The silence went on for a long time.
“Yes,” Sanabalis said heavily. “He attempted to use the name, to bespeak the Outcaste.”
This time, it was her silence that weighted the room. It passed for thought, but she didn’t need much time to think; she only needed the time to choose her words. Normally, she didn’t bother, but she had a strong feeling that was about to change, and like it or not, she would live with that.
“He didn’t answer,” she finally said. As word choices went, it wasn’t impressive.
But Sanabalis nodded anyway. “No.”
“Sanabalis—”
He waited, as if this were a test. Or as if all conversation from this moment on would be one. She really, really hated this type of lesson; it was all about failing, and interesting failure often didn’t count for part marks. She glanced at Tiamaris, and saw no help coming from that quarter, but he was as tense as she was. And why? It was only conversation.
“His name,” she said quietly.
“Yes?”
“His true name.”
Sanabalis nodded again.
“It was different.”
The Dragon Lord closed his eyes. “Yes,” he finally said. “We believe that something in the heart of the fiefs changed the very nature of his true name.”
“And when the Arkon spoke it—”
“He did not, and could not, hear it. Not as we hear the truth of our names when they’re spoken.”
She was silent, then, absorbing the words and letting them sink roots. “I don’t understand,” she finally said.
“No. No more do we.”
Hesitating, she glanced at the carpet. It was safest. “When I went to the Barrani High Court—”
“Speak carefully, Kaylin.”
“I’m trying.” And so much for the effort. “When I went to the High Court, I saw—I learned—how Barrani are named.”
“Yes.”
She glanced at him. Rock was more expressive.
“Look, Sanabalis—I was born mortal. I was born the usual way. We don’t have true names. We don’t even understand them.”
“No. You are not bound by them, either.”
“But—the Barrani don’t wake until they’re named.”
“No.”
“Do the Dragons?”
He failed, deliberately, to answer.
“From what I understand, the name is what they are, somehow. What you are.”
“That is also our understanding.”
“If his name changed, would he be—”
“He is not what he was, Kaylin.”
“Yes—but he remembered everything. He lied, based on that knowledge. He tried—”
“Yes.” Sanabalis lifted a hand. “He did those things.”
“So you can lose your name and still remember your whole life?”
Tiamaris cleared his throat. “Had you a true name,” he told her quietly, “the Arkon would not have been swayed.”
But she did. She had a name. She had no idea what it meant to have one, but she had taken one burning, glowing rune for herself from the waters of Life beneath the Barrani High Halls, and she still bore it. Severn knew it. Severn could call her.
But…he had never tried to use the name against her. She wondered if he even could.
“Wait.”
“Yes?”
“You have a name.” She spoke to Tiamaris.
“Indeed, Kaylin.”
“But—”
“If I am not accompanied by you, I am not to enter Barren,” he replied.
Her eyes narrowed. “You know something you’re not telling me.”
“It does not affect our mission.”
“And your mission,” Sanabalis said quietly, “starts now. Private,” he added, rising, “understand that you are now seconded—as a Hawk—to the Imperial Court. What we have discussed in these rooms is not to be discussed with anyone save a member of that Court. If your Sergeant chooses to demand a report, the report you file must first go through the Court. Lord Grammayre may ask about your progress. You will take Lord Tiamaris to these meetings, and you will let him do the talking. Is that clear?”
“As glass.”
“Good.” He didn’t smile. “Your life depends on it. You have not yet met the Emperor, but that will not save you if you cross the lines he has drawn. Understand this,” he told her quietly. “Because if you do, nothing I can do or say will affect his decision.
“You may, however, question Tiamaris at your leisure, as he is part of the Court and privy to Court matters. If you have any leisure time.” He gestured and the door opened. So much for economical use of power. “You have been given permission to remove your bracer. I suggest you wait until you’ve crossed the Ablayne.”
“Oh, I will,” she told him. Because that was where she usually threw the damn thing.
Tiamaris escorted her out of the Imperial Palace. They’d spent most of the day there, one way or the other, and Kaylin, glancing at the Halls of Law in the distance, grimaced. “Barren.”
“You don’t want to return.”
“No. Never.” She could afford to be that honest with Tiamaris.
“Kaylin—”
“But it just so happens we’re in luck.” She used irony here as if it were a blunt weapon. Against the force of Dragon humor, it pretty much had to be. “I met an old friend of mine on the way from Evanton’s shop.”
He raised a dark brow. “An old friend?”
She nodded. “She expected to see me. I sure as hells didn’t expect to see her. But she had a message for me. How much can we stall?”
“Stall?”
“How long can we hold off our investigation? A day? Two?”
“If there’s reason for it, but—”
“It had better be a damn good reason?” Tiamaris nodded.
“We can probably go there now,” she told him quietly. “It depends on how desperate we want Barren to think I am.”
“Desperate?”
“He’s sending a messenger with a letter for the Hawklord,” she told him, voice flat. “I can either fail to show or intercept the message before it crosses the bridge. If we go now, I have no doubt at all that we’ll be taken to Barren—but if I go now, he’ll know he has the upper hand.
“If I wait, he’ll be pretty damn certain he has it anyway—that’s Barren all over.”
“Does he?”
She swallowed. Glanced at the river that had been the dividing line of her life. “I don’t know,” she finally said.
“Then decide, Kaylin. You have the advantage of personal experience. I don’t.”
She nodded, grateful to him for at least that. If Barren thought he had the upper hand, he wasn’t likely to be careless; that level of laziness would never