One of them was Kaylin Neya, wearer of the dress that deserved respect.
The other was Lord Nightshade, wearer of the emerald tiara. Like Kaylin's dress, the tiara was given to someone chosen to participate directly in the recitation of the regalia. Unlike Kaylin, Nightshade seemed to approve.
She'd been surprised to enter the outlands to find the bowers of normal, if tall, trees. So had the Consort. The Consort. Kaylin wanted to add an eighth item to her growing list: don't piss off the Consort. But in this case, she couldn't. Kaylin understood why the Consort was angry. She also understood that given the same possible outcomes, Kaylin would stand by the choice she'd made.
She glanced at the Consort as she thought it; the Consort was dressed in white armor, a gift from the Lord of the West March. She carried a naked blade, and her hair was swept off the back of her neck. She was, on the other hand, the only Barrani to confine her hair. As if aware of Kaylin's attention, the Consort glanced at her. Her eyes were blue. They were not as dark a blue as almost everyone else's.
Teela's were certainly darker.
"Honestly, kitling," the Barrani Hawk said, frowning. "I can hear you thinking."
On most days, the Barrani who worked in the Halls of Law looked both arrogant and bored. At thirteen years of age, Kaylin had found the arrogance irritating. The boredom, she understood. Today, she missed it.
"Teela-"
"If I hear one more word about the insects, I swear I will bite you myself." She spoke in quiet Elantran for the first time in two days.
The rush of gratitude Kaylin felt at the sound of her mother tongue should have embarrassed her. Clearly, from Teela's expression, it embarrassed one of them. "Do not," Teela continued in the same Elantran, her brows furrowing, "start to worry about me."
"But-"
"I mean it."
"Can I talk about something else instead?"
"I'm certain to regret it," was Teela's brusque reply.
As it wasn't a no, Kaylin said, "Why do so many Barrani try to divest themselves of their names?"
"Do they?"
"Illien in Barren. The walking dead in Nightshade."
"Two small examples do not constitute a multitude."
"Well, no. But I think that's what Iberrienne was trying to do."
Teela shook her head. "I think you're wrong."
Kaylin wasn't so certain. Eighth on her list, then: do not speak the True Name of a Barrani Lord who you don't intend to kill immediately afterward. She hadn't planned it. But she had seen Ynpharion's True Name, and she had seen the substantial shadows it both cast and fed. The shadow had taken the form of his name, and the shape. It was as if he had two names, identical in form, but entirely different in substance.
She didn't understand how. But she was certain that the shadow name-for want of anything else to call it-had given the Barrani Lord the ability to transform himself into the Ferals that hunted in the less safe parts of the West March and its environs. It was as a Feral that he had first approached Kaylin.
It was as a Feral that he would have killed her, too. But her dragon sidekick had conferred a type of invisibility on her. Or on himself. That invisibility had given her the time to observe, and the time to plan-even if the plan was half-assed and desperate.
She knew the True Names of both Lord Nightshade and the Lord of the West March. She understood that in theory, this gave her power over them. But she now understood that theory was its usual pathetic mess. Neither Nightshade nor the Lord of the West March had ever fought against her knowledge. They accepted the threat she might one day pose. They did not feel threatened by her now.
They had, she understood, gifted her with the knowledge of their names.
But Lord Ynpharion had not. She'd spoken his name, strengthening its existence, in an attempt to burn away the shadows that clung to it. She'd succeeded. But there had been no way to ask his permission because before she had invoked his name, he wouldn't have given it. He fought her.
He fought, and he lost. This 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.