Cast in Flame. Michelle Sagara

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СКАЧАТЬ you were trying to communicate with. You had to hope there was enough overlap in your lives that the words meant more or less what you thought they meant when you said them.

      Only the Tha’alani seemed exempt from this constant stumble toward misunderstanding. The Tha’alani....

      Kaylin closed her eyes. It changed almost nothing, but it allowed her to envision the water as she so often appeared: a young woman with an expression beyond her apparent years, who had clear, translucent hands. One of those perfect hands was extended toward Kaylin, as it so often was; Kaylin carefully reached out to grab it.

      Her grip, as always, was that little bit too tight; she was grasping something she wanted—and had wanted—for her entire life. It wasn’t, and couldn’t be, hers. She was—at most—a welcome guest. But if the hand was water, it didn’t slide through her fingers at the strength of that grip.

      Even if she couldn’t live here, she wanted to visit.

      Kaylin.

      She opened her eyes. The storm raged around the golden Dragon on which she sat so precariously; she felt, for a moment, that the whole of the water’s attention was focused on her; water flowed down her flat hair; the stick that kept it off her neck had been lost. The small dragon was not impressed.

      Tha’alaan, Kaylin said. She didn’t need to shout, now; when she was connected with the water this way, she was certain to be heard.

      “Whatever you’re doing,” Bellusdeo roared, “Keep doing it!”

      She didn’t need to be told. Even here, in the folds of storm, she felt the peculiar, particular warmth of the Tha’alaan. She heard the distant thrum of Tha’alani voices, and if she kept as silent as possible, it didn’t matter; they didn’t need words to hear or sense her.

      The water became rain, and the rain ceased its fall.

      Kaylin.

      What happened?

      I...was not aware of where I was. I heard a voice that I have heard in only one other place.

      And you tried to destroy it?

      It is not a voice that belongs in the Keeper’s Garden, the water replied. It is not a voice that belongs among your kind.

      It does, now.

      No, Kaylin.

      She thought of Mandoran. Of Barrani children, and Barrani childhood—artifacts, all, of ancient wars. He’s alive. He’s here. He’s—he’s like Teela. He’s Barrani. He—he wasn’t, for a while.

      He is not, now. Silence again, and then a measured curiosity. Kaylin couldn’t understand the question it contained—and that had never happened in the Tha’alaan before. I understand how you see this...Mandoran. I understand that you see the name to which he wakened.

      But it is not, now, all that he is, and he brings danger with him. I sense his kin in the heart of the green; they are safest there. Send him back.

      I’ll talk to him.

      Speak with care, Kaylin. You do not understand what he is.

      Does he?

      Silence. Then, I...do not know. I think—I think he attempted to speak with me as he might once have spoken. I offer my apologies to the Keeper, she added. But it is best that Mandoran refrain from entering the Garden until either you understand what Mandoran has become, or until Mandoran does.

      Where is he?

      Ah. He is with the Keeper.

      Kaylin didn’t ask where he’d been until now. Instead, she opened her eyes. The air was once again clear; she was on the back of a golden Dragon whose scales gleamed in the aftermath of an impromptu shower. Grethan was rigid in Teela’s arms, and Teela was the color of alabaster, except for her eyes, which were the expected very dark blue.

      The water itself was once again confined in the deep, still pond; the brazier in the fire looked no worse for the deluge. The breeze was warm, but gentle.

      Evanton, however, was soggy. He resembled an elderly, bedraggled rat, but with less hair. “Do not give me that look, Private; I assure you I am drier than you are.”

      Bellusdeo, relieved of passengers, snorted smoke. “It occurs to me,” she said, “that the Imperial Court is unlikely to be impressed.”

      “You didn’t go dragon in the city streets,” Kaylin pointed out.

      “No. They’d be instantly aware of that transgression. I’m more concerned about the clothing.”

      “...Clothing.”

      “Don’t make that face. I’m not about to parade naked through Elani street. I am, however, about to be reduced to wearing armor—a military look that I fear the Emperor doesn’t favor.” She cleared her throat, loudly.

      “I think she’s telling you to turn around,” Teela said.

      “Right.”

      * * *

      Everyone was bedraggled except for the Dragon; Bellusdeo looked as if she were about to stride to war as an army of one. An impressive army, admittedly; she looked like the idealization of a warrior queen, more sculpture or painting than life. Teela was busy ringing water out of the perfect length of her hair, having done the same for her tabard. Mandoran was sitting on the ground, his knees folded into his chest, his chin resting on top of them. His eyes were ringed with shadow, but they weren’t any darker than Teela’s. Then again, black wouldn’t have been much darker than Teela’s at the moment.

      Evanton placed a hand on Mandoran’s shoulder; the Barrani youth looked up.

      “It can’t be helped,” the Keeper said, in an incredibly gentle voice. Kaylin felt her jaw slide open; she’d expected fury and death threats, as well as forcible ejection. Evanton’s frown reasserted itself as he looked at her. “I would, of course, be extremely angry if you did something this foolish in my garden.” His tone implied that he expected Kaylin, at least, to know better.

      Mandoran, however, slumped.

      “Lord Teela,” Evanton said.

      “Keeper.”

      “Take Mandoran home. He will require both food and rest.”

      “What happened?” Kaylin asked. From Teela’s expression, it was clear she already knew. “Evanton? Did you expect this?”

      “Hardly.”

      “You don’t look surprised.”

      “At my age, I seldom do. I can manage outrage, if you insist.”

      Since she had an idea of who that would be aimed at, she changed the subject. “I don’t suppose you have a dress a Dragon could wear?”

      “No.”

      “Access to one?”

      “No.”

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