Page 209 of Cast in Conflict

Did it matter?

No. Not right now. She forced syllables of her own out, trying to maintain the strength of her voice while simultaneously ripping out parts of Emmerian’s body—the parts transformed, the parts where a new normal had been established. New normal meant the body would not consider itself damaged; she couldn’t save him by healing alone.

Her voice faltered every time she encountered a mass of this transformed new version of healthy, and every time the syllables paused, the Shadow tendrils moved. She managed to force one out of the body; she didn’t look to see where it went. She wasn’t alone here; there were others present who could deal with Shadow if they knew it existed.

But the syllables lagged as she struggled, and the lag caused the damage to spread. It spread more slowly than it had before she’d begun, but she was almost certain that she was going to be overwhelmed—or that Emmerian would. This close to him, if he lost control over himself, she was unlikely to survive.

As she worked, as she switched focus between the necessary extraction and the word that seemed to halt the Shadows’ spread, a voice joined hers. It was Bakkon—she was almost certain it was Bakkon; there was a bell-like inflection to the syllables, and he spoke them as if they were his native tongue.

Spoke them as if they were a dirge, a lamentation, an ending that he had not desired; his pain reminded her that bells were often sounded at funerals. But he spoke the syllables clearly, his voice so strong he might have been speaking into her ear. And she could follow his syllables, could mouth them and be pulled along by them while she focused on Emmerian.

She felt a hand on her shoulder; another voice joined Bakkon’s. To her surprise, she recognized the voice: Sedarias. She had expected Mandoran or Terrano. But no, she was certain they were present, no matter where in the fief they were.

She swallowed air, and exhaled fear. She wasn’t winning this fight. Although she forced strands of Shadow out of the Dragon, it wasn’t fast enough. It wasn’t enough.

She was going to lose him. She was going to lose him, and Bellusdeo would lose him; Sedarias could probably get away. Nightshade and Teela had two weapons that could kill Dragons if it became necessary. Bakkon continued to speak; she continued to work, her lips moving almost unconsciously across the syllables the Wevaran had well in hand.

“ENOUGH!”

Bellusdeo’s voice. Bellusdeo was on the ground; the force of the roar—in very clear Barrani—caused tremors.

“When the war is over—when it is finally over and if I survive it—I will captain the Tower while the Tower stands. I will learn the names of the people who will become my people. I will build a better home, a better life, for anyone born here, past or present. I will raise my children in the Aerie of the Tower, and I will teach them to fly and to fight and to seek the freedom of the skies and the weight of the responsibility that comes with that freedom.

“I will claim no other home. I will surrender no territory while I live.

“I will learn, Karriamis. I will learn what you have to teach. I will offer you my name.”

“And is this what you want?” a familiar voice replied. Karriamis, the Avatar of the Tower. And of course he was aware—they were in his fief.

Emmerian struggled to rise, moving beneath Kaylin’s splayed palms. She heard the wet sound of webbing being spit and attempted to ignore it.

“This is what I want,” Bellusdeo said.

“Child—”

“I didn’t say I would tolerate condescension or disrespect.”

Karriamis chuckled. “And why do you say this now?”

“Because you asked what I would do when the war was done. You asked what I want to do when the war is over—and it’s an ending I don’t and can’t believe will happen. It’s a game of make-believe.”

“No, it is not.”

“It is. But I will play this game with you. I will play it with myself. I will let myself believe—for just long enough—that I can see an ending and that I’ll survive it.”

“And if you do, this is what you want?”

“I want a home of my own,” she replied, voice far lower. As if to say it was somehow disloyal. Kaylin didn’t believe she was lying, though. “I want a place in which I can stand and be...myself.”

“I see. And you did not want this on prior visits?”

Kaylin wanted to stand up, turn around, and punch Karriamis in the jaw—assuming he was in his human form.

Don’t, Emmerian said. It was the first time she had heard his voice so clearly.

You’re just saying that because you want to hit him first.

Hit was not what I had in mind, no.

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