“Not well enough to explain it. I recognize it, but the words that I learned did not include this one. Speech of the kind you have heard from me, or from Lord Sanabalis, is more like a summoning than a discussion. The words on your skin are present; the words that we have learned are not. Not in a fashion we recognize.
“But there are more words on your skin,” he continued, when Kaylin didn’t interrupt, “and their meanings are not always clear to me. If I listen carefully, if I focus on nothing else, I can almost hear their echoes—but it is seldom that you and lack of interruption are present in the same space.”
“But you can see it.”
“Yes. As you can see the words I have spoken in your presence.”
“What do you think it means?”
“It is not my thought in the matter that is necessary, but yours. These words were given to you to speak, to use. These words are your acts of communication with the ancient and unknown. This single rune, this single word, is one that you chose.”
But she hadn’t. Not deliberately.
“I believe you chose it when you were attempting to discern how to best speak with Killian—a Killian who is not quite awake.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You have questions, then. At times, answers beget more questions, but even the questions form a type of mental path that you can approach and walk. You understand sentient buildings; you have now met several, and you live in one of them, although it is my suspicion that you might live in any of them and the buildings themselves would be happy to have you.
“I am not certain that Killian would suit either your needs or your purposes, but had you not made the first attempt to speak with him, we might not be here now. I do not know what you were thinking; I know that this word, this true word, is part answer and part question.”
Kaylin looked at the word. She reached up to touch it; it was as solid as it appeared to be to her eyes. When she closed her palm around it, she could pull it down. She didn’t try to stuff it back onto her skin. Instead, she turned to her left, faced the featureless stone wall, and pushed the rune into—or onto—the stone itself.
“What are you doing?” Bellusdeo’s voice was sharp.
“Experimenting?”
“In the current situation, that isnotcomforting. Honestly, I begin to see why Terrano and Mandoran like you so much.”
To Kaylin’s shock, the Arkon said, “We are in an entirely new situation, about which we know very little. Without some experimentation, we might be trapped here in both literal and figurative ignorance.”
“I would like Kaylin not to lose her hand or her arm.”
“She is right-handed, and she is cautious enough to experiment with the hand that is not dominant.”
Two streams of smoke filled the hall. Even had Kaylin not been occupied, stepping between two Dragons who were annoying each other never seemed like the brightest of ideas.
The word, the rune, stuck to the rock. It flattened there slowly, as if melting, and lost dimensionality as it did. It didn’t lose its essential shape or color; it remained a glowing, gold rune on the surface of the wall, as if that stone were skin.
“What do you see?” Kaylin asked the Arkon, her gaze fixed to that single word.
“A word has appeared on the wall, at the height of your shoulder. It is glowing.”
“It looks like a door ward,” Bellusdeo added, studying it. “Is that what you see?”
Kaylin nodded. “Yes, to all of it.”
“You hate door wards.”
“I know. I was just thinking that myself, but with ruder words.” She grimaced and lifted her left hand. “But this one shouldn’t cause actual pain to touch, if that’s what it is.”
“Would you like me to try it? I generally open the Imperial doors, and it cannot be as odious as the ward on the library.” This was said to Kaylin but clearly meant for the Arkon.
Kaylin shrugged. “It’s not a door ward. It should be fine.” And if it wasn’t, the last person she wanted to touch it was Bellusdeo. The Emperor would sacrifice them all in a heartbeat if it preserved the sole female Dragon in the Empire.
The Arkon said, “Move. Both of you.”
Kaylin lowered her left arm.
