Page 140 of Cast in Atonement

Voices rose again, but they were muted, hushed; they didn’t seem to contain fear or anxiety. This time, the words felt far more like a harmony of sound than the cacophony of a crowd, as if they were all friends discussing the same thing. What would Mrs. Erickson have heard?

No, she was doing it again. She could not hear what Mrs. Erickson heard. She could hear what Kaylin Neya heard. And she could try not to curse as she attempted to disentangle these damn sleeves.

Hope bit her ear, not hard enough to draw blood, but certainly hard enough to register as a criticism. She froze, and then stopped attempting to free the long, trailing sleeves. She watched instead. Her arms weren’t pulled forward; the sleeves seemed to exist as a very loosely connected attachment.

As she watched, her marks grew steadily brighter. It was the edges; the hearts of the forms remained a deep, almost endless green. She was looking at those marks when the ghosts began to dwindle in size. As they grew smaller, the cloth entangled a greater portion of their shape, one sleeve spreading to wind itself around words she hadn’t yet touched.

She could hear whispers now; whispers of syllables that felt familiar enough that she should understand them—but didn’t. That was how she had always experienced spoken True Words. The ghosts were not the only words she now heard. She could hear the marks of the Chosen, their sound as much a whisper as that of the dead words, the lost words—the sentient words that had possessed a living Dragon.

Mrs. Erickson could comfort them. Kaylin could not. But she could offer them a place—just as she’d offered Bellusdeo, the cohort, and Mrs. Erickson herself a home. She did close her eyes then. Closed them so she could concentrate on both the sounds of the marks that were hers and the words that would be hers for a time.

She was aware of the moment the first of the words touched her skin—drawn there by the sleeves of the dress, by the will of the green. She forced herself not to freeze or shudder; the words were cold. There was a kind of cold that was painful, it felt almost like heat. The dead words were that kind of cold.

She knew when each word touched her skin, because each was cold in the same fashion; they were almost painful. Almost.

Hope squawked, and she nodded; she opened her eyes. The marks of the Chosen were clearest when she looked at them with closed eyes, but the ghostly words couldn’t be seen in the same way. They now lay against her skin, jade green and white-edged; they weren’t flat the way the marks were; they were slightly raised and humming.

Only when each of them was mounted against her arms did her sleeves fall once again into their correct position.

These words were like her friends in some fashion. She’d given the cohort a place to live, and they’d lived with Helen more or less happily—and way more safely—than they might have lived elsewhere. But Serralyn was gone now; Valliant had gone with her. Sedarias was here, but if she wished to fully claim her birthright, she’d have to maintain a residence in the High Halls. Bellusdeo, the first roommate, had also moved out, to a sentient building of her own, whose sole purpose resonated strongly with Bellusdeo’s desire for bloody vengeance.

Kaylin missed the three who had moved on. She was happy to have them visit. But they had their own lives, and they had to live them; they couldn’t just remain here so Kaylin wouldn’t feel abandoned.

These words had also been Helen’s guests. But they had a place to go, a life beyond Helen’s confines. Kaylin couldn’t keep them—and given how much they hurt, this was a good thing—but she could ease their burden for as long as they required it.

“Very good,” Helen said. “I don’t think you should tarry. I don’t think you’ll be able to carry them for long without collapsing.”

“They’re not heavy,” Kaylin said. “Just...really, really cold.”

Helen nodded. “Cold can kill, as you are well aware. I do not believe they will kill you intentionally—not when the link to the green is so strong. But they are a danger to you, and you would do well to deliver them as quickly as possible.”

“To where?”

“I believe your friends are in the parlor asking just that question,” Helen replied.

24

Before Kaylin made her way to the parlor, she returned to Mrs. Erickson’s sitting room. Bellusdeo had deserted it to join the Hawks, but the room wasn’t empty; Mrs. Erickson was seated in one of the chairs, her hands folded in her lap. She looked up as Kaylin appeared, and she offered Kaylin a familiar, if more careworn, smile.

“Helen told me you’ve taken my friends,” she said, rising. Her eyes went to Kaylin’s arms, which ached with cold. The older woman moved toward Kaylin, but stopped, lowering the hands she had unconsciously raised. “I see. They’re sleeping.” She looked relieved, but to Kaylin’s eyes, very tired.

She clearly didn’t see what Kaylin saw, but they were both looking at the same thing.

“Helen also told me that Evanton is safe.”

Kaylin nodded. “Did she say anything else?”

Mrs. Erickson smiled. “Yes. She asked me to remember that people care about me, but that I am not a child. I am allowed to make my own decisions. And yes, she said Evanton will return in the morning.”

“Did she say why?”

“Of course she did. And I would be embarrassed to remain at home when I send children to do what I’m afraid to do.”

Kaylin usually hated it when people referred to her as a child—even if they’d lived for centuries. She couldn’t hate Mrs. Erickson for it; there was no condescension in the words, no implied greater wisdom. Just care.

“Bellusdeo probably isn’t going to be very happy.”

“No, I don’t expect she will be. But, Kaylin, she’s not worried for me. She’s worried for her sisters.” The old woman’s smile dimmed. “So am I. In the past two days, I have managed to make them aware of each other, just as Jamal was aware of Katie, Callis, and Esme. They cry less often, and they seem more settled—but they are still trapped.

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