“—then why do I hate Dragons?”
“Something like that.”
“Because they destroyed my home. I was like any other angry Barrani child; I daydreamed of returning to the father who had dismissed me and forcing him to acknowledge me. Probably,” he added, sliding back into Elantran, “by killing him. I was not happy to be thrown away. But I found family in the others. I found companionship such as I had never known. I found people whowantedto trust as much as I did, even if they’d been told that it was foolish, stupid, weak.
“We didn’t give each other our True Names by accident—but we didn’t do it trivially, either. We’d all been told the same stories about the cost of it. I loved them. I still love them.
“Annarion was different. I think Annarionwasthe best and the brightest of his line. He said his brother had volunteered to come in his stead—because the risk to the line was too high if the experiment failed. You can’t imagine how I envied him.”
“Obviously their father didn’t agree.”
“Annarion refused. He refused because he was concerned and he was afraid—for his line—of the cost of Nightshade’s loss. He won that argument, but it wasn’t a short one, and Nightshade was not happy. And of course, you know what happened.”
Kaylin nodded.
“Annarion didn’t lie. Hewasafraid for his line. He thought—he believed—that Nightshade could govern and lead it, should their father fall. He never imagined that Nightshade would become outcaste—he never had nightmares about it, either. His confidence in his brother was absolute and unshakeable.”
Kaylin winced. She wasn’t sure if she winced on Annarion’s behalf, or on Nightshade’s. She could almost feel the anger of the younger; could certainly feel the guilt and the pain of the older. “Does family always work this way?” she asked.
“Not mine. And from the sounds of it, not most of ours.” Mandoran exhaled. “Teela loved her mother, and...I think we all would have liked her mother. But her father had her mother killed, and you know how that turned out. It’s easy to love someone completely for a handful of years—even mortal years. It’s not easy to continue that with the passage of centuries. It’s just not.”
“But you and your cohort have.”
“It’s the Name, Kaylin. We can see each other’s thoughts, feel each other’s feelings, trade information so naturally we forget it’s necessary to speak at all. We’re not one person, but we’re like one entity. Except Teela. No, don’t make that face—Teelaispart of us. But she’s changed in ways we haven’t. And she can hide herself, guard herself, keep herself out of our heart.
“Sedarias accepts it the most easily, but Sedarias was the oldest of us, and her family was highly, highly political. Not all of us feel the same way. We don’t think Teela’s happy.”
“You think she would be if she relaxed?”
“Yes.” Mandoran exhaled. “And no. Annarion isn’t happy. He’s been unhappy since his reunion with the brother he loved and revered.”
“If it makes you feel any better, Nightshade’s pretty miserable, as well.”
“I thought it would,” Mandoran conceded. “But actually, it doesn’t. At all. I mean—if Nightshade had changed so much that he’d given up on Annarion, that he’d stopped caring about him at all, sure. But it’s pretty clear to everyone except Annarion that he never did. That he does, in fact, love his brother—that he’s never stopped. Sedarias believes that the reason Nightshade is outcaste is that he wouldn’t give up on Annarion, and he pushed the wrong people in the wrong way far too often. What do you think?”
“I think she’s probably right.”
“So, on the one hand, Annarion, who was homesick for centuries. On the other, Nightshade, who surrendered the rest of his life and position in order to find a way to return his brother home. You were that way.” Mandoran glanced at the mark on her cheek. “We can’t prevent Annarion’s pain. But we don’t want to destroy Nightshade, either. Well, most of us don’t. So mostly, it just sucks. It’s like—there’s all this warmth and family love and it’s causing nothing but pain. It’s a waste.”
A very loud Barrani voice broke the quiet. Mandoran slumped against the table, turning his face to the side. “That’s Annarion.”
“I know. I’m heading to bed.”
“You won’t be able to sleep.”
“That’s just shouting. Helen can keep that level of noise out of my room.”
“That level, yes. But they’re just starting.”
Kaylin nodded. “And I might as well get whatever sleep I can before nothing can drown it out. Who knows? I might be lucky. The midwives’ guild might have an emergency.”
Chapter 20
Kaylin did not consider this the height of luck four hours later, and cursed herself for her thoughtless, offhand comment. It was fine to complainafterthe fact. It was fine to complain if youdidthe work. But somewhere, some woman was struggling simply to survive the birth of her child—and Kaylin had made a joke about it.
“Why didn’t you wake me upsooner?” Kaylin demanded of her home.
“I woke you as soon as I had evaluated the message, dear,” Helen said.
