“And your oath?” the Consort asked.
“If you feel it necessary, we will undertake that oath and its ceremony when we arrive at the High Halls. I do not believe Helen is equipped to perform it.”
“It is not,” Helen said quietly, “an oath one would demand of anyone invited as a guest.” Which was not entirely agreement. “If it is acceptable to you, I will have food brought in and placed on the sideboard; you may eat in a way that does not disturb either your maps or your discussion. It is not a formal dinner, and for that, I apologize, but I feel that some food is necessary.”
“Your hospitality is not in question,” the Consort replied, “and it will receive no complaints.”
The rest of the meal—such as it was—involved maps and discussions about the nature of Shadow, and the possible nature of the one that existed at the base of the High Halls.
Spike was a ball of nerves. While he was reasonably certain he knew who—or what—that Shadow was, he was notentirelycertain, and the thought that everyone present intended to stake their lives on what was, in part, his opinion appeared to be giving him hives.
Helen did make changes to the room to accommodate what she called a sideboard; food appeared as if by magic, because itwasmagic. Plates and smaller standing tables also materialized, and if the furniture itself hadn’t been so perfect, Kaylin might have been in the Halls of Law at the height of planning an action that involved the full force.
Even with the topic of discussion—and there was no secondary topic—Kaylin felt far more relaxed than she had while considering the Consort’s visit; it was far less stressful, somehow, than the Emperor’s had been. This work, even dressed up as it was, was work that she knew.
Spike was less sanguine. She didn’t know what he’d done for a living—and the idea that Shadows had to dosomethingfor a living was a new and foreign one to her—but clearly, it hadn’t been police work. Maybe his entire existence had been bound up in being portable Records; maybe his function was to be what memory crystals—those expensive and magical intrusions that were costly, and therefore, thank whatever gods existed, rare—were to the Hawks.
Her entire arm felt numb because Spike was vibrating so much while sitting in place. She thought it was nerves until she glanced in Helen’s direction. Helen was rigid. She might have been made of stone.
“Helen?”
“Spike’s concerns are twofold,” Helen said, although Kaylin hadn’t had time to frame a question. “You are right; he is concerned that you are making a plan of action based in part on his information, which is not one hundred percent correct. But that is the lesser concern.”
Everyone poring over maps and discussing dates of arrival froze and looked up. Everyone except the Arkon, who would have no role to play; the Arkon had never fully taken his eyes off Helen.
“What’s his major concern?”
“That he is, in fact, correct in his assumption.”
“He’s afraid he’s right?”
“Yes. I have been attempting to explain this evening’s discussion. Spike’s understanding of politics—of living politics—is, of course, in keeping with his personal experience.”
“Meaning none of this makes any sense to him.”
“He can understand that there are variances in your positions—he sensed conflict clearly—but cannot understand why; the two positions, in his view, are so remarkably close together they should engender no difficulties.” Helen’s smile was brief and wry.
“He probably can’t see much difference between the Barrani and the Dragons.”
“He does see qualitative differences between the two species. Races,” she added, grimacing slightly. “But they are very like the difference between types of grass to Spike—and in this analogy, Spike isnota gardener. He sees that you are, effectively, planted in the same soil, and you require the same sustenance—water, sunlight. I have attempted to explain the concept of weeds, but that has not gone well. It is all weeds, to Spike. He now wishes to know why some plants are desirable and others are not.”
“Well, I’m kind of with Spike there. Except for poison ivy. And the things with the sharp thorns. Oh, and the things with the burrs that you can’t get out of your hair.”
Helen lifted a hand, and Kaylin stopped. “If you continue in this vein, Spike will fall back to cataloging your various complaints, and while he is likely to ask you questions, I feel it would be best to have that conversation later. Spike’s concerns about the present situation are far more pressing.”
“To Spike?”
“Yes, even to Spike.” Helen paused, and then added, “Because they are pressing concerns to you, and he is attached to you until you detach him.”
“I can leave him here when we go to the Halls.”
Both Spike and Helen said “No” at the same time; Spike’s contained more outrage. It was clear from Sedarias’s expression that she felt the same as Spike. But Sedarias had seen Spike in the outlands; she’d seen the form he’d taken—and if he now fit in the palm of Kaylin’s hand, albeit not entirely comfortably, she couldn’t have lifted or moved him then.
He had agreed to serve Kaylin, in some fashion. She didn’t entirely understand why.
“You will need help,” Spike said. “You will need all the help you can get. Is that the right phrase?”
“It’s the right phrase,” Kaylin replied, although she suspected he was speaking to Helen. “Fine. Spike is very concerned and I’m not leaving him here. But if I take him to the High Halls, he’s likely to cause concern to the Barrani Court.”
