Page 95 of Cast in Conflict

Bellusdeo’s eyes had darkened to a more normal red—and even thinking that caused Kaylin to cringe. If the gold Dragon had heard the voice that had spoken to Kaylin, there was no other sign.

Mandoran’s eyes widened.

“Is the Tower speaking to you?” Kaylin asked.

He nodded.

“Can you see something that serves as an Avatar?”

“The whole damn Tower is an Avatar,” Mandoran replied. “Imagine what Helen would be like if Helen were a Dragon.”

Imagination failed.

“Come,” the voice said again. “I have seen enough that I am slightly curious. If you will forgive the manner of greeting, I would take tea with you.”

Tea. With a Dragon. Kaylin swallowed and said, “We’d love to.”

The Tower’s Avatar did not emerge, but the voice had reminded her that she was in a sentient building, which meant her thoughts were being read and processed before she could properly hide them. Not that she had ever truly tried; she wondered how Nightshade or Teela managed it.

“They can separate themselves from the immediacy of their thoughts,” the helpful voice replied. “It is not something that comes easily to one of your race, although your companion—ah, no, partner?—partner is more adept than his age would imply. He is, however, the only one trying at the moment.”

“Lord Emmerian?”

“No. He understands what I was, and what I am. He is not interested in putting out effort when he believes that effort to be, at best, futile, and at worst counter to his reasons for being here. And I believe your young Barrani friend feels the same.”

Kaylin shook her head. “He’s not young, and he’s always like that.”

“I see. He is Barrani, by appearance. And he has much in common with the race of his birth.”

She nodded more carefully, suddenly remembering Castle Nightshade’s reaction to Annarion. Remembering it and wishing, viscerally, that they had somehow managed to leave Mandoran at home.

“I am not Durandel of old,” the Tower replied. “It was always his way to kill first and investigate later—if he could be bothered to investigate at all. But he was both cunning and perceptive, especially with regards to Ravellon. If he considered your friend a danger, it is likely that he was.”

“Danger to who? He wasn’t doing anything!”

Severn coughed.

“Danger to all who might be killed or corrupted by Ravellon. We are not as you are. Nor is Mandoran.”

She stiffened further, but Mandoran shook his head.

“I prefer to investigate first; it stops me from making the occasional mistake.”

“And Durandel doesn’t care?”

“If you destroy enough,” the Tower replied, “no one will ever know.”

That didn’t make her feel any better. Mandoran, however, grinned. His skin color was off, and his eyes were too blue, but other than that he was normal. For Mandoran.

They walked down the large hall, passed beneath an arch, and were suddenly outside.

Kaylin had experience with these shifts of reality when confined in a sentient building, but it was still jarring. What she’d seen while walking toward the arch was another hall, a continuation of stone and austerity. The moment her foot crossed over an invisible line that somehow signaled the end of the first hall, it came down on grass.

Very short, very well-kept grass. There was a path of laid stones that wound its way through that grass, and Kaylin made haste to step on it instead. Only here did Bellusdeo finally surrender the draconic form, shrinking in place until she looked like a Warrior Queen of old, not the Dragon that the queen was tasked with defeating.

They followed the path; the Tower offered no further words. At the end of the path was a large pavilion, and seated at a long table was an old man, with a beard that seemed to drape from chin to lap, folding a bit to cover his knees. He wore a crimson robe, but no tiara.

If it weren’t for his eyes—obsidian, as Tara’s and Helen’s were when things were tense—he would have reminded her strongly of the Arkon. The Arkon had never been friendly to Kaylin, but there were degrees of unfriendliness; this would have been a good Arkon day, not a bad one.

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