"Do you know anything about plays, Captain?"
"I can quote the entire opening soliloquy from Siana of Kole. Or perhaps you’d like the victory speech of Lady Nidama?"
Regaining her feet, Rennyn shook her head as she led the way into Illidian’s quarters. "That’s all meaningless to me, I’m afraid. I’ve never been to a play. I was wondering if you could think of any way I could see this one." She handed him the newssheet, then tried to not be too obvious about her need to sit down.
"You really want to see this?" Medan asked, lifting heavy brows.
"Illidian said the other day that what was being printed in the 'sheets would be forgotten soon enough. That it was the stories people told that had the greatest impact. It seems the papers aren’t going to change what they’re saying—so I want to see what the stories that will be remembered will be."
"Hmn. Well, I haven’t heard much about this piece. The playwright’s an up-and-comer. Lucius Sandrey. I saw his last, and liked it. Bawdy and full-blooded and very, very funny."
Rennyn blinked, trying to think of anything involving Kellian and bawdy. "It’s not likely to be a comedy."
"Not described like this, anyway." He handed her back the newssheet. "I do know someone with a private box at the Faranea and they may…well, I will let you know. If their box is available, then good timing and the most minor of illusions would make it an easy matter."
He bowed himself out and, left to herself, Rennyn abandoned the newssheet to gaze about the book-lined room. Shelves covered all available space in this and the spare bedroom, with only a patch left bare for a mounted selection of swords. Faintly daunting. It was not that Illidian read more than she did, but all her studies had been focused on magic, while her husband’s collection ranged through every imaginable topic, and included extensive forays into poetry, novels and all the luxuries of the mind Rennyn had never allowed herself. There were moments when this ranked knowledge made her feel tremendously ignorant, but for the most part she found Illidian’s quarters a comforting place.
Not least because Illidian was usually there with her. Determined to train herself to cope with his absences, she made certain to not look too relieved when, after five or ten minutes, he arrived. It would do neither of them any good if she acted like a baby every time he was out of her sight.
Sarana Illuma accompanied him, carrying a cloth-wrapped book, and Rennyn tried to guess from their posture how the meeting had gone. But they walked with their usual ease: that efficiency of movement which wasted no gesture. Both were well over six feet tall, lean muscle corded over a wide-shouldered frame. Only their cobweb-fine hair, so colourless it looked grey in most lights, provided a hint of softness. Their proportions were faintly wrong, elongated, and many found them uncomfortable to be around, especially because they did not fidget and never smiled, though Rennyn had not failed to notice how many of the Sentene mages became wholly devoted to their Kellian partners.
"Your audience with Queen Astranelle went as expected?" Illidian asked, moving a footstool up beside her while Sarana took the other seat. His voice was thin, as if strained from overuse—or lack of use. The original Kellian had been mute, for Solace had seen no reason for her construct guards to have voices, and that their descendants could speak at all had been a surprise to Rennyn’s family. Almost every other facet of the spell that made them Kellian had been passed on unchanged.
"Nothing particularly surprising." Rennyn smiled as Illidian curled his hand over hers, then told them of the Queen’s offer of a ship, and of the question asked about the Kellian. "Do you consider yourselves the leaders of the Kellian?" she asked when she was done.
Illidian lifted fine, straight brows, which for him was more than ordinary surprise. "At most, designated speakers."
"I did wonder if that was what was behind the question. No-one within the Kellian is an ultimate authority. If the Kellian consider that the individual must make their own choices, then the Queen cannot truly command you as a group."
"All who stay within Tyrland’s borders acknowledge the authority of the monarch," Illidian said. "By remaining, we agree to obey Queen Astranelle in matters of duty."
"Exactly," Rennyn said, and after a moment he nodded.
"A distinction Her Majesty would not enjoy," Sarana agreed. "As for service itself, until this current wave of Eferum-Get has been dealt with we cannot properly decide our future in Tyrland. Those few who are not actively serving with the Sentene have departed to the Ten. And that is something I have been asked to speak to you about."
The Kellian woman glanced down at the wrapped book, a thick and formidable block now resting in her lap. "First, we thank you for allowing us to study this. It has been…illuminating." She started to lift it, but Rennyn shook her head.
"That’s the only original of Solace’s work journals that will not be presented to the Houses." Because the method Solace had used to create the Kellian, and her subsequent study of them, was not knowledge Rennyn cared to share with the entire kingdom. "I can’t think of more appropriate custodians than you and Sukata."
"Thank you," Sarana said, more softly than usual, her hands shifting around the bundle. Rennyn wasn’t certain if this meant she was pleased, but Illidian tightened his grip and rubbed his thumb against Rennyn’s palm, so she decided it had been the right thing to do.
"The terms of our existence," Sarana added, smoothing the cloth. "You said, that day, that we were part of a continuing enchantment, that to be Kellian was to be at the command of the Montjuste-Surcleres. This has led us to ask, if there were no Montjuste-Surcleres, would we be Kellian?"
Rennyn had discussed the same question with her father, many years ago. Back then it had only been an intellectual puzzle.
"Symbolic Magic is not given to hard and fast certainties," she said carefully. "Anything I say would be no more than a guess. But—yes—if Solace’s line ended, it’s possible that the spell that makes you Kellian would unwind." She glanced at Illidian, who as usual showed only intelligent attention. "I don’t think that would kill you. But the magical aspects would be lost." The speed, the strength, long life, effects with light, the sense of awareness the Sentene called Kellian instinct. And… "I couldn’t say how greatly your personalities would be affected."
"It would be interesting to know," Illidian said, perhaps less daunted by the prospect than Rennyn. Kellian were by no means identical, but they all shared a certain calm, a patience and a loyalty it was hard to picture them without.
"The need for the bloodline to continue was something we too guessed at," Sarana continued. "But I am less certain on another point. The Ten were the creation of the casting, not us. We are a side-effect, not covered in the structure, though you have…events have proven to us that we are constrained as the Ten are."
The original ten golems created by Solace Montjuste-Surclere were a difficult topic for all the Kellian. Not for the will-less years serving Solace, or even the devastating abandonment following her departure, when Solace’s son Tiandel had ordered them to leave Tyrland and never return. They had survived, grown into something more than constructs, even found new purpose after a violent assault had unexpectedly shown them they could bear children. But as the years had stretched, they had lost the energy for daily activity, had retreated into a sleep far beyond any weariness of Rennyn’s. In the three hundred years since their exile, one of the Ten had been killed, but the rest neither died nor truly lived.