“The water wanted to ask me a favor,” Kaylin replied, trying not to match that tone and mostly succeeding.
This changed Teela’s expression, and not in a good way. “The water wanted to ask you a favor.”
Hope snickered. She wondered if the water had spoken with Hope, or if Hope had spoken to the water, or if the two ancient forces had simply ignored each other.
“It wasn’t a big favor.”
“What was the favor?”
“She wanted me to befriend Ollarin.”
Teela’s eyes were blue. They got darker. She said nothing. Instead, she turned and began to walk toward the giant tree.
Kaylin had some experience with the West March version of a treehouse: it was a place in which Barrani were meant to live, not huddle and play. The tree itself provided walls and ceilings; the Barrani didn’t cut down other trees to build the platforms upon which furniture and people stood. She wasn’t as clear on the delivery of goods—she didn’t imagine the tree could randomly produce food and clothing. Trees were not sentient buildings.
But the West March trees seemed to grow and shift—with time—at the desire of the lords who claimed them as ancestral homes.
Lirienne did not live in a tree; he lived in a large hall—smaller in scope and size than the High Halls, but similar in architecture.
She froze. The Lord of the West March was here, somewhere. He was in the High Halls. But he hadn’t called for Kaylin, and Kaylin had zero desire to meet him here.
“What are you thinking?” Teela asked, the question a command.
“The Lord of the West March is probably in the High Halls somewhere. I’m thinking it would be better to avoid him today, if possible.”
“Dressed like that? It is not only possible but mandatory. He has claimed you askyuthe. You are his chosen kin, and your deportment and manners will reflect on him.” Teela exhaled. “But you will have to see him while he is here. He understands that you have duties to the Imperial Halls of Law; duties to kin do not supersede duties to lord—in this case, the Emperor. He will, however, expect that you reach out on your own time and in an appropriate fashion.
“There are days,” she added, in Elantran, “where I curse the very existence of my people.” This was clearly one of them. “I know we’ve made clear that Barrani politics are deadly games—for Barrani. We’d like you to avoid as much of them as possible.”
“She is,” Severn said.
Teela glanced at him before shrugging. “Let’s get this over with.”
The equivalent of Helen’s parlor was on the first floor of the tiered upper layers of the tree, which Kaylin considered a kindness to guests. The stairs that grew, in an upward spiral, from the tree’s trunk weren’t girded by something as simple as a railing. They had to walk—or Kaylin did—as close to the trunk as possible as they made their way up. She wondered if Barrani ever had a fear of heights.
Then again, Severn didn’t.
But the stairs opened up onto a large platform, the trunk being its central pillar as it continued up into the boughs. Above their heads was a knotwork of twined branches, the bark a pale brown with ivory flecks. Leaves and much smaller branches had budded or blossomed, lending color for the gaze of those who might choose to look up. There was no stone; the walls, such as they were, were implied by leaves and vines. Kaylin had no doubt she could be punted through those walls.
A Barrani man was seated on a long, wide couch. Next to him, rising almost the instant she caught sight of visitors, was Yvonne.
Teela cleared her throat.
Right. Invitation. They were here for a reason. Kaylin, however, smiled at Yvonne. Yvonne, eyes green with flecks of blue, smiled back; the blue dimmed. She really reminded Kaylin of Serralyn.
“I’m sorry to bother you so soon,” Kaylin began.
“An’Tellarus has been expecting your invitation since you left.”
Kaylin winced. “Not patiently, I assume?”
To Kaylin’s surprise, Ollarin, who had not yet introduced himself, chuckled. Out loud. “I see you did meet her.”
“I’m Corporal Kaylin Neya. This is my partner, Corporal Severn Handred. And this is Corporal Teela Danelle. We serve the Hawks.”
“I am Ollarin, An’Sennarin. And you have met my friend, Yvonne of Sennarin.” Yvonne’s eyes widened, but only a little; clearly that wasn’t the name she was used to hearing. “But you are not here on official business, surely?”
“No.” Kaylin took a risk. “We thought there’d be less trouble if we came as mortal Hawks.”