“No. He wouldn’t.”
“I invited him. Do you think we can have the rest of this discussion in the side room?”
Helen’s black gaze turned to Teela. “You did not inform me of all of the facts.”
“I don’t have all of the facts,” Teela replied, shrugging. If Kaylin was worried or intimidated by the Avatar of her home, Teela wasn’t. Nor was she about to start.
Kaylin turned to Helen. “Do you recognize him?”
“I am not certain.” Not a good answer. Helen’s memories of her early life—and her early duties—had been irreparably damaged sometime in the past. “He is not the first of his kind I have encountered.” She exhaled. “I cannot read him. I do not think this visit wise. I have spoken to you about the sorcerers of my youth.”
Kaylin turned to look at Gilbert, who still hadn’t moved.
“Well...” Kaylin said, considering. “Unless he tries to harm you—or anyone else—while’s he in the house, I’d like to take the risk.”
“Very well.” Helen nodded stiffly. “Give me a moment to prepare the room.”
*
Kattea asked Helen if she wanted help in the kitchen. Time in the kitchen was not, strictly speaking, a requirement for Helen; Kaylin was surprised when she didn’t say as much. Most of the sentient buildings of Kaylin’s acquaintance were not famously good at lying.
“But you’re a guest,” Helen said.
“I like kitchens,” Kattea replied. She had the earnest look of a puppy—a scruffy, underfed puppy who had not yet been kicked in the face enough that it had lost the ability to trust.
Helen hesitated for a moment longer and then nodded. “But if I tell you not to touch something, you have to listen. Certain items in the kitchen are not entirely safe for you.” She led Kattea out of the room.
Gilbert offered his apologies again.
His deference clearly amused Mandoran; Annarion was silent and watchful. Teela lounged—there was no other word for it—across the largest free space in the room; Tain took a patch of wall instead and leaned into it. Severn sat in the chair closest to the door, facing inward.
Gilbert sat to Kaylin’s right; Bellusdeo camped to her left.
In all, it was not a very comfortable room.
“You’ve been in buildings like this one before,” Kaylin said.
“I am of the opinion that I have never set foot in a building such as this. You called it Helen?”
“If you mean did I name her, then no. Helen is her name. She’s in charge. I live here, and I can ask her for things—but I can’t enforce obedience.”
Both of his brows rose. “And it—she—cannot enforce obedience from you?”
“I imagine if she bent her mind to it, she could.”
“She’s certainly been doing a number on Annarion,” Mandoran added. Annarion glared, but said nothing.
Gilbert looked about the room. “She reminds me of my youth. We once lived in homes such as these—places that heard our voices and spoke with their own. But we knew their names. It was one of the many ways in which we communicated our desires.” His eyes were a curious shade of brown, almost rust in color.
“It was,” Helen’s disembodied voice said, “the chief way in which control was exerted.”
“And such control was unpleasant?”
“Was it not unpleasant to you?”
Gilbert frowned. “It was not possible,” he finally replied. His eyes darkened. They weren’t, then, like mortal eyes. Until this moment, Kaylin hadn’t been entirely certain.
“What wasn’t possible?” she asked.
“For our names to be known. I understand that your names are not like ours,” he added.
“We don’t—Kattea and I—have names.” Her frown mirrored Gilbert’s. She understood why immortals resisted being healed. It was almost impossible for the healer not to see the thoughts and emotions of the healed, to some extent. “When I tried to heal you...” Her thoughts weren’t solid enough to form useful questions.
Gilbert’s nod was quiet. “You almost lost your life.”
Kaylin shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” She hesitated and then said, “I had no idea what I was doing. And having done it, I still don’t understand. When you say knowing your name is impossible, what do you mean?”
He turned his head, his gaze fixed on nothing.
The nothing squawked.
“It is impossible for you or any of your companions. I am told it is impossible for any who live as you live.”
“But you have a name.”
Squawk.
“There is some misunderstanding. I am an earlier iteration of life. An earlier design. The Ancients were my creator; they were my parents. I do not, cannot, have children in the fashion I am assured you do. Children such as yours—any of yours—would not have been considered possible or desirable on the eve of my creation.” His smile deepened as Kaylin’s confusion grew. “I am not so very different from your Helen.”