Kaylin grimaced. “Masters, if you prefer. Especially not the older ones. She’s a bit of an unusual building.”
“She’s like the Hallionne. I mean—they’re all different, but they all take care of their guests. And they hear what their guests think.”
Kaylin nodded. “Helen will hear what you think unless you’re good at misdirecting.”
“Which I’m not. I’m not afraid of that, though. I always wanted to spend time in the Hallionne, but Alsanis was... not accepting visitors for most of my life.”
“He did have visitors,” Fallessian said. If Kaylin’s eye color could change with surprise, they’d be that color now. “Mostly, it was us. For centuries.”
Yvonne’s brows rose. “You—you’re one of the children who were forced into the green!”
Fallessian’s expression rippled, but he nodded. “We were with Alsanis for a long time. He worried about us and cared for us, but he wouldn’t let us leave. And he wouldn’t let anyone else visit us, either. We were younger, then—it didn’t really occur to us to care about Alsanis’s other friends.”
“But you did leave.”
Fallessian nodded, glancing at Mrs. Erickson before he spoke again. To Kaylin’s surprise, Mrs. Erickson’s gentle smile was accompanied by a nod—wordless encouragement. The idea that Fallessian cared about Mrs. Erickson wasn’t a surprise; he’d have to, to spend so much time with her. But that he could somehow take direction from an old, mortal woman?
“We left on the day of theregalia. Theregaliatrapped us; theregaliafreed us. The harmoniste on the day of our release was Lord Kaylin. She wore that dress. Her hair was far less refined, though.”
“I wish I’d seen that. I imagine the Lords of the West March weren’t really happy about it.”
“They weren’t. But the green chooses—both harmoniste and Teller. Lord Kaylin was chosen as harmoniste, and the Teller was Calarnenne.”
Yvonne frowned. An’Tellarus would not have—she’d’ve recognized the name.
“He’s outcaste,” Kaylin said, voice soft.
Yvonne’s eyes grew gold again, but surprise fled more quicklythis time. “The green chose an outcaste lord as the Teller.” It wasn’t a question. She didn’t think Fallessian was lying. “And a mortal as harmoniste.”
“Probably because of these,” Kaylin replied, lifting an arm. The Marks of the Chosen were faintly luminescent, even in the bright lights of the kitchen. Mrs. Erickson liked natural light, but not to bake by—at least not according to Helen.
“That probably caused a lot of noise as well,” Yvonne replied, acknowledging the probable truth. “I think you’re the only mortal the green has ever chosen for that role.”
“Well, the only one in recent history—I get the sense that history about the green is scattered and not entirely reliable.”
“Because it isn’t necessary.” Yvonne’s answer was far firmer. “The green is the green. We can serve the green at the edges of its domain—but only with permission, and the service itself is akin to gardening. With extreme care. Some Barrani cannot enter the green. The gates are there, and the Warden is willing to guide them, but the green is not willing to entertain them.
“But sometimes the green will sing. And sometimes it will tell stories. Theregalia. The stories offered by the green are transformational. They can change lives and sometimes do—but never in a completely predictable way.” She turned back to the oven to rescue the last of Mrs. Erickson’s trays. While she did, she continued to speak.
“The green decides, but it doesn’t tell us its decisions. We have to guess. One of its decisions is, was, and will always be: no children at theregalia. No children exposed to the full force of the green’s primal stories.
“But you were. Everyone in the West March knows An’Teela’s story. Everyone. But we also know that she wasn’t the only child who was sent to the green. The Lords of the High Court thought they could experiment with their own kin; they thought to learn about the green, touse it.”
Fallessian had fallen silent.
“Yvonne,” Helen said, her Avatar appearing in the kitchen. “An’Tellarus is now very alarmed.”
Yvonne was confused. “But why?” She set the tray, with its pastries, on the counter, and carefully removed the mitts.
“I cannot say, but she feels this is not the conversation you were meant to have when you accepted the invitation. I should warn you she is on her way to the kitchen as I speak.”
Yvonne’s eyes took on a disturbing shade of blue. Something about that color reminded Kaylin of Teela at her most terrifying.
“The green is protective of the children it almost destroyed,” Yvonne said, her voice louder and far more resonant than it had ever been. “I intend Fallessian of Torcannon no harm.”
Nothing about the voice, the sudden shift in posture, the darkness of the eyes, reminded Kaylin of the Yvonne she had met in either the Tellarus rooms or the Sennarin rooms.
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