“Biology was not my specialty,” Starrante replied, his eyes slowing their frantic wave, although they didn’t return to his body. “But theoretically, if she was within the birthing space, she could.”
“And if that was the case, she would consume or subsume the partial words?”
“Corporal, this is so theoretical it is not worth the paper it is written on.”
“Fine. I’m not going to ding you for accuracy. We want to know what you all think she intended. Killianas and the two Arbiters had the advantage of knowing her in person.” She then turned to the only other member of the Academia who could make the same claim.
Larrantin had been utterly silent. Barrani skin was naturally pale, but there was an almost blue tinge to the Barrani scholar’s, as if he had been holding his breath so long he was nearly dead.
“Azoria was very skilled with advanced portal magics; she excelled in placement of portals; she could work with the smallest of openings, bypassing physical restrictions the rest of my many, many students could not.”
“What does that mean to the layperson?” Kaylin asked.
“If one of the other students had to place a portal, they required the unencumbered physical space in which to work. Azoria could place a portal on the other side of a thick, large door if that door had a keyhole. If it did not, but it had hinges, or small spaces between door and frame, she was also efficient.
“It was a skill I did not have mastery of in the same fashion. She was astonishingly perceptive, and her certainty in her skills was unshakable. Her ability to create portals has not been equaled since—or during any part of my tenure. It is a distinct possibility that she could find an ‘egg’ and move it.
“She felt constrained in the life she led; she loved the Academia but resented it in equal measure. She wanted the freedom to truly do her research. But yes, her interest in research included the nameless. If she began to research the dead, she did so after she had graduated.
“Not once in her tenure here did her study focus on the deaths of the Ancients. Chancellor?”
“Killianas also said, among her many ambitions and complaints, the death of an Ancient was no part of her studies.”
“There would be very little to study,” Androsse added.
“Given the direction of her early experiments—after the shutdown of the High Halls, but before she was made outcaste—it’s unlikely that she had, at that point, discovered the Ancient in the outlands. Had she, her focus would have grown to encompass it.
“The deaths of the mortals whose...ghosts you found in Azoria’s home appear to have happened very recently.”
It wasn’t recent by human standards, but Larrantin was Barrani. Kaylin didn’t correct him.
“This would pin the discovery, in my opinion, to a short period of time before that.”
“Short by Barrani standards.”
“Of course. It is clear that she knew how to draw power from the outlands in a similar fashion sentient buildings such as Killianas do. It is clear, at this point, that she desired to amass power from True Names. If the Arbiter is correct, she wished to create a space in which she could predate on those names.
“But in her search, she stumbled onto the corpse of an Ancient. I find this difficult to believe, but I accept it as truth, given the Keeper’s involvement and concerns.
“The Ancient, being dead, could not be so easily moved; I would guess that she tried, and failed. The container that she created was a glass; the Ancient, an ocean. What I do not understand is the concept of death. The Ancient that you freed from its captivity—and yes, I have received a report to that effect from Killianas, whose restrictions on privacy extend to members of the Academia, not visitors—could speak with you; they could effortlessly use the outlands to create. They were not, in any sense of the word that any of us understands, dead.
“But it seems clear to me as well that Azoria could not communicate with the dead. The Ancient was bound in some fashion; you freed them from that binding. Before that, you could not bespeak them, either. And so, she searched for a Necromancer. Or perhaps, she attempted to create one. Mrs. Erickson’s mother worked as a servant for Azoria before her pregnancy; she worked in that capacity during it.
“I highly doubt that the proliferation of the dead Azoria had collected was in any way visible to Mrs. Erickson’s mother. But Mrs. Erickson may have been subject to Azoria’s attempts to create, to grow, the power she needed.”
Kaylin frowned in Larrantin’s direction, although it was a thinking frown. “You believe her talent wasn’t natural?”
“I cannot say that with absolute certainty. I would need to know far more about Mrs. Erickson’s parentage. It’s highly probable that Azoria knew more about Mrs. Erickson’s lineage than we do. She may have taken the risk of augmenting, or attempting to augment, the child in utero; it would be far simpler.”
None of this sounded simple to Kaylin.
“I would suggest you ask Mrs. Erickson if her mother ever had a miscarriage—I believe that’s the correct term?”
“It’s not the type of thing mothers usually discuss with their children.”
“If she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know. If she does, and if there were, that would give us information.”
“Not information about the environment we want to enter.”