There are more.
Severn didn’t ask. Instinct told him that somehow, these three held keys to part of this crime—or the reason for it. And he thought Random might also hold keys, if she survived.
How old were they when they died?
Almost twenty in Imperial years.
And this occurred over two decades ago.To his surprise, Ybelline was amused.
You intend to ask for permission to visit the Oracular Halls? Helmat will be greatly tempted to show you the door, possibly with more force than necessary.
Only if Random is still alive, still living there. And yes, I’ll obviously need permission.He exhaled.You know why the memories stopped.
Not with certainty—but with near certainty, yes. I, too, will have feathers to ruffle. Shall I give you the information about the Barrani High Court now?
Severn shook his head.We need to see the circumstances surrounding their deaths. If this was labeled accidental, we need to examine that accident.
Ybelline nodded, all amusement gone.
Severn once again stepped into the living memories of people who were no longer intrepid children. He was surprised at the difference in tone, in feel—he had expected more continuity, somehow. On certain days, he felt he was still the child he had once been—just better able to hide it. He wondered if his own internal thoughts would differ so greatly.
Yes. You are not the child you were. No more are they.
He had liked the children they were.
And you dislike the adults they became?
No.
You had nothing to fear from children; you had something to fear from adults; adult lives are more complex and their decisions more deliberate. It is always easier to deal with simple things.
Severn didn’t know how to move through these memories.
No. You touch the Tha’alaan through me, but you are not part of it. I’m sorry.
What did you say about apologies? They change nothing? Don’t regret it, he told her.I don’t.
He felt a wry smile that wasn’t his, and then she once again opened up the lives of the three.
The first change he noted was that they were not together—not in the way they had been on the day they had undertaken their pilgrimage. Tessa was, as Ybelline had said, at school; much of that schoolwork involved the ability to mute her experiences; to detach herself from the Tha’alaan. It was truly the hardest thing Tessa felt she had ever done—but she’d shown some promise at hiding her thoughts early. It wasn’t so much hiding, as binding them to other memories, other places that had stronger meaning to the Tha’alani as a whole. Adding a thread here, a thread there—something that could, with effort, be followed if one had both knowledge and will.
Ybelline did.
The memories that had stopped so abruptly had not been deliberately hidden by the former children. Tessa was the only one of the three who might have been able to hide her own life, her own traces; the other two couldn’t.
Tobi contacted Tessa when she left the Tha’alanari compound. She had failed to acknowledge him until she was surrounded by the walls of her home. It was not a home she shared with her family.
Tobi, of the three, had changed the least. He had, to Severn’s surprise, the same desire that Tessa did—he just didn’t have the talent. Tobi was furtive in some ways—had he not been, they would never have been able to visit the Oracles—but he was slightly larger than life. Hiding his own light wasn’t possible, except on the inside of his dreams.
He, too, had been affected by Random. He’d liked her. He felt, in some way, that she had much in common with the Tha’alani—much more than most humans. She hadn’t been afraid. He hadn’t been afraid, then. As he grew older, he shouldered the burden of fear. It sat very poorly on his shoulders.
It’s not fear, Tessa told him.It’s caution.
Caution is boring. If we were cautious, we’d never have met Random. We’d never have met Oracles. We’d never have met Ollarin.
Both Ybelline and Severn stiffened.
That’s not his name.