“Candallar’s dead,” she finally said, pulling the counterpane up and tucking it beneath her chin. Hope was curled up on the pillow—the second pillow—and appeared to be asleep.
“Yes.”
“His Tower is empty.”
“Yes.” Kaylin’s silence extended, but it was wakeful. “You are worried about Bellusdeo.”
Kaylin nodded. Unlike Helen, she didn’t need to actually say words to be heard.
“You are worried about yourself.”
There was no point in lying or denying it; there was no one but Helen to hear her.
“She will not leave yet, Kaylin. But she is not a child. This is not her final home.”
“She could have babies here.”
“Not yet. You are to help Lannagaros in the morning. Sleep.”
Bellusdeo was commandeered by the Arkon to be one of his moving aides. Bellusdeo, in turn, commandeered Maggaron, who was built for it, and Kaylin, who was not.
The cohort, however, was teeming with almost indecent amounts of curiosity; they had never visited the Imperial Palace and had therefore never come close to any of the Arkon’s personal hoard. Sedarias offered to help Bellusdeo in her assigned task—where, by offered, one meant commanded, no matter how it was phrased.
Bellusdeo chose to find it amusing rather than annoying and agreed instantly. Kaylin almost pitied the Arkon, who was likely to be frazzled and aggravated even if everything went perfectly. Where the cohort was involved, perfect was a distant, never-visited country.
But Valliant and Serralyn were practically quivering with excitement. Helen was less sanguine than Bellusdeo.
“I am not at all certain they are ready to enter the city streets,” she confessed. “Annarion still has difficulty in certain circumstances. I am not worried about Sedarias, Mandoran or Terrano, and Allaron and Fallessian have never caused any detectable problems.”
“We’re going by way of Tiamaris, and Tara should be able to dampen any noise they make.”
“Dampen, yes. I think you will find that you lose some of the cohort to the Academia.”
“I’d be surprised. Sedarias—”
“Sedarias is not the cohort, as you well know.”
“No, just the boss of it.”
Helen chuckled, but once again lapsed into her worried expression. “If they weren’t so interested in the Academia, I think I would counsel heavily against their help.”
Kaylin felt the same. “Terrano will be with us, and he seems to be able to hear when things are off. I think he can keep them in line—or enough in line—until we reach Killian. They’ll be safe there; they won’t have to worry about being heard by things we’d prefer didn’t hear them.”
Helen nodded.
All eleven of the cohort in residence piled out of Helen’s front door in Bellusdeo’s wake. Mandoran was underfoot—Bellusdeo’s feet—the entire way to the palace. Only Teela was absent, but she would be aware of everything the cohort experienced.
The Arkon’s expression upon sighting the cohort was instantly pinched and weary. And no, Kaylin thought, although she hadn’t spoken the title out loud, he was no longer the Arkon. He was, as Bellusdeo had always called him, Lannagaros.
Kaylin’s arms were numb by the time the Arkon decreed the wagons—four in total—ready to go; he had clearly taken magical precautions to protect the contents of these wagons, and it was the type of magic that gave her figurative hives.
“These aren’t the only wagons,” Bellusdeo said. “But these are the ones that contain cargo he feels is delicate or priceless.”
“I’m surprised there’s only four.”
“The interior space of the wagons—you will note they’re all covered—is somewhat larger than the exterior suggests. I highly doubt, given the tenor of the escort, we will encounter difficulties. I believe the Arcanum is preoccupied, and the human Caste Court likewise in flux.”
And those were the two most likely to cause problems.
