This was clearly no surprise to Sedarias. A rumble of expression passed through the cohort; only Teela seemed immune to it. Teela, however, was An’Teela.
“It would resolve some political issues, but not in a fashion that would promote long-term stability in the High Court. There would be immediate advantage, but only that. And,” she continued, lifting a hand, “it is not what I personally desire.”
“You are not High Lord, Lady.”
“No, indeed. High Lord is a political position. It is not mine. But you have heard rumors about the High Lord, his brother and his sister, surely?”
Sedarias said, “Which of the dozens would be relevant here?”
Ynpharion was, predictably, annoyed. But annoyance was the new calm, at least for Ynpharion.
“My brothers had no intention of contesting the rule of the High Court. My oldest brother, the heir, intended to take the throne if he was capable of ruling; my younger brother pledged to support him—and meant it. Had things devolved into the more traditional method of determining a ruler, I would have been the Lady, but I would have refused, outright, to become the Consort. I—What is the word? Ah. Love. I love both of my brothers.
“And they, of course, return that. We are not like your cohort; we do not have your experience to mold and shape us. Our experiences nonetheless have. For better or worse, my desire in this particular case carries a great deal of weight. As outcastes, you would, of course, be forbidden the High Halls. You would be forbidden a great deal. I imagine that Lord Kaylin would ignore any such decision; she is mortal. She would, herself, be warned or cautioned, and she would, perhaps with effort, ignore all such warnings. She would, herself, become outcaste.
“This would not, of course, have much obvious effect on Lord Kaylin’s life. But An’Teela would almost certainly join her.”
All eyes became a martial blue in an instant, except for Teela’s. Sedarias, however, did not look surprised. None of them did.
“The decision is not mine to make; it is merely mine to argue, one way or the other. If outcaste, you would, in theory, be forbidden the Hallionne, as well—and I do not believe that Alsanis would be of a mind to obey our laws in this particular case. But Calarnenne was accepted—even welcomed—into the Hallionne, and the polite fiction for his presence was his role as Teller in theregalia. The green chose.”
And the green couldn’t be made outcaste.
“Alsanis has only very recently been allowed to converse with outsiders through anything other than his dreams. Yet if you reached him, I am certain you would be welcome. He would, once again, be isolated—and that isolation would afford him no protection against the type of attack to which he almost succumbed.”
Terrano cleared his throat. Loudly. Allaron swiveled toward him; Kaylin couldn’t see Allaron’s expression, but could guess.
The Consort, however, turned to Terrano. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if we could dispense with the subtle threats.”
“Do you consider my words threats of any kind? If so, I apologize for my clumsiness. Or perhaps Sedarias will explain that they are not threats; they are observations.”
Terrano snorted. “Then perhaps you’d care to dispense with the observations. We may have been locked inside a Hallionne for almost the entirety of our existence, but we understand the consequences that arise from being made outcaste.”
“And perhaps, dear,” Helen said before the Consort could reply, if she intended to reply at all, “you might make an effort to be polite. Andpleasedo not say she started it. She has made every effort to accommodate our rather unusual household.”
Terrano bristled, but shut his mouth. Kaylin imagined there would be words after the Consort had left. She hoped they wouldn’t reach the level of Nightshade-Annarion “discussions.”
“We apologize for Terrano,” Sedarias said, which didn’t improve Terrano’s mood. “We none of us have spent time at Court in recent centuries, and our communications with each other have been, as you must imagine, less formal. While we are, of course, accustomed to long discussions which involve threat assessments, we have never imagined that one of the participants in those discussions would be the Consort.”
“I would be pleased—indeed, gratified—if perhaps we could pursue the type of discussion to which youareaccustomed,” the Consort replied.
Ynpharion was now so tense he would have snapped in half if forced to bend.
What Kaylin found odd was the presence of the Arkon. Bellusdeo was so much part of her daily life by this point, even the cohort had adapted to her draconic presence with astonishing speed. The Arkon, however, was not Bellusdeo; he didn’t live in this house and would probably burn it down if any attempt were made to force him to do so. He was one of the few people Kaylin thought had a chance—no matter how tiny—of succeeding.
As if he could hear Kaylin’s thoughts—and Teela generally told Kaylin never to play cards because her expressions were not terribly opaque—the Arkon rose.
“I do not wish to trouble you if the nature of your discussions is purely caste-court-based. I am certain that anything sensitive would best be divulged in the company of your peers—and I am Arkon, of the last of the Dragon Flights; in no wise, except perhaps on the field of ancient battles, would I be considered a peer.”
“I have already said,” the Consort replied without leaving her chair, “that I would consider your advice and your thoughts on the matter I am about to discuss invaluable. It may be that those thoughts and that knowledge will alter possible future plans. Please—I did not expect to find you here, but I consider it an act of fate. A kind fate.”
“What possible expertise do you expect that I possess?” His eyes were almost gold; he truly considered this to be a Barrani problem, which might have some academic—or prurient—amusement value, but did not constitute an emergency.
“Ancient magics that once either contained or created the Shadows.”
His eyes remained gold, but there were stronger hints of orange in them. Bellusdeo, however, slid straight into full-on orange.
