“How did Candallar know?”
“If you will be silent for a few moments, I might be able tothinkwithout interruption.” His eyes had grown orange, and that orange deepened. This made it pretty easy to shut up.
He closed his eyes; the orange shuttered for a moment. Kaylin could feel Nightshade leaning in, the whole of his attention upon the Arkon, as if he were present in this hall, this enclosed space.
“Karriamis,” the Arkon finally said.
Bellusdeo frowned.
“Karriamis is the ancient name of the Tower that is now called Candallar.”
Kaylin said, “Karriamis was a Dragon.”
“Yes. Before he became the heart of, the mind of, one of the six, he was a Dragon.”
She thought of the Ancestors of the Barrani; she wondered if Dragon ancestors were as terrifying. She didn’t ask. Instead, she said, “You think he knew Aramechtis.”
“Yes. I was young,” the Arkon said. “I was young enough that even my memory is stubborn and hard to retrieve. I have not thought of Aramechtis for centuries. I have not thought of Karriamis for far, far longer. It is possible, then, that Karriamis knew—or hoped—that the Academia had been preserved in some fashion.
“You have seen the Tower of Tiamaris. You have spoken with its Avatar. Tara is what remains of the heart of that Tower. Karriamis is no longer a Dragon; I do not believe he could be retrieved and returned to us now. The changes the Ancients made were not easily unmade by any. Nor were those chosen to become our strongest defense againstRavellonall of one people or another. But it is possible that the Tower of Nightshade had little regard for the Academia, and little regard for its purpose.
“The same might be said of the inhabitants of the other Towers, those beings who became their core. Not all of the people who lived at the time chose to devote their time and energy toward studies such as the Academia produced. I would need to see the historical records of the student body to fully ascertain what I now suspect.”
“That Karriamis was a student here?”
“Long before I was, yes. What does that expression mean?”
“I’m wondering if you know where those records would be kept.”
“Yes. You’ve been there. They were, at one time, in the building in which you found Larrantin.”
Since getting out of this long stone hall didn’t seem to be an option, checking bureaucratic student records was out of the question. Kaylin, therefore, returned her attention to the word that had risen from her skin.
“Yes,” the Arkon said, although she hadn’t asked anything of anyone, including herself.
“Why do you think Killian sent us here?”
“Safety.”
“Ours or his?”
“Both. I am, however, more concerned about Killian’s safety than our own.” His glance slid over Bellusdeo. Her smile was all teeth. “I believe he understands that he has intruders, but cannot yet differentiate between those and students.”
“There’s a child there that went missing not long ago, and he’s in Nightshade’s class. I’m not even sure he can read.”
“That is unkind.”
“Why? I could barely read until I joined the Hawks, and I was older. If reading hadn’t been a necessary part of the job—readingandwriting—I wouldn’t have bothered with either.”
The Arkon looked truly scandalized, an expression unfamiliar to Kaylin.
“Knowledge for its own sake is kind of pointless. I didn’t have the time for it because the knowledge Iwasdeveloping could keep me alive for another day. Staying alive for another day isn’t something that worries you. You have a palace over your head. You have all the food you could want.”
“Knowledge for its own sake,” the Arkon replied, in a less heated and less curt tone, “can become an unexpected route to survival. The understanding gained from so-called pointless study can illuminate the life you lead now in unexpected ways.”
Kaylin shrugged. “I haven’t noticed that it’s getting us anywhere right now.” She turned away from the Arkon and toward the rune that she had lifted from her skin. Not the one that shed light, but the other—the one that felt weightless, as if it were air.
“Do you know this word?” she asked the Arkon.
