Every Barrani from the West March—there appeared to be eight—stiffened at the sound of the Barrani Hawk’s name, and their eyes instantly lost most of the emerald-green the sight of the giant birds had placed there.
Chapter 3
There were good career reasons why Kaylin had never been considered a diplomat. Since she had no desire to be one, it had never mattered much. There were also good career reasons why Kaylin was not the on-duty Hawk at investigations that involved the upper echelons of the Human Caste Court.
But not even Kaylin could miss the sudden chill in unfamiliar Barrani eyes. She gave the Consort a tiny shake; the Consort did not respond. More than a tiny shake was impossible, given the sharp intake of breath the tiny one had caused.
Lord Barian said, “Lord Kaylin.”
Teela proved that there were reasons why she was also seldom the on-duty Hawk in delicate investigations, besides the usual racial ones; the Human Caste Court didn’t like being questioned by arrogant immortals. She stepped forward, moving without haste and with her characteristic, arrogant grace.
The two Hawks now bracketed the Lady.
Lord Barian’s eyes narrowed. “An’Teela,” he said.
“I am Lord,” Teela replied. “The customs of the West March differ from those of the High Court, but surely not so greatly. Or perhaps you neglect the title as a subtle way of claiming kinship, cousin?”
Severn joined them.
The West March Barrani couldn’t have failed to notice that he was mortal. They’d noticed everything else. But...Severn unsheathed his weapon blades for the first time since they’d stopped running, and as Kaylin watched the Warden’s eyes darken, she lifted her chin. It was either that or cringe.
Evarrim came to stand beside Teela; Teela failed to notice him at all. Instead, she exhaled. “Kitling.” She turned to the Consort, and slid arms around the back of her neck and her knees. Kaylin supported some of her weight as Teela shifted her grip. She wouldn’t drop or desert the Lady while she lived.
When Teela carried the whole of the Consort’s weight, she turned to face Lord Barian.
“The heart of the green has never denied me,” she told him. It had the feel of a ritual phrase, but also the defiance of an insult. She glanced at Kaylin, frowned, and added, “If you have forgotten your promise to Lord Sanabalis, I have not.”
“Promise? What—” Oh. “I should have stayed home, Teela,” she said, in Aerian. “The Exchequer can’t be worth this.” But she reached up to grasp the links of the heavy gold chain she wore around her neck; the links were skin-warm. She pulled the chain out, revealing the amulet that Sanabalis had given her. She wouldn’t have taken it at all, but he’d made clear that she wasn’t going if she didn’t. And that she was to wear it prominently at all times while she was a guest in the West March.
Arrows left their quivers and bows were pulled. The Barrani of the West March clearly didn’t live in a city—or an Empire—ruled by a Dragon, but they knew what the amulet meant.
“I really hope you’re not enjoying this,” Kaylin said out of the corner of her mouth.
“How uncharitable,” Teela replied. Her eyes were the same blue as Barian’s, but her lips were now curved in a hard, tight smile. Lifting her voice, she switched to High Barrani. “I introduce Lord Severn. He has passed the Tower’s test, and the test of name; he is a Lord of the High Court, and he has come to affirm his claim in the heart of the green.”
“Impossible.”
“Yes, in theory. But the harmoniste, as you’ve noted, is mortal; she is a Lord of the High Court, and she wears the blood of the green. Unless you wish to claim her robe to be a clever and nefarious counterfeit, the choice is no longer in your hands. And, Warden, I think not even you would be so arrogant.”
“It is not Lord Kaylin’s inclusion that is under discussion. She is, of course, welcome.”
Teela smiled. “And Lord Calarnenne?”
“There is no Lord Calarnenne.”
“That, Warden,” a familiar voice said, “is harsh.”
Teela didn’t move. Neither did Severn. Kaylin had to turn to look over her shoulder. Nightshade approached the silent Barrani, at the side of the Lord of the West March. The tiara across his brow was unmistakable; the emerald at its peak was glowing. On his forearm sat one of the two eagles; the other accompanied the Lord of the West March.
The Lord of the West March didn’t comment. Instead, he approached Kaylin. Bird on arm, he offered her a perfect bow—a bow she couldn’t duplicate, no matter how many hours she spent taking lessons under Diarmat’s foot. “Kyuthe,” he said. “Kaylin. An’Teela. You carry my heart in your arms.”
“I know,” she replied. Her voice lost its hard edge. “Even were she not, she is the Lady. I will allow no harm to come to her while I still draw breath.”
He nodded as if no other answer was possible, but he did not attempt to take Teela’s burden from her; nor did he command her to deliver the Lady into Lord Barian’s arms. Instead, he spoke a single word Kaylin couldn’t catch before he touched the Consort’s brow. She didn’t wake.
Lord Barian clearly considered the Lord of the West March above suspicion. “She intercepted three,” he said gravely.
“Three.” His lids fell, the sweep of dark lashes like bruises against his skin.
“There were five, Lord. The harmoniste intercepted two before they could reach the Lady.”
“Yes,” was the soft, tired reply. He opened his eyes; they were blue. “I am aware of her intercession. She is mortal, Barian—and impulsive in ways the young are. And for the moment, I am grateful for that impulse. Remember the results of it,” he added, in a slightly stronger voice, “and forgive her lack of familiarity with our customs.”
“The other mortal—”
“He is hers,” the Lord of the West March replied. “Lord Kaylin will not allow him to be driven off; she will certainly object to his execution. Lord An’Teela did not lie; Lord Severn survived the test of name.” He glanced at the blades in Severn’s hands, and his eyes darkened; for a moment Kaylin thought he would say more.
The eagle on his arm said, “He is to be granted passage and hospitality while either remain.”
Lord Barian bowed.
“Come, Kaylin, An’Teela. We will repair to my domicile.”
Kaylin wasn’t certain what to expect. The first Hallionne she’d encountered had been a tree. A huge, ancient tree, true—but nothing about it had screamed building. Yet its interior was large enough to house the entire Barrani contingent, plus the two mortals who were caught up in the pilgrimage. Easily.
It occurred to her as she walked by the side of the Lord of the West March that the entire West March might be the same: any one of these trees could be buildings as grand, mysterious and architecturally impossible. There wasn’t a pressing need for something as mundane as a passable road if you had a building provided for all of your equally mundane needs.
But the High Halls had drives. Palatial drives. And the Lords of the High Court spent money in the city, given the way the Merchants’ guild fawned all over them. The Hallionne were, to all intents and purposes, like the Towers or Castles in the fiefs—and as far as Kaylin knew, there was only one Tower in each fief.
“We are at the outskirts of the green,” the Lord of the West March told her. “The Hallionne of the West March has not been habitable for centuries. It is not there that you—or any member of the Consort’s entourage—will stay. But no; there are few roads that lead to the West March, and we did not travel by any of them. My people do not require paths of heavy stone to smooth their way.” His answer reminded her that he had, as Nightshade had, offered her his True Name. If she wasn’t careful, he could hear her thoughts.