Cast In Deception

Kaylin flushed.

“You are tired and hungry. I think this is possibly one of the only times I’ve seen you refuse food.” It was true. Kaylin could eat anything, at any time, because some of her instincts were still those of a starving, underfed street kid. You didn’t turn your nose up at food when there was never any guarantee of another meal. “In the morning, or perhaps even after you’ve eaten, I think you will see things more clearly.”

She is correct.

Kaylin bit back the urge to tell Lord Nightshade to do something anatomically impossible. And then glared at the Avatar of her house. Helen had fairly granular control of incoming communication; if Nightshade was speaking to her, it was because Helen let him. Yes, he was speaking to her because she knew his True Name—but Helen had proven that she could limit or curtail the connection.

Her house smiled gently.

You’ve heard.

I have been speaking with Annarion, yes. I am apprised of all of the complications.

She ate, because talking to Nightshade did not require her to open her mouth when it was full. She also drank spiced milk. Helen clearly thought Kaylin was in a mood because the milk was warm and apparently contained honey.

Tell me what you know about Candallar, Kaylin finally said.

Candallar is a fieflord.

Okay, let me amend that. Tell me what you know that I don’t.

This elicited two responses; the first, a sharp annoyance; the second, amusement. You frequently know things I would expect no mortal to know, while being ignorant of things that appear to be common knowledge. If you wish information, you will have to bear with me. Candallar is a fieflord. He is, as I am, outcaste. He had less choice in the designation, and less support within the High Court. He is younger than I, and his fall more recent. You will have noticed, no doubt, that the Consort does not treat me as outcaste.

Kaylin nodded.

She is the only Lord of the High Court to have that option. Ah, no. Her brother could, if he desired—

If you’re talking about the High Lord—as opposed to the Lord of the West March—if her brother wanted to, he could repatriate you. You could be part of the High Court again.

To do so would imply—strongly—that the customs of the High Court have no weight; that the decisions of the High Court have no consequences. Do not be angry; I am not.

But...he’s the High Lord.

She could feel Nightshade’s frustration, and was surprised to feel his exhaustion, as well. The only other time she had felt such exhaustion he’d been injured.

I am not injured. I am frustrated. He is High Lord, yes. But if An’Teela has not made this clear, his rule is contested, even now. There will be a series of tests, skirmishes if you will, for the remainder of your mortal life—no matter how long you live. His tone implied that he expected that to be a handful of years, if she were lucky. Even to you, this must imply that his power is not absolute. He is not the Eternal Emperor, Kaylin.

Frustration drove his pause; Kaylin was almost surprised when he continued. When power is not absolute, when it is not guaranteed, alliances are made. They are alliances, often, of convenience, as a majority of alliances are. He is close to his Consort; she does not intrigue against him.

She’s the Consort!

Another full silence.

Nightshade?

I am...attempting to remember how appallingly little is taught to your Hawks. You will speak with An’Teela about this. Or Annarion. Or Mandoran. They will attempt to correct your appalling ignorance.

She is the Consort.

Yes. It grants her immunity until and unless another is found who can fulfill the role she has undertaken. To our knowledge, there is only one who might—but she is entirely unsuitable in every other way. Before you ask, it is you. You are aware that many families push their children into the Test of Name.

Kaylin nodded.

Are you further aware that many push their children into the more complicated and far more deadly tests required to become Consort?

Was she? She thought about it; the Consort had certainly spoken of the tests, the difficulty, the failures.

They do not do this primarily for the benefit to the race; they do it for political reasons. The Consort is the only position in the High Court that is nonnegotiable. But do not imagine that it is not, in the end, political; everything about the Barrani is. Only those who absent themselves from the Court are outside of the political sphere.

Like you.

She felt his bitter smile.

Like me, yes.

You think this will pass.

I believe that if the High Lord retains his seat in the next century, or perhaps two, I could be repatriated, or at least offered the opportunity to return to the High Court. It is what the Consort desires. But there are many who do not desire it, and a handful of those are of significant power.

If they don’t want you, they don’t want Annarion.

Indeed.

And for the same reason? Because he’ll have a legitimate claim to the lands—or whatever—that you once held?

Claim and legitimacy are polite fictions, in the end. If we have the power, we can embroider any claim and make it, as you say in Elantran, “stick.” The facts of the matter give Annarion an open field; the base arguments against legitimate claim cannot be made, and were he to start a war, it would be less difficult to do so without open censure.

So...claim of blood gives him early room to maneuver?

Yes. It is not, of course, legitimacy that is the real concern.

It’s the regalia and the centuries jailed in the green.

An’Teela suffered prejudice because she survived—but she was never captive in the Hallionne. She returned from the green—the only child to do so. She is, to our eye, Barrani. She was tested, Kaylin. She was pushed. She was powerful, but had she not had that potential, she would never have been sent to the green.

Her father desired her to undergo the test of the Lake. She refused. Here a glimmer of amusement adorned his words. She was unwilling to give him anything he desired of her. She had gone to the green under his command.

And he had killed her mother there. Kaylin exhaled. Your brother’s still angry.

She almost felt the fieflord’s wince, and liked him better for it. But...in truth, his concern for, his devotion to, his only remaining brother was one of the few things about him she admired. She had never, ever expected to admire anything about the fieflord of Nightshade.

Annarion’s anger is focused and traditional. He intends to take the Test of Name. I cannot stop him. Discussion will not move him. He is...almost unchanged with the passage of time. It is frustrating.

If you were reinstated, I think he could be reasoned with. I think if the High Lord offered you your name, your position, if you could reclaim your family line—which he thinks you should never have surrendered—we could keep him here.

And I have told him that this will, in all probability, happen, but not now. He understands that. But he understands, as well, the necessity of the Towers, of the fiefs. Do you honestly think that I could wage an intelligent war from Castle Nightshade, as you are wont to call it? Ah, I see that you do.

She was revising that opinion as they spoke. Some of her anger—at Helen, at Teela—had subsided, as it always did.