Cast in Sorrow. Michelle Sagara

content to spread his wings without leaping immediately into the air.

      You are far from home.

      “Tell me about it.” She hesitated. Water rose in the shape of a transparent limb and an open hand. Kaylin slowly raised her palm. When the two—flesh and water—connected, she heard the voices of the Tha’alani. Touching the Tha’alaan was always a shock, but never unpleasant; it was like finding an unexpected bonfire on the winter streets of the fief. It promised safety, warmth, and a place to rest. Even if she didn’t belong by birth, she felt welcome when someone else opened the door. She was a guest, here, in a place where there were no secrets and little judgment.

      “An’Teela, come. If our kyuthe wishes to marvel at the fount, I will not deny her, but we have the responsibility of the Lady, and we must see to it.”

      “I have to go,” Kaylin whispered. “Will you be here?”

      If I understand your question correctly, yes. I am bound to this place. It is not a harsh binding, she added, when Kaylin inhaled sharply. But I seldom hear mortal voices.

      “Do you hear any voices at all?”

      Only one.

      She was certain then that the water spoke of the Lord of the West March. “Do you speak to him?”

      He does not hear my voice. Sometimes, I hear his. It is not the voice of my people, but I do not fear it.

      “Kitling?”

      “Coming. Sorry.” She lowered her hand while the small dragon leaped up onto her shoulder and whiffled.

      Chapter 4

      Beyond the fountain was an open arch that led into a cloister. At the end of this cloister was a door. Kaylin’s arms started to itch on approach. Magic generally had that effect on her skin—but she’d seen so much magic that hadn’t in the past weeks she almost welcomed the familiar sensation. The fountain, which was clearly magical in nature, had had no effect at all.

      Neither had the Hallionne, or the cold, gray mist in the outlands.

      She had a few dozen questions to ask her magic teacher when she made it back to his classroom.

      “Your room, Lord Kaylin, is beyond these doors. Lord Nightshade has similar rooms.” Before she could speak, he added, “They are the rooms occupied by the harmoniste and the Teller respectively, when we are fortunate enough to have them chosen.”

      Severn caught her arm before she could ask the most obvious question.

      “You will not find my domicile similar to the Hallionne. The Hallionne—when awake—are not comfortable residences for my kin. They are all awake now,” he added. “We have not seen such excitement since the close of the last war. You will have to touch the door ward.”

      “Do I have to bleed on it?”

      His brows rose, and then he chuckled. “I forget my own youth, it is so far behind me. The Hallionne exact a price for their hospitality that the Barrani do not; they also provide security that the Barrani do not. You have spent time in the High Halls; you will find my abode similar in many respects.”

      “The fountain—”

      He shook his head. “There are fountains within the High Halls.”

      They weren’t the same. Kaylin approached the door and laid her palm against the ward engraved on its surface; her arm went instantly numb at the shock of it. The door ward did not, however, set off alarms in any other way, which made it less painful than the wards in the Imperial Library.

      The Lord of the West March nodded and the door rolled open. It was not a small door; the Norannir could comfortably fit through its frame. Kaylin felt dwarfed, but expected as much; the Barrani built everything to make visitors feel small and unworthy.

      She felt Nightshade’s amusement and noted that he didn’t likewise have to touch the door.

      No, Lord Kaylin. This is not the first time I have visited the West March, you may recall.

      “Lord Severn, your quarters are not within this wing, but if you will accompany us, I would speak with you.”

      Severn inclined his head. He was watchful, but cautious. She wondered if he’d sleep at all as a guest in these halls. On the other hand, she was fairly certain that no other hall would be open to him.

      * * *

      The Lady’s room was at the end of a hall so wide and vaulted it looked like the nave in one of the great cathedrals. The doors at the end of that hall were closed, but they suited the hall; they were taller and grander—or at least their arches were—than the exterior doors. She turned to look over her shoulder and was surprised to see that most of the Barrani had departed; to where, she wasn’t certain.

      This allowed her to relax, inasmuch as one ever did in Barrani Halls. She understood why the Barrani disliked the Hallionne, but she missed them. The Hallionne were tasked with preventing harm from coming to their guests, and they took their responsibilities seriously. Given that most of the harm that could befall their guests came from their other guests, it worked out well for Kaylin. She wasn’t stupid enough to take on the Barrani in all-out melee, and she wasn’t clever enough to slip poison into their food or drink.

      She also wasn’t clever enough to avoid them.

      When the doors to the Consort’s chamber were open, the Lord of the West March led Teela toward yet another set of more modest doors on the far end of a more modest hall. There was a small fountain on the left wall, and three slender trees, like artistic pillars, on the right; there were no visible guards.

      The doors were warded. Kaylin, whose arm was still numb, was happy she wouldn’t have to open them. Instead, she scurried to catch up with Teela and helped her by turning down the bedcovers. Teela very gently set the Consort down as Kaylin fussed with pillows; there were far too many of them.

      “Do not,” the Lord of the West March said, “attempt to heal the Lady.”

      Kaylin hadn’t even considered it, given the way Barrani reacted to healing—although the Consort had given her explicit, public permission. “I wasn’t going to. I just... I don’t like her color. Can I remove the armor, or do you expect her to sleep in it?”

      The Lord of the West March glanced at Teela. “If you do not consider it demeaning,” he finally said, “you may tend to the Lady; she will not wake.”

      Teela’s eyes were markedly bluer, but she said nothing; she wasn’t exactly a stranger to armor and its care. “Honestly,” she said, as she began to undo buckles, “I cannot take you anywhere, kitling. You will note, for future reference, that I do not even remove my own clothing when I bathe in the High Halls.”

      “That’s probably why you don’t live in them,” Kaylin shot back.

      Teela’s eyes widened. She laughed, and they also changed color. “Maybe,” she said, in Elantran. “When the Lord of the West March forbids healing, he does so for a reason.”

      “I healed him.”

      “Indeed, which is why I mention healing at all.” She rose and tendered the Lord of the West March an enviably perfect bow. “It is unusual for the Consort to absorb three,” she told him gravely.

      “How unusual?” Kaylin asked. She’d been truthful: she did not think the Lady’s color was healthy.

      “It has never, to my knowledge, happened before.”

      “What usually happens when the—the black bird things fly? Teela, what are they?”

      “Before today? They were considered the nightmares of the Hallionne.”

      “And now?”

      “You saw the eagles.”

      Kaylin nodded as if this made sense.

      “The