Cast in Wisdom (Chronicles of Elantra #15) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,170

the same color as the Consort’s.

Kaylin had never asked the Consort why her hair, alone of all the Barrani, was white—but she would, the next time they met.

“I am not Barrani,” Killian said, and Kaylin remembered that Killian was a building. “Nor was I, before the Academia at last came into being.”

Ancestor, she thought. Just as Androsse had once been.

Illanen stepped to the side, to increase the distance between him and Candallar; his gaze briefly touched the book he had surrendered into Candallar’s keeping. Baltrin, noting the Arcanist’s subtle retreat, retreated, as well. Neither ran nor gave voice to their growing discomfort.

Candallar was alone. He was not afraid. Not yet.

“The items you possess are keys,” Killian continued. “They are keys to a home that are left should disaster strike; you have used those keys, and you have entered the Academia. I hear Karriamis now, although his voice is distant; I hear Durandel, as well.

“If you ever desire it, you are welcome to study here—but those keys must now be left behind, waiting upon another emergency, another great cataclysm.” He stepped forward and held out his left hand.

Candallar retreated, the movement slow. The indigo of his eyes developed flecks of livid color.

“That,” Killian said in a sterner voice, “is forbidden here. You play at magics you do not understand, seeking power; in your ignorance, you—and your foolish allies—will doom yourselves.

“It is not your doom that is my concern. You are free to play at power—but you will not do it here.”

His voice was soft; the room shook anyway. The light went out of Candallar’s eyes.

“You have heard that knowledge is power.”

Candallar said nothing.

“And in some fashion, it is. But incomplete knowledge is not power; it is death and destruction. In some things, you cannot merely retrieve knowledge at your convenience and disregard the rest. I say again: I owe you a boon. But a boon is not, in the end, a form of mindless slavery. What the Academia was, and what it will be, is not a simple game of power and control.

“In the meantime, I will ask you—and your followers—to leave. You may leave by the front doors, or you may be ejected in a harsher fashion; the choice is up to you.”

He then turned to Illanen. “Yes,” he said, although the Arcanist had not spoken a word. “There is knowledge here—and should you desire it, you are free to apply to join the student body. Your application will be considered by the masters on the committee—and by me.”

The three Arbiters turned toward each other, their backs forming a triangle as Killian continued to speak. Their voices were muted; barely audible.

“You will, however, leave the keys; the keeper is now awake and aware, and they will no longer be necessary.” Once again, he extended his hand.

To Kaylin’s surprise, Illanen said, “Give him the...keys.”

Candallar did not move.

“Can you not sense it? The building is alive, just as the Hallionne are alive. There is no unguarded thought you might have that the building does not immediately hear. If he will allow us to walk through the front doors on our way out, accept that offer.”

Candallar shook his head, at a loss for words. Kaylin, under different circumstances, might have pitied him.

“Open the library, Arbiters.”

Kavallac cleared her throat. “It is not,” she said gently, “your command to give.”

“It was a request.”

“Very well. And it is not a request to which we can accede at the current time.” She walked toward Killian and stopped as she approached the Arkon. Although she was pale and ghostly—as she had been the first time Kaylin had seen her cohere from the pages of a book—her eyes were a luminous gold.

“Lannagaros,” she said, voice gentle. “You are Arkon. You are Arkon in a time of peace. Will you relinquish that responsibility?”

The Arkon turned toward Kavallac then. His eyes were a color that Kaylin had never seen Dragon eyes take. No—that was wrong. She had—but the Arkon’s refused to remain in any of the many color states; they were a flickering of colors, a constant shift, as if no single emotion could anchor them for long enough.

He was the Arkon.

Kaylin understood, at this moment, that Kavallac was asking him to walk away from that. While he considered her words, Kaylin approached Emmerian. Bellusdeo had eyes only for the Arkon.

“I don’t understand,” Kaylin said quietly.

“I think you do. He has been the Arkon since the end of the last of the wars between the Barrani and our kind. He has