Cast in Peril

“If you will therefore condescend to be moved, I will feed you and escort you off the grounds.”

* * *

The food was good. The escort, however, went less smoothly. Teela was there, all right, but as they left whatever set of rooms Teela occupied, the Halls got a little more crowded. It was the wrong kind of crowd; the Barrani didn’t do milling with any competence. Also, two of them were in armor.

Teela didn’t appear to be concerned, if you failed to notice the color of her eyes. Kaylin tensed. This was a fight in which she might be helpful to Teela if circumstances were perfect. Sadly, perfect would involve the sudden disappearance of all but two of the Barrani who loitered here, obviously waiting.

The glass dragon was sitting across her shoulders; she felt him shift position and lifted a hand to press his slender body firmly back down. “Not here,” she told him quietly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to separate.”

He stopped struggling the minute the last of the words left her mouth, and pressed himself into her shoulder, looping his tail around her neck so tightly it reminded Kaylin why she didn’t care for necklaces.

“Lord An’Teela.”

“Lord Darrowelm.” Teela offered a polite—shallow—bow; it was, however, graceful. If the man to whom she addressed the bow was offended, it didn’t show; his eyes had been blue from the start. “Has the Emperor returned?”

At this, Lord Darrowelm’s eyes narrowed. “He has not. The High Lord has convened an emergency session of the High Court. Given the constraints of time and the matter of the Emperor, he felt it possible that you had not been informed.”

“The High Lord is, of course, correct.” Her eyes could not be any bluer.

“Lord Kaylin, you are also commanded to attend.”

* * *

The six Barrani did not magically dissolve as they headed down the halls, Teela and Kaylin at their center. They made no move to draw weapons; something as trivial as speech didn’t apparently occur to them. Kaylin had been the Hawk on duty in marches to the gallows that were joyful in comparison. The small dragon on her shoulders had relaxed enough that Kaylin could easily breathe; he did insist on random hissing, which the Barrani ignored.

The door that opened into the forest through which one had to pass to approach the High Lord’s throne was taller and wider than Kaylin remembered; it looked completely unfamiliar. On the other hand, the architecture of the High Halls seemed to be about as predictable as the layout of Castle Nightshade; the lack of stability didn’t faze the Barrani. They’d probably had centuries to get used to all the ways in which it could change shape.

The forest, on the other hand, did look familiar. They stepped through the door into the middle of trees, and the footpath that wound around their roots resolved itself, in the distance, into a more carefully laid path of interlocking stone. The small dragon hissed in her ear; when she failed to look at him, she felt his teeth on her left lobe. She didn’t even curse under her breath; Barrani hearing was too good. She hoped that she wasn’t going to be escorted to the High Lord with blood trailing down her neck.

When they got out of here—if they did, in one piece—they were going to have a long chat.

The path opened up into a much larger circle, girded by slightly curved benches, most of which were occupied. The center of the circle itself was also occupied, and as Kaylin passed between two of the outermost benches, Barrani heads swiveled in her direction. She weathered the inspection, missing her uniform.

Lord Darrowelm and his escort did not stop moving until they’d passed through most of the crowd; when they did, the two thrones of the High Court came into view. They were both occupied.

The Barrani escort immediately sank to one knee; only Darrowelm and Teela were left standing. They bowed. Kaylin hesitated for a heartbeat before she bowed as well, remembering that she was a Lord of the High Court, mortal or no.

The High Lord bid them rise.

“Lord An’Teela. Lord Kaylin.”

“High Lord.” Kaylin glanced to his left. The Consort sat beside him, the platinum of her hair trailing down her shoulders, where some of it spilled into her lap. She wore a simple pale gown, and her feet were bare. Her eyes, however, were a cold blue, and when Kaylin met them, she offered no obvious acknowledgment.

Clearly, she was still angry.

“Have you come to the High Halls at the behest of the Halls of Law?” the High Lord asked.

“No, High Lord.”

He waited. Fumbling with High Barrani, she said, “I am here by the grace of my kyuthe.” Teela gave her no hints, in part because Kaylin didn’t dare to look away from the High Lord to receive them. “We are to journey to the West March together, four days hence.”

“So I have been told. Why do you seek the West March at this time, Lord Kaylin?”

“I wish to witness the recitation of the regalia.” Had she had any idea she would have to stand in front of the High Lord like this, she would have practiced the making of what now felt like totally feeble excuses.

“Ah. Why?”

Because Lord Nightshade wants me to hear them. The words didn’t leave her lips and not for lack of trying. Her jaw locked in place; for one long moment it was all she could do to breathe. She felt Nightshade’s presence like a literal weight against her chest.

The High Lord noticed, of course; he said nothing, but his eyes, which weren’t very green to begin with, shaded into blue.

“I’ve—I’ve heard the story the Dragons tell the Leontines,” she offered instead—when she could speak. “I’ve seen it; I’ve touched it. It didn’t change or affect me, because I’m not Leontine. I’ve been told the regalia is a—a story told to Barrani, but it’s supposed to be similar in some fashion. And the Lords of the High Court listen to that story at least once.”

His eyes remained blue. “Very well. I will not command otherwise; you are correct in your assumption. I admit I am curious to see what effect, if any, such recitation will have; you are, in theory, mortal.”

She bowed, mostly to hide her expression; he bid her rise, probably because he knew.

“We have not yet finished our discussion, Lord Kaylin. Come, approach me.”

She glanced at Teela; Teela didn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t move her head at all.

Kaylin approached the throne. The Consort turned toward her, her eyes still the same frigid blue.

“We have heard that you suffered the loss of your home in the City.”

Sarcasm, her early and best defense mechanism, rolled over and exposed its throat under the Consort’s gaze. She swallowed and nodded. “It’s true.”

“Is it also true that you offered the hospitality of that home to a Dragon?”

Gods damn it. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she said, trying to force exasperation out of her tone, “she’s a Dragon. She wanted to stay in my home. I am a Lord of the High Court, but I am not Barrani. I had no safe way of refusing her.”

“Nor any safe way of accepting her presence, either.”

She failed to point out that the Arcane bomb had been designed—and probably thrown—by a Barrani Lord of the High Court in which she was now being interrogated, and that took effort.

“Where is the Dragon now residing?”

“In the Imperial Palace.”

“And you?”

“In the Imperial Palace.”

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