in the matter. She kept this to herself.
“Were the others able to read the marks?”
“How could they not? The marks were of them.”
“I didn’t choose the marks,” Kaylin said quietly.
“Then how do you bear their weight?”
“They chose me.”
“How can you do what must be done if you cannot read what is written?”
“The marks didn’t come with instructions,” Kaylin said, voice flat.
Severn, however, said, “Can you tell her what they say? Can you tell her what task they’re meant to accomplish?”
They glanced at each other again. “We are not Chosen,” they finally said—in unison. They said more, but it was unintelligible; it was clearly language, and just as clearly beyond her grasp.
She lifted a hand. “Can you teach me the language you speak?”
They considered each other again. “It is vexing,” the one on Barian’s arm said, “but we do not believe it can be taught to such a small mind. You cannot speak it.”
“But the marks would not be given to one who is mute,” the other eagle said.
“Demonstrably they were,” Kaylin said. She was annoyed; no one liked to be talked about in the third person when they were in the literal middle of a discussion. “Wait.”
Severn knew that tone of voice.
“Can the lost children speak the language?”
There was a long pause. “Yes,” the eagle on Barian’s arm said, the single word spoken in sorrow. “Yes, now they can.”
“Did the Hallionne teach them?”
The eagles fell silent. Kaylin reached out and grabbed the leg of the bird on her arm before it could fly; Barian’s eagle was already gone.
“I won’t ask more,” she said softly. “But I need to understand what you are.”
“We are the dreams Alsanis,” the eagle replied gravely. “What we see and know, he sees and knows—but he can no longer discern what is fixed in place.”
She rushed onward. “The Wardens take the nightmares of Alsanis.”
“They do. It is to the Wardens that we come, when we are conscious.”
“Do the nightmares end?”
“End?”
“When we—when mortals—have dreams or nightmares, they end when we wake. Sometimes they drive us in terror from sleep, they feel so real. Will the Consort wake from the nightmares of Alsanis?”
“Barian,” the eagle said, “does she speak truth?”
“She speaks truth as mortals perceive it, although mortals are capable of lying.”
“What would be the point in lying now?” Kaylin said, in frustrated Elantran. “Nightmares aren’t reality. Lying about them won’t change either the nightmares or real life.”
“The nightmares of Alsanis are not the nightmares of mortals,” was Barian’s reply.
“I’m beginning to understand that. Most mortal nightmares don’t fly through the air, land on a person, and get absorbed. Will the Consort wake?”
The eagle said, “Take me with you, Chosen. Take me to her.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“The Barrani do not sleep.”
“Yes, but she’s sleeping now.”
“Take me with you,” the eagle said again. To the small dragon, he spoke unintelligibly; the small dragon squawked. “Barian, it would be best if you accompany the Chosen.”
“I have offered her the hospitality of the Warden’s perch,” he replied.
“Can I just say one thing? I’m not Barrani, and mortals do need sleep.”
“The marks you bear should protect you,” the eagle replied.
Kaylin looked down the long spiraling stairs. Sleep wasn’t in the cards. She released the eagle’s leg.
* * *
“My apologies, Lord Kaylin,” Lord Barian said. His eyes were the more familiar shade of blue, at least where Barrani were concerned. “I did not intend this.”
She said nothing for about twenty steps. “Lord Lirienne said that the Wardens of the West March die prematurely because of the burden of the nightmares. Is he wrong?”
“He is not.” Barian’s words were stiff.
“Five nightmares came out of the trees on the edge of the West March. Is that normal? Is that what usually happens?”
“No, Lord Kaylin.”
“Call me Kaylin, or just skip the name. I don’t particularly care for the title ‘Lord.’”
Silence. It was broken by Lord Barian, and only after another twenty steps had gone by. “It is a title you earned.”
“Yes, but it’s only important to Barrani, and none of the Barrani Hawks use it. It doesn’t change my job description. It doesn’t change my duties. And it sounds pretentious.”
He laughed. She actually liked the sound of his laughter. At any other time, she might have joined him.
“If five such nightmares are unusual, and they arrived at the exact same time as the Consort, did it not occur to you to intervene or give her warning?”
“You must have known,” he replied. “You intervened.”
“Yes—but you might have done the same. You’re the Warden. I’m a Private in service to the Imperial Hawks.”
“And yet you did intervene. Why?”
“Because she’s the Consort and whatever the black birds were they were clearly causing a lot of pain!” She struggled to hold on to her temper, but every step of descent increased her anxiety. Anxiety was a product of fear, and Kaylin had never handled fear well.
“And it was your responsibility as Lord of the Court to come to her aid.”
“No!” She exhaled. “Yes.” She slowed and tried to walk in a more measured, less stomping, way. “Tell me how the nightmares affect you.”
“Do you generally speak about your mortal nightmares?”
“Only if I’m feeling spiteful and want to bore the guys in the office.”
“Lord Severn?”
“She means it literally. She does speak from time to time of her nightmares; it is not uncommon in mortal cultures.” Severn spoke in High Barrani. “If the Consort fails to wake—and Kaylin is beginning to realize that this is now likely—it is Lord Kaylin who will attempt to wake her.”
“How?”
“How did Lord Kaylin touch the dreams of the Hallionne?” he replied, his voice the essence of the calm Kaylin lacked. “She does not ask for the information to imply any weakness upon the part of the Wardens; no more does the Consort accept the burden of those nightmares as criticism. But Lord Kaylin is awake; the Consort is not.
“The Lady was forced by circumstance to fully wake Bertolle; she was forced, only a few days later, to wake Kariastos. Were it not for the Consort, it is my belief—my mortal belief—that the Hallionne Orbaranne would now be lost. The Consort’s ability to speak to the green has been tested without pause since she left the High Halls. It is possible that the absorption of these nightmares, without the prior wakenings, would not have unduly taxed her; we will never know.