“Lord of the West March,” Bellusdeo said quietly, “that is what she has been called by her two friends. Lord Kaylin is unaware of any other title. No insult was intended.”
“And none taken. But I am curious. Of all of the nine who left the Hallionne Alsanis, why was it Sedarias that she named?”
That one, Kaylin felt she could safely answer. “Because it was Sedarias I met in the portal.”
14
Given his expression, the word “safe” was obviously an overestimation. “You saw Sedarias?”
“I mostly heard her.” Before he could ask, she said, “I know what they look like. I know their voices—I brought them out of the green. It was Sedarias.”
Bellusdeo’s orange eyes were pointed in Kaylin’s direction. If they’d been a weapon, they’d be resting against her cheek. Or just below its surface. Kaylin wondered if Dragon names worked exactly the same way Barrani names did. Then again, Bellusdeo wasn’t subtle; having the name wouldn’t give her any more information than the orange-eyed glare was doing already.
“Lord of the West March—”
“No. I did not directly influence the destination of Sedarias and her friends.”
The Avatar of Orbaranne joined them, although she did not take a seat; at the moment, Kaylin privately thought if she bent, she was likely to break. Her eyes had become stone, although not the obsidian that Helen’s could default to if she wasn’t paying attention.
*
“You spoke with Sedarias and you detected no taint in her?”
He really had spoken with Alsanis. “No. I don’t think they’re in a good place, though.” Kaylin was done with dinner, and rose. “Thanks for feeding us. We’d like to examine the portal pathways now.”
“They did not approach by the path,” Orbaranne said. “I watched for them.”
“I don’t think we have any hope of finding them if we don’t at least start there, because they started on the path. Something either drove them off it, or the path changed unexpectedly.” Kaylin had experience with that, and it still gave her nightmares.
She began to walk, confident that the Avatar’s awareness—if not her physical form—would follow. Bellusdeo caught up immediately, falling in step easily given the differing lengths of their strides. The marks on Kaylin’s arm continued their dullish glow, but they weren’t painful, and she could mostly ignore them.
“I do not think that is wise,” Orbaranne observed. “I believe that the marks awaken for a reason.”
“When it’s an emergency, it’s impossible to ignore them—I feel like my skin is on fire.”
“Lord Kaylin.”
She blinked. The Lord of the West March lengthened his stride to catch up to them, although he kept Kaylin between himself and Bellusdeo.
“They did, as you surmise, set out from Alsanis on the portal path. Given prior difficulties, the pathways are somewhat delicate, but they have served us since your return to your city. There was some, ah, discussion about the wisdom of allowing them to use those paths en masse.”
“Discussion?”
“The Hallionne Alsanis was against it.”
Kaylin swore. In Leontine. Given the expression on the Lord of the West March’s face, he understood every word. This, she thought, was why she was never going to be a diplomat. That and the ulcer she’d get trying to be polite and proper according to every single cultural norm. It was hard to be polite when certainty of failure was so high.
“When you say against it, do you mean he tried to stop them?”
“Ah, no. He attempted to reason with them; he pointed out the possible dangers that they might face—dangers that I, for example, would not. Some of them agreed with Alsanis. Others did not. I believe they held a...vote?” He used the Elantran word with marked hesitance.
“Meaning they all gave their opinion and the majority opinion won?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a vote. And clearly, the majority wanted to take the paths.” She considered everything Mandoran and Annarion had said about Sedarias and privately decided it might be a majority of one.
“Vote.” He spoke the word with less hesitance. “It is not, you must understand, our custom.”
She didn’t slow, but the Lord of the West March was taller and could easily match her stride. “How would you normally decide?”
“My lord would decide. In the absence of a lord, I would decide.”
“But if your friends—”
“I am the Lord of the West March. My friends,” and here he also adopted the Elantran word, “would wait upon my decision, were I asked to make one. They would accept any decision I made.”
“But—the children brought here were friends. They weren’t liege and lord. Or lieges and lord.”
“It is not uncommon to have groups of the young clustered together.”
“Well, how would you expect them to decide? They can’t just appoint a ‘lord’ and obey them.”
“Why not?”
Bellusdeo snickered. “Don’t look at me,” she said, over Kaylin’s head. “I personally believe that nature abhors a vacuum, especially when it comes to command.”
“Meaning?” Kaylin said.
“I generally find it more efficient to take command if there is no commander. I would have imagined the Barrani to be the same.” She then said, “Don’t give me that look. You’re a Hawk. Your sergeant doesn’t exactly gather you all together in one room and ask you to take a vote on his latest orders.”
Much as she hated to admit it, this was true. “But that’s only at work. And there’s a reason we don’t work every waking minute of every day—we’d probably kill each other or go insane.”
“Given mortals and your criminal investigations, I’m not entirely sure how that would be different.”
*
“I find the Hallionne impressive,” Bellusdeo said, after a pause in which Kaylin heroically managed to say nothing. “Structures such as these were not home to many of our kin.”
“Tiamaris.”
“Yes, but he is young and his situation is unusal.” She glanced, once again, at the Lord of the West March. “These were built for your kin by the Ancients.”
He nodded. “The first of the Hallionne predate me, but not our kind.”
Since Helen and the Hallionne were entirely unlike the buildings that most mortals called home, Kaylin said nothing. But she thought, as she walked, that if mortals lived in the Hallionne, or in Helen, things would be better. She could imagine an entire city built under the great roof of a similar building; there would be little conflict, no starvation, and no reason for laws.
Which would put her out of a job. Having a job was the silver lining, but privately she wondered if not needing the Halls of Law would be a far better alternative. If she were an Ancient, if she were a genuine god, wouldn’t a city of that nature be desirable? A place where anyone, ever, could feel at home and safe?
“That is not, in the end, what the Ancients wanted,” Orbaranne surprised her by saying. “And buildings such as I, or Helen, require the occupants to submit to the governing will of the Ancient’s intentions and architecture. You think that we can create paradise.”
“You can,” Kaylin replied.
“No, Kaylin. We cannot. The Ancients themselves could not become the buildings they created, even had they desired to do so. Do you understand why?”