And she couldn’t hold it. She couldn’t hold enough of it to use it; it was too large. It wasn’t really a word; it wasn’t a paragraph, or even a page. It was a whole damn book. She might be able to tell someone else what the book was about—but to repeat it, word for word, with intent and will?
Not a chance.
She wondered what happened to those who tried to use the True Name of someone who was, in the end, more powerful than they were.
Nothing good, Ynpharion said, startling in the sudden appearance of his voice. His name, she knew. She could speak it, call it, use it.
You could, he agreed.You are both stronger and weaker than you think. Donottry to speak his name if you cannot contain even the shape of it.
What’ll happen?
You will be his. The name is a bridge, Kaylin. It is a contested bridge. When you have knowledge of the name, you bring an army across it. If you engage the powerful, they come with their own army. There is no guarantee that you will win that fight, and if you lose—the bridge still exists.
She thought the outcaste knew this. He was probably reminding her of his name on purpose. Because she’d be desperate. Or overconfident. And, in truth, she was one of those things. But when faced with Dragons and immortals, she’d never, ever been the other. She had been so far down the bottom of so many hierarchies, the people at the top had probably never been aware of her existence.
That’s how she’d survived. And she intended to survive now.
Ynpharion, who had a lot to gain if she died, approved. Then again, he probably considered most of mortality only slightly more important than earthworms.
Less. The Consort, however, considers you necessary to our people.
But you don’t agree.
What I think doesn’t matter. She has my Name.This was said with pride.And even if she did not, what she considered a necessity would move me regardless. She is the Lady. She is the mother of our people. And she is concerned.
You’re telling her everything that’s happening here?
Yes. She wishes to know. And your control over what you reveal is deplorable. It takes more effortnotto hear you than the inverse. If you intend to contest the outcaste, do not do it with his name. Not yet, and in my opinion—
Which I haven’t asked for.
—not ever.
The part of Kaylin that sometimes said,Oh, yeah? Take this, reared its ugly head. She squashed it. Just because Ynpharion was condescending and arrogant didn’t mean he was wrong.
She felt Shadow surge beneath her hands; she saw the slender, subtle lines of it withdraw from where they’d spread in Bellusdeo’s body. If it had been because of her healing, she would have been happy. It wasn’t. They were regrouping, changing the line of defense and offense. All of that line was now Kaylin, but the power itself was still anchored in Bellusdeo’s body.
In her blood.
Bellusdeo wasn’t particularly happy about this.Let go of me.
Kaylin shook her head and willed herself to ignore the increasingly frantic Dragon. If Bellusdeo wanted to, she could shrug—with some force—and shove Kaylin off her back. Short of that, Kaylin wasn’t going anywhere until she was done.
This Shadow had no will of its own. It wasn’t inert, exactly, but it was a tool; it moved at the will of the outcaste. He could direct it, and defend against the attacks of two Dragons, without apparent effort.
Kaylin’s marks were a steady, almost blinding gold. Her skin burned with the heat of the light shed. But they were words. They weren’t a net, the way the outcaste’s Shadow was. They had the power inherent in True Words. But the nature of True Words wasn’t elastic. It wasn’t malleable the same way Shadow was.
That was the strength of it: it wasn’t malleablebyShadow, either. But she felt the tendrils of Shadow as if they were needles; they pierced her skin, bit into her flesh and expanded like grappling hooks. She reminded herself that she wanted this. The more the Shadow focused on her, the less there was in Bellusdeo.
She had no idea what the outcaste had intended for her roommate; she assumed it wasn’t good.
“Kaylin, what in the hells are youdoing?” Mandoran shouted.
The small dragon—and he was small again—squawked just as loudly in her ear. She didn’t answer either of them. Shadow had spread up, through the palms of her shaking hands. She could no longer let go of it, even if she wanted to. It had not, however, entirely let go of Bellusdeo.
Kaylin said, “I’m sorry, this is going to hurt.” She wasn’t certain if Bellusdeo would hear her or not. Focusing through her own pain, she looked at shapes: specifically, the Dragon’s and her own. The injured body knew its correct shape, its correct state. But the transformed flesh didn’t; Shadow changed the base state. It changed the concept of healthy. What might remain in its wake as its new, best self was not what had existed before the incursion.
This was true of Bellusdeo.
