an alert blue. “I hate the Garden,” she murmured, squaring her shoulders.
“It can’t be any worse than paperwork.”
* * *
Stepping through the narrow, rickety door at the end of an equally narrow, rickety hall was always a bit of a shock. Evanton’s storefront couldn’t, by any stretch of the truth, be called well lit, and the contrast between his work spaces and the Garden’s brilliant, full-on sunlight made Kaylin’s eyes water.
There was a roof, a domed high ceiling that would have fit right in in the Imperial Palace. There were no obvious glass ceilings or windows, and the roof, unlike the Hawklord’s tower, didn’t appear to open to the sky, so sunlight was in theory impossible. But nothing about this room conformed to what she knew of reality, and Kaylin had long since given up attempting to make sense of it.
She made her way across the flat-stone path laid into grass that would have made pretentious merchants weep with envy, pausing by the still, deep pool that sat, untouched by the breeze that moved almost everything else, in the Garden’s center.
It was the heart of the elemental water, made small and peaceful. Beyond it, burning in a brazier that might have been used for incense, fire. Only in Evanton’s Garden could the elements exist so close to each other in peace.
Beyond them was the small stone hut in which Evanton entertained the few guests he was willing to allow into this space.
“I don’t think it’s because of Bellusdeo that he moved tea,” Kaylin said to Teela, as she made her way to the hut.
“No.”
“I really hope Mandoran doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“He’s not Terrano,” Teela replied. “Terrano was the only one of us likely to throw his life away on a whim.”
He was the only one of the twelve who had not chosen to come home. Somewhere in the spaces that mortals couldn’t occupy, he was racing around the incomprehensible landscape discovering worlds and having fun. Kaylin fervently hoped he stayed there.
“Do you notice anything different about Mandoran? I mean, from before?”
Teela didn’t answer.
* * *
When they reached the hut, the door swung open. Like any building of note in magical space, the interior didn’t fit with the exterior; it was far larger than it had any right to be, for one. The floors were no longer rough stone; they were a gleaming marble, more suitable to a grand foyer than a parlor.
There were chairs of a style Kaylin had never seen in the Garden, and a low flat table that was the rough stone one expected to find outdoors. Tea, in Evanton’s ancient, chipped tea set, was on the table, and steam rose from the spout of the pot. There were four cups, straight, tall cylinders absent handles. Kaylin didn’t understand why cups made for hot liquid were ever without handles, but on the other hand, Bellusdeo was unlikely to burn her hand when picking them up.
The Dragon looked up as Kaylin entered the room; her eyes were golden. Clearly, the Keeper’s abode suited her.
It suited her far more than the Palace.
“The Keeper was just regaling us with details of your first meeting,” she said.
Mandoran, whose back was to the door, swiveled in his chair.
“It wasn’t the first meeting,” Evanton said, gently correcting her. “That was far less remarkable, although I remember thinking her unconscionably young to be keeping company with the Barrani Hawks.”
“No talking about me as if I weren’t in the room,” Kaylin replied, taking the chair closest to Bellusdeo.
“You weren’t in the room at the time.”
“Here, now. Did small and squawky stay with Grethan?” The apprentice was nowhere in sight. Neither was Kaylin’s most constant—and annoying—companion.
“No. He’s in the fireplace.” Bellusdeo nodded toward the fire in question. It was set into the wall, but reminded Kaylin—once again—of the Palace. Even the pokers looked like they were made of brass. And shiny.
“There’s a fire in the fireplace,” Kaylin quite reasonably pointed out.
“He doesn’t take up a lot of room, and it’s not like fire burns him. You can go and poke the fire if you want—he’s there.” Bellusdeo’s expression made clear that if Dragons of any size didn’t burn, mortals of any size did.
“I hope he puts himself out before he lands on my shoulders again.” Kaylin turned back to her tea.
Squawk.
Mandoran grinned. “I have to say, I’ve never met a mortal a tenth as interesting as you are. I can almost understand why Teela is so attached to you.”
“Teela,” Teela said, “dislikes being spoken of in the third person even more than Private Neya. She is also far more effective at discouragement.”
Mandoran laughed. “So she is. I don’t know where you found the private, but I’d hold on to her, if I were you. Honestly, I wish everyone had descended on this strange, smelly, crowded place. Sedarias is beside herself with envy at where I am. In the Keeper’s Garden!”
“It’s not that exciting,” Evanton said, his usual crankiness asserting itself.
“It is—she’s the only one of us who’d met the Keeper. Not you,” Mandoran added, as if that were necessary. “And Teela doesn’t count. Can I talk to the elements?”
“Perhaps another day,” Teela said, before Evanton could reply.
“But I hear the water,” Mandoran said, his eyes green, his expression both familiar and strange. It took Kaylin a few minutes to understand why: it was very similar to the hesitant joy that the foundlings sometimes showed. She’d never seen anything remotely similar on a Barrani face before.
Evanton rose. “With your permission, Lord Teela, I believe the water wishes to converse with Mandoran. I will lead him there, and return.”
Mandoran was out of his chair before Evanton had finished speaking.
“I’ve never seen a Barrani so young at heart,” Bellusdeo said softly, when they’d left.
“No. You wouldn’t have,” Teela replied. They were both speaking in Elantran. “We weren’t considered of age to be meeting Dragons. I doubt very much that the rest of my friends would be considered so, now, were it not for the fact that they were born centuries ago.”
“It can’t be easy for them.”
Teela’s eyes paled; a ring of gold shifted the color of her irises. Bellusdeo had surprised her. Perhaps because she had, Teela answered honestly. “No. It won’t be any easier for them than I imagine it is for you. We want home, in our youth. And when we’ve traveled far and suffered much, we want it more fiercely.
“But home is a myth. A tale. A children’s fable. What will you do, Bellusdeo?”
Bellusdeo looked into her tea, as if she were scrying. “I don’t know. What will your friends do?”
“At least one of them will take the Test of Name within the next few weeks. If I can’t talk him out of it, Mandoran will also take the test. I think he intends to accompany Annarion.”
Kaylin found the tea too hot to drink, which was good, because she didn’t choke on it. “He can’t!”
“He can, kitling. There are no rules that govern the test—as you should well know. If you can enter the tower and read the word that will define you, you can traverse it. If you survive, you are Lord of the High Court. Annarion cannot