Michelle Sagara – Cast in Sorrow (страница 10)

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The interior of the building—the parts that were visible in a straight walk from the door to a large suite of rooms—was distinctly different from the High Halls. There was far less stone here, and the wood was warm and bright; the floors were pale, but hard, the frames and lintels of doors carved out of the same wood. There were small trees, small fonts, and—as Teela stepped through a wide set of open doors—a large, circular courtyard.

In the center of the courtyard was a fountain.

Kaylin stopped walking. The Barrani at her back didn’t run into her, but they did move pointedly to either side. Teela, however, stopped. The Lord of the West March, sensitive to his sister, returned from the head of the procession. Kaylin was aware of them both, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the fountain—and she wasn’t even certain why.

Fountains weren’t exactly common in Elantra, although they weren’t unknown. Where they existed in crowded, well-traveled, public areas, they accumulated dirt, dead leaves, small sticks, and an assortment of pebbles. They also generally sported small children who were likely to get their ears boxed in the immediate future.

The water here was clean. It was clear as new glass. It reminded Kaylin of the height of summer, not because there was anything about it that suggested seasons, but because it promised blessed relief from the heat. The only noise in the courtyard was the fall of water and the slight weight of footsteps. Barrani didn’t have thunderous, heavy steps unless they were making a point.

“What do you see?” The Lord of the West March asked.

“Water.” As answers went, it defined inadequate—it was a fountain. Of course it had water. She was aware of the basin into which the water fell; the fountain was not the heavy, worn stone she was accustomed to seeing. A layer of what she assumed was gold-leaf gilded the basin, and writing, again in gold, the base into which it was set.

“I see the bridge,” she said, after a long pause. “And mist or fog.”

The Lord of the West March nodded, eyes narrowed. “An’Teela?”

“I see a fountain,” she replied. “Water is, apparently, falling from a small rift in the air above the basin.”

“You don’t see a bridge.” Kaylin’s voice was both flat and resigned.

“No, kitling.”

“And I shouldn’t, either.”

“It is not a test,” the Lord of the West March said with a tight smile. “There is no correct answer.”

Kaylin glanced at Severn.

I see what Teela sees.

Damn it. The small dragon squawked and pushed himself off her shoulder.

“Kitling,” Teela said sharply. “Remember what happened the last time your pet was near water.”

The Lord of the West March lifted a hand—in Teela’s direction. “What does he intend?”

Kaylin, however, reached for the small, winged rodent. She caught his legs and pulled him down as gently as she could; he wasn’t amused and let it be known. He sounded like an enraged chicken.

“His previous interference,” Teela said, “forced the Lady to wake Hallionne Kariastos.”

Brows rose over green-blue eyes. “Is he as he seems?”

“A familiar?” Teela shrugged. “If he is, legend proves unreliable in its particulars. But it is clear that Kariastos understood him in some small measure, and he proved himself useful on the forest paths.”

He’d done more than that, but Kaylin didn’t argue. “What,” she whispered, “is the problem?”

The small dragon nipped her hand. He was still annoyed, but not so much that he tried to take a chunk out of her. A cat would have, by this point; he was trying to lift the wings over which her palm was cupped. He chose to squawk instead. She heard his voice, and mentally adjusted her description. He sounded like a crow.

She couldn’t make out words; she wondered if Teela was right. Hallionne Bertolle had seemed to understand him, and he’d certainly said something more complicated than “hungry” or “sleepy” or “get lost.” Maybe she wasn’t listening the right way—but she wasn’t an ancient, sentient building. She wasn’t even immortal.

The small dragon caught her hand in his jaws. He continued to squawk while doing it, but the sound was muffled. Sighing, she lifted her head and froze.

The bridge was gone, as was the mist; water fell, but it fell in a sheet, and the sheet had the shape of long, flowing robes. “Teela,” Kaylin whispered. “Has the fountain changed?”

“No. Not to me. You no longer see a bridge?”

Kaylin shook her head. “I see the Tha’alaan.” Lifting her face, she stepped toward the water elemental on her pedestal.

Kaylin.

She reached out with one hand; the small dragon seemed content to spread his wings without leaping immediately into the air.

You are far from home.

“Tell me about it.” She hesitated. Water rose in the shape of a transparent limb and an open hand. Kaylin slowly raised her palm. When the two—flesh and water—connected, she heard the voices of the Tha’alani. Touching the Tha’alaan was always a shock, but never unpleasant; it was like finding an unexpected bonfire on the winter streets of the fief. It promised safety, warmth, and a place to rest. Even if she didn’t belong by birth, she felt welcome when someone else opened the door. She was a guest, here, in a place where there were no secrets and little judgment.

“An’Teela, come. If our kyuthe wishes to marvel at the fount, I will not deny her, but we have the responsibility of the Lady, and we must see to it.”

“I have to go,” Kaylin whispered. “Will you be here?”

If I understand your question correctly, yes. I am bound to this place. It is not a harsh binding, she added, when Kaylin inhaled sharply. But I seldom hear mortal voices.

“Do you hear any voices at all?”

Only one.

She was certain then that the water spoke of the Lord of the West March. “Do you speak to him?”

He does not hear my voice. Sometimes, I hear his. It is not the voice of my people, but I do not fear it.

“Kitling?”

“Coming. Sorry.” She lowered her hand while the small dragon leaped up onto her shoulder and whiffled.

Chapter 4

Beyond the fountain was an open arch that led into a cloister. At the end of this cloister was a door. Kaylin’s arms started to itch on approach. Magic generally had that effect on her skin—but she’d seen so much magic that hadn’t in the past weeks she almost welcomed the familiar sensation. The fountain, which was clearly magical in nature, had had no effect at all.

Neither had the Hallionne, or the cold, gray mist in the outlands.

She had a few dozen questions to ask her magic teacher when she made it back to his classroom.

“Your room, Lord Kaylin, is beyond these doors. Lord Nightshade has similar rooms.” Before she could speak, he added, “They are the rooms occupied by the harmoniste and the Teller respectively, when we are fortunate enough to have them chosen.”

Severn caught her arm before she could ask the most obvious question.

“You will not find my domicile similar to the Hallionne. The Hallionne—when awake—are not comfortable residences for my kin. They are all awake now,” he added. “We have not seen such excitement since the close of the last war. You will have to touch the door ward.”

“Do I have to bleed on it?”

His brows rose, and then he chuckled. “I forget my own youth, it is so far behind me. The Hallionne exact a price for their hospitality that the Barrani do not; they also provide security that the Barrani do not. You have spent time in the High Halls; you will find my abode similar in many respects.”

“The fountain—”

He shook his head. “There are fountains within the High Halls.”

They weren’t the same. Kaylin approached the door and laid her palm against the ward engraved on its surface; her arm went instantly numb at the shock of it. The door ward did not, however, set off alarms in any other way, which made it less painful than the wards in the Imperial Library.

The Lord of the West March nodded and the door rolled open. It was not a small door; the Norannir could comfortably fit through its frame. Kaylin felt dwarfed, but expected as much; the Barrani built everything to make visitors feel small and unworthy.

She felt Nightshade’s amusement and noted that he didn’t likewise have to touch the door.

No, Lord Kaylin. This is not the first time I have visited the West March, you may recall.

“Lord Severn, your quarters are not within this wing, but if you will accompany us, I would speak with you.”

Severn inclined his head. He was watchful, but cautious. She wondered if he’d sleep at all as a guest in these halls. On the other hand, she was fairly certain that no other hall would be open to him.

* * *

The Lady’s room was at the end of a hall so wide and vaulted it looked like the nave in one of the great cathedrals. The doors at the end of that hall were closed, but they suited the hall; they were taller and grander—or at least their arches were—than the exterior doors. She turned to look over her shoulder and was surprised to see that most of the Barrani had departed; to where, she wasn’t certain.

This allowed her to relax, inasmuch as one ever did in Barrani Halls. She understood why the Barrani disliked the Hallionne, but she missed them. The Hallionne were tasked with preventing harm from coming to their guests, and they took their responsibilities seriously. Given that most of the harm that could befall their guests came from their other guests, it worked out well for Kaylin. She wasn’t stupid enough to take on the Barrani in all-out melee, and she wasn’t clever enough to slip poison into their food or drink.