“It’s you or the Barrani Court of the West March.”
He smiled, then, a flicker of expression on an otherwise serene face. “Stay here a moment, Lord Kaylin. Ah, apologies, Kaylin.”
“Where are you going?”
“I have something of a gift for you.” He faded almost instantly from view.
Beware of Barrani gifts,Lord Nightshade said softly. She felt the edge of his curiosity.You must learn caution, especially now.
He’s not Barrani, he’s a Hallionne.
Yes. But remember, Kaylin: Annarion’s friends—Nightshade did not care for the term “cohort”—departed from Alsanis.
Before Nightshade could continue, Alsanis returned. In his hands he carried a small, wooden box, into which had been carved both leaves and flowers. It was small enough to be a ring box.
“It is not a ring,” the Hallionne said quietly. “And it may be of no significance to you at all in future. But if it is, you will know when to use it.”
“What is it? Can I open this?”
“Try.”
She did. The lid would not budge. “I don’t get it.”
He smiled. “No, Kaylin, you don’t. It is a gift. What you call a home, some call a cage. Remember.”
She slid the box into the small pack she wore across her hips.
“It is time to go back to your companions. Terrano is not malicious. Nor are his friends. Even the harm they did—the great harm—they did for the sake of each other. If the Hallionne are both Immortal and all powerful within our boundaries, those boundaries are fixed and immoveable. You have a power that we do not have: the freedom to choose. To judge. Judgment is oft misused, as any other weapon. Therefore, use both wisely.”
* * *
Bellusdeo and Lord Barian appeared to be involved in lively conversation when Kaylin returned. Lively, even friendly, conversation. Although their eyes retained the racial hue that implied caution or danger, both the blue and the orange had lightened somewhat. Lirienne stood to the side in silence, but looked across the courtyard when Kaylin entered it.
What are they talking about?
The war, he replied.Or rather, the shape of the lands before the final war. The placement of Aeries. The appearance of flights that have long since ceased to grace the skies. She remembers some few of their number and name—and of course, so does Barian.
Weren’t they trying to kill each other, back then?
Ah, yes. But as is oft the case with those who stood on the front lines of war, they have more in common with their individual enemies than they have with those who were not affected by war at all. The Dragonflights were worthy of fear and respect, but so, too, the Barrani units.
I thought Barian was younger.
None of us are young compared to you.
She looked pointedly at Terrano, who appeared to be trying to catch a butterfly. Loudly.
The Lord of the West March smiled, but even as Kaylin turned to catch a glimpse of actual warmth on his face, it drained away, and not slowly, either. She felt the moment amusement gave way to alarm. Before she could speak, the familiar did: loudly, and in her ear.
Both the Dragon and the Warden stopped speaking; they turned toward the familiar and then away, to Terrano. And Kaylin realized then that her assumptions of immaturity were very, very wrong. Yes, he was chasing a butterfly.
And no, it wasn’t playful.
“Go,” she told the familiar, as she drew a dagger and started to move. “Alsanis!” There was no reply.
“We are not in his dominion, yet,” Lirienne said. He had not drawn sword, but had brought both of his palms together in a strangely deliberate way that implied prayer without any of its actual reverence.
The familiar flew to Terrano. No, she thought, he flew to the butterfly. And now that she looked, she realized it had the appearance of a butterfly, but not its delicate, haphazard flight. Its colors were bright, the wings strangely glittery. And as she watched, she realized that the colors were not fixed; they were changing.
