Michelle Sagara - Cast In Deception

“She asks you about me?”

“On occasion, yes. Oh. I’ve surprised you.”

“...And you don’t answer her questions, either.”

“I will answer questions that you would answer, if you heard them or remembered them. But everyone who is not Tha’alani has boundaries and a need for privacy. Young children—of any race—will ask questions without regard for privacy; everything is new to them. They have not yet learned the weight of responsibility and the weight of poor decisions. But you are not, as you so often tell most of your friends, a child. Your concern is admirable. But you cannot use concern to justify things that are less so.”

Kaylin’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.” She exhaled. You’re willing to wait because you know the Towers are necessary.

Yes. And because I have no great desire to return to the High Court.

Does your brother know this?

Perhaps. We have exchanged very heated words in the past month. His loss of control is understandable; he is a child, still. The intervening time has not given him the experience required of the Barrani; it has given him experiences for which the Barrani were not created. Most of us cannot understand them. But I have made clear that finding a fieflord is not as simple as the Test of Name.

The Test of Name was not simple.

He does understand Ravellon’s threat. He is willing, grudgingly, to allow that I am not entirely without honor or a sense of duty.

...Which means he really can’t be talked out of it. I mean, from Annarion’s perspective, what other options does he have? Kaylin exhaled. Does this have anything to do with Candallar?

It is likely. If you have met him at this time, it cannot be coincidence. Have you spoken to Teela about this?

I doubt very much she’ll talk to me.

She is not the only Lord of the High Court to whom you have access. She is not even the most significant.

Candallar, Kaylin said, trying to pin the conversation down to the important point, even as it squirmed away.

I am not Candallar; I am not much in contact with him. I can be, of course; the Towers can communicate with each other. In a grave, grave emergency, they can work as one. There has never been such an emergency, he added. My experience is therefore entirely theoretical. Be that as it may, I can bespeak Candallar without leaving my fief. But I cannot guess at his involvement until I understand more fully the movement within the High Court.

Speak to the Consort, Kaylin. She will have questions for you. You will have questions for her.

And Candallar?

I will speak with Candallar—but I do not expect to glean the information you desire at the speed you desire it. You are much like my brother: everything is an emergency. Everything must be immediate. He is truly young: like a mortal he is afraid of lost time. But unlike a mortal, he has time.

Would Candallar be in contact with the High Court? I mean, with some of its elements?

Oh, undoubtedly. But he is not me. I could attend the ceremony in the green with impunity because the green chose me. I could attend because the Consort accepted me as a High Lord. And I could attend because I wield one of The Three.

Those are meant to kill Dragons.

Yes. But they can kill any other enemy just as well. I am not hunted as outcaste. This was not always the case. But we are Barrani, not Dragon; power is its own legitimacy.

And Candallar doesn’t have it.

She could feel the shrug she couldn’t see. He has survived, was the eventual, noncommittal answer.

* * *

Kaylin was awake far earlier than she wanted to be the next morning. She was tired, but not sleepy, the two words being slightly different, and thoughts of Candallar, Teela, the Hawks and the cohort immediately demanded attention. It was a day off, so she couldn’t retreat to the Halls of Law—and the demands of work—to distract herself. She gave up on sleep, got dressed, rearranged the familiar and decided that turnabout was fair play. She therefore headed out of her own room, with its comfortable, creaking floors, into the hallway, and eventually deposited herself outside of Mandoran’s room.

There, she knocked. Helen didn’t stop her.

“I’m sleeping.”

“Liar. Barrani don’t need sleep.”

“I’m sleeping anyway. It’s better than angst.” Mandoran’s voice was not muffled although a closed door stood between Kaylin’s ears and the Barrani.

“You talk in your sleep? I guess that shouldn’t be surprising given how much you love the sound of your own voice.”

Mandoran laughed. “If you promise not to nag me about Teela or Annarion, I’ll get out of bed.”

“Are you actually in bed?”

“Yes. You can join me, if you want, but I can’t promise—”

“I’ll pass.”

He laughed again. “No Teela, no Annarion?”

“Done.”

“What’s the penalty for failure?”

“What?”

“What do I get when you fail?”

“Dinner.”

“Helen will feed me anyway.”

“Not if I ask her not to.”

“Helen?” Mandoran said, raising his voice. “Will you starve me if Kaylin demands it?”

Helen failed to answer, and Mandoran chuckled.

“Don’t disturb your brother,” Helen then said.

“Nothing I could possibly do would make him any worse.”

Kaylin, in the hallway, waited for another minute; the door opened. Mandoran was tugging his left arm into the empty sleeve of a jacket. He did not otherwise look rumpled. Or unshaven. Or sleep deprived. She opened her mouth.

“We have a deal. No Annarion. No Teela.”

“Fine. Can I ask about Tain?”

“Boring old nursemaid.”

“He is not!”

“Is too.” Mandoran held up a hand. “Have you ever had to live with him?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, you’ll soon see what I mean. I’m beginning to understand the phrase misery loves company.” He grinned.

“Barrani don’t have that one?”

“No. But it’s oddly useful. If someone makes us miserable, we generally feel justified in attempting to end their lives.”

“Annarion makes you miserable all the time, according to you.”

His grin deepened. “Exactly. So. Misery and company. And—no Annarion, remember? Annarion’s situation is far, far simpler than—” His Elantran segued into expressive Leontine. “Apparently,” he said, “I’m not allowed to talk to you about this.”

“According to who?” She guessed Teela.

“Sedarias.” Apparently, she guessed wrong.

“Sedarias is the one with the complicated situation?”

“Not the only one. Look, I told you I was an orphan, right?”

“You lied.”

“Very good! I admit I despaired—” He stopped again. “Someone told you.”

“Yes.”

“Then I take it back. You spent your formative years—not my phrase, don’t make that face—in the fiefs.”

“Yes.”

“You must have lied, and you must have at least been decent enough at it to survive.”

“I was never good at lying.”

“What did you do instead?”

Kaylin shrugged. “Groveled in abject fear.”

“I would think lying would be easier.” He flicked something invisible off his sleeve. “Clearly you’ve never been lazy enough. Food?”

Kaylin made a face. “Helen?”

“Yes, dear,” the disembodied house replied.

“At what point does someone stop being a guest?”

“I imagine the moment you ask them to leave.”

Mandoran laughed at Kaylin’s expressive, but silent, response.

“Fine. I guess we’re feeding him.”

* * *

His good mood did not last through an early breakfast. It didn’t last through the start of breakfast. While he enjoyed teasing Kaylin—his words, as she had ruder ones to describe it—he couldn’t entirely forget the predicament his cohort were in.