“You can’t tell her yourself?”
“It would be better coming from you.”
“But the Barrani understand what you’re saying, most of the time!”
“Yes. But this is not that most. Tell her. Spike and I must enter the interior and secure the rest of the rooms.”
“What, exactly, does ‘compromised’ mean?”
“If she means to lead you to the Adversary through these rooms, you will not arrive at a destination of her choosing. Or yours.”
Kaylin knelt and touched the cratered floor. “My familiar says that your rooms—or the passageway that leads from them—have been compromised. He and Spike are going to separate from us for the moment and attempt to eradicate the contamination. He asks that you remain here.”
The Consort didn’t even pause; she might not have blinked. Kaylin couldn’t tell because her gaze was on the floor. Itfeltlike marble to the touch, but it certainly didn’t look like it anymore. It resembled melted wax. Her arms had continued their faint marks-driven glow, but her skin no longer hurt. The cratered floor didn’t radiate magic.
“Lady,” Teela said, voice sharp. This dragged Kaylin’s attention from the floor. But the Consort didn’t leave; she merely shifted her position, crouching beside Kaylin to examine the floor. This time, Kaylin did feel the sting of magic. It was a familiar discomfort; it was what she felt when Teela examined crime sites for magical detritus.
Ynpharion, breathe.
What does this so-called contamination entail?
Kaylin bit back the urge to sayHow the hells should I know. Looking pointedly at the floor, she said,Probably Shadow or Shadow-variant spells. Are you afraid that my familiar can’t handle those?
She could feel him marginally relax, which she knew was the most she could hope for. She rose, as did the Consort, and settled in to wait. Waiting was not her forte.
The Consort’s eyes were a deep blue; they weren’t as dark as Teela’s—or any of the other Barrani in the room—but they were far from their usual color. “An’Teela,” she said softly. “Have the cohort arrived at the Tower?”
“Yes. They have arrived; they’ve seen the word the Tower chose for them.” She didn’t volunteer the word, and the Consort, being Barrani, would never ask; she’d probably ask about the details of their sex lives first. Kaylin, being human, was curious, but kept her curiosity to herself.
“Have they entered?”
“There was some discussion about the words chosen, but yes. I believe Sedarias found the Tower the safer place to stand. No one who is not an aspirant will be able to approach them from behind.”
“Have they begun?”
Teela actually grimaced. “If you expect them to rush headlong into the unknown without discussion or debate, you have failed to watch them in close enough quarters. At the moment, they are looking at a flight of stairs, which heads both up and down, and they are arguing about the choice of direction.”
The Consort’s eyes lightened, but did not approach their natural green. “They have not been attacked?”
“Not yet, no. There are stairs and they are—” Teela stopped. “Do remind me, kitling, to strangle Mandoran when we get home.”
“Sedarias will do it before you get the chance,” Kaylin replied. “What’s he doing?”
“Never mind. He is bored of discussion, and does not consider direction to be of value, given what little he knows about the nature of the Tower. His suggestion—flip a coin—did not meet with Sedarias’s approval. His obvious boredom, however, annoyed her.”
Mandoran and boredom were a terrible combination.
“He has just discovered that the walls that enclose the stairs are not walls.”
Even Kaylin cringed, but didn’t ask how he’d discovered this, because she kind of knew. “I’ll remind you to strangle him, if he survives Sedarias.” She had no chance to say more, because Hope had returned. His wings were spread, and a dark wispy smoke rose from their tips, heading toward a ceiling that now seemed too low to contain him.
“Where’s Spike?”
“There has been some difficulty,” Hope replied. “He is assessing the damage and attempting to communicate with the Tower.” Kaylin repeated his answer, word for word. She found it ironic that she could understand him clearly now, because Hope thought no one else would.
“The Tower,” the Consort said softly, “does not speak to us. Not in the fashion that the Hallionne or Helen do.”
“Spike is aware of that; he is not certain if that is due to the damage done in the first war, or if the function of the Tower itself inhibits direct communication. His information in regard to the Tower itself is old.”
