Michelle Sagara - Cast in Sorrow

“Anyone who is capable of detecting magic can. But no two mages see that signature and its effects in the same way.”

“It’s why multiple mages are called in for difficult cases.”

Teela nodded. “And why an appropriate Records trail is so difficult to maintain. When you hear Nightshade’s Court name, you are hearing spoken language. Like any other part of High Barrani, there are guidelines that control form and utterance. But you are hearing only that. When you say ‘Lord Calarnenne’ you are speaking simple words.

“When you speak his name—if you are ever unwise enough to do so—you might scream it and none will hear the whole of the truth; it is not just the mouth that utters the name.”

“I could see the Dragon Outcaste’s name, once.”

“And you’ve never been suicidal enough to attempt to use it.”

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t hold it all in one place for long enough—it’s too big.”

Teela said nothing for a long moment. “I will need to bathe and change before I join the High Court in the dining hall. I would suggest you bathe, as well; the dress is, of course, without blemish—but your hair looks like it’s a nest of weeds.”

“Thanks.”

“This is your room,” Teela said.

“Where’s yours?”

“Closer to Corporal Handred’s. Don’t make that face. The Lord of the West March escorted your Corporal to his rooms; he is guaranteed to have arrived there in safety.”

“He’s not guaranteed to remain that way.”

“No—but then again, neither are the rest of us.” Teela smiled lazily. “Things are unlikely to be boring.”

“I don’t mind a little boredom, Teela.”

“That’s because you have less than a century worth of life in which to contain it. If you were actually immortal, you’d have a different attitude.”

Kaylin snorted. The door to her room was closed and warded. She lifted her left palm and placed it across the ward. What the door ward at the start of the wing had failed to do, this one did: it started to peal, like a series of badly formed, dissonant bells.

“I hate magic,” Kaylin said under her breath. She added a few choice Leontine words in the bargain as sword-wielding Barrani appeared around the corner. The small dragon leaped off her shoulders and headed toward them, which was infinitely worse. Kaylin ran after him in a panic. “Don’t!” she shouted. “I’m used to this kind of nonsense, and I can survive it. I probably can’t survive you turning them into puddles!”

“Puddles?” Teela drawled. She had moved—quickly and silently—to stand by Kaylin’s side, but hadn’t drawn her own sword.

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t, kitling.”

The men who clearly served the Lord of the West March slowed when confronted with a faceful of tiny dragon. Kaylin almost laughed. The small dragon was little and curmudgeonly—but he wasn’t harmless. It was too easy to forget that fact.

“Come back here right now.”

Fluttering, he spun to face her. He squawked.

She held out a hand, and added, “Please?”

Teela glared at them both as the small dragon landed. She said nothing, which told Kaylin that she disapproved of her handling of her companion, and she didn’t trust the guards enough to speak publicly.

The Lord of the West March appeared some fifteen minutes later. The door ward had fallen silent at the arrival of the guards, but the door hadn’t magically opened in the meantime, which left Kaylin cooling her heels in the hall, an annoyed Teela to her left.

“I am beginning to understand,” he said—in Elantran, which was almost shocking, “why you display such antipathy toward magical convenience.” To his men, he said—in the language of the Court, “Lord Kaylin is harmoniste; she does not pose a threat.” He glanced at the small dragon. “You vouch for your passenger?”

As the small dragon was once again lounging across her shoulders, Kaylin nodded.

Teela was not amused.

“Please activate the ward again.”

She did. Her arm was numb; her hand unfortunately wasn’t. The door made a lot of noise, and once again failed to open.

The Lord of the West March frowned. He caught Kaylin’s hand before she could drop it, glancing at her fingers. “Try the other hand,” he said. “Or transfer my ring to this one.”

He noticed her hesitance, but she managed not to let loose with a litany of complaints against door wards and magic in general. Barrani guards tended to take that kind of thing personally. She usually touched door wards with her left hand because she was right-handed, but didn’t feel the need to share; all the Barrani who worked in the Halls of Law appeared to be ambidextrous. She chose to move the ring; her hand was now numb.

But when she touched the door ward again, the door opened.

“Yes,” the Lord of the West March said to his assembled guard, “she wears my symbol. She is as kin in these halls.”

Given the way Barrani generally felt about their kin, this wasn’t saying much.

Kaylin was, until Bellusdeo’s arrival, used to having some privacy when she walked through her doors. The fact that these doors weren’t hers was driven home by the presence of two Barrani attendants. Teela, who insisted on a sweep of the rooms, didn’t blink; she did give curt instructions—to Kaylin.

“They are here to see to your needs,” she told Kaylin when they departed to prepare the bath. “If harm befalls you while you are in their care, they—and their families—will suffer for it. If you send them away, they will also suffer, although the penalties will be less extreme.”

“Why will they suffer if I send them away?” Kaylin asked. She felt as if she’d stepped onto a bridge and discovered it was actually a tightrope.

“If you send them away, their service will be considered inadequate. It will reflect poorly upon the hospitality of the Lord of the West March.”

“I don’t have attendants in the High Halls,” Kaylin pointed out.

“You do. But they are responsible to me, and I am familiar enough with your idiosyncrasies that I do not choose to censure them. You are not in my domain now. What you do here will affect those who have been chosen—no doubt personally—by Lord Lirienne. You will therefore allow them to assist you. You will treat them as servants who are worthy of consideration and respect—but you will not find them intimidating. If you must feel self-conscious about their presence, do not share. Understood?”

Kaylin nodded.

“We will dine. After dinner, it is likely that the Lord of the West March will call a council meeting. You are a Lord of the High Court; you are not a Lord of the West March. There is some overlap, but it is not one hundred percent. I expect you to be called to that meeting, although I consider it unwise.”

“Can I refuse to go?”

“I have considered the matter with some care. The Lady is not yet awake—and, kitling, I am at least as concerned as you are. Believe that Lord Lirienne is likewise worried. If she were present, I would feel less conflicted—but she won’t be. It is my hope that the council will be delayed until she is awake. The Warden of the West March is unlikely to fulfill that hope.”

Kaylin waited until she was certain Teela had finished. “That wasn’t a yes or a no.”

Teela smiled grimly. “Exactly. The ring you wear grants you a measure of freedom; it also constrains you. Any insult you offer, you offer in the name of the Lord of the West March. Lirienne is, in case you have not carefully followed our history, the direct descendent of the High Lord who caused so much damage to the green. As such, his position is precarious. He is, however, also his mother’s son. He is held in cautious regard.