Cast in Sorrow. Michelle Sagara

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СКАЧАТЬ was a new and painful experience for Kaylin, and it was not one she was anxious to repeat.

      Ynpharion walked to one side of the Lord of the West March, in what should have been a position of honor. To the naked eye, he was as proud, as focused, as unflappable as any other Barrani present.

      But Kaylin saw beneath that surface. She saw his self-loathing, his disgust, and his fury—most of it aimed squarely at her. The only reason he kept it to himself was his fear of exposure. Kaylin held his name.

      No one but Ynpharion knew it. If he exposed the truth, it might justify murderous action—but it would justify, as well, eternal contempt. He had not lost volition to a Lord of the High Court; he was in thrall to a mortal. If the truth remained hidden, nothing would justify an attempt to harm the woman in the green dress; it would be—according to Teela—an act very close to treason. Kaylin, being that woman, was to serve as harmoniste for the recitation.

      If Ynpharion attacked her now, his chance of success was slight. So were his chances of survival. Death would put an end to the humiliation, but Ynpharion was not young. He knew that Kaylin, mortal, would survive a bare handful of years. He was not enslaved for the rest of eternity—just the pathetic span of the years remaining her.

      A handful of years against the eternal contempt of the High Court. He had chosen, for the moment, to endure. But his rage was a constant battery.

      She could have lived with the rage, the loathing, the disgust. It was the fear she found hard. He was afraid—of Kaylin. He was afraid of a mortal. The fear fed into his self-loathing. It was a downward spiral of ugliness.

      She wasn’t spared his descent.

      Kaylin had no trouble finding hidden depths of self-loathing and disgust on bad days. She didn’t really need to bear the brunt of Ynpharion’s, as well. At the midpoint of day two she’d given serious consideration to walking him off the nearest cliff. Sadly, the forest path didn’t seem to lead to a conveniently high cliff.

      The only refuge Kaylin had found was in silent complaint. And, damn it, pain. The soft, supple shoes she’d taken from Hallionne Sylvanne were proof against normal wear, but they didn’t provide much protection when foot connected at the toe with gnarled roots.

      Teela caught her before she could fall. “Lord of the West March,” she said, above Kaylin’s head.

      He turned, glanced at Kaylin, and nodded. “We will call a brief halt.”

      * * *

      The two mortals were not the only people present to benefit from the break. Lord Evarrim joined them. He barely acknowledged Kaylin’s existence. That was normal. He didn’t spare a glance for the small dragon perched like a bad shawl around her neck, which wasn’t. His lower jaw sported some of the same bruising that Severn’s eye did, but it was less obvious on the Barrani face.

      On the other hand, he was Barrani; any obvious injury was unsettling.

      Evarrim was no longer wearing the tiara that Kaylin had once considered so pretentious. Nor was he dressed in Court robes; he wore an unadorned chain shirt and plate greaves. “Cousin,” he said.

      Teela’s eyes narrowed.

      “Are you determined to remain for the recitation?”

      Even the insects fell silent.

      “I am determined, cousin, to escort the Consort and the harmoniste to the green.”

      Evarrim was apparently immune to the glacial cold of Teela’s voice. It was impressive; most of the office—or at least the mortal parts—would have been under their desks or scurrying for a convenient just-remembered meeting. “And not the Teller? Interesting.”

      The Teller was Nightshade.

      Kaylin’s gaze bounced between the two Barrani. Teela’s eyes were a shade darker; Evarrim’s were as close to green as they’d been all day. The bastard was enjoying himself. “Your concern is noted,” she finally replied. “It is irrelevant, but noted.”

      He rose. “Very well. The Consort and the Lord of the West March have expressed a similar concern; they are, of course, more guarded.” He bowed, stiffly. He actually walked stiffly. But he walked away.

      “Teela—”

      “Don’t even think it.” Teela rose, as well. She didn’t march into the forest, but she left Kaylin and Severn alone with their lunch, hovering ten yards away, sword in hand.

      “What was that about?” Kaylin asked—quietly. Teela was far enough away that whispers shouldn’t carry, but they might; Barrani hearing was in all ways superior to human hearing.

      He exhaled. “What did Teela tell you?”

      Kaylin grimaced. “What makes you think she told me anything?”

      “You’re fidgeting.”

      Kaylin shot a guilty glance at Teela’s back. “She hasn’t told me much that we don’t already know. We know the recitation involves True Words; it’s like the story Sanabalis told the Leontines. We know that the story isn’t chosen by the Lord of the West March, the Teller, or the lowly harmoniste; the heart of the green decides.”

      “Did she explain what the heart of the green is?” When Kaylin failed to answer, he asked, more pointedly, “Did you ask?”

      Teela had been talking about the death of her mother. So no, Kaylin hadn’t really asked.

      She feinted. “It has something to do with the Hallionne. I’m not sure the Barrani understand it fully.” She removed the small dragon’s wing when he stretched and covered half her face. “The recitation of the regalia has an effect—a lasting effect—on those who listen to the telling. It’s the biggest reason the Barrani make the pilgrimage to this insect-plagued, weed-covered, Feral-infested—” She stopped as Teela glanced over her shoulder, and lowered her voice again. “The Barrani who’ve passed the test of name in the High Halls are expected to travel to the West March and listen to the recitation.

      “There, if they’re lucky, they’re empowered. Somehow. Don’t give me that look. I wasn’t making lists. I don’t know how the effect is measured. But...the ceremony has an effect.”

      “On all participants?” He gave the dress a pointed look.

      She frowned. “I’m not sure. I’d guess no. But on some.”

      Severn nodded.

      “Some ambitious moron on the High Council came up with a great idea. It was during one of the Draco-Barrani wars.” She frowned. “I’m guessing not all adults are affected by the regalia in an obvious way. Maybe someone thought adults were less malleable. But anyway, one of the nameless High Lords suggested that if the regalia had subtle effects on the adults, it might have stronger, more useful effects on children. Those children would then be like a super–next generation, and they might make a difference in the wars.

      “The High Lord of the time liked the idea.

      “So twelve children were chosen. Teela was one of the twelve. Or maybe there were thirteen—they speak of twelve lost, and Teela’s not lost. The children were considered gifted; smarter, faster, that kind of thing. They СКАЧАТЬ