Michelle Sagara by Cast in Sorrow Read Free Book Online Page B

building.
    They were carved in the likeness of warriors, and words were engraved across the rounded base of each; Kaylin couldn’t read most of them, although she was certain they must be High Barrani. Then again, she couldn’t read most examples of High Barrani carved or written centuries ago; she was assured that the language was the same—but the style of the writing made the entire thing look like a mess of loops and crosses. It was aesthetic, but not practical.
    She could make out individual letters at the beginnings of words.
    “Can you read these?” she asked Severn. He had sheathed his swords when Nightshade and the Lord of the West March arrived.
    “Not all of it, no. That one means weapon or sword, depending on the context.”
    “Thanks. I was kind of hoping to feel less stupid.”
    “Then you don’t want to be left behind,” he replied, grinning. “The Lord of the West March is opening his home to the High Court. We want to be there before he’s finished.”
    “He’s not likely to close the doors in our face—for one, I don’t think there are any.” But she moved as she spoke.
    “I suspect the ring you’re wearing would grant you entrance, regardless. It won’t, however, speak for me.”
    She hesitated. “I couldn’t help but notice that the Barrani here don’t like your weapon much.”
    “It’s not the weapon,” he replied as he cleared the stairs. “It’s the wielder. I suffer from mortality.”
    “It’s a curse,” she agreed. “How much trouble are they going to cause?”
    “I’m uncertain. The weapon was damaged in our melee with Iberrienne. There are only two places in which it might be repaired. The West March is the least hostile.”
    “I don’t want to know where the other place is.”
    He chuckled. “No, you really don’t.”
    She did, of course. But she’d already said too much. The hardest thing about Barrani Courts was the amount of silence they demanded.
    Learn, Kaylin. Learn quickly. When you last attended Court, you were considered an oddity, a distasteful necessity in a city infested with them. In the West March, that is not the case. The Emperor’s shadow does not reach the green—but the shadows of three wars mark it. When the Consort wakes, you will be called to give your report of the events that occurred when you went missing in the Outlands. The fact that the Hallionne Orbaranne is standing—and whole—is the only point in your favor.
    Dress, remember?
    Ah. You mistake me. There is not a Barrani here who will attempt to dispose of you while you wear that dress. But the moment the telling is done—if you survive it—you will not be wearing the dress.
    She froze. You won’t be wearing the crown, either.
    No.
    And you’re Outcaste.
    I believe I am aware of that. I understood the risk, Kaylin. It is my opinion that I will be in far less danger than you yourself will be. The Barrani are not Dragons; Outcaste is a political statement. It is only relevant if the Outcaste in question has no power—but it is rare indeed that those without power are made Outcaste. Think of what you will tell the Court of the Vale when they bid you to speak. Think of how you will handle their accusations.
    They haven’t accused me of anything.
    Not yet. But if you falter, they will. It is the nature of Courts.
    It’s the nature of carrion creatures, she snapped.
    He chuckled. But he entered the hall without comment from anyone, and Kaylin scurried after Teela and the Consort.
    * * *
    The interior of the building—the parts that were visible in a straight walk from the door to a large suite of rooms—was distinctly different from the High Halls. There was far less stone here, and the wood was warm and bright; the floors were pale, but hard, the frames and lintels of doors carved out of the same wood. There were small trees, small fonts, and—as Teela stepped through a wide set of open doors—a large, circular courtyard.
    In the center of the courtyard was a