“People have really weird ideas about how Oracles work,” Random replied. She no longer had to grab Jerrin by the hand, but had done so anyway. “They think that they can just ask us questions about the future, and we’ll answer clearly in a way they can understand.
“They think that if they know the future, they can do things that people who don’t can’t. Or plan things. Or kill people.” She shrugged at the last one. “I don’t understand why we can’t explain it to everyone—but Master Sabrai thinks no one would believe us anyway.” Her expression grew shadowed. “Sometimes people really don’t like it when they hear the future. They don’t like the future, and instead of figuring out how to avoid it, they blame us—they say we’re cursing them.”
The Tha’alani didn’t need to look at each other to share what would, in humans, require a glance.
“So it’s not really safe, because people are like that. And we don’t know which people will be like that. It’sexhaustingto always be afraid of people.” She turned toward them. “But I guess you kind of know what it’s like.”
“What do you mean?” Tessa asked.
“Well, you can read minds, right? You can know what we’re thinking. You can know everything about us. We can’t have secrets. We can’t lie.”
“We can’t just do that without touching you, though.”
Random nodded.
“And you don’t care?”
“Well, ummm, not really, no. Should I?”
Oracles, Severn realized, were strange. Random seemed to be open and truthful; he couldn’t confirm that the way he could with the three Tha’alani children, because he wasn’t privy to her thoughts. Without Ybelline, he wouldn’t have had access to the Tha’alani children, either. But he thought Random meant what she said, and regardless, he was carried along with the Tha’alani children until they had climbed a wide flight of stairs and had entered a hall that was full of light.
The light itself didn’t appear to emanate from windows—there was simply too much of it—but shone on paintings that adorned the side of the hall that had no doors to break it. At the end of that hall was a painting that was taller than any of the children present, and wider as well. It was above the ground by a good three feet, but that didn’t matter.
Severn stood staring at a painting that was almost preternaturally alive. The Dragon’s eyes were red; the scales that covered every inch the painting had captured were a dark shade of blue, with hints of purple sheen.
“The Emperor,” Random grinned. “Isn’t he amazing?”
That wasn’t the word any of the Tha’alani used. In fact, they were surprised enough they didn’t resort to words at all; their communication was a tide of different emotions, which had no need of words.
“Do you have one where you can see his wings?”
“Not him, but I think there’s another Dragon. It’s not in the hall, though.”
“Why?”
“The paint’s not dry yet?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s not like this one, though.”
“Well, not if you can see wings. Mostly you see eyes and teeth in this one.”
“Yeah. It’s not even life-size, you know?” Random’s shrug deepened. “But I can’t show you the other one. We’re not allowed to go into the workrooms.”
“Workrooms?”
“Some of us have rooms. To work in,” she added, in case it wasn’t obvious. Her brow was puckered in thought, as if she were speaking a second language but laboriously translating between that and her mother tongue.
“Do you?”
She nodded.
“Do you paint?”
“Sometimes. I’m not as good at it as he is, though.” She gestured at the painting she’d brought them to see. “Sometimes I sketch. Sometimes I make things—like sculptures.”
“Is it ever just words?” Jerrin again.
“Not for me. Stuart’s are almost always just words but...sometimes he speaks them in a language none of us understand.”
“Can anyone?”