“Sedarias and Teela will join you. If An’Tellarus has objections, they’re going to say—I’m sorry—that they’re your guardians.”
Kaylin almost forgot about her cheek as her jaw fell open. “I don’t need a guardian!”
“Neither does Yvonne.”
She snapped her jaw shut to stop any other words from escaping. “So... they’re going to be there to balance out An’Tellarus.”
“If it’s necessary, yes. Ummm, I should probably warn you: Teela will be carrying her sword.”
This day was not getting any better. “Just how terrifying is An’Tellarus, anyway?”
“She’s unpredictable, cunning, and spiteful. But when she chooses to do so, she can protect almost anyone. Sedarias would like to be friendly with her; she could be useful to her cause. We know she supported An’Sennarin when he first took the seat. It wasn’t bloodless. Had he not wrested control of Sennarin from its former lord, no one would have expected hecouldhold the seat. But she apparently did expect just that—and he’s still breathing.”
“He’s nothing like Sedarias.”
“No, probably not. Sedarias was born to power and raised to want it. The High Court is her natural element. The meeting may not go well—but you’re not part of it, in theory. Speak to Yvonne. Learn what you need to learn. She won’t harm you, and I’m certain you won’t hurt her. But... try to be a little less chaotic?
“Also: try not to strangle Terrano—if you want to, you’ll be standing in a long line, and it’s growing longer every time he opens his mouth.”
“Has the bleeding started again?”
Annarion and Mandoran exchanged a glance. It was Mandoran who answered. “For now, it seems to be okay—but the skin beneath the Erenne mark is red and inflamed. I’m not sure it won’t start again.” He reached into a pocket and handed her a handkerchief. “Just in case.”
Teela and Sedarias were waiting at the foot of the stairs when Kaylin reached them. Hope was fluttering in place by the open door. Yvonne entered first, and Hope flew to her but didn’t land on her shoulder. When she lifted her arm, he squawked but stayed in the air, moving backward as Yvonne stepped through the door.
An’Tellarus followed.
To Kaylin’s surprise, her hair was not pinned and sculpted in place; it fell in a straight, perfect line from the crown of her head down her back in a glossy black cape. She wore no adornment on her head, no crown but that hair. Her eyes were blue—of course they were blue—but her expression was less dismissive.
When she bowed her head, Kaylin found herself holding her breath, because the bow she offered, she offered to Helen. Helen, in her nonintrusive, normal clothing.
Something about Helen’s posture implied that the gesture wasn’t out of place. To make matters more awkward, An’Tellarus held that bow until Helen bade her rise, as if Helen were the reigning noble, the reigning monarch.
“Cediela, rise. It has been a long, long time since we last met. I bid you welcome. You have met Lord Kaylin; she is my master, now, and she does not follow the customs of the High Court and your powerful kin.”
Kaylin wished she was part of the cohort group mind, because she desperately wanted to tell them all that this particular surprise wasn’t her fault. But Helen’s eyes, when she turned toward Kaylin, weren’t her normal brown. They were black, obsidian, the color of An’Tellarus’s hair. Flecks of light, opalescent and shining, could be clearly seen from where Kaylin was standing.
Helen’s eyes only looked like this when she had slid into defensive mode—but she hadn’t exchanged clothing for armor.
Kaylin hastily stepped forward, passing Helen to take up position squarely in front of the Avatar. “Yvonne. An’Tellarus. I bid you welcome to my house.”
An’Tellarus had to look at Kaylin, because Kaylin was now standing directly between her and Helen’s Avatar. But her eyes shifted into an almost draconic gold: the Barrani color of surprise. They remained that way for several long breaths.
When she found words again, An’Tellarus said, “What are you wearing?” As if she didn’t recognize the dress, or as if she couldn’t believe that it was on Kaylin.
Kaylin, not one of nature’s liars, said, “It’s the dress given me by the green.”
“There is noregaliathis year, or none intended. How did you come by the dress?”
“I’ve worn it before, as harmoniste.” She could almost feel Teela’s gaze drilling into the space between her shoulder blades.
“And now?”
“It was in my closet.”
Gold gave way to blue. Kaylin recovered and turned to Yvonne, but Yvonne’s eyes were also gold; they were, however, unblinking. She opened her mouth and failed to speak, staring at her host. Or staring at her host’s dress.
Yvonne was born in the West March; Yvonne recognized the dress. She recognized when the dress should be worn, probably even understood the role of the person who wore it.