“You wish to meet with Arbiter Starrante.”
“I do, yes. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say Riaknon does. I am not certain that a man trapped in a library for a large part of eternity will have much of relevance to say to me, but for Riaknon he is one of a handful of kin, no matter how distant.”
“We understand sparsity of kin,” the chancellor replied, voice grave and slightly rumbly although he wasn’t in draconic form. On the other hand, he could probably transition into full draconic form in a room this size, without damaging himself—or the room—too badly.
“We might have the discussion your adjutant requested—” here, she nodded to Bellusdeo “—while Riaknon visits the library, if you will grant your permission that he do so.”
“He has my permission to request a visit, but the Arbiters and the interior of the library are not entirely under the jurisdiction of the chancellor.”
“Interesting. The library is housed in this building, but you are not the final authority?”
“No. The library space is its own space. The Arbiters rule there, as certainly as if they were Towers. They are not,” he added. “Something about the space itself allows this. I believe the Arbiters can leave the library, but there are some risks associated with it; to my knowledge, only Starrante has done so in the brief period the Academia has been open to visitors.”
“Very well. How would I petition the Arbiters?”
“Killianas?”
“I will convey the request,” the disembodied Avatar replied.
To Liatt’s credit, she saw nothing unusual about this.
11
Riaknon followed Kaylin—and Mandoran—out of the conference room the chancellor’s office had become; Liatt and Liannor remained behind. He was muttering to himself, which involved a lot of clicking and a very few dissonant syllables. At any other time, this would have worried Kaylin, but she felt the anxiety, the possibility of meeting distant kin for the first time in centuries, was nonetheless a familiar one; it mapped onto her understanding of people.
She herself had no such ties—but if she’d discovered that she had sisters or brothers somewhere in the world, she would have both wanted and dreaded the meeting. What if they didn’t want to meet her? What if they weren’t happy to discover her? What if she hated them on sight?
So many what-ifs. Riaknon’s clicking probably expressed a lot of them, in a language she couldn’t otherwise understand. She exhaled.
You’re right. She was surprised to hear Severn’s voice. Unless things were on fire—sometimes literally—he tended to avoid the communication given by a True Name she shouldn’t have had. I liked Starrante. I would trust him, if trust were a relevant issue.
So would I. I just... Spiders.
She felt both amusement and chagrin; they might have been her own feelings, they were so much in keeping with hers.
You should ask Starrante what we—or Barrani—called their people. I’m almost certain we couldn’t pronounce the native word.
She frowned. Robin called him Wevaran. I think Robin had read about his race, somewhere in the library.
Try to use that instead of “spider” when you’re thinking.
He can’t hear the words, anyway. It’s not like I’ve insulted him.
Not for his sake, for your own.
Fair enough. Wevaran. Starrante and Riaknon were members of the Wevaran race.
Kaylin led and Riaknon followed, although he seemed to have difficulty walking in a straight line; for half of the walk through the halls he ended up skittering sideways on the walls, returning to the floor when he approached a door.
Students were in the hall. They watched with a mix of dread, fascination, and curiosity—much like Kaylin herself. She didn’t blame them.
A very familiar voice caught her attention. “Are you going to see Starrante?” Robin was standing in the door frame of a wall that Riaknon had just deserted.
“Arbiter Starrante,” came the immediate correction from an unseen teacher in the room behind Robin.
“Yes.”
Robin lifted both arms in Riaknon’s direction; his elbows implied he was trying to take flight.