Moran’s face was about as expressive as stone, which, in a way, was expressive enough.
“The praevolo is born when there is a threat to the flights.”
“Was there one?” Moran asked.
“I do not know. If there was, it was never large enough to be made public.”
“What was his name?”
There was a long pause. “Karis.”
Moran’s eyes widened slightly.
“We spoke of the praevolo, and the significance of the praevolo. It was not theoretical, to him. He did not, however, understand all of the specifics. There were items that were associated with the praevolo; they had the weight of the Emperor’s crown, to the Aerians.”
Moran nodded slowly.
“You do not possess them?”
“I was a child. I was an illegitimate child. Nothing of the praevolo’s was given to me.” She hesitated.
He marked it.
“Nothing of significance.”
He nodded, then. “Your legitimacy has been questioned.”
“Yes. Constantly.”
“And you were not given the opportunity to prove your legitimacy.”
“Oh, I was,” was her bitter reply. “But never, ever publicly. The Caste Court did not know of my existence until I was almost seven. They were deeply suspicious of me, of my mother, when I finally came to their attention, and they tested me. Thoroughly.” She looked down at her hands. “I wish I had had a chance to speak with your Aerian. I would have told him what life as praevolo was actually like.”
Nightshade’s smile was slender, but genuine. “He grew less unhappy with the passage of time.” He rose; he hadn’t eaten much. He bowed to the table, and to his brother. “It is late, and I am expected at the castle. It was an honor to meet you.”
Breakfast, the meal that Kaylin was never allowed to skip, was waiting. Moran had already come down from her room, and was speaking quietly to Annarion, of all people, when Kaylin entered the dining room.
“Where’s Mandoran?”
“He should be here shortly.” It was Helen’s disembodied voice that answered. “There was a minor accident in the training room this morning; I have been making adjustments.”
“Did it hurt him or you?”
“We are both quite fine,” Helen replied, which wasn’t much of an answer. But Kaylin had come to recognize that tone of voice. It was the only answer she was going to get.
Kaylin started to sit, but Helen interrupted her.
“Teela’s coming to the door. Tain is with her. Shall I let them in?”
“Yes, please.”
Helen appeared at the door to the dining room less than five minutes later, slightly in front of Teela and Tain. “Mandoran asks me to tell you that you will have to leave without him. He should be able to accompany you on the morrow.”
“What, exactly, did he do?”
“He tried to walk through a wall,” Annarion replied.
“Let me guess. He didn’t bounce.”
“No. He did some damage to the wall, and some to himself, but managed to separate the two before more serious injury could occur.”
“Why in the hells was he trying to walk through a solid wall?”
“Curiosity. He’s been playing with shape, form and solidity. We can’t do it outside, at the moment.”
She stared at Annarion. “Are you telling me you can do it inside?”
“I can’t.”
“But Mandoran can.”
“Yes. But Helen says he’s practically screaming look at me while he does it. But louder. He hasn’t tried it outside of Helen’s borders. And he won’t,” he added quickly. “But he wouldn’t have had the mishap if he weren’t trying to do it silently.”
“Why can’t you do it?” Kaylin asked him.
“I don’t want to try, which is considered cowardly by half our cohort, and sensible by the other half.”
“I consider it extremely sensible,” Teela said. “And I’m sitting right in front of you.”
Annarion grinned; Kaylin had no doubt he was passing information to the rest of the cohort, who were across the continent. The grin faded. “My brother will be here later this afternoon. Can I ask you a question?”
Kaylin nodded.
“If he were willing to remove the mark, would you be willing to have it removed?”
“It would make my life in the office a lot easier,” she replied, then hesitated.
“But?”
“I think it’s saved my life at least twice. Maybe more. I don’t know why he marked me. I know it’s the mark an erenne bears, but I’m still not sure what an erenne is. I can’t get much of an explanation out of any of the Barrani I know—but I’m guessing it’s bad, because they hate the mark. Mostly, they’ve gotten used to it, though,” she added, trying to be fair.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I have his Name,” she replied.
Annarion and Teela both rolled their eyes in an identical grimace.
“Would it be easier for you?” she asked him.
“It would be easier for me if he’d never marked you at all. It is comforting to know that it’s only the mark, and not the rest of it; that you don’t really understand what it means. But, Kaylin—he could have made you understand it. He could make you do it now.”
“I have his Name,” she repeated.
“One of the reasons Mandoran is willing—more than willing—to tell you his True Name is that you’re not actually powerful enough to use it.”
Kaylin reddened. “I don’t think it’s about power, per se. And I have used someone’s Name against them, just...not your brother.”
“They were probably trying to kill you.”
“It makes a difference?”
“All the difference in the world, yes.”
“What I was trying to say was that if he needs to find me, he can. We’re connected that way, and as far as I can tell, there’s no way to forget a True Name. I don’t need the mark for that. Did he offer?”
“...No. I just wanted to know.” Annarion rose. “Mandoran is cursing. I’ll go and help Helen before he shrieks the walls down.”
“Not that I want to defend Nightshade or anything,” Kaylin said when Annarion had left the room, “but he had to survive centuries without his brother. He was outcaste. Is outcaste,” she corrected herself. “It’s not possible to be perfect for centuries. I can’t even manage it for a day.”
“An hour,” Teela corrected her.
“You know what I mean.”
Teela nodded, grinning; the grin faded as she considered Annarion. “It’s not enough for Annarion that his brother hasn’t harmed you. You hate the fief of Nightshade and what it meant to you. You particularly