“Good. I will therefore endeavor not to find offense at your presence.” The Arkon’s eyes were orange. They’d been gold all evening.
“Had I known that Lord Kaylin was entertaining guests of such obvious import, I would have chosen a different evening to visit.”
“You visit often, do you?”
“I visit my younger brother; he is currently in residence here.”
“Yes. Annarion, I believe.” The Arkon’s smile had teeth in it, and not much else.
Nightshade stiffened.
“He reminds me,” the Arkon added, “of you, in our distant youth.”
“I do not believe I was ever as he is.”
“Not physically, no—but he has a youthful optimism that veers dangerously close to naïveté.”
Kaylin had said many things about Nightshade in her life. Naïveté was no part of them.
“Am I to be refused entry, then?”
“No. It is not my abode. I would counsel it, but Kaylin is somewhat like your younger brother in that regard. I will be blunt. Things are politically difficult for the Emperor, and your presence here increases the difficulty—for Lord Kaylin,” he continued, ignoring her cringe, “and for another of her guests. This difficulty has involved Lord Bellusdeo.”
Nightshade’s eyes cleared somewhat.
“You understand, then.”
“You refer to Moran dar Carafel.”
“I do.” The Arkon did not appear to be surprised that Nightshade knew Moran’s name or situation. Then again, the Aerian Court probably wasn’t the only one that was spying on this house.
For the first time since the door had opened, Nightshade turned to Kaylin. “Has the situation changed since her visit?”
“No.” She exhaled. “Yes. But I don’t understand why. If I had to guess—”
The Arkon cleared his throat. Loudly. It wasn’t a roar, but it reverberated. “She has accepted the mantle of theIllumen praevolo. She has accepted it publicly.”
Nightshade smiled. There was no ice in it, no malice; it made his face look young. All Barrani looked alike to mortals who weren’t familiar with them; Kaylin had that familiarity. But it seemed to her, watching, that the Arkon was right. There was something of his brother in him.
“Lord Grammayre is also here,” Kaylin told Nightshade.
“That is the reason for your dress?”
She had almost forgotten she was wearing it. “...Yes.”
“It is a very fine dress. I would think you might more appropriately wear it in the presence of royalty.”
Silence.
“...Arkon, you did not come alone.” It was not a question.
The Arkon’s smile was genuine. “No.”
“Lord Kaylin, you have always decried politics as a game played by powermongers. You understand that your current dinner table would be considered exceedingly political at this time?”
“I didn’t plan that!” She flushed and snapped her mouth shut.
“Very well. What would you have me do?” Nightshade asked the Arkon. “It is likely my presence will be noted, regardless. It is not the first time I have communicated with Lord Grammayre; it will, no doubt, not be the last. He will support thepraevolo?”
