the existence of Barrani that even Teela feared, this didn’t seem like a great idea.
If the Castle’s defenses are fully mobilized, it will attempt to exterminate all intruders. This is unlikely to harm the ancestors. It is, however, likely to damage you.
You don’t seem that concerned.
No? I am unlikely to perish here, no matter what the outcome. You, however, are not guaranteed to survive. Do not look for me; look for the runes of the Ancients. It is there you will be safest.
She was silent for a beat, watching Teela’s tense back. The runes are in the heart of the Castle. We’ll need to enter the Long Halls to even get there.
In theory, yes. But remember: you are in a fief Tower now; geography bends to the dictate of will.
The dimly lit hall seemed to go on forever, something Kaylin definitely didn’t remember from her first visit to the statuary. She had been by Nightshade’s side while traversing the halls; he had made it clear that she was not to leave him if she wished to move safely within the Castle.
This wasn’t something Tara, the Avatar of the Tower of Tiamaris, had ever enforced. But Tara was awake, in a way that the Avatar of Castle Nightshade wasn’t. She’d asked the fieflord once why his castle didn’t speak directly to her; he’d replied that living within the folds of a sentient being was not one of his life’s ambitions.
What his actual life’s ambitions were, he’d never made clear.
“Teela, is Annarion talking to anyone? I don’t think he’s speaking to his brother at the moment.”
Teela replied without looking back. “I believe he is speaking with...something. He isn’t speaking a language I recognize or understand.”
“Would he know if he was speaking to your ancestors?”
“We prefer the ancestors, if we must speak about them at all; it’s not considered wise.”
“Probably wiser than walking into a sleeping, sentient building that’s having nightmares.”
“If the building hears us, it is not guaranteed to end our lives.”
“It might help preserve them,” Kaylin replied.
“No, Kaylin. Your Tara—and I am making assumptions on hearsay, because I have not visited the Tower in Tiamaris—was, in some ways, emotionally corrupt. You cannot assume that the other Avatars are likewise compromised. If their mission was to halt shadow and its contamination, we are—in the best case—irrelevant.”
Squawk.
“Can you hear Annarion?” Kaylin asked the small dragon.
Squawk.
“...Can he hear you?”
The small beast tilted his head to the left. All the way to the left; by the time he stopped, it was almost upside down, which made it hard to meet his eyes. He whiffled.
She would have pursued the line of questioning, but the ground beneath her feet—stone, and at that, rather plain stone—began to rumble. She looked to Teela and Severn; they’d both stopped walking. They hadn’t stopped moving; they were now on alert, and they scanned the halls and the walls that enclosed it, hoping to see danger before it dropped on their heads.
The small dragon wilted. So did Kaylin, as the walls to the left and right began to recede. The stone beneath their feet didn’t, but it expanded to fill the growing space. The ceiling above, however, faded from sight. In its place was something that didn’t resemble normal architecture in any way.
It looked a lot like sky, if sky were full of storm clouds and edged in flashes of luminescent light that refused to remain one color. The clouds were gray-green; they weren’t the roiling darkness of the shadows at the heart of the fiefs. Kaylin frowned; something was wrong—if you didn’t count the disappearance of ceiling and the sudden enlargement of the halls themselves.
The clouds weren’t moving; they were fixed. She revised her opinion of their composition; they looked like they were made of stone. She hoped there were support beams somewhere that kept them off the ground.
“Forward or back?” Teela asked, dragging Kaylin’s attention away from the heights.
Kaylin shrugged. Reaching into a pocket, she flipped a coin, caught it, and laid it against her forearm. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the result. “Forward.”
“What’s wrong?” Severn asked.
She grimaced and handed him the coin.
He held it up to Teela, trusting Barrani vision to show her what he could see up close. The coin had two sides—which anyone expected from a coin. The two images, however, were not the usual Palace and Emperor; they were the profiles of two familiar men. Nightshade and Annarion.
“Nightshade was forward?” Severn asked, as he handed the coin back to Kaylin.
“Nightshade landed face-up. There’s no way he was responsible for changing the coin,” she added. “Having his face on money is probably beneath him. If I had to guess, the Castle is making its opinion known.” She glanced up. “In more ways than one.”
* * *
Wider halls meant they could walk three abreast. Kaylin drew a dagger, although moving her arms made her skin ache. The small dragon was making his usual quiet noises; the rune that was glowing between his teeth didn’t seem to inhibit his version of speech.
“You’re thinking out loud again,” Teela said.
“I’m just trying to remember how Tiamaris took the Tower in the fief.”
“And you have to work that hard?”
“Very funny. The heart of the Tower in Tiamaris was covered in words. Very like the words on my arms—except that Tara could read them. I think, in total, they were meant to be the governing commands of the Tower; I’m not sure all Towers have identical words at their heart.
“But...there was one room—and room is a really bad description—that was also adorned with words in Castle Nightshade. It was where I first heard the word Chosen.” She hesitated again.
Teela’s exhalation was sharp enough to cut. Or should have been. “Out with it.”
“I—does Annarion know that I know...”
“No. I am not a child; I understand how to maintain privacy of thought and action from those with whom I’ve shared my name.”
Clearly implying that Kaylin didn’t. “I would have been lost in that room if I hadn’t had Nightshade’s name as an anchor. I didn’t take his name. I couldn’t see it. He offered it to me.”
“Why exactly did you require an anchor?”
“I don’t know, Teela. I just—I’m
