Page 67 of Cast in Conflict

Liatt’s native streets were very like the more run-down sections of Nightshade, to Kaylin’s eye; the buildings were in need of repair, the windows—where shutters weren’t so warped they couldn’t be properly closed—were shuttered. Most of the buildings were two stories; some were three, and some were flat, single-story dwellings. Weeds, not grass, fronted them, and the road was pocked enough it would have given wagon wheels a hard time.

She looked above street level to see the Tower.

It was a tall, elegant spire of silver and gold, although the metallic hues didn’t reflect the sunlight the way natural metals might have. There was just enough glow inherent in their visual presentation that the Tower itself didn’t seem to be flat gray and yellow. Even had those been the primary colors, there was nothing workmanlike about this Tower. Tara’s Tower was an ivory white, and it stood out anywhere in Tiamaris.

This Tower stood out more—but it looked down upon run-down streets. Or at least run-down streets near what had been the border zone. Perhaps as they approached the Tower, the streets would improve.

Kaylin had never considered the run-down streets to be an affront before she’d managed to escape the fiefs. She might not have considered them worse than, say, the warrens, had she not known Tiamaris.

But she did know the Dragon, and she’d seen what he and his Tower, in concert, were attempting to make of the fief, and now? She was resentful for the child she had been. For the children that were still trapped as she’d been trapped. She wanted change.

You might ask, Nightshade said, his tone far more neutral than usual.

Who? You? Your Tower? She snorted. You made clear, the first time we met, that the citizens of the fiefs weren’t your concern—except when they displeased you.

Durandel would never consent to the sweeping changes Tara has made in Tiamaris. Can you imagine the front of my castle becoming vegetable gardens? Can you imagine that an Ancestor would care what the weak and the helpless do?

She couldn’t.

But there are things that might be done. Durant’s use of his Tower, to make wood and stone that lasts throughout all weather and its difficulties, is not one that I would have considered.

Your Tower would never allow it.

My Tower requires a certain amount of finessing, yes. But I do not think it entirely impossible. Understand that you are correct. The heart of the Tower is an echo of the person who became it, and our people change slowly. But they can change; you have seen that with your own eyes. And Kaylin, while you bear that mark, you have the right to ask.

The mark was so much a part of her face now, she forgot it existed unless she was introduced to a Barrani stranger. She wanted to keep it that way, and fell silent, prickling with discomfort.

It amused—and annoyed—Nightshade. It had been almost eight years since she had lived in his fief, but some of the reflexes persisted. Annoyed fieflord: bad.

Tell me what you know of Liatt.

You’ve asked this already. And I can see her Tower clearly, now. It is impressive.

It looks Barrani.

His silence was one of studied disgust.

It doesn’t look Barrani to you?

It looks nothing like our architecture to me. Nothing at all. You identify silver and gold as the colors of wealth—and therefore power. You consider the Barrani to be powerful. Therefore you believe somehow this looks like our architecture. And our architecture is not all of one thing. The residences in the West March do not resemble the High Halls.

“What are you thinking?” Mandoran asked.

“I’m not thinking. I’m being thought at.” She turned to him. “Does Liatt’s Tower look like a Barrani building to you?”

He looked at the Tower. He looked back to Kaylin. One brow was crooked. “Is this a trick question?”

Nightshade was smug. Silent, but smug.

“Fine. Bellusdeo?”

“It looks like it could be, to my eye—but our homes, even our great Aeries, did not resemble Towers.”

“It doesn’t look Barrani to me,” Severn said quietly, before she could demand his opinion.

“Seriously?”

“It’s disproportionate. The height of the Tower on its own, you could make an argument for—but the base, no.”

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