Cast in Wisdom (Chronicles of Elantra #15) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,148

of the High Court; in the history of the Court that has happened only once. You rule your domain, and what you make of it reflects your concerns, but the power of the fieflord is almost absolute in the fief that bears his name.”

“Is that what you believe?” An edge of anger inserted itself into the words.

“That is what we have been taught, yes. And we have seen the truth of it in the fief of Tiamaris.” This wasn’t strictly speaking true—but Sedarias was Barrani, and it was pretty close to facts as Kaylin understood them.

“Perhaps Tiamaris’s Tower is different. The Tower of Candallar is not obedient; it conveys power, yes, but it is more of a cage than a shelter. I cannot leave it.”

“You are demonstrably not within your Tower now.”

“No? I can hear the Tower’s voice while I stand in this place. It is aware of everything I do while I am here. I can escape that voice if I enter the city—and I have entered Elantra—but I cannot dwell within that city if I am still labeled outcaste.”

“Nightshade does not consider his Tower to be a cage.”

“Lord Nightshade wields one of the three,” was the edged reply. “And he was skilled in arts Arcane before I was birthed. He is outcaste, yes—as am I—but for different reasons. The Lady favors him, regardless.” This last was said with a bitterness he could not hide.

“He could survive those who curried the High Lord’s favor. No one who hunted him returned to the Court. None of his kin, and none of his enemies. I had hoped that the taking of the Tower would elevate my power; I had hoped that I might become like Nightshade. I have not.

“I have gained power, yes—but it is equal to power that has been gained by those who are not outcaste, though in greater measure. I want to leave the Tower—and I cannot, unless I am reinstated.”

“And who will captain the Tower, if not you?”

Candallar’s shrug was a fief shrug. “That will not be my concern. The Tower can hold its own for some time while it searches. But I have nothing to offer you,” he continued. “If I understand what your brother feared, you have nothing to gain. Should you wish to take the Tower, it would be yours; I would step aside.”

That is not how the Towers work, Nightshade said.

Weren’t you supposed to be paying attention to the lecture?

It is over—but I am fully capable of doing two simple things simultaneously.

Kaylin didn’t interrupt the conversation, because it was clear to her that Sedarias didn’t believe they worked that way, either.

“Break off your negotiations with your former allies, and we will consider the difficulty the Tower presents,” Sedarias finally said. “I cannot offer you the reinstatement you desire; it is possible that I might offer protection from those who would otherwise see you dead.”

“What is offered me now—by the allies I have gained—is of far more worth; you will spend your life protecting yourself, and it will not be enough. The enemies you have made at Court are powerful and established; they will not falter in the face of junior Lords such as yourself.”

Sedarias smiled. It was a lazy, slow smile. Terrano took a step back, which brought him in line with Kaylin. “This might get messy,” he said in very quiet Elantran.

“Ask them,” Sedarias said, “whether or not their voices—voices of established, old lineages—are heard by the High Halls. Because, Candallar, mine is.”

He fell silent. He could not ascertain the truth or lie in her claim. To be fair, neither could Kaylin.

“Regardless,” Sedarias continued, when Candallar failed to speak, “you have something of value that is not yours to claim.”

His brows rose. “And you seek to claim it for yourself? You?”

“No,” Sedarias said. “Not for myself. If I understand this place—what this place once was—it is not for me. But it is not for you, either.”

“I have spent decades building it,” he replied, voice sharper again, the nod given to Sedarias and her iron self-control. “I searched for it. I found it. I have attempted, where possible, to repair it—”

“Repair?” The Arkon’s voice was a rumble. “Is that what you call this?” He lifted the arm that did not hold the three books, tracing an arc that involved the combat in the distance.

“This? It is a library, no more, no less; a collection of books, some of which might have useful information, most of which is fanciful conjecture or history. We have