“Very well. I wish to have the visible words examined. I also wish to have the basement beneath Gilbert’s house examined. I am not in a condition to examine them personally, and even were I, Tiamaris was as close as we come to an expert in ancient buildings and writing. He does not, of course, have my wealth of experience—but he has a particular focus.
“He is not, however, likely to be available. I will therefore send Sanabalis.” He turned to glance off-mirror; he spoke, but the mirror did not convey the sound of his voice. “I expect a full report of any relevant information gleaned from either the Tha’alani or Tiamaris.”
“I can interrupt you?”
“You may even do so safely, for the duration.”
*
“I think he’s going to send Bellusdeo with Sanabalis,” Kaylin told Severn. She glanced at Gilbert. He had no difficulty keeping up with the two Hawks. Kattea had flagged, which was fine; Gilbert was carrying her. Kaylin suspected he would carry her anywhere, for as long as it was necessary.
The water’s silence made her uneasy. She could not believe that Gilbert intended to hurt Kattea—but what constituted harm, for Gilbert, was probably not even translatable into Elantran. Or any other language Kaylin knew.
“If,” she told him, as they continued their very brisk pace, “you see any other buildings of significance, let us know?”
He nodded. He had said very little since his encounter with the water’s Avatar, and seemed—for Gilbert—less confused and more grave. He stopped well short of the guard post occupied by the Tha’alani, and Kaylin thought it best to ask Ybelline’s permission—through direct mental contact with the guards—to dispense with the usually thorough inspection. Kattea flinched when one of the guards bent down to touch Kaylin’s forehead with the stalks that grew out of his own.
The guards themselves were not especially eager to touch the thoughts of an outsider, but knew their duties; they waited until Ybelline granted permission for Kaylin to enter the quarter.
One of them wore the tabard of the Tha’alanari—one who was capable of guarding their thoughts, or the thoughts they took in, from the rest of the Tha’alaan.
It was he who escorted them to Ybelline’s home.
*
The streets of the Tha’alani quarter were never empty; today was not an exception.
Kaylin had not visited while in possession of the familiar—and like Nightshade’s mark, small and flappy had become so much a part of her daily life she could almost forget he was there. To anyone who hadn’t yet seen a tiny, translucent dragon—which clearly moved on its own—the familiar was a delight and a curiosity.
Small children gathered by the side of the narrow road that wound its way through the oddly curved, rounded contours of the dwellings the Tha’alani favored. They were openly curious, and some, bolder than others, attempted to touch the strangers in the Hawks’ tabard. Some stepped back, clearly nervous.
“They don’t see a lot of outsiders,” Kaylin told Kattea, who had stiffened in Gilbert’s arms. “So they’re curious.”
Kattea clearly had the usual fear of the Tha’alani mind readers. Kaylin tried not to resent it, because she’d once felt that fear herself. But she did pause to let the bolder children touch her extended hands, and she did allow one hesitant child to brush her cheek—he was too nervous to truly connect—with the stalks on his forehead. If she’d once been as frightened as Kattea, she wanted to make clear that the fear was groundless, and there was no better way.
On the other hand, the small dragon was the star of the show today; all of the telepathic questions the children transmitted were about him. He was well enough behaved that he allowed them to touch him—but not with their slender, immature antennae. The children radiated delight and wonder so strongly, words would have been superfluous.
But Kaylin had come here for a reason, and if spending the day amusing small mind readers was actually a happy thing, it took up time they didn’t have. Their escort understood this, and the children melted away, some with obvious reluctance. No words, however, were exchanged. They weren’t necessary.
Ybelline was waiting for them. She wore very simple robes—yellow, fringed with purple—that flowed loosely down her shoulders and arms; the sheen of the fabric caught the sunlight, which reminded Kaylin that it was not actually that late in the day.
Ybelline’s jaw was tightly set; she smiled—because she smiled so often, it was practically her default expression—but her color was bad, and her eyes were darkly circled. Kaylin, who often hugged her, hugged her now for entirely different reasons. Ybelline’s stalks brushed Kaylin’s forehead and settled there.