Page 68 of Cast in Atonement

“I can, but it is not without danger.”

“To whom?” Bellusdeo asked; she was annoyed. She knew, intellectually, that Evanton was the Keeper, but she also knew he was an older man. Older, and far more fragile than a Dragon, or even a Barrani.

Evanton turned back to the painting, his hands loosely clasped behind his back. “To anyone who resides within this house—but that would only be the start.” He exhaled. “I believe this room should be locked for the moment, but if anyone was wondering whether or not Azoria’s former abode is still active, I can say with certainty that it is. You said that you entered her home when you attempted to leave by the front door, yes?”

“Yes,” Kaylin replied.

“Part of the grounding for this painting, in this place, is in that abode. I believe we should examine it.”

“I’m not certain the door will open into Azoria’s mansion.”

“Ah. I believe it now will.” Kaylin didn’t like the sound of that.

Serralyn, silent until that moment, said, “Bakkon would like to join us, if that’s okay.”

Evanton frowned. “The Wevaran?”

“Yes. Arbiter Starrante contacted him. He came to the Academia. He can arrive here, without passing through the city streets, because I’m here; he attached a thread to me. He won’t interfere if the Keeper doesn’t wish it, but there are things he would like to examine. We didn’t have a lot of time the last time he was with us.”

“Given our current company, I cannot see how it would be harmful,” Evanton replied.

“Have you met a Wevaran before?”

“No. I am aware of the Wevaran, of course, but I have not personally encountered one before. I find their language taxing. Come, let us continue.”

Kaylin accepted that her understanding of what a Keeper did was imperfect. Worse than imperfect. She should have guessed some of it; Evanton had enchanted her daggers. Enchanting daggers had nothing to do with the husbanding of the elemental garden—and that control was imperfect; she’d been in his shop when it suddenly flooded. But... Evanton knew Wevaran? Evanton could see magic of a type that Kaylin couldn’t see? Kaylin was very sensitive to magic, to magical sigils, to the traces of the work of mages; it was one of her biggest strengths as an investigator where magical crimes were involved.

Evanton’s entire posture had changed by the time he left the family room; he had insisted that the door remain locked—and implied that it was fine with him that Terrano was stuck inside the room. “That boy gives me a headache.”

Terrano, of course, wouldn’t remain stuck in the room for long—if he’d even remained inside it. Hope’s wing trembled against her eyes, but he didn’t lower it; he stood, alert, on her shoulder as Evanton made his way to the front door. “Do not tug the Wevaran thread until we’ve opened the door into Azoria’s mansion.”

“I’m not sure it will open into the mansion.” Mrs. Erickson’s voice was soft, but her hands were clasped together as if in prayer. “It’s only ever done that once, when Azoria was still alive.”

“I am certain it will,” Evanton said.

“Oh? But why?” The old woman was curious in spite of her anxiety. Or perhaps because of it.

Evanton’s expression gentled instantly when he turned to answer her. “A strand in the magical weave that surrounds the finished painting is meant to open that door. I caused it to activate.”

He hadn’t touched the painting. He hadn’t lifted a hand.

“What activated the door the last time it opened?”

“Azoria, of course. She had far more control over her creation than a simple old man like me.” Evanton approached the door and opened it. To no one’s surprise, it opened into the foyer of Azoria’s mansion.

He turned to Mrs. Erickson, and offered her his arm. Mrs. Erickson accepted it. They stepped into the mansion together. Evanton then turned back. “Serralyn, it is safe to call Bakkon now; I am uncertain that he will be able to track his own thread after you cross the threshold.”

Serralyn nodded, lifting a hand to touch a slender, glimmering thread Kaylin was certain she wouldn’t have seen without Hope’s wing. The light brightened beneath her fingertip.

Bakkon, the Wevaran who lived in Liatt’s Tower, appeared, his legs landing so silently he might have been weightless. He lifted his front legs, waving them delicately in a more complex than usual Wevaran greeting.

Evanton nodded, rather than raising his arms in turn; one was occupied by Mrs. Erickson.

The Keeper moved farther into the foyer to allow everyone else to enter; if the door that led to Azoria’s former home was magical, it hadn’t increased in width.

“I am Evanton, the current Keeper,” he said to the Wevaran, in Barrani. “Can you make certain the door remains open?”

“I am honored to meet you, Keeper,” Bakkon replied, a faint click between syllables as he lowered his body almost to the ground. “I will do what I can.”

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