Cast in Wisdom (Chronicles of Elantra #15) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,129

the library the usual way would understand what I require.”

She had told him that she’d entered via a stone wall—a wall that didn’t happen to sport a door.

“Follow me. No, do not put the book back on the shelf. Among other difficulties it would cause is your inability to shelve it in the correct place.”

* * *

To Kaylin’s surprise, the nameless man was not anchored to the book in any way she could see. He had freedom of movement and used it, forcing Kaylin to walk quickly if she wanted to keep him in sight. His feet, on the other hand, made no sound against the floors, and hers did.

“Do they teach you nothing about the library?” he asked. “Not even the rudiments of basic navigation?” If he’d been carrying a large sign that said Get Off My Lawn, it would have fit right in with the rest of his tone.

You will find this interesting, Nightshade said.

Which part? Get Off My Lawn has nothing new to offer.

Words cannot be invoked or spoken in the primal ether.

Yes, you said that.

Buildings such as the Hallionne cannot be rooted there. The rooting of the words to a specific plane of existence—ours—is considered immutable fact, or it was. In theory.

She wanted to ditch her boots; they made much more noise than the bare feet did. She didn’t. She lengthened her stride. In practice?

If one required True Words or True Names—I believe the latter, but he seems to use the terms interchangeably—to be invoked, they had to be carried.

How in the Hells—oh. She looked down at her skin.

I do not believe that was his intent, but it’s intriguing, no? His smile was slight; she could feel it in the curve of his mouth. The other way to carry words is the more obvious one.

Meaning True Names.

Yes.

How exactly does one access those words without killing the person they’re inside of?

I have allowed Robin to ask that question, he replied.

You made a human child ask that question?

I did not instruct him to do so. He is remarkably curious.

Fine—what was the answer?

Killian has not answered it yet.

Interrupt me if the answer is important. I’m about to lose the nameless ghost in front of me.

“He is not nameless,” Killian said, looking up to meet Nightshade’s eyes. “Were he, he could not be where he is.”

“What do I call him?”

“Arbiter Androsse. Arbiter will do, given your relative difference in status.” His single eye seemed to spark as he spoke. “He will do what must be done.”

“Can you allow my friends greater freedom of movement?”

“They have freedom of movement as it is,” was the not very encouraging reply. “Feel free to interrupt my lecture again if the Arbiters have information they wish to convey.”

Arbiters. Plural.

* * *

The plural was enough of a warning that Kaylin wasn’t particularly surprised when Arbiter Androsse came to a stop in front of a bookshelf. The book itself was placed on a higher shelf than his had been; Kaylin could reach it—with effort—if she stood on her toes. Or climbed the shelves, but she didn’t consider that smart.

This book, just as the first, bit her fingertips when she touched it. It also came easily to hand; she’d tucked the first book under her right arm to use the left, and was grateful that the book didn’t fall on her head as a result of her tenuous reach.

Hope’s squawk was soft, and as it didn’t contain words, wasn’t meant for her. If she’d had a free hand, she would have clamped his mouth shut; as it was, she froze, waiting for some sign that she’d been discovered.

In the distance, she heard a Dragon roar. Book in hand, she wheeled, breath held.

Arbiter Androsse smiled. “That is a very nostalgic sound,” he said—and appeared to mean it. The smile vanished into a much more pinched expression of frustration. “Well, what are you waiting for? You have said time is of the essence.”

Kaylin looked at the word that was emblazoned across the cover of this second book. She opened it. The figure that emerged was, as the first Arbiter, a thing of light. Of light and shadow—but not the type of shadow that meant imminent death. As the first Arbiter, the second started as a pillar, but the light here twined around darkness, like a braid. Like Larrantin’s hair.

The person that emerged had nothing else in common with Larrantin. Or with Arbiter Androsse. It was a thing of ghostly scales and ebon claws, and its eyes were the size of