"The question we have now is, if the Ten did not endure, would we remain as we are?"
Rennyn blinked at Sarana’s calm grey eyes, then looked up at Illidian. She could always read his emotions best of any of the Kellian. Resolute. Worried, but determined.
"It doesn’t make any difference what I answer, does it?"
"It will not decide our course," Sarana acknowledged.
"Again I can’t rule out anything absolutely, but I would consider it unlikely that the spell would dissipate. What is it you want to ask of me?"
"That you visit the resting place of the Ten. And allow them to decide their own fates."
Rennyn looked up at Illidian again, aware that she’d gripped his hand very hard. "You want me to command them to wake?"
"If that is the only way," he said. "It is sometimes possible to wake them, and they did revive during Queen Solace’s return."
Illidian’s voice was even, but the vertical lines that bracketed his mouth had deepened. He was unhappy about this, not least because he knew how much she would hate it. Over sixty people were at her absolute command, and they had nightmares about her because of that fact. She had given Sarana a command to prove to them that she could, and Illidian a command because he had asked her to. Then promised herself, over and over, that she would never again give an order to any of the Kellian, not accidentally, not even in an emergency. And certainly not like this.
"You want me to give them leave to die."
Chapter Four
Going to see Rennyn be made a Duchess had never sounded like fun, but Kendall hadn’t expected to do more than lurk behind the crowd gawping at the things nobles thought it proper to wear. The problem was the outfits Rennyn had bought them. They were based on the Surclere crest, which was a twisty green and white dragon on a black background. The Black Queen’s crest had included the Montjuste phoenix as well, and technically Rennyn could use it as well, but she’d decided to stick with just Surclere. So as part of the revived Duchy they were all decked out in knee-length, moss-green coats fastened with a dozen ebony toggles, with a black under-layer which showed for a few inches at the hem and cuffs. The dragon was a tiny outline stitched in white on the right of their chests.
It wasn’t that they didn’t look good. Kendall hadn’t recognised herself, and she thought Sukata had never looked better. But nobles at a Court Occasion were more impressive than Kendall had ever imagined. It was as if an undecorated bit of cloth was against the rules. All the women were wearing what looked like four skirts, with the front of the outer layers cut away so that you could show off all four at once. Great big sleeves with pictures embroidered on them hung down over all that, and there were criss-crossing ribbons above the elbows, with gold net and whatnot across the bodice. If that wasn’t enough they’d added bracelets and necklaces and brooches, and things in their hair. The men were more top-heavy, with close-fitting jackets over crisp shirts: the shoulders so large they must be padded with something, and these funny little half-cloaks over the top which were all crests and battle-scenes, and better than tapestries.
Kendall had been around the palace for months, and hadn’t seen anyone wearing anything even close to this. When the snooty dressmakers had talked about Court Dress as if it was in a league of its own, maybe Rennyn should have listened a bit harder. You could buy entire houses with what these people were wearing.
The main result was that everyone belonging to Surclere looked totally out of place, like nicely-dressed servants, and there wasn’t even a chance Kendall could avoid being noticed—unless perhaps she hid behind the dark wood of the currently empty throne. At least Sebastian was a useful shield. He was about to become heir to a Duchy, and was all very romantic and interesting after helping defeat the Black Queen, so every second noble was keen to slime up to him. No matter where they went in the over-sized throne room, people would circle them and ask prying questions disguised as congratulations. Sebastian was never lost for an answer, though Kendall was willing to bet he found the whole thing boring just because there wasn’t any magic involved.
The buzz of chatter dropped abruptly as Captain Faille walked into the room. His coat was long and snug with no extra layers, all in black with mottled green panels at the front. In this crowd he looked like an executioner come to Court, especially given he was already the grimmest man in the world. Kendall would never understand why Rennyn had gone silly over him.
Talk started up again in hissed whispers, which was stupid since most of the people there had to know Kellian could hear better than a cat. Not that Captain Faille would react to what was being said. He scanned the area, like all Kellian did when they entered a room, then crossed to talk to the Grand Magister, Lady Weston.
There were a group of people over by the tall windows that marched up the left side of the room. Kendall hadn’t paid much attention before, but noticed them now because everyone else was looking at them like they were expecting something to happen. They weren’t dressed any more or less fancy than anyone else, but most of them seemed cross and impatient. Then one of them moved and Kendall spotted the smart-mouthed idiot from the practice ground, dressed in a tamer version of their colours. Anyone associated with him had to be rotten. Best bet was these were some of the nobles who said stupid things about Kellian, and Kendall wondered if they’d make a scene about Captain Faille being there. He’d be Lord Surclere after this ceremony, though it would be hard for Kendall to think of him as anything but Captain. The way some people acted, giving a title to a Kellian would be enough to make Fel rise from the shadows and turn the world upside down.
Horns sounded, loud enough to make anyone jump. Two boys in red and gold had planted themselves just inside the doors to the right of the room and were turning their faces cherry-plum puffing away. Everyone stopped milling about and backed away from the throne, leaving a big semi-circle. Handy of the Queen to give them all a warning that they were supposed to start bowing.
Queen Astranelle had had two sons, but they’d both died years back. Prince Justin and Princess Sera were her grandchildren, and it was really easy to see the shared blood when the three of them walked in together. A little golden family, very grand. The Montjustes had ruled Tyrland since forever, and though Kendall had seen all of these three before, this was the first time she’d really felt it. Royalty.
While everyone pointed noses to the ground the Queen sat herself on the throne, with Justin and Sera on either side. Then the tara-tara-ing changed and everyone straightened up in time for Rennyn to come in. She’d been given use of a little room not far from the throne room, and had been there half the morning, dozing most likely while Lieutenant Faral fixed her hair. Just as the ceremony had been redesigned to avoid Rennyn falling over in the middle, and the important thing about the dress was that it wasn’t heavy, they’d made sure she’d have plenty of rest while getting ready.
Kendall hadn’t seen Rennyn wearing the dress before. The bodice was white, covered with twisty dragons wrestling each other, but they were white too so it was hard to tell. A high tight collar went all the way to Rennyn’s chin, close-fitting sleeves hid her palms, and there was a row of green stone buttons up her back to the nape of her neck. The skirt started low, down past her hips, and fell in a straight line of dark green to the floor, longer at the back to make a little train. For possibly the first time ever, Rennyn was wearing her hair up, smoothed into a heavy knot high at the back of her head, with no attempt at the fancy braiding the Court ladies liked. There was maybe a hint of a green flash in the depths, a pin or two, but no other jewels.