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Kaylin shook her head emphatically. She’s going in unless you forbid it. Given her mood, I’d be willing to bet she’d try anyway.
A beat of silence followed. Will you caution Lord Severn?
Same problem, except for the mood. If I go, he’s going, and if Teela’s going, I’m going.
You will have to inform my men that I grant permission. At the moment, communications have been unreliable. Nightshade was at least partly amused. They will accept your words as if they were, in this case, my own.
The mark.
Yes. My brother dislikes it intensely; he wishes it removed. I have explained that its existence has saved lives, but he considers the practicalities incidental in this case.
Is he wrong?
You know he is not. When I consider the centuries in which I attempted to find solutions for his absence, I am reminded strongly of the mortal phrase: be careful what you wish for.
Can he take the Castle from you?
That is not my fear.
What are you afraid of?
He did not intend to do what I believe has begun. He is waking the Tower.
You mean he’s talking to—to the equivalent of Tara?
Not deliberately. But something hears him, and I think it is struggling to respond.
Where is Andellen?
Within the Castle.
* * *
Getting permission to enter the doors was perfunctory. The guards took one look at Kaylin’s face, and stood back from them. They weren’t thrilled about Teela’s presence, but said nothing; they were Barrani. These weren’t negotiations. There was no partial obedience.
Severn unwound his weapon chain. The run through the streets hadn’t merited full-on armaments. The unknown might.
In all, things worked about as smoothly as they ever did until it came time to enter the Castle. The doors didn’t budge. Turning to the Barrani on the right, Kaylin said, “Are these doors a portal, like the portcullis used to be?”
“They do not function in the same fashion,” the man replied, his eyes dark in the dim light. “Some can enter; some cannot.”
“Has anyone who entered returned?”
“Their purpose is to reach the side of our Lord; they have no reason to return.”
“That’s a lot of syllables for No.”
“Is there another entrance?” Teela asked.
It was Kaylin who answered. “Yes. But given the disaster of tea in the Keeper’s Garden that’s an absolute last resort. Safe arrival is dependent on a concentrated amount of elemental water, and I’m not taking chances on enraged water unless the alternative is something worse than enraged Dragon.” She walked up to the closed doors and lifted a hand; her palm hovered an inch from its surface. Nothing made her skin ache.
“You were right,” Teela said—in Leontine.
“About what?”
“They are far, far more trouble than you were when you wormed your way into the Hawks.”
“It’s not supposed to be a competition, Teela.”
“At the moment it isn’t—you’re so far behind you couldn’t catch up if you tried.”
“Can Annarion open the door?”
“Annarion doesn’t know the Castle,” Teela replied, grinding her teeth. “He can’t mesh the geography of what I see—and show him—with what he currently sees.”
Which is pretty much what anyone sane expected from a Tower, although Kaylin had had hopes. She exhaled. “All right, small and scrappy. Can you open this?”
The small dragon squawked and launched himself off her shoulders. The Barrani guards didn’t even blink as he hovered just above Kaylin’s head.
I am not certain that is a wise idea, Nightshade said, with vastly diminished amusement.
It can’t be any worse than whatever it is Annarion’s doing.
You are devoid of an active imagination, which is disappointing considering the experience you have now amassed.
The small dragon chirped. He landed on Kaylin’s shoulders in the alert position that involved more claw than usual, and extended his neck toward the door. Kaylin took the hint. She didn’t touch the door itself, but approached it as if it were a portal—with a certain amount of dread.
“Corporal?” Teela said.
Severn nodded. He shifted his grip on the business ends of the unbound chain, passing a loop of links around Kaylin’s waist. Teela grimaced but allowed him to do the same, while she murmured something about “foundlings” under her breath.
Only when Severn, attached to the chain by the blades, gave the sign did Kaylin suck in air and take a step forward.
* * *
“Charming,” Teela said, voice dry.
Kaylin had always assumed that the passage through the portal was a misery—for her—because of the sensitivity to magic that had come to her with the runic marks that covered so much of her skin. No one else seemed to be hit as hard by the transition between the outside world and the interior of the Castle.
She revised this opinion now, because crossing through the obsidian doors didn’t immediately slap her in the face with overwhelming nausea. To be fair to Nightshade, she’d never entered his castle with her small and squawky companion before. He was making quiet, snuffling noises. It sounded almost like he was snoring.
She glanced at him; he was alert and watchful, although his wings were folded. Whatever he saw, he expected her to see on her own. Severn was on Kaylin’s right, and Teela, on the other side of him. Teela was pale.
“Can you hear Annarion any better?” Kaylin asked.
“Yes.” The word was so sharp it forbid any further questions.
The portcullis had led, when used, to the grand, harshly lit foyer of Castle Nightshade.
The door did not.
It led, instead, to a room Kaylin had seen only once in the past: the statuary. She recognized it because some of the statues were still in the place she’d last seen them; the room was otherwise hollow. It felt strangely empty. The first time she had seen it, music had played, like the background discussion of a large crowd. The statues themselves had come to life, shaking off immobility with joy and excitement.
This room had been proof—if it were needed—that Nightshade was not mortal. He owned the statues, yes—but they hadn’t started out as base stone. They had started out the way Severn or Kaylin had: messy biology. He therefore wasn’t imbuing statues with life so much as allowing life to return to them.
There were humans here. A Leontine. They were beautiful in their frozen, stone encasement; they were far more beautiful when life returned to them. She could imagine that, had they continued to live in the world outside this Castle, they would have been loved or adored or followed.
She couldn’t tell when they’d left the outside world, although she was certain historians would have had some guesses, given the style of the clothing they wore. Or, in the case of the Leontine, didn’t.
But wherever they’d come from, they had ended up here, in a room that looked like a storybook throne room, with majestic pillars fronting the walls to either side. Between those pillars, a handful of statues remained. Kaylin didn’t have Barrani memory; she couldn’t recall whether or not they occupied the same positions they once had.
But she knew there were fewer of them, because she could see moving, half-dazed people wandering the interior of the room. It wasn’t clear to Kaylin whether or not any of these people could see each other; they weren’t talking if they could, but they weren’t fighting either.
“Nightshade said that the Castle allowed him to transform his visitors,” Kaylin told Teela. “...Was he lying?”
“Not necessarily,” was the cool reply. “There are a handful of Barrani that might attempt—and succeed at—a similar transformation. Corporal?”
Severn let Teela out of the chain’s loop. He didn’t, however, release Kaylin. She didn’t insist, either. She’d seen halls warp and elongate when she was standing on solid ground; she wasn’t willing to bet that they were guaranteed to remain together.
The small dragon squawked. He caught Teela’s attention, but the occupants of the room seemed unaware of his presence, or at least unconcerned by it. They seemed similarly unconcerned with Teela as she approached them. Her steps were sharp and heavy.
If it came to that, so was her sword; she’d unsheathed it. Barrani Hawks didn’t—as a rule—carry swords. But the fiefs weren’t home to the Hawks and the Halls of Law, and Teela hadn’t chosen to carry sticks into the fiefs, on account of possible Ferals.
The small dragon hissed, tightening his claws. He also opened his wings, but they were high enough Kaylin assumed he was expressing his august displeasure, rather than giving her a different view of the world as he sometimes did with his wings.
Kaylin remembered her first reaction to this room. She remembered the stiff, tense, hurt outrage that Annarion had directed squarely at his older brother in the West March before he had departed.
“Can you tell Annarion that the statues agreed to this? It was a—a form of immortality. They were probably in love with his brother.”
“Annarion is well aware of the effects Immortals have on the lesser races.”
Lesser races. Kaylin rolled her eyes. She loved Teela like family, but there were whole days she had to work at it. “His words or your words?”
“He hasn’t lived in this city. He hasn’t experienced the changes that have come down with the passage of centuries. They’re his words. But they could have been mine, once. They probably were. He sees mortals as essentially helpless.”
“And you don’t?”
Teela shrugged. “I see them as essentially mortal. If one confounds me, I put off thinking about them because they’ll be dead soon, even if I do nothing.”
Whole very long days.
“Annarion set them free?”
“That’s the gist of it, I think. You could ask them. Some have rejected the transformation, but I don’t think their decision will stand. Annarion is angry.”
“Did he always have this kind of temper?”
“He was, of all of us, the most even-tempered.” Teela slowly sheathed her sword; the Leontine standing in the center of the room looked almost docile, which was both striking and very disturbing. “And the most idealistic. Never anger the idealistic. They feel right is on their side—and right excuses much.”
“I don’t object in principle to his objections,” Kaylin pointed out. “Just the condescension they’re wrapped in.”
“You can take that up with Annarion.”
“If we can find him.”
Teela nodded. “Can you find Nightshade?”
“I haven’t tried. I forget just how much I hate this place until I’m in it. Do you know if Annarion’s found the vampires?”
“...Vampires.”
Severn raised a brow, but said nothing.
“I don’t know what you’d call them,” Kaylin replied, trying—and failing—not to sound defensive. “They’re Barrani. They’re apparently ancient Barrani. They react to blood. I think they were already in the Castle when Nightshade took over. He said they chose the Barrani version of sleep here.”
Condescension and arrogance drained from Teela’s expression. Normally, this would have been a good thing. Today it was anything but.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_00fc7883-3ee4-53e8-8717-896da81d4b6a)
“Nightshade took the Castle,” Teela said, her knuckles white as she gripped the hilt of the sheathed sword, “and he left them here?”
“I don’t think he considered them dangerous.” Kaylin hesitated, and then added, “They guard the Long Hall’s doors. I’m not sure the doors open without their permission for anyone but Nightshade.”
“Prior to this, I could say many things of Calarnenne—but one of them was not that he was a fool.”
“They’ve never hurt him,” Kaylin pointed out.
“And how, exactly, do you know about them?”
Kaylin swallowed. This was not the direction she wanted the conversation to take. “I met them.”
“And he told you they were...vampires?”
“Not exactly.”
“I fear that exactly will have to wait. Although it occurs to me that any attempts to kill him have their best chance of success now.”
She had her best chance of success in the West March, after the ceremony.
“They were sleeping,” Kaylin said. “I mean, Barrani sleep. They weren’t moving, and they appeared to notice nothing.”
“Except you.”
Kaylin failed to answer the question.
“And you were bleeding.”
“Look—are they dangerous now?”
