Kaylin stared—at Helen. “Helen—”
“If I understand everything that has happened, Kattea should have been swept away when the damage was repaired,” Helen replied. “She should have ceased to exist. I am not Gilbert; I cannot speak with certainty.”
“But she is here,” Kaylin said.
“Yes, dear.”
“And she is staying here.”
“I think,” Helen said quietly, “that that decision is not yours—or mine—to make.”
“No,” Gilbert said, as if no one else had spoken. “This is not where you should be.”
“I should be in the streets of Nightshade. With the Ferals.”
He nodded.
She was afraid. Anyone with half a brain would be afraid. Kaylin started forward; Helen caught her shoulder in an iron grip.
“I should be dead.”
“If I understand events, yes,” Gilbert replied. “But...I do not want that. I can see no way in which your lack of death causes instabilities.”
“Because it doesn’t, or because you don’t want it to?”
Helen exhaled. Her grip on Kaylin’s shoulder tightened, which Kaylin would have bet was impossible; there would be bruises, later.
“What happens if I stay here?” Kattea asked quietly.
Helen said, “If you remain within the house, no material damage should be caused. You would be contained—in an entirely different way—as Mandoran and Annarion are contained.”
Helen was lying. Kaylin could tell, although she wasn’t sure what the truth was. On the surface of it, the words seemed reasonable. Even believable.
Kattea hadn’t noticed. “Will Gilbert be able to visit again if I stay here?”
“No, dear. It was very, very difficult for Gilbert to arrive here at all; I am uncertain how he did.”
But Kaylin thought she knew. A very small part of the many, many words that constituted Gilbert was of this time. It was a Barrani True Name.
Kattea turned from Gilbert behind bars to the woman who was, effectively, his dungeon. “I’d like to go in now.”
Kaylin opened her mouth. She thought Helen would break her collarbone, but she forced the words out anyway. “Kattea, you don’t need to go. You can speak to Gilbert here. Gilbert’s not human. He can’t speak with you without injuring himself or limiting himself. You don’t—you don’t belong with him.”
Kattea turned back; her eyes were wet. “I don’t belong anywhere else. I would be dead, if not for Gilbert. Gilbert found me—us—a home.” She was pale, some combination of white and green that made her look the very color of fear. “I was alone. I was alone, after my father left. I understand why he left—I truly understand it now. I understand what he lost, because I’ve seen it.”
“You haven’t—you haven’t seen your mother yet—”
The tears fell. “I can’t. What I want—what I need—she can’t give me, and I can’t ask.” She swallowed, reining the tears in. “I’m grateful that I saw my dad. But...he already has my mom. He already has...me. They don’t need me, they don’t want me, they don’t even know I’m lost.”
“I could—”
“Tell them?”
“I’m sure—” Sure of what? That she could make the corporal and his wife believe her?
Kattea’s answering smile was tremulous, thin—but like a knife’s edge. It cut. “Gilbert,” she said quietly, “is lonely. You have Helen.” She looked past Kaylin to Helen and said, “Thank you, Helen.”
Helen’s smile was warmer, fuller. In response to Kattea, the cell door clicked audibly.
“Kattea—” Kaylin said.
“Thank you, Kaylin. Can you—can you say goodbye to the others?”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” she said. “But the only person who needs me now is Gilbert.”
Kaylin understood, because she had been where Kattea was standing—emotionally, at least. She had been alone and without purpose or value. She had made a life for herself as enforcement for a man she hated, because the only alternatives were to become a corpse or a victim. A different kind of victim.
And it had seemed to that Kaylin, the desperate, broken girl of years ago, that she would never, ever have a family again. That there would never be a place for someone like her. She would have no friends, no purpose, no reason for existence.
And she wanted to tell this girl, this Kattea, who had not sunk to theft and blackmail and assassination, that years from now, she would have friends and a home and purpose again. That life, even the worst life, didn’t have to remain forever shrouded in darkness and fear and loss and self-loathing.