LITMIR.BIZ

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way, all our lives are spent in his company.”

      “And in no one else’s,” Kaylin pointed out. “Your family. Your pridlea. Your pack. They are gone.”

      “They were gone when he first came to me,” was the quiet reply. “They were dead. I was carrion fodder. I remember.”

      “As if it were yesterday.” Because, she thought, it might have been.

      “I remember the vultures. I remember the war cries of the victors. I remember the color of blood on grass, and the wails of the survivors who would add to it. I remember my mother. My pack leader. I remember.” He smiled at her, then. It was a smile tinged, of all things, with pity. “I remember Calarnenne. I remember his song. It stopped us all—enemy and family, both. I could not understand the words, but I heard them as if he was remaking language.”

      “Did you know he was Barrani?”

      “I knew he was not kin,” was the quiet reply. “I had never seen beauty in other races. Not until him. But he is not here.”

      Kaylin shook her head. “I don’t think he wants you to leave this room, unless you want to. Stay here. I’m not—I’m not like you. I wasn’t chosen for his—his eternity. Let me find him. Talk to your companions,” she suggested.

      “They are not my companions; they are his. We are his.”

      Kaylin nodded, mouth dry. “Keep them here. This hall is safe. Outside...there are predators.”

      * * *

      “I think Annarion is both unhappy with this outcome, and simultaneously less angry. You, on the other hand, look green,” Teela said, as she walked away from the Leontine.

      Kaylin felt it, too. She was big on personal choices, and clearly, the Leontine had made his—but it left her feeling uncomfortable. “Have you found Annarion?”

      “Have you found Nightshade?”

      “No.”

      “Is half of what Nightshade says to you unintelligible babble?”

      “No.”

      “Then don’t ask.”

      * * *

      Kaylin. Throughout the conversation with the Leontine, the fieflord had been silent. An’Teela is correct. There is a danger here.

      For me, or for all us?

      For all of you, he replied, with just the faintest hint of irritation. Teela is not young for one of my kind, but she is not ancient. You have seen two of the ancestors; they are bound to the Castle and its service. The binding is older than either myself or Teela. I do not know its strength. It is my belief they were made outcaste for reasons far less political than mine. They would have been hunted, Kaylin. Had they been found, they would—with grave difficulty—have been destroyed. Ask her.

      Teela, understanding that the possible danger had passed, waited until the small dragon was once again anchored to Kaylin’s shoulder, still carrying the rune. When he was she turned toward the most obvious set of doors available.

      She allowed Severn to loop his chain around her before she opened the doors; they weren’t warded, but she didn’t bother to touch them. Kaylin was often surprised when Teela used magic as a tool. Hawks weren’t supposed to be mages. They definitely weren’t supposed to be Arcanists or former Arcanists. She didn’t really care for this reminder of Teela’s life before she’d been part of it, which wasn’t reasonable or mature.

      Some days, Kaylin fervently wished that she had already passed Adult 101 and could get on with being the person she wanted to be.

      On the other hand, she had to survive if she was ever going to reach that near unattainable goal. She glanced at squawky. His eyes were wide, black opals; they reflected nothing. As he wasn’t doing the small dragon equivalent of shouting in her ear, she assumed he didn’t consider the door a danger.

      “One day,” she told him, “you’re going to talk to me, and I’m going to understand you.”

      “And until then,” Teela added, “she’s going to talk to herself. A lot. Luckily the rest of us are used to this.”

      The doors swung fully open; nothing leaped through them to attack. Kaylin saw a lot of hall beyond the room itself; it wasn’t brightly lit, but at least there was light. “Teela, tell me about these Barrani ancestors.”

      “Tell me,” the Barrani Hawk countered, “why you call them vampires.”

      Kaylin shrugged. “They said something about my blood.”

      Teela closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, the Barrani equivalent of counting to ten. “They spoke to you.” The words were so flat, they were hardly a question, so Kaylin didn’t answer it. “What color were their eyes?”

      “Teela, it was a long time ago.”

      “It was months ago. Not even mortal memory is that bad. Please do not tell me you don’t remember.”

      But she didn’t. “They were pale, even for Barrani. But perfect the way Barrani are. When we approached the door they guarded, Nightshade told them it had to be opened. Their eyes were closed until he spoke; they opened. But nothing else about them moved—not at first.” She tried to remember her first—and only—walk through the Long Halls, as Nightshade called them. She could clearly see the Barrani standing to either side of the door like perfect statues. She couldn’t, however, see the color of their open eyes. “They must have been blue,” she finally said. “I’m sure I would have noticed if they were a different color. Green would have made them harmless. Relatively,” she added.

      “Were you bleeding at the time?”

      “Maybe. I wasn’t bleeding enough that it was significant.” Kaylin hesitated. Severn held his weapons; she kept her hands on her daggers, but didn’t draw them. “They asked Nightshade to give me to them as price for passage.”

      Teela’s eyes were, of course, midnight blue, so it couldn’t get any worse. “Passage through what?”

      “Doors. They were door guards.”

      “They were not simple door guards. Do you know where these doors were?”

      “Yes.”

      “Could you lead us there?”

      “...”

      “Could you make certain that you don’t lead us there without some warning?”

      “It’s a Tower, Teela, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

      Teela began to walk, and Kaylin fell in beside her. At Teela’s frown, she fell back a bit; Teela didn’t want Kaylin playing point. Kaylin didn’t exactly want that position, either.

      “I didn’t notice the color of their eyes,” she said, “because of their voices.”

      Teela stopped walking. “Their voices were different?”

      “Not when they spoke to me or to Nightshade. But—I could hear them talking when we approached. Without, you know, seeing their lips move.”

      “I am beginning to understand why you feel boredom is not a fate worse than death,” Teela replied, with a brief pause for a healthy, Leontine curse. “Did Nightshade hear their voices—their non-speaking voices?”

      “I didn’t ask him. It was the first time I’d been on the inside of the Castle, and it didn’t seem safe or smart to ask questions. If I heard it, I assume he did.”

      That would be an unwise assumption. Amusement had been stripped from his voice; had he been standing beside them, his eyes would have been the same color as Teela’s.

      “Kitling, this is very important, and I will strangle you if you cannot answer me clearly. What were they saying?”

      Kaylin

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