“Lord Bellusdeo...is a guest in the Hallionne.”
“Yes. She arrived with me. I apologize for not attempting to get the necessary permissions from the two courts; it was considered an emergency by the elemental water. The water did not confer with us; nor did she ask our permission. According to the Keeper, she was...agitated. He was right. She was agitated enough to pick us up in the Keeper’s Garden and drop us here.”
Another silence, this one less extended. “And the nature of that emergency?”
Kaylin wanted to scream. “It appears that compatriots of two of my personal guests chose to travel from the Hallionne Alsanis to the Hallionne Orbaranne. Something occurred while they were in transit, and they have been lost.”
Silence. So much silence, all of it weighted, all of it harsh.
“Lirienne,” the Consort said, and there was a definite edge in the name, “is this true?”
“I myself have only just been informed of the rumor,” he replied, his voice much softer and smoother than the Consort’s. “And I have not yet been able to ascertain the truth of it.”
“And you will do so?”
“I—”
“As the Consort requests,” the High Lord said. “If her voice is not yet enough, brother, let me add mine. I will not command you; the West March is, of course, yours, and I have seldom interfered in its politics; it has not historically been wise.” And Kaylin knew that he referred, subtly, to a previous High Lord and his interference with the regalia, in the heart of the green.
That interference had almost destroyed twelve Barrani children; they had survived through the intervention of Hallionne Alsanis. From any other man, this comment might have seemed or felt self-deprecating, but not even Kaylin was that naive. She could hear the fire and the ice that gave those words shape, and she knew they were not offered to the younger brother; they were aimed.
The Lord of the West March bowed his head. “You have not spoken at length with the Hallionne Alsanis, brother. I have. Where we rejoiced in the salvation of the eleven, we also understood that they were no longer completely as we are. We were, however, content to allow them to remain as guests; Alsanis himself insisted on it. His attachment to them has grown with the passage of time. We did not expect that they would attempt to leave so soon. The Hallionne is not cognizant of all of their abilities.”
“Annarion and Mandoran came with me when I went back,” Kaylin pointed out. Bellusdeo nudged her. Coming from a Dragon, it was a gentle, subtle gesture—but Kaylin wasn’t a Dragon; her ribs would probably be bruised.
“Yes, Lord Kaylin. And shortly after their arrival, the High Halls came under attack—and the attackers were ancient, dangerous. Were it not for the Dragons, the Halls might have fallen there.” Lirienne’s voice was dry, almost uninflected. But there was subtle accusation in the words, and it was aimed at people she now considered friends.
“Annarion and Mandoran didn’t attack the High Halls!”
“No; had they, we would not be having this conversation. But Alsanis felt that it was possible—perhaps probable—that their very presence woke the ancestors.”
Since this was more or less fact, Kaylin bit back further words until she once again had control over what fell out of her mouth. “The Emperor’s hoard is the empire.”
“Indeed.”
“He has not demanded their destruction; he has not made them criminal. They live in my house—”
“Your house is not a normal mortal dwelling; it is not even a normal Barrani dwelling.”
“Lirienne,” the Consort said, indicating that his conversation with Kaylin could wait. “I wish no harm to come to them. They were ill used once, or they would not now be as they are; they were abandoned by their kin. Were it not for the Chosen, their names would be lost to us forever.”
“They intended to travel to Elantra. To the High Halls.”
“Yes,” the Consort replied. The High Lord glanced at her, but did not speak.
“They intend to take the tower’s Test. They intend to—”
“Stand where we are now standing. Yes.”
“You knew this.”
“What other reason would they have for returning? I did not know, but I suspected.”
“The risk is too great.”
“To what? If you speak of the politics, of the small wars that are starting even as we speak, that is the nature of power and inheritance among our kin. They will either die, or they will triumph; that has long been the way of our people.” She fell silent. Kaylin thought she was done, but after a pause which neither of her brothers broke, she continued. “That has never been our way. We three did not choose to fight those wars, did not choose to target each other. You have been Lord of the West March, and you have been—at a distance—the strongest of supporters the High Lord has among our people.
“You understand our burden.”
“I understand it.”
“We have come to remind ourselves,” she continued. “We understand your fear; believe that we feel it. But Lirienne, I know what Annarion did during the attack on the High Halls. I know what he and his companions survived. They were meant to be our strength in our war against the Dragons—and perhaps that was folly or hubris on the part of the previous High Lord.”
No perhaps about it, in Kaylin’s opinion, which she kept to herself.
“But perhaps it was not that war they were meant to fight.”
The Lord of the West March bowed his head. Head bowed, he said, “We will lose four allies should you decide to pursue this. Two of those chosen were—would have been—the heads of their line.”
“Four, now,” the High Lord said. “Two could take their houses, and it would not harm us; indeed, it might benefit us to have those houses embroiled in such conflicts.”
“Do you think that they stand a chance in such a conflict? They have long been outside of the political sphere, and their ability to raise small armies beneath their own banners will be small, if it exists at all. They will, of course, be publicly accepted by their families—but I would be highly surprised if above half survive that acceptance. Highly.”
Kaylin’s expression was an open book; generally, people who were polite declined to read it. The situation, however, was grave enough that those manners were set aside.
“It is political,” the Consort said softly. “The lines are ruled, and have been ruled, by those who were in line when the eleven were shut into the Hallionne. Teela survived. Had her father and elder brother likewise survived, they would rule. But regardless, should the eleven choose to return to their families, they would be welcomed.”
“With poison?”
It was the High Lord who chuckled. “You are far, far too blunt, Lord Kaylin. What you say here may be said; the Consort considers you of great value to the High Court. But do not speak those words aloud in the presence of the assembled Court; such an accusation would be considered the gravest of insults.”