Michelle Sagara – Cast in Silence (страница 4)

They seemed to be standing in a squat cottage of some type. Or they would have been, if cottages had been made of solid stone.

“Sorry,” Evanton said, pulling the hood of his dripping robe from his face. “But I can’t even hear myself think in all that noise.”

As his robes were still recognizably the same dark blue, Kaylin assumed they were still within the space he referred to as the garden. She pushed her hair out of her face; she would have to wait to pin it back, because the wind hadn’t returned the stick it had yanked out.

“We’ll try the tea again,” Evanton told her, peeling his sleeves off his arms. “This time, I might even condescend to drink some of it.”

When they were seated around a small—and miraculously uncluttered—table, two solid mugs between them, Kaylin said, “Water, earth and air.”

Evanton raised a white brow, and then nodded. “Yes. The elements of this particular storm.” He added, after a pause, “It’s good to know you’re still observant.”

“That’s generally considered my job.”

“Yes. Well. It’s generally considered the job of most of the residents of Elani Street to find true love, define fate and tell the future.”

Kaylin almost choked on her tea, and Evanton graced her with a wry, and somewhat bitter smile. “They do, however, construct elaborate fantasies for people with more money than brains, which takes some creativity.”

“You were eavesdropping,” she said, when she found her voice again.

“If you don’t want people to hear you, speak quietly, Private.”

“Yes, Evanton.” She shoved hair out of her eyes again, and he handed her a towel. It was the same color as his robe, and while she was curious about how it—and the mugs and the kettle—had arrived in this place, she didn’t ask. Had he been in a better mood, she would have. The towel, she accepted with gratitude; wiping her wet hands on anything she was currently wearing was just moving water around. She knew this because she’d tried a few times.

“How’s Grethan doing?”

Evanton raised a brow, but the severe lines of his face relaxed a bit. Which didn’t really change the multitude of wrinkles; it just rearranged them. “He’s doing well. Better than I’d expected, and I will thank you not to repeat that.”

“Well enough?”

“Well enough that I won’t let him get lost in the garden, if that’s your concern.”

She knew that he’d taken other apprentices, and she knew that they hadn’t worked out; he’d said as much. What she’d never explicitly asked was what happened to the ones that didn’t. Knowledge about this space was very hard to come by. Not even the Eternal Emperor could force his way in.

Which he probably hated.

She hesitated, and then nodded. The truth was, she liked this old man and always had. She trusted him. She didn’t enjoy today’s mood, but only an idiot would; she also expected it to pass. “So…what’s happened in the garden?”

“What do you think has happened?”

Grimacing, she said, “I recognize this. I have a Dragon as a teacher. You, however, aren’t responsible to the Eternal Emperor for my marks and comprehension, so you don’t get to play that game with me.”

He chuckled then, and to her surprise, he did take a sip of the tea. He didn’t appear to enjoy it, so stability of a kind was preserved in the universe. “It wasn’t that kind of question. Although to be fair, Grethan would now be cowering behind you if I’d asked him the same thing.”

Kaylin, who did enjoy the tea, relaxed a bit. Since her life didn’t depend on her answer, and since she’d been thinking of nothing else since she’d stepped through the damn door—with the single exception of the dammit reserved for loss of her hair stick—she said, “The elements here are alive. I’d say that at least three of them are upset. I can’t tell if it’s anger or panic,” she added. “Because I can’t really hear their voices.”

Evanton nodded.

“But the fire’s not there.”

“No. Fire has always been a bit unusual in that regard. The fire,” he added, pointing to the hearth, “is here, and a damn good thing, too. You might tell it a story or two—that seemed to work well the last time.”

“Evanton, did I mention I’m on duty?”

“At least once. Possibly twice. I admit I was slightly distracted, and I may not have been paying enough attention.”

“And if I believe that, you’ve got a love potion to sell me.”

“At a very, very good price, I might add.” He brought his mug to his mouth, and then lowered it again without taking a sip.

“Does this happen often?”

“No.”

“But it’s happened before.”

“Yes.”

When Evanton was monosyllabic, it was not a good sign. “Can I ask when?”

“You can ask.”

“Evanton—”

“You know far more about this garden than anyone who isn’t a Keeper, or who isn’t trying to learn how to be one, has a right to know.”

“And you’re not about to add to that.”

“Actually, I would very dearly love not to add to that, but I am, in fact, about to do just that. What you actually understand about the garden is not my problem. That you understand that this is significant, however, is.”

“Why me?”

“That would be the question,” he replied.

“I haven’t done anything recently. Honest.”

“No. You probably haven’t. But something is happening in the city, and the elements feel it. They’re not,” he added, “very happy about it, either.”

“No kidding. Why do you think it has anything to do with me?”

“Because,” he replied, lifting his hands, “if you take the time to observe some of the visual phenomena, it’s not entirely random. The elements are trying to talk.”

Given the lack of any obvious visibility in the driving sheets of rain, Kaylin thought this comment unfair. Given Evanton’s mood, Kaylin chose not to point this out. While she was struggling to stop herself from doing so, Evanton’s hands began to glow.

Out of the light that surrounded them, a single complicated image coalesced on the tabletop, between their cups. It was golden in color, and it wasn’t a picture. It was a word.

An old word. Kaylin’s eyes widened as she looked at it.

“Yes,” he said, as her glance strayed to her sleeves, or rather, to her arms. “It’s written in the same language as the marks you bear.”

Those marks ran the length of her arms, her inner thighs and most of her back; they now also trailed up her spine and into her hair. She had toyed with the idea of shaving her head to see exactly how far up they went, but she’d never gotten around to it. Her hair was her one vanity. Or at least, she thought ruefully, her one acknowledged vanity.

Something about the lines of the word were familiar, although Kaylin was pretty certain she’d never seen it before. She wasn’t in the office, and she had no mirror; she couldn’t exactly call up records to check.

“You know what this means,” Evanton said anyway.

She shook her head. “No, actually, I—” And then she stopped, as the niggling sense of familiarity coalesced. “Ravellon.”

He closed his eyes.

The silence lasted a few minutes, broken by the sound people made—or Kaylin did, at any rate—when drinking liquid that was just shy of scalding. Eventually, she set the cup down. “You recognize the name.”

“Yes. I would not have recognized it, however, from this rune.”

“You can read them?”

“I have never made them my study; I am old, yes, but not that old.”

She lifted her cup, watching him, and after a moment, he snorted. “I can, as you must know, read some of the Old Tongue. This, however, was not familiar to me.”

“You don’t know the history of Elantra?”

“I know the history of the city very well,” he replied. His voice was the type of curt that could make you bleed.

Since Kaylin had lived for most of her twenty-odd years in ignorance of this history, she shrugged.