As if in response to her comment, his roar grew loud enoughshe could feel it in her jaw and shoulders. The arm that held the orb trembled, not with sound but with weight; the orb had grown heavier.
She wasn’t surprised when he breathed on it; she would have leaped to the side because his breath was the fine spray of glittering silver mess that panicked Barrani who knew anything about ancient familiars.
Helen spoke. It was hard to recognize her voice because she spoke as Hope had been speaking—in a roar so loud it made of sound a sensation.
Hope replied in kind. Kaylin couldn’t tell whether it was meant for Helen or the orb he’d been screaming at.
“He says what he does is necessary,” Helen told her.
“And you believe it?”
“I believe he believes it, and Kaylin, something has happened to the intrusion.” She hesitated. When speaking with Kaylin, Helen seldom hesitated, and when she did, it was because she was trying to find the right words to express her thoughts. “I think the orb has absorbed much of the power required to assert the path they’ve taken. Annarion believes that the attacks have lessened because the path has become unstable. Someone will have to stabilize it.”
“And they’re trying?”
“Yes—but not from the inside. Nightshade has mortally wounded a dozen people and killed two. An’Tellarus has killed four.”
“And the invaders are using magic.”
“Both sides are using magic, yes. Hope must finish as quickly as he can. I have slowed time in this space, but I cannot stop it—it requires too much power, and I am attempting to keep track of everyone within my domain.”
“Did they come in through the outlands?” That was how Hallionne Alsanis had been breached. She grimaced. “And canyou do anything to help me with the orb’s weight? I don’t want it to touch the floor.”
“To help you, I will have to touch it. Everything created, everything affected, within my boundaries is me. If I help to lessen the orb’s weight, it would be my power exposed to it.”
Hope squawked in fury.
“Damn it! I alreadyknowthat’s a bad idea or Iwouldn’t careif the orb touched the floor. Whatever you’re doing, hurry.” Her arm had fallen; the trembling was worse. She could lift and carry almost anything for short distances or small periods of time. The orb’s weight, when it had first come to her hand, was as substantial as smoke. Now it was heavy—heavier than its size implied and becoming heavier as the seconds passed.
Hope roared again. This sound was loud but short, a bark with an earthquake behind it.
The orb—she’d avoided calling it an egg with effort—began to open, the tiny cracks widening to reveal blood and darkness. And eyes. If she could have dropped the egg, if it weren’t attached to her palm, she’d have thrown it as far as she could. The eyes were open, and they were looking at her. They were red-irised, but the pupil was a pale gold—so pale it might have been white.
The eyes belonged to a face; the face rose out of the broken shell, although pieces clung to its cheeks and ears. It had a lizard’s head; it reminded Kaylin of Hope. It was the wrong color—it had some—but the right shape; the problem was its weight.
As she watched, red eyes fastened onto her gaze as if to hold it forever. The rest of the shell cracked and fell, becoming white ash before it touched the ground. Wings of silver, red, and ebony shot out. What emerged from the egg looked very much like an oddly colored version of Hope. She only wished it weighed as much.
It didn’t squawk. It didn’t have Hope’s voice. But even itsnewborn wings were the length and shape of Hope’s. It didn’t look friendly; it bared its teeth at Kaylin.
Hope squawked.
The newly hatched creature didn’t seem to hear him. Kaylin didn’t need to understand Hope’s words to know that Hope was about to lose his temper. What she didn’t expect—what was almost horrifying—was Hope’s jaws. They opened—they had to when he was complaining—and then just keptgrowing.
The hatchling turned, opening its jaws; Hope got a face full of fire. The wings, still wet and red, shot out as it rose to face its attacker. This was not what Kaylin had assumed would happen. Some small part of her had assumed she’d have two familiars, or at least two tiny winged lizards.
Hope clearly had always had other ideas.
The newborn hatchling breathed fire. The flames were purple. Hope breathed silver mist. Where the two collided, they seemed to seep into each other. At least the roaring diminished.
The hatchling hopped onto Kaylin’s left shoulder—and wound its tail around her neck as if to balance itself. Hope roared at it.
The hatchling’s croaking roar was its reply. Its tail tightened. Hope swooped down, far more agile than the newborn, and fastened its jaws to the tail as if to remove it. Predictably, the tail tightened. She didn’t understand what Hope wanted, expected, or needed from this—but the hatchling, dark and red and utterly unlike Hope in anything but shape and size, turned its head toward her, closing its jaws as she attempted to pull Hope off its tail.
“Helen—what are they doing? What are they trying to do?”
Helen was silent for so long, Kaylin felt a knot of anxiety begin to form. When she spoke, it was in a language Kaylin didn’t recognize and couldn’t understand. But Hope did, and the hatchling, newly born, seemed to as well; they both stopped their fight. Hope let go of the hatchling’s tail but breathed on itbefore he withdrew to Kaylin’s right shoulder. He lifted a wing to cover her face but didn’t smack her with it.
To her surprise, the hatchling mirrored his movement, lifting his wing to slap it across Hope’s. She shouldn’t have been able to see through the substantial new wing. She could. She could see the darkness and Shadow that existed beneath her feet, could see it at arm’s length. And she could see, as the Marks on her arms began to glow a strange purple-blue, the tendrils of that Shadow, as if Helen no longer existed.