Gilbert turned to Kaylin, of all people, as if she could somehow answer the question the Arkon had just asked.
The small dragon lifted himself off Kattea’s shoulder, pushed himself gently into the air and then squawked. Loudly. Had he been sitting on Kaylin’s shoulder, he wouldn’t have bothered to put distance between his mouth and her ear.
The Arkon frowned. “That is hardly an answer,” he said to the familiar.
Squawk.
“Very well. Kattea is from the future as it exists if the present continues. Gilbert is a question mark. What happened with the Keeper?” When Kaylin failed to immediately answer, he said, “You are aware that the Keeper is under surveillance. It is...unusual...for rain to fall only within the Keeper’s storefront.”
“I was getting to that part.”
“My apologies for the interruption,” he replied. Not that there was any chance this would stop him from interrupting her again. She continued, speaking about the rain in the store, the flood and her eventual discussion with the elemental water.
“The water is aware of the time shift?”
Kaylin nodded.
“Kaylin—”
“I think it’s only aware because of the Tha’alaan.” As she said this, she realized it was fundamentally true. “I’m not sure the fire or earth or air notice—or care. But the Tha’alaan exists the way the rest of us do, because it’s part of the way we live. I mean—it’s like organic Records for the race itself, so it’s built of our lives.”
The Arkon seemed surprised, but nodded.
“What I don’t understand is why the water was raining on the inside of the store. The water does lose its temper from time to time, but—it’s usually confined to the Garden.”
The Arkon’s nod was slower to come this time, and his eyes shaded to a much stronger orange by the time it had finished.
“Do you think whatever’s eating the city eats the Keeper’s Garden? I mean, in the future, where the water comes from?”
“Thank you for adding a worry I had not considered to those already on the table.” The Arkon turned to Gilbert again.
Gilbert said, “...Yes. I think that’s likely. I believe I must return to the Winding Path.” He glanced at Kattea. “Will you take care of her?”
“You’re not leaving here without her.”
“Kaylin—”
“I mean it.”
“You do not have much time left.”
“We don’t even know that it started there—has anyone been to the Arcanum?”
“Lord Diarmat and Lord Emmerian are currently at the Arcanum,” the Arkon replied.
That seemed backward to Kaylin. “You’re probably the Dragon with the most knowledge of ancient magic—why didn’t they come here?”
“Because I am, as you state, the most learned. I am going to the Winding Path. I am apparently going to the Winding Path without the benefit of mirrored information.”
“Do you understand why the mirrors are so integral to the problem?”
“No. The Imperial mages are now considering the difficulty. Because of the water, you chose to visit the Tha’alani directly.”
Kaylin took the hint, picking up the very interrupted thread of the story. By the time she’d finished, he was no longer glaring at Ybelline. “Please plug your ears,” he told her. He lifted his voice and repeated this request.
Kaylin had a good idea of what he was about to do, but covered her ears anyway. Covering her ears never really stopped Dragon roars from being deafening.
Her instincts were right: the Arkon roared. It was not a short roar, either.
He had the grace to wait until the roar had stopped echoing before he spoke again. “I am confirming, for the Dragon Court, that the mirror network’s usage can—or will—be deadly. I have also passed word about the shielding the Tha’alani used to some effect in their last stand. The latter, I feel, will buy us essential time.”
“Any idea what the Arcanum was trying to do?”
“The Arcanum is composed of men and women with great ambition and power. They seldom work in concert. It is highly unlikely that individual members are aware of the full extent of the research of their various colleagues. Those that survived the internal difficulties of the morning claim ignorance; I am inclined to believe them. At the moment, the Arcanum is attempting to preserve the city—which they happen to reside in. They will not sabotage our efforts.”
This was not an answer. “If we understood what they were attempting, we might have some chance—”
“Thank you for stating the completely obvious.”
Kaylin shut up. Gilbert, however, did not. “If possible,” he said, to Kaylin, “I think your Mandoran and Annarion might be of assistance in a way that none of the rest of you can be.”
Kaylin nodded.
Stopped.
Nodded more emphatically. If mirrors were not forbidden, Kaylin would have been on them instantly. Severn understood why. If Teela had died, Mandoran and Annarion would know. If she hadn’t—and she had been pushed forward or backward or sideways in time, they would only know that she’d disappeared.