“He is?”
“He isn’t.”
“Then why—”
“Because the Teller’s crown is now in his room. And Serralyn doesn’t think that’s the problem. She’s worried, did I mention?”
Kaylin nodded, as if worrying Serralyn was the worst thing that was happening.
“The green shouldn’t be here. It shouldn’t reach here.”
“But the green does touch the world outside its theoretical borders—Nightshadehadthe Teller’s crown before he set out to the West March. And the dress appeared in the closet of a Hallionne when I was on the way there.”
“Serralyn says that’s only when theregaliais about to take place. It’s always been true. This is different.” He hesitated. “She says the green—like the elemental forces—is a power beyond us, and if it is not contained, she fears what it might do. Ithasbeen contained; the green is in the West March for a reason.
“But the aftereffects of the overlap between the dead and the living, and the intrusion of the green—due, probably, to Azoria’s spells—are causing ripples in reality. Yvonne is part ofthat. You’re part of that. She thought, if he were awake, that Nightshade might be drawn into it.” He exhaled. “Mrs. Erickson? I’m sorry I interrupted you.”
“Oh, I wasn’t speaking, dear,” she said almost automatically, as if to deny she’d been inconvenienced at all. That was her way. But Kaylin understood that Terrano’s apology was meant to prod her to continue what she hadn’t even started to say.
“You said there are no ghosts?”
Mrs. Erickson nodded, but it was a shaky nod.
“What do you see?”
Fallessian immediately interposed himself between Mrs. Erickson and the rest of the kitchen, which made it harder for Yvonne to find refuge in helping the older woman.
“Nothing terrible will happen to anyone in this kitchen,” Helen said, her voice soothing, her expression the kind of soft that implied what lay beneath it was made of steel.
Mrs. Erickson then stepped out from behind Fallessian, toward Yvonne. She leaned up—she had to lean up, as she was the shortest person in the room—and whispered something to the young Barrani woman.
Kaylin could see Yvonne in profile, because Yvonne bent to catch the old woman’s words. But Severn was worried. No sign of it crossed his expression, but he’d always been good at keeping his reactions to himself.
Yvonne’s eyes were wide and dark. It was to Helen she looked first, and then, past Helen, to An’Tellarus, whose expression was rigid with denial. But it was to Kaylin she turned last, her eyes beseeching. “Why—why am I here?”
“Because something is happening with the Lake, with the Lady, with the future of the Barrani. And because,” Kaylin added, exhaling, “I wanted to talk to you before I introduced you to the Consort. If I thought it was safe. If—as I believed—you never intended harm.”
“Why is the harmoniste’s dress here?”
“I don’t know.”
“And the flowers? The flowers aresinging. The green is close.”
“I don’t know. If I had to guess, the green has slender roots in this space.”
“Because of you?”
“And because of Mrs. Erickson. Because it was Mrs. Erickson who wore a wreath made of these flowers, and Mrs. Erickson who... touched the dead. She can see the dead, and she can speak to them as if they were children.”
“What kind of a home is this?” Yvonne asked, bewildered. “I feel like I’ve walked into a story—and I’m not certain it isn’t Barrani in nature.”
Terrano snorted. “She means noble death and destruction and tragedy, in case that wasn’t clear. If we’re bit players, we’re all dead, but we don’t getgooddeaths. Well, maybe An’Tellarus might.”
“What would I be?”
“Don’t ask. There’s a reason Barrani children don’t get much in the way of stories—not the way humans do.”
“That’s because we don’t need pointless fiction to ennoble ourselves,” Sedarias—mostly silent until this moment—snapped.