power now.” They both hesitated. Kaylin marked it.

“Why did he want you two to talk about this? He could—”

“He dislikes caution in speech.” It was Tiamaris who replied. “And he dislikes politics. His definition of politics involves anything of consequence that occurs outside the boundaries of his library.”

“Oh.”

“There are matters that the Eternal Emperor does not consider suitable for public consumption. Public, in this particular instance, involves anyone who lives or breathes that is not Dragon and does not serve him.”

“Meaning me.”

“Meaning, indeed, you.”

“So…there’s something they’re worried about, and whatever it is, he can’t tell me because I’m not a Dragon.”

“No. There are many things that are discussed. A few of them have bearing—at least at this juncture—on our duties in the fiefs. But sorting out which of those things can be touched upon and which can’t requires the type of conversational care that the Arkon finds taxing. Left to his own devices, he would not emerge from his library at all, and his concerns would lead him to discuss certain historical issues which the canny—and you are that, at least—would then dissect.”

Kaylin made a face. “Just tell me what I need to know.”

Sanabalis chuckled. “It’s a pity you’re human. I believe you would find some sympathy in the Arkon, otherwise.” Fingers playing through his slender conceit of a white beard, he watched her in silence. After a moment, he said, “Tiamaris.”

She recognized the tone of voice; she might as well have been locked in the West Room with an unlit candle in front of her face. Tiamaris grimaced.

“He was always like this?” she asked him.

“Always,” the Dragon Hawk replied. “Understand that the Arkon and the Outcaste were, in as much as any two beings can be, friends. It is hard to surrender an ancient friendship, no matter how dire the circumstance. Even the Arkon is not immune to some trace of sentiment.”

Clearly the Dragon word
sentiment
didn’t really intersect the human one in any significant way. Kaylin managed to keep this thought to herself.

“It was the Arkon who noted the change in the Outcaste upon his return from the heart of the fiefs. He did not immediately make his concern clear.” There was another hesitation, and it was longer and more profound. “In the end, however, it was the Arkon who was left to confront the Outcaste, because it was the Arkon who possessed the only certain knowledge we, as a race, held.”

Kaylin frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Sanabalis replied quietly. “And after a brief pause for comprehension, you will once again resume all appearance of ignorance. This will not, one assumes, be difficult.”

She grimaced.

“The Arkon,” Tiamaris continued, as if Sanabalis hadn’t spoken, “has never said this explicitly, even when pressed. The Emperor has never commanded him to speak,” Tiamaris added. “Not even the respect the Arkon commands could stand in the face of his defiance of a direct order, and the Emperor does respect him greatly.” He glanced at their mutual teacher once more. Sanabalis nodded evenly.

“But we believe that they were brothers in all but blood, the Outcaste and the Arkon. We believe,” he added, lowering his voice, “that the Arkon knew the Outcaste’s name.”

Given the way the Barrani guarded theirs, and given the significance of the name itself, Kaylin understood why the Arkon had been loath to speak. If Dragons or Barrani had souls—and Kaylin had her doubts—they were entwined in the name; knowledge of the name was so profoundly intimate no human experience approached it.

But she frowned. “If—” And then she stopped.

The silence went on for a long time.

“Yes,” Sanabalis said heavily. “He attempted to use the name, to bespeak the Outcaste.”

This time, it was her silence that weighted the room. It passed for thought, but she didn’t need much time to think; she only needed the time to choose her words. Normally, she didn’t bother, but she had a strong feeling that was about to change, and like it or not, she would live with that.

“He didn’t answer,” she finally said. As word choices went, it wasn’t impressive.

But Sanabalis nodded anyway. “No.”

“Sanabalis—”

He waited, as if this were a test. Or as if all conversation from this moment on would be one. She really, really hated this type of lesson; it was all about failing, and interesting failure often didn’t count for part marks. She glanced at Tiamaris, and saw no help coming from that quarter, but he was as tense as she was. And why? It was only conversation.

“His name,” she said quietly.

“Yes?”

“His true name.”

Sanabalis nodded again.

“It was different.”

The Dragon Lord closed his eyes. “Yes,” he finally said. “We believe that something in the heart of the fiefs changed the very nature of his true name.”

“And when the Arkon spoke it—”

“He did not, and could not, hear it. Not as we hear the truth of our names when they’re spoken.”

She was silent, then, absorbing the words and letting them sink roots. “I don’t understand,” she finally said.

“No. No more do we.”

Hesitating, she glanced at the carpet. It was safest. “When I went to the Barrani High Court—”

“Speak carefully, Kaylin.”

“I’m trying.” And so much for the effort. “When I went to the High Court, I saw—I learned—how Barrani are named.”

“Yes.”

She glanced at him. Rock was more expressive.

“Look, Sanabalis—I was born mortal. I was born the usual way. We don’t
have
true names. We don’t even understand them.”

“No. You are not bound by them, either.”

“But—the Barrani don’t
wake
until they’re named.”

“No.”

“Do the Dragons?”

He failed, deliberately, to answer.

“From what I understand, the name
is
what they are, somehow. What
you
are.”

“That is also our understanding.”

“If his name changed, would he be—”

“He is not what he was, Kaylin.”

“Yes—but he remembered everything. He lied, based on that knowledge. He tried—”

“Yes.” Sanabalis lifted a hand. “He did those things.”

“So you can lose your name and still remember your whole life?”

Tiamaris cleared his throat. “Had you a true name,” he told her quietly, “the Arkon would not have been swayed.”

But she did. She
had
a name. She had no idea what it
meant
to have one, but she had taken one burning, glowing rune for herself from the waters of Life beneath the Barrani High Halls, and she still bore it. Severn knew it. Severn could call her.

But…he had never tried to
use
the name against her. She wondered if he even could.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“You
have
a name.” She spoke to Tiamaris.

“Indeed, Kaylin.”

“But—”

“If I am not accompanied by you, I am not to enter Barren,” he replied.

Her eyes narrowed. “You know something you’re not telling me.”

“It does not affect our mission.”

“And your mission,” Sanabalis said quietly, “starts now. Private,” he added, rising, “understand that you are now seconded—as a Hawk—to the Imperial Court. What we have discussed in these rooms is not to be discussed with anyone save a member of that Court. If your Sergeant chooses to demand a report, the report you file must first go through the Court. Lord Grammayre may ask about your progress. You will take Lord Tiamaris to these meetings, and you will
let him do the talking
. Is that clear?”

“As glass.”

“Good.” He didn’t smile. “Your life depends on it. You have not yet met the Emperor, but that will not save you if you cross the lines he has drawn. Understand this,” he told her quietly. “Because if you do, nothing I can do or say will affect his decision.

“You may, however, question Tiamaris at your leisure, as he is part of the Court and privy to Court matters. If you have any leisure time.” He gestured and the door opened. So much for economical use of power. “You have been given permission to remove your bracer. I suggest you wait until you’ve crossed the Ablayne.”

“Oh, I will,” she told him. Because that was where she usually threw the damn thing.

Tiamaris escorted her out of the Imperial Palace. They’d spent most of the day there, one way or the other, and Kaylin, glancing at the Halls of Law in the distance, grimaced. “Barren.”

“You don’t want to return.”

“No. Never.” She could afford to be that honest with Tiamaris.

“Kaylin—”

“But it just so happens we’re in luck.” She used irony here as if it were a blunt weapon. Against the force of Dragon humor, it pretty much had to be. “I met an old friend of mine on the way from Evanton’s shop.”

He raised a dark brow. “An old friend?”

She nodded. “She expected to see me. I sure as hells didn’t expect to see her. But she had a message for me. How much can we stall?”

“Stall?”

“How long can we hold off our investigation? A day? Two?”

“If there’s reason for it, but—”

“It had better be a damn good reason?”

Tiamaris nodded.

“We can probably go there now,” she told him quietly. “It depends on how desperate we want Barren to think I am.”

“Desperate?”

“He’s sending a messenger with a letter for the Hawklord,” she told him, voice flat. “I can either fail to show or intercept the message before it crosses the bridge. If we go now, I have no doubt at all that we’ll be taken to Barren—but if I go
now,
he’ll know he has the upper hand.

“If I wait, he’ll be pretty damn certain he has it anyway—that’s Barren all over.”

“Does he?”

She swallowed. Glanced at the river that had been the dividing line of her life. “I don’t know,” she finally said.

“Then decide, Kaylin. You have the advantage of personal experience. I don’t.”

She nodded, grateful to him for at least that. If Barren thought he had the upper hand, he wasn’t likely to be careless; that level of laziness would never have kept the fiefs in his hands.

Finally, she exhaled. “We’ll take the risk. I’m not sure how I’m going to explain
you,
though. I don’t suppose you’d care to wait?”

“I would be
delighted
to wait,” he replied, in a tone of voice that was clearly the effect of serving, however briefly, with the Hawks. “I would not, however, survive it should it come to light.”

“Figures.” She shrugged and began to walk. “Let’s see what we’re up against.”

A Dragon brow rose over bronze eyes. “Please tell me,” he said, as he fell in step beside her, shortening his stride so he didn’t leave her behind, “that that is not the extent of your ability to plan.”

“I don’t generally make plans when I have no information.”

“Or at all?”

She shrugged. “I don’t see the point of planning everything when things could change in an eye blink. Let’s see what Barren’s got. We can plan then.”

“It is a small wonder to me,” Tiamaris replied, although he didn’t stop moving, “that you’ve survived to be the insignificant age you currently are.”

“Stand in line.”

CHAPTER 8

The Ablayne moved through the city in what was almost a circle. Kaylin, who had never been outside of the city, thought nothing of it; Tiamaris, who had, explained why. She tried to listen. But as she passed the bridge that connected her to Nightshade, and the part of her past that she
wasn’t
ashamed of, his words joined the buzz of the street’s crowds.

Although the merchant market was not located on the banks of the Ablayne, enterprising independents—who were often forced to move damn quickly, by tolls, Swords, and legitimate merchants—often set up small stalls near the river. Why, she never quite understood, but there was traffic.

She didn’t walk quickly and Tiamaris, while a Dragon Lord, wasn’t stupid. He stopped at the midpoint between the two bridges.

“Kaylin.”

She glanced at him.

“The Imperial Court knows what the Emperor knows,” he told her quietly.

She nodded.

“There is nothing to hide, not from me.”

“It’s not about hiding,” she told him, although she wasn’t certain she wasn’t lying. “Barren,” she said, swallowing, “is different. Look, it doesn’t matter. We’re going.” She started to walk, and she walked quickly. This wasn’t her beat; she didn’t have to fall into the steady, quiet walk that could take hours.