He spread his wings, but managed to do so without batting her in the face-which meant, of course, every other wing-slap was deliberate. She could see him lift and stretch his slender, translucent neck; he inhaled.
"Now is so not the time," she told him.
As usual, he ignored her. He opened his jaws, with their disturbingly solid teeth, and joined the eagles in song. Kaylin didn't have the breath to start singing again; she didn't try. But the runes were warmer and brighter as she struggled with the weight of the one on the right. They served as lamps, but there was no flicker in the light they cast. The fact that they were behind her and she cast no shadow should have disturbed her more.
It didn't; she was frowning instead at the door she was inching toward. She hadn't seen a single door so far; it figured that the first one she'd find stood between her and the Consort.
* * *
The door did not obligingly roll open when she reached it. Of course not. That would be too easy. Her arms were shaking; if she had to drag the word on the right another foot, she'd collapse from exhaustion.
To make matters so much worse, the door-a door that was at least two stories in height, and made of either stone or pocked iron-was warded. Exactly how was she supposed to touch a door ward when both of her hands were full?
She looked at the small dragon.
Hiss, squawk, hiss. His wings rose, and he whacked her in the face. "Look, I understand that we have to get through the door-but it's warded. You open it! Just-just bite it, like you did with the tree!"
He hissed again, raising his head and stretching his neck. He inhaled.
Kaylin said, "No!"
Small, transparent creatures should never be able to look so smug. She dragged the two words until she was flush against the closed door, grinding her teeth. She didn't want the dragon to breathe on the door-and why, she didn't know. Everything about this space implied dream, which could terrify but couldn't exactly kill.
Except for her ankle. This wouldn't be the first time she'd twisted it; she was familiar with sprains; this was not dream pain. Dream pain usually ripped your heart out and left you screaming in fear or rage, or weeping helplessly. It didn't give you a bum ankle.
But this dream would kill the Consort. She couldn't treat it like any other dream she didn't want to be in. She'd seen what the small dragon's breath could do; she wasn't willing to risk damaging the Consort.
And you're willing to damage yourself, idiot? No one is paying you enough for this.
She pressed her forehead into the ward. And of course, given the day-and the weeks leading up to it-alarms began to blare. At least her forehead didn't go numb and her hair didn't catch fire-not even when the door did. She jerked her head back. She couldn't leap away unless she surrendered the words she'd carried all the way here, and she knew it wasn't the time yet.
It would have been easier if the fire hadn't been so damn hot. It was almost white; the edges were gold and orange and too damn close to her face; her eyes watered. The small dragon, however, stayed where he was, neck elongated, chin tilted forward; she glanced at him, saw fire reflected in his eyes.
She glanced back and saw the eleven ghosts; they were white with reflected light, and very slightly transparent. They reminded her, for no reason she could think of, of the small creature clinging a little too tightly to her shoulder.
Kaylin had to admit that it was a pretty impressive way to open a door. Most doors didn't dissolve into ash. The ash clung to her dress. It probably dusted her face, as well, but she couldn't see her face; it certainly settled on the small dragon's wings; he shook them out, which probably didn't help Kaylin any. As the air cleared, she looked through the frame of what had once been a door.
It opened into a very, very large room-but it was a room built in a shape that Kaylin had never seen before; it had so many almost triangular corners recessed into the walls it seemed to be all corners. The floor was tiled, or appeared to be tiled, in a way that suggested flagstones and courtyard, and indeed, it was open to air.
Or it was open to sky-but the sky held no moon; it held sun, sunlight, azure, no hint of cloud. And in the center of this spiky, oddly shaped courtyard stood the Consort.
* * *
The Lady was pale; she wore robes as white as she now was; as white as the fall of her hair. Her arms were raised, but they were trembling like a junkie's; they had always been slender but now-now they looked emaciated. She stood before a fountain; water fell from air into a basin of ivory and gold. It was a trickle, a drip. The Consort's voice could be described the same way.
On the basin, perched two eagles; the shadows flew above. Kaylin walked, cursing, dragging the rune that seemed determined to scratch the hell out of the stones beneath her feet.
But with the runes, in Kaylin's wake, the ghosts entered the courtyard. As they did, the Consort, voice wavering, lowered her arms and turned. Her eyes widened as she saw Kaylin, and their color-clear tens of yards away-was gold. Kaylin almost never saw that color in a Barrani face: it meant surprise, and it faded into a more natural green as she watched.
The runes did not magically transform any part of this room. They did not become smaller or lighter; they didn't fly away. Kaylin dragged them, heading in a straight line toward the Consort and the fountain. She wasn't certain what she found more disturbing: the fountain or the Consort's fragility. No, that was a lie; she was worried about the Consort. The presence of water, here, would have to wait.
The Consort nodded encouragement-but she didn't move. It was almost as if she couldn't. Kaylin, ankle throbbing, could. As she did, she noticed that the glass statues, the ghosts, began to separate. The first of the statues, the slender man, walked toward one of the triangular corners. His feet left a trail in the stone, which should have been impossible as his steps didn't actually reach the floor.
But when he came to the corner, he rose, stepping onto a pedestal of nothing but air. Only then did he look back at the others, and he smiled at them. It was meant, Kaylin thought, to be encouraging, to give them strength; it cut her. She had never seen a similar expression on the face of any Barrani she had ever met.
She spun then, Consort almost forgotten; all ten were now departing, walking-as he had done-to different empty corners and taking their positions upon equally invisible pedestals. They weren't still; they didn't become statues in the same way; they looked for each other, sometimes wildly and sometimes casually, as if they couldn't bear to look weak. That, at least, was familiar.
Each of the corners filled this way; only when they were filled did the glass ghosts look into the center of the courtyard, and their gazes fell on the Consort. Kaylin reached her as she lowered shaking arms, and at the last, Kaylin let go of the runes, held out her arms, and caught the Lady as she collapsed.
The eagles fell silent; the shadows fell silent, although they continued to glide.
Kaylin wasn't Teela; she couldn't carry the Consort far-but she could now carry her to the edge of the fountain; the water had ceased to fall. The last drop of water hit the surface of the rippling pool beneath it; Kaylin could see reflected light in the basin.
The light grew. It grew, and it rose; the Consort whimpered, lifting her hands; she had no voice left. But Kaylin shook her head. "It's all right," she said, although it wasn't. She turned to look at the runes she had left at the edge of the fountain. They were glowing, but they had done that since the moment she'd touched the Consort and closed her eyes, entering a dream and a nightmare.
She was afraid to let go of the Consort. She was afraid that if she did the Lady would slip away; the dream would swallow her. She would go where Kaylin couldn't follow.
Lirienne.
No answer. Kaylin set the Consort on her feet and kept one arm around her back, beneath her arms. She stumbled; she'd forgotten her ankle. She didn't fall. The runes weren't that far away.
The Consort whispered something; Kaylin couldn't hear it. It sounded like Barrani, but spoken with a throat so dry only a rasp was left. Kaylin shook her head. She had no idea what the words were supposed to do, and this was the first time she was being asked to decide. To choose the words. To choose their destination.
Chapter 10
Kaylin hesitated, but only because supporting the Consort and dragging the heaviest of the runes at the same time was impossible. The small dragon squawked.
"If you can't be helpful, shut up. Not you," she added in panic as the Consort lifted her head.
Kaylin grabbed the rune that had remained weightless; that, she could do. It fit her hand like one of her own fingers, although it didn't vanish at the contact. The Consort's eyes widened, shifting from green to a familiar blue. But she reached out, as Kaylin had, and she touched it, as well. Her eyes widened farther, and took on the oddest sheen of gold. Kaylin noticed that the Consort's hand didn't pass through the rune, the way the others had. She was as real as Kaylin in this place.
Supporting most of the Consort's weight, Kaylin turned to the fountain. The surface of the water in the basin was rippling, and the ripples grew stronger. Light was no longer reflected in it because the water wasn't still enough. She almost asked the Consort where the rune should go or be. Almost. But she understood that somehow, it was her decision to make, wrong or right.