an edge of disbelief in the Arkon’s voice. “You are certain?”
“Pretty certain, but—”
“I am certain, Lannagaros.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. “This Barrani couldn’t see your familiar?”
“Hope was squawking his lungs out. Killian couldn’t hear him at all. Not until Hope got fed up and breathed on him.”
This caused a shift in the shape of the Arkon’s eyes. “You let him breathe on someone. You let him breathe on another living being? One who was not attempting to kill you?”
“I did try to stop him. And in our defense, it didn’t seem to harm Killian at all; it just allowed him to see Hope.”
Without warning, the Arkon turned on Hope—which was very much like turning on Kaylin, given Hope’s placement. He then let loose a volley of his native tongue.
Kaylin’s teeth were chattering by the time he stopped.
“Lannagaros, I feel that is harsh.”
“Perhaps. But the person who will pay the price for the familiar’s misbehavior will not be you. It will be Kaylin.”
Hope didn’t seem to feel terribly chastised. Kaylin did. And hard of hearing until the aftershocks of the Arkon’s lecture had passed. When she could be certain her voice wouldn’t come out as a shout because she was overcompensating, she said, “This isn’t even the reason why we came to talk to you. We’re hoping to find out whether or not your archives contain information pertinent to our investigation.”
A white brow disappeared into a silver hairline.
“Do you recognize the names Durandel, Aggarok or Karriamis?”
* * *
The Arkon did not immediately answer. Instead, he rose from his chair. “Come.”
Bellusdeo frowned at his passing back, but fell in behind him; Severn and Kaylin took the rear.
“Touch nothing,” the Arkon said, the words floating over his shoulder.
When Kaylin failed to respond, he did turn. “Recall what happened on a prior visit, Corporal. It is a command, not a request. I have had a trying day, and it does not appear to be nearing its end soon.”
She nodded.
“You will either keep control of your familiar or have him wait outside. And by outside I mean outside of the library.”
Hope squawked.
“I disagree. It is the consequence of your actions. Or perhaps a consequence of your Chosen.” He turned again.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Kaylin told the familiar.
I knew what I was doing.
“You could have explained it so the rest of us understood.”
It would take far too long.
* * *
The Arkon did not ask Kaylin to touch the door ward that led to his personal, private, touch-it-and-die collection. Normally, Kaylin would consider this a mercy or a kindness; his expression today made clear that he didn’t trust her to touch even a door ward without causing problems.
The Arkon’s warning aside, there was little—beside wall and doorway—that Kaylin could touch. Nothing seemed to catch Hope’s eye. Although there were display cases and glass-fronted cabinets, all of which caused a ripple of magical discomfort across Kaylin’s skin, nothing was within easy reach. This room, which was quite large, was a simple path to the next, as was the next room.
But even the room in which ancient scrolls, remnants of armor and weapons, and gods only knew what else, were housed was not the Arkon’s destination.
She knew where he was going.
“Why did you ask about those names?”
“Because Killian mentioned them as Tower names. I don’t think they’ve ever been called by those names—but I’ve only had access to Records in the Halls of Law for a few years. Nightshade has always been called Nightshade, in the living memory of anyone in the fief.”
“The living memory of mortals is dim, and much history is lost to the narratives that supplant it, generation to generation.”
“Not all of the fieflings are mortal.”
“No. But I imagine there are very few who speak for long with the fieflords who are not.”
* * *
The faint hope that her guess about the Arkon’s destination was wrong was squashed when they arrived at a large wooden door. Three metal bands ran across it, and three locks waited for the Arkon’s keys. On the positive side, there was no magic on this door; there were no wards. On the negative side, beyond this door was a narrow stone hall that descended toward a cavern.
The Arkon handed them lamps, which he lit by breathing on their wicks. Bellusdeo looked at them as if they were dead rats.
“You will not introduce magic into the hall beyond this door,” the Arkon told her as he held the lamp out.
“Not even simple illumination?”
“Nothing at all. The wards that