She needed some of that anger now, but it was gone.
She was certain everyone at this table looked down on her; Severn was seated at the table to the left, near the foot of the table; Teela had chosen the seat to his right. She couldn’t see them unless she swiveled in her chair, and she knew better.
Where had her anger gone? What had it even been? Oh. Right. She’d been enraged that the Hawks thought they could judge her when they’d had such easy lives. They hadn’t grown up in the shadow of Castle Nightshade. They’d had food, and a place to live, and families that were mostly still alive. They thought she was stupid and naive; they thought she was hapless and ignorant.
She’d wanted to see them survive Nightshade, and then they could sneer at her.
Looking around the table—which she could politely do—she realized that she’d lost that anger. Somehow, when she wasn’t looking, it had frayed, and she’d done nothing to stitch it back together to keep it going. She was no longer certain that the people around her had had easy lives. Yes, they lived forever if left to their own devices, and yes, they were, to a man, stunningly gorgeous and graceful.
But given the chance, Kaylin would live none of their lives. True, she daydreamed about being born Aerian. But Barrani or Dragon? Never. War and death defined the Immortals; they lost eternity to it. If they had friends, they didn’t claim them in public; friendship, affection, even love appeared to be the ugly stepchildren of their races.
“Lord Kaylin,” someone said, and she blinked. It was Lord Barian, the Warden of the West March. His eyes were blue. The eyes of everyone at this table, with the exception of Nightshade, were now blue. She had a sinking suspicion she’d missed something.
No, Kaylin. But you must pay attention now, the Lord of the West March said.
What’s his title?
You may address him as either Warden or Lord Barian. Neither will give offense.
“Lord Barian.” She inclined her head. Her hair felt like a helmet.
“You have joined the High Court only recently.”
“Yes.”
“I am curious. To become Lord of that Court, one must take the test of name; when one does not possess such a name, how is one tested?”
She found the embers of her anger then. “You have no doubt journeyed to the High Halls to take that test yourself, Lord Barian.”
Careful, kyuthe.
Lord Barian met, and held, her gaze. He did not answer.
“The Barrani seldom speak of the particulars of their test. They don’t announce its results. Either they survive, or they do not. I am not, as I’m certain you’re aware, Barrani. My test did not involve any customary ritual; I was given no preparation. Nor was I told not to speak of the experience.” Or at least, not all of it. “But I assume the Lords of the Court hold their silence with cause.
“If you have seen the Tower, you know what waits there. To become a Lord of the Court, in the case of the two mortals who bear the title, all that matters is survival.”
“Will you speak of what you saw?” Another Barrani, farther down the table, said. The woman spoke softly, but clearly, and as silence seemed to have descended on both of the other tables, the room’s acoustics easily carried her words.
Kaylin glanced at the Lord of the West March; he watched her, his eyes slightly narrowed. She looked to Nightshade, whose eyes were emerald; they were probably the only green eyes in the building at the moment.
“Yes.”
If she’d thought the room quiet before, she discovered how wrong she was.
“Mortal memory is not, as you’re all well aware, reliable. It’s not perfect. Elements of what I witnessed have faded. If any who have seen what I saw wish to correct me, I will take no offense.” She thought she heard Teela snort. “I wasn’t raised in the High Halls. I was a visitor there, but the building is immense. I was searching for the courtyard, and I found the Tower instead.
“There was a word on the Tower wall. I could see it. The Barrani who had passed the Tower’s test could see it; the others couldn’t.”
“You...could see the word.”
She nodded. “And I understood that it was both an invitation and a command.”
Nightshade said, “It was an invitation. None can be commanded—not even by the Tower—to take that test. But those who choose to abide untested will never gain a place in the High Lord’s Court.”
Is this your story, or mine?
It depends. If you ask your Corporal, he will assuredly claim that I had some greater hand in its writing.
“I chose to enter the Tower. Lord Severn chose to accompany me.”
“The Tower allowed this?” The woman’s eyes rounded slightly.
“Yes.”
“At the base of the Tower—and arriving at that base was not a simple matter of descending stairs—was a hall that was much rougher hewn than any of the halls I’d seen in the High Halls. At the end of that hall was a cavern.” She fell silent for a long moment, considering her possible words with care.
“The Hallionne were built for a reason,” she finally said. “The Towers in the fiefs of Elantra were built for a reason. The High Halls exist—in the heart of an Empire ruled by a Dragon—” she paused to allow ice to seep into the silence, but did so without apologies; it was true “—for a reason. I met that reason. The test of name is purely a test of resolve, and if you fail your name is lost to the Lake of Life; it is lost until the moment that the creature in the cavernous basement is destroyed.
“What he takes, he holds. I—” She stopped.
The woman who had spoken seemed paler now. “How?”
“Pardon?”
“How does he take what he holds?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Do they suffer?”
Kaylin wasn’t certain how to answer the question, it was asked with such intensity. Honesty, with the Barrani, wasn’t always the best policy; it was less risky than slitting your own throat, but not always in a good way. No one came to her rescue; no one gave her advice on what—or more germane, what not—to say.
“Yes,” she said. “They know where they are. They know they’re trapped.”
Humans—mortals, really—had pretty clear concepts about souls, not that they always agreed with each other. Kaylin had never been clear on the Barrani life and afterlife. Had the trapped people been mortal, it would have been clearer, for a value of clear that left nothing but bitter, helpless rage in its wake.
The woman fell silent for a long moment. “Thank you, Lord Kaylin.”
Kaylin shook her head. She almost reverted to Elantran, but she didn’t recognize this woman as one of the party that had traveled with the Consort, and she wasn’t certain she’d be understood. “I hated it,” she said, voice low. “I couldn’t understand, at first, why the test existed at all.
“But I understood it during the Leofswuld. No one who intends to rule the High Halls—and the Barrani, even if at a distance—can be vulnerable to the forces trapped beneath it.” This was not entirely truthful, but the theory was absolutely sound. “The High Halls houses something ancient and monstrous at its core; it’s meant to stand as a wall against that darkness. Those who have faced it and walk away can hold fast. If someone untested took the seat, what’s leashed there would be free.”
“And you consider that a significant danger.”
Kaylin was nonplussed. “I do.”