Cast in Sorrow. Michelle Sagara

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СКАЧАТЬ mentioned the Lord of the West March or those who might have stayed by his side.

      Nor did they mention Nightshade; they probably hoped he’d be killed.

      Kaylin was good at running. But the years in which she’d learned to run in pursuit of a criminal rather than in terror from one made this flight hard. She knew they had the numbers to stand and fight—and they’d just taken a greater part of that number on a run through moonlit forest, leaving one of the few Barrani High Lords she actually liked to stand on his own.

      As incentive, it wasn’t.

      Even her certain sense that she wasn’t a match for any of the five she’d personally spotted didn’t make it better.

      It is not easier for the Consort, a disembodied voice said. Nightshade’s. But she understands her duty and her responsibility. If the Lord of the West March is lost, he will be replaced. If the Consort is lost, the replacement will be difficult, and it is all but guaranteed to be a long time coming. There will be any number of Lords willing to make the attempt to fill her role—but very few will succeed, and if they fail, they are also lost to us.

      She grimaced as the top side of her feet hit the underside of a raised branch and sent her staggering. Her weight didn’t unbalance the Consort, but it was close.

      And if she is lost, he continued, there will almost certainly be a succession war. You have never seen one.

      Her death won’t kill the High Lord.

      No. But she has not yet had children. If she perishes here, she will not. Any Barrani who can touch the lake of life will therefore be mother to the High Lord to come. I understand that politics have never been of import in your life, but you are a Lord of the High Court and you must come to understand at least the obvious basics.

      A branch slapped her in the face, which caused the small dragon to hiss in fury. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m not used to carrying a passenger.”

      Where are you? Kaylin all but demanded.

      I am at the side of the Lord of the West March. He has not fallen, and, Kaylin, he will not. You are only a few miles from the edge of his domain, and in his domain, he has strength that not even the High Lord in the High Halls possesses.

      “Nightshade,” she said, in out-of-breath Elantran, “is fighting beside your brother now. They’re both alive.”

      The Consort didn’t reply. She didn’t appear to have heard. But she gave the arm she was using as a rope line a brief squeeze—and then increased the pace. This had one advantage: it gave Kaylin very little time to think.

      * * *

      There was no obvious moment at which the forest transformed. It didn’t fall away; it didn’t immediately open up into an obvious clearing. The path the Barrani followed remained invisible to Kaylin; it didn’t widen or flatten enough for carriages or wagons to use. Which made Kaylin wonder exactly how the carriages the High Court had abandoned would have made it here in the first place.

      In spite of this, she knew when they’d arrived. Something about the forest changed; it took her a moment to realize what. She could hear birds. It was still night, but the differing shades of gray were clearer. The Barrani party slowed to a walk. They did not, in any other way, relax.

      Nor did the Consort let go of Kaylin’s arm; her fingers were now tingling, the Consort’s grip was so tight. “Let me do the speaking,” she said. To Kaylin’s surprise, she spoke in very quiet Elantran.

      It was a warning, of sorts. There was no one in sight—present company excepted—to speak to. Severn approached the Consort but stopped ten yards back. The rest of the Barrani remained armed; Severn chose to leave both hands loose by his side. It was hard to tell if he was paler, or if the run had exhausted him, but if it had, he failed to acknowledge it.

      He waited.

      Birds sang. From within the group, birds apparently answered. Kaylin felt less relieved about the sound than she had moments ago. The arrows that studded the path in rapid succession didn’t help. Or it didn’t help her; the Barrani surrounded her and didn’t even blink; clearly this was the Barrani version of a gate check. Two of the Lords of the High Court lifted bows of their own; after a moment two arrows arched into the air, landing with audible thunks in the trees high above where the Consort stood.

      The Consort raised an arm; moonlight touched her fingers and her hands, silvering her skin in a way Kaylin found disturbing. It wasn’t magic—it wasn’t the magic that caused Kaylin’s skin to ache until it felt raw. But it wasn’t natural; the moonlight touched nothing else here. Kaylin couldn’t see the moon for the trees. Arrows flew again. Three, this time.

      Kaylin took a step back, or tried; the Consort had not released her arm. She opened—and closed—her mouth. The Consort’s eyes were midnight-blue. They were standing in the home of the Lord of the West March, the seat of his power. This was supposed to be safe ground. But Kaylin knew the Barrani, and there was no mistaking that eye color as the rest of the Consort’s skin began, like her raised hand, to shine.

      Silver had never seemed so wrong. Pale skin had never seemed so threatening. It was not a color Kaylin associated with life. She was afraid. She was afraid for the Consort. The fear of her hatred, her anger, and her endless disapproval was swallowed by it.

      Kaylin, what is wrong?

      She didn’t have the words for it.

      Kaylin!

      Look, she told him, whispering although no one else in the world could hear. Look through my eyes. She felt his presence for a moment.

      Tell me what’s happened. Quickly, Kaylin.

      She didn’t use words; she didn’t have to use them. He saw what she had seen. Tell me I don’t have to worry, she thought.

      You will not believe it. Not when we speak like this.

      The Consort moved her hand, opening her palm and turning it up toward the sky. Three arrows flew. To Kaylin’s surprise, they didn’t hit anything; they were struck—in almost perfect unison, by three arrows traveling in the opposite direction. The Consort watched the arrows fall, her chin slowly lowering as she did.

      Her hair was bound, like Kaylin’s; unlike Kaylin’s, the run hadn’t dislodged any of it. Teela approached—without any signal from the Consort—and released the Consort’s hair. It fell down her back in a cascade of silver as Teela once again retreated. The Consort’s lips lost color.

      Ask the Lord of the West March—ask him what’s wrong—ask him what I should do.

      Do nothing unless she releases you. She has taken the risk. Respect it.

      It would be a helluvalot easier to respect it if I understood it.

      He laughed. He laughed, but the laughter died abruptly as the first of the birds came to land in the Consort’s upturned palm.

      * * *

      Except it wasn’t a bird. It had the shape, but none of the movement; although it had what looked like wings, they never flapped; they were rigid and extended, a dark plane of shadow, and as the creature alighted in the Consort’s open palm, she saw that it had claws. But it had no face, no head; the whole СКАЧАТЬ