“You don’t,” Terrano pointed out.
“I do,” was Helen’s serene reply. “Fallessian, I believe things have calmed down enough that you do not need to be so vigilant.”
Fallessian, to Kaylin’s surprise, failed to hear Helen. Probably deliberate. Kaylin opened her mouth; Severn lifted a hand, palm out, in her direction. She fell silent.
Yvonne, however, began to speak. “You wanted to meet me because you knew about the Lake.”
Kaylin drew one sharp breath. “We would never have met if An’Tellarus hadn’t commanded our presence. I didn’t know it was you.”
Yvonne, wrapped in an apron, nodded. “But she knew you had come at the Consort’s command. She doesn’t know a lot about you, but she does know that you’re Severn’s partner. And that you’re Chosen. I think she could guess.”
Kaylin was almost afraid to look at An’Tellarus for confirmation.
“I think she was surprised that you were in the company of An’Teela—and at that, An’Teela when she’s deadly serious—but it didn’t matter. She doesn’t dislike An’Teela; An’Teela and she have had very little reason for conflict in their long individual histories.”
“Yvonne,” An’Tellarus said, making of the name a warning.
“They were both born to the West March, and they’ve both made their names and power known in the High Court, not the provincial one. An’Teela has nothing An’Tellarus wants. An’Tellarus has nothing An’Teela wants. They are both capable of surviving any social irregularities they choose to indulge in. And if I’m being fair, An’Tellarus has not done much research into An’Teela and her political allies because they had, as many lords of their age—and there are few—their own interests and no desire to engage in pointless conflict.”
Yvonne worked with her hands, and it seemed to soothe her, to calm her. She spoke far more easily than she had when she’d been sitting across from Kaylin in a parlor.
“I didn’t take the Lake’s test in the normal way—if there evenisa normal way. The Lake almost reminds me of the green. I heard the green for so long. So, so long.” Her voice softened as she spoke, and her eyes were an odd shade: green, but not the normal Barrani green. Something about Yvonne was different.
An’Tellarus pushed past Severn—glaring at him as she did—to reach Yvonne. “Child,” she said, her voice soft but clear as thunder. “We should never have taken you out of the green.”
Yvonne seemed almost unaware of An’Tellarus—a neat trick, given that An’Tellarus had grabbed her by the shoulder.
“Harmoniste,” Yvonne said, as if An’Tellarus no longer existed. Kaylin finally recognized the green of Yvonne’s eyes: they were the same color as the green of this damn dress. But Yvonne wore no crown. No one in the kitchen did.
“The harmoniste isn’t the Teller,” Kaylin said, her words a thin thread of defiance.Severn, who is Yvonne? What is Yvonne?
She was badly injured in the West March and escaped to the green. The green protected her.
For how long?
For as long as it took for someone to find her there.
Her eyes...
Severn was silent. He was worried, but he didn’t consider Yvonne a threat. He was ambivalent about the green. Kaylin should have known that the green would make itself felt. They weren’t in the West March, but they hadn’t been in the West March when this dress had made its reappearance in her life.
Why, why,whyhad she chosen this dress? Because she wanted to impress An’Tellarus, an almost total stranger? Because she wanted to looksignificant? She should bloody well know better by now. She should.
“I think your choice of dress would not have made a difference,” Helen said softly.
“Is there something different about Yvonne?”
Helen’s eyes were obsidian, but it was Terrano who answered. “Yes. But it’s subtle. You wouldn’t notice it if you didn’t have my eyes.”
She didn’t even look at his eyes; she could guess how he’d configured them, and it always made her slightly queasy.
“Yvonne,” Kaylin said, drawing breath and trying to pull herself together. She’d’ve let An’Tellarus talk, but Yvonne was looking at only one person in the room now that the food had been plated and Mrs. Erickson appeared to be finished.
Or maybe not. Mrs. Erickson opened a cupboard and pulled down a large, brightly colored bowl. She then moved toward a different cupboard and from it pulled two covered round bins. “Helen, eggs?”
“Of course,” Helen said, eyes shifting into their normal appearance.
Yvonne moved, then, as if her body was falling into familiar, comforting habits; her eyes lost the odd green, and her attention once again shifted to Mrs. Erickson’s kitchen.