“And what does that amount to?”
Ynpharion, on the other hand, didn’t have as much facial control as he thought he did.
“A fair question,” the Consort replied. Her eyes were blue. The question might have been fair, but it didn’t make her any happier. “I am Consort. I occupy one of the two High Seats. How much weight do you think my word carries?
“I have come to dinner. I have spoken with you all. I can return to the High Court and confirm that you are, indeed, Barrani, not something monstrous or dangerous; that you are like An’Teela, who has—in terms of martial prowess—almost no equal.
“Or I could go back to Court to confirm our unspoken fears: that you are other, you are corrupted, you are a threat to the Barrani. If, upon my return to that Court, I offer the latter opinion, you will never face the Tower as Barrani. You will never be Lords of the Court.”
The wisdom of threatening the cohort, however obliquely, was highly questionable. Kaylin managed to keep this to herself. There was something about Sedarias that had snapped into place; she was, for the first time, at home.
“If we are never to be Lords of the Court,” she replied, her eyes a blue-green at odds with her expression, “we will never encounter your enemy. We will not enter the High Halls; if you return with the latter report, we will be outcaste, all of us. That is not, of course, our desire. You have your duties and responsibilities—to all of the Barrani—and we have ours, to our families, our history.
“We have no desire to interfere with, or denigrate, your duties. We are all aware of your import to the Barrani. Nor do we have any desire to remain sundered from our homes. You did not breathe life into us—but your predecessors did.
“But we have our own—smaller—duties and responsibilities. And we’re not about to turn and walk away from them. Even if you tell us it’s for the betterment of our race, we don’t choose to accept that. You know what we want.”
“I do now,” the Consort replied, and her eyes, like Sedarias’s, lightened, shading toward the green that was their primary color. “Over the course of the evening, I have come to understand that you are not one mind, not one being; you are Barrani, with the variety of individual reactions that any such gathering of our kin might contain. You were the only one of the twelve chosen to go to the green who was designated as the probable heir of your line.”
Sedarias nodded.
“I will swear a blood oath, a binding oath, if it will put you at ease. I will ask that you swear the same, because I require it. And because we are in Lord Kaylin’s home, I will be honest—and honesty has often been very poorly respected among our kin. I understand why you are feared. I understand the reasons that your presence at the heart of our ancient stronghold might break far more things than they fix. I understand that not all of the voices raised in concern are raised for purely political reasons.
“In other circumstances, my voice might join those who speak against you. There has been much made of time, in those heated sessions; they wish you to live among the Barrani while they gauge the actual dangers you present. And this is wise; time will often tell.
“But Lord Kaylin is mortal. The time they wish to take—the cautious, perhaps necessary time—will see her years dwindle. Given her remarkable lack of caution in the face of her own ignorance, those years might be far fewer than the expected mortal tally.
“I cannot afford the time, and it is time you yourselves are unwilling to grant.” She then turned, not to Kaylin or Sedarias, but to the Arkon. “I am not a scholar of note. I studied only those things that interested me, and in the end, very little interested me for long; I wearied of the lessons that history taught, and I wearied of the conclusions that seemed to be drawn from those lessons by those who were considered much more focused, much more intelligent, than I.
“Even so, I understand that knowledge is necessary, that the wisdom that comes from experience must at least be respected. None here—not even myself—have your breadth of knowledge and experience. If you speak against this, I will be forced to listen.”
“I will not force you to listen,” the Arkon said; his smile—and his eye color—implied that she had amused him. “Although I have come with my own guard, I do not believe any attempt at coercion would be met with tolerance from the two you yourself have brought. That young man has eyes that are almost—but not quite—black. I believe you have alarmed him.”
Kaylin did not snicker, but that took effort. Ynpharion was embarrassed, because the Arkon was, of course, referring to him.
“And starting a battle of that nature while under Helen’s protection would be very, very poor behavior for anyone she consents to receive as a guest.”
“Thank you, Arkon,” Helen said.
“You have given me little time to consider the ramifications of the problem for which you seek my counsel.”
This time it was Bellusdeo who snorted. There was smoke in it. This seemed to amuse the Arkon, as well. Whatever had caused his shift in eye color had subsided. “Lannagaros, honestly, you are dissembling.”
“Is he?” the Consort asked. Her eyes were still martial, but the line of her shoulders was once again fluid and graceful.
“He accepted the invitation to dinner because I was to be present and I desired it.”
“I will, with a few exceptions, grant Bellusdeo anything she desires.”
“And she knows it?”
“And yes, she knows it. I am considered far too indulgent—it is one advantage of old age. I am allowed to be.”
“She is likewise allowed to be critical?”
“If there is affection in it, yes. But, Lady, so are you. You are allowed a much wider range of emotional expression than any other member of the High Court. You are indulged. It is why no mention is made of her use of a name that is no longer relevant.” There was a subtle warning in this that even Kaylin couldn’t miss.
Then it isn’t subtle, Ynpharion snapped. He was still smarting.
