“If he had that, every single Barrani that faces him would fail the test. I do not believe it is the same at all.”
“And you’re afraid that Kaylin can read True Names?”
“Helen,” Kaylin said quietly, “let me try.”
In the back of her head, Ynpharion was outraged.I am grateful that you did not attempt this parlor trick in the presence of the Lady.
The Lady, Kaylin shot back,knows that I can see names—at least when they’re not in use.I’ve seen the Lake. I’ve taken words from it.
Helen very reluctantly moved out of the way.
True Names were like architecture. Kaylin thought that as she remembered Bellusdeo’s name. She had stood almostinsidethe rune, walled in by its lines and curves and dots. She had not attempted to say the name; she hadn’t attempted to memorize it. But she’d touched it, and that touch had not felt in any way metaphorical.
She’d taken the names of the cohort from the heart of Alsanis; they had been smaller than even the individual marks on her arms. She had carried them as if they were fragile and precious—but again, she could not remember what they were. The thought of attempting to invoke them, to say them out loud, hadn’t really occurred to her.
But it wouldn’t. Had their names been written in Elantran—or even Barrani—she might have done so without a second thought. But she couldn’t read the true tongue. She could only rarely divine meaning—and to do that, she had towork. Even working, she mostly failed. She had a glimmer of understanding on occasion; she’d had that when she repaired Helen during the first night’s attack on her house.
But Helen’s internal words weren’t a name. They were a paragraph, or several paragraphs, and likely written in language to make lawyers and bureaucrats green with envy. If Helen had a name through which she could be controlled—but no. She didn’t. She destroyed that part of herself long ago, in order to finally be able to make her own choices.
And maybe, Kaylin thought, that’s what Ynpharion had wanted. Maybe she’d make the same decision if she could be controlled or commanded in the same fashion. And maybe, in making that attempt, she’d break something of import, too. It was hard to see clearly when you were thrashing and struggling. You didn’t even need a True Name for that to be true.
She took a deep breath, and the familiar on her shoulder sighed—it was a bored, weary sigh—and folded himself across her shoulders, his tail drooping. Mandoran snickered. No one else did.
Terrano, however, had turned toward Kaylin and was watching her intently.
She looked at Bellusdeo. Small and squawky did not lift his translucent wing to cover her eyes; he was bored, he clearly thought this was stupid and he had no intention of joining in. The Dragon met her gaze; her eyes were orange, but it was a lighter orange. She was cautious. She was also, judging by her expression, slightly amused.
She saw Bellusdeo every day. Multiple times. Even when attempting to avoid her. When she looked at the Dragon now, she saw...Bellusdeo. She seemed more militant here, but this was a war room for all intents and purposes.
Kaylin understood this because, as a Hawk, many of the strategic discussions that took place in the office were similar, but on a much smaller scale.
Terrano sat up straight, shifting instantly into a warier position. It wasn’t necessary; Kaylin could see that the marks on her arms were glowing. It was a faint light, but it was distinctly golden, even beneath the layer of cloth that in theory kept the marks away from prying eyes.
Bellusdeo lifted a brow. “I really wish I had thought to do this when Lannagaros was present.”
“I’m really glad you didn’t.”
“He has the breadth of experience to—”
“Trying to concentrate here. Thinking about cranky Dragons may relax you, but I’m not you.” Kaylin forced the image of the Arkon out of her thoughts, which took effort it shouldn’t have. The light on her arms—and probably the rest of her body—brightened. Exhaling, she closed her eyes.
No one told her that she couldn’t see with her eyes closed.
She saw her own marks first; she saw them clearly. They did not appear to be attached to her, because they were no longer flat. Closed eyes didn’t dim their radiance. She could see the shapes, could see the simplicity of some of them, the complexity of others. She had no idea if the dimensionality changed them in any way. She wasn’t Barrani or Dragon; her memory for things that weren’t trying to kill her or eat her wasn’t nearly as good.
Looking away from the marks wasn’t difficult, but her eyes—well, her metaphorical eyes, at any rate—had to adjust to the lack of any other light. No, wait, there was light. It was a similar color, but fainter; it felt vaguely familiar, although she couldn’t immediately pinpoint its source.
Kaylin wanted to shriek in frustration at her lack of information, and almost did. But the light in the distance had begun to resolve itself. She watched as it grew brighter, wondering if Bellusdeo had moved, or if she had walked through a table to reach the Dragon. Neither were entirely relevant, though.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I can see your name.”
Chapter 14
In the silence that followed her pronouncement, Kaylin could hear nothing. No one appeared to be breathing. She opened her eyes.
The marks on her skin had, apparently, deserted that skin; they had seeped up, through the cover of sleeves or legs or hair, and they now floated around her, as if they were a very inadequate cocoon. They were golden, glowing. If she could have read them, they might have told her a story.
Like, say, the story of whatever the hells the Chosen was supposed to be doing with them. She looked past this shield of words to Bellusdeo, who had not moved, but did indeed appear to be breathing. She could see the Dragon. She could not see the name at all.
