He was lying, or thought he was lying; she could sense that. She didn’t push for an honest answer, because the consequences of pushing—for Ynpharion—would be too high. Ynpharion didn’t appreciate this, but never had. He found it beyond mystifying. It no longer made him deeply suspicious, but it made him uncomfortable because it implied pity.
It’s not pity, she snapped.Fine. You can’t answer and I’m too cowardly to try to make you. Better?
It wasn’t.
Kaylin glanced at Hope, his wings now lofting in a breeze that appeared to be made of light. “Can you find him?”
“Not on my own.”
“Can Spike?”
“Spike cannot operate entirely independent of you at the moment—and we both consider that the wisest, or safest, of choices.”
“So that’s a no.”
Hope nodded.
Kaylin closed her eyes, and the sounds of distant footsteps receded further. She listened. She could sense Lirienne, and was surprised at how close he was. On reflection the surprise was stupid; she was with the Consort, and the Consort was his beloved sister. He was probably at least as worried as anyone else in this hall. More so, because he could not simply arrive, combat ready, from his halls in the West March.
She was aware of Severn. He was not entirely aware of her. All of his attention was focused on the halls in which he and Teela now played point. Severn could adapt to any partner, but Kaylin couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she should be there, with the two of them, and not here in relative safety.
She shook that regret off.
Nightshade.
Silence.
Calarnenne.The silence continued. “Lady.”
The Consort glanced over her shoulder.
“I’m not sure I can find him from here.”
“Find him, if you can. It is not merely a matter of sentiment,” she added, her voice cool, her expression remote. “He bears one of the three, and if he is lost forever, it will be lost with him.”
Evarrim actually chuckled; the set of his shoulders softened. “Meliannoshas had other wielders, but there is only oneMeliannos. I will protect the Lady in your stead should you find it necessary—or possible—to extract him.” He did not mention Nightshade by any of the names he used.
Kaylin called Nightshade again. There was no answer. She expected no answer. “Is Teela far enough away that she can’t see us?”
“Unless she has eyes in the back of her head, yes. Her attention is not upon you except in a very desultory way; she is attempting to make certain that you will be safe while you traverse the halls ahead.” Evarrim was no longer looking at Kaylin.
“Good.”
Kaylin bowed her head, lifted her hand and touched her cheek, her fingertips grazing the mark that Nightshade had left there. It was like a tattoo, but the ink in which it had been drawn was magical in nature, and indelible; nothing smudged it, nothing caused it to fade. Nightshade’s thugs—or guards, if she was being charitable, and as she’d grown up in the fiefs, charity toward them was low—called hererenne. She understood the mark had significance to the Barrani; it had enraged Teela and Tain when they’d first laid eyes on it. The existence of the mark was one of the deepest sources of conflict between Annarion and Nightshade. Teela and Tain had gotten used to it. So had Kaylin. Annarion had not. He didn’t comment on it. He didn’t ask about it anymore. But it was always there, in the background.
She understood that it was a binding of sorts, a claim that implied ownership or intimacy—neither of which were based in fact.
She also understood that it was not a binding based on, or rooted in, name. It couldn’t be, because when he’d laid that mark on her cheek, she hadn’t had one. She had taken a True Name for herself during the test of the Tower—a test that the cohort were entangled in, even now. In theory, the Barrani needed names to wake, to come to life; Kaylin certainly hadn’t.
She thought, now, that Nightshade had marked her as a way of bridging a distance made of gender, race, age—or perhaps it was a backup. He had chosen to reveal his True Name to her, after all. Even now, struggling to find him along the binding strands of that name, she didn’t understand that choice.
She understood that the name itself was not the bridge she needed. And she wondered, as she shifted her attention away from it, what the silence would feel like if he had died. She wasn’t certain that Teela was right—maybe Barrani experienced it differently. She had no way of knowing for certain, because she was human, and would remain so.
She pressed her fingers into the mark, more for luck than for effect. She had never tried to speak using the mark; she’d always considered it lesser than the name itself. But the mark on her cheek warmed to the touch. She thought it might be her imagination, because she was worrying it with her fingertips, as if it were a scab or a bruise.
“No,” Hope said quietly. “It is not your imagination. What do you hope to achieve?”
“I want to find Nightshade. Shut up and let me concentrate.”
