“What should cause no discomfort?” Kaylin asked.
The Arkon’s answer was typical: it had nothing to do with the question she’d asked. “You have brought two visitors.”
“You wanted to meet them.”
“Yes, I did. I am delighted to have the opportunity to do so.” Delight was clearly the same as suspicion, at least for Dragons. “But they have—to use your colloquial phrase—tripped a number of protective wards on their passage through the gallery. I wish to ascertain that their presence here will not harm the more susceptible parts of my archive.”
She glanced at the library’s front desk. The librarians were gathered behind it. Actually, they were huddling behind it. This did nothing to ease her worry. But her arms didn’t ache; her skin didn’t feel as if it was being peeled off. If there was magic in use, it was not the type of magic to which she was apparently allergic.
The Arkon began to speak. His lips moved in slow motion, and he raised his hands, turning his palms slowly toward the ceiling.
Kaylin felt the air crackle. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see lightning strike, but had the suspicion that it wasn’t the floor it would hit first. Teela’s eyes were very blue.
Mandoran’s and Annarion’s were almost black. They didn’t arm themselves; they didn’t run. They didn’t try to stop the Arkon. But their mouths, unlike the Arkon’s, were compressed, tight lines and white around the edges.
Words began to form in the air around the Arkon. Literally.
*
If true words had irrevocable meaning, they clearly also conveyed tone. Or perhaps it was just the choice of words. These were a deeper blue than any previous words the Arkon had chosen, laboriously, to speak, and although they were glowing, they felt...dark. And cold. She had walked around the visible representation of ancient and unknowable words such as this before; she had even touched them.
She did not want to touch these. Ever.
The air grew colder.
Squawk.
The Arkon frowned. His eyes were a steady, pale orange. If the words were as dangerous as they felt to Kaylin, they were not spoken in anger, if they were even being spoken at all. When Sanabalis spoke ancient, true words, Kaylin could hear them. She could hear the timbre of his voice, the rumbling native to Dragons, even in human form; she could hear the stretch of syllables. The language itself felt familiar, every time, but she could not understand a word of it. Nor could she easily memorize any of the spoken component.
This time, she didn’t even want to try.
Squawk. Squawk.
The Arkon’s hands stilled. His eyes narrowed. His expression fell into much more familiar lines, although the color of his eyes didn’t shift to gold. He closed his mouth. When he opened it again, it moved naturally, because he spoke normally.
Squawk.
“Yes, the Emperor advised me of your current state.”
Squawk. Kaylin had been holding her breath. She needed to breathe, but had almost forgotten how. In all of the reports she had written about the attack on the High Halls in the heart of the city, she had failed to mention Annarion’s visit to Castle Nightshade. Deliberately.
The Emperor would, of course, be enraged. He would demand Annarion and Mandoran be subject to confinement—in the best possible case. People had died. Hawks had died. Homes had been melted or burned to the ground. The fact that Annarion had had no intention of waking ancient, hostile demigods wouldn’t bring any of the dead back to life.
But as the small and invisible familiar continued to squawk, the true words faded, losing solidity and finally disappearing from view. It wasn’t those words she was now worried about, but she couldn’t make that clear without damning herself—or Annarion.
She was surprised when Severn touched her shoulder. He said nothing. But she found she could breathe again.
“Kaylin,” the Arkon said, as if her breathing was displeasing, “do you understand what your familiar is saying?”
“No more than usual.”
“He claims that it is not your companions who tripped my wards.”
Kaylin grimaced. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I wasn’t aware of any wards on the walk here.”
The Arkon frowned. “You are aware of wards in general.”
She nodded. “They make my skin itch. Door wards actually hurt. But silencing wards or privacy wards don’t, unless I trip them.”
“These wards are different. They are not meant to stop idle chatter. No wards of any significant power would stop that in these halls.”
“What are they meant to do, then?”
“They are a very rudimentary set of Shadow wards. They provide warning and detection of things that are not immediately visible to the naked eye.”