I take it that’s bad?
No response. Kaylin understood that she could push for one, but didn’t; it would cause them both unnecessary pain. And one of them, a lot of guilt.
“This was your idea?”
“Not really. We could have offered them ripe oranges for all the difference it made to the rest of us. Or gold. Actually, we did offer gold, if I recall.”
“And where did the gold come from?”
“The mortal caste court—the human one. At least I think it did.”
Kaylin could not remember wanting to strangle Mandoran this intensely, but maybe her memory was being kind. Had Terrano not been so confused and so...whatever he was, she would have seriously considered letting her familiar eat him. Or whatever it was he’d attempted to do the first time.
But if she wanted to see him as an enemy, she was failing. She thought if foundlings were given the power Terrano had been given, the world might be in just the same trouble: he didn’t understand consequences. He didn’t understand the world in which Kaylin and almost all of her friends actually lived.
“You don’t happen to remember names?”
“You asked that one already. Humans don’thavenames, anyway.”
“Well, neither do you, anymore.”
“I don’t need one.”
“Neither do we!”
Bellusdeo cleared her throat, which sounded a little like she’d swallowed an earthquake.
Kaylin shoved her hands into her pockets and strode ahead.
* * *
Alsanis was not, like Orbaranne or the other Hallionne, a way station in the wilderness. He was situated in the heart of the Lord of the West March’s territory. For centuries he had been an impassible prison, a symbol of the cost of ambition and hubris. Now, he was a Hallionne. But if what Lirienne said was true, old habits died hard; he had visitors, but they were few.
One of those visitors was, however, in the courtyard.
Kaylin recognized Lord Barian, the Warden of the West March. If she understood the position correctly, he was second only to Lirienne—but he was not a Lord of the High Court, which had caused some friction in his family. His eyes, when he turned to face her, were green; his smile seemed genuine.
“Lord Kaylin,” Lord Barian said, offering her a low and deeply respectful bow.
“Lord Barian.” She became instantly aware of the difference in their clothing, their deportment, and their appearance. Kaylin returned the bow, mindful of Diarmat’s words, which now seemed to be replaying with annoying frequency in the inside of her head.
She rose and glanced around the courtyard, aware that it was the very edge of Hallionne Alsanis. “You’ve been visiting the Hallionne?”
He nodded, his expression serious; he glanced, once, at the Lord of the West March. It was not an entirely friendly glance, but Kaylin didn’t have a deep understanding of the politics of the West March, except for those employed by Lord Barian’s mother, who detested Kaylin, and whom Kaylin would be overjoyed to avoid on this unexpected visit. Contempt and condescension were things Kaylin understood quite well.
His glance once again flickered to—and away from—the Lord of the West March. “The Lord of the West March has, perhaps, acquainted you with the details?”
“I know only that Sedarias and her friends had decided to visit us, and that they disappeared in transit. They chose to travel by the portal paths.” She cleared her throat and started with the easiest introduction first. “This is Terrano. I’m not sure if you’ve been formally introduced.”
His eyes widened. “You are one of the twelve.”
Terrano nodded.
“You are the one who did not choose to remain.”
He nodded again. He looked slightly nervous.
“Have you had word of your friends? Contact with them? The Hallionne Alsanis would be very interested.”
