Cast in Honor (Chronicles of Elantra, #11)(122)

“Noted.”

“We’re leaving Grethan with you.”

*

Gilbert’s eyes continued to open, but they opened slowly. “Are you sure you should be doing that?” Kaylin demanded, in as much of a whisper as she could.

“I am not certain to what you refer.”

“You’re opening all your eyes.”

Squawk. Squawk.

Gilbert smiled. It was the wrong kind of smile. “It is necessary, Kaylin. We must find our way back to the store.”

The ground still felt like mud beneath her feet. “I can reach Nightshade here.”

“Yes. That is not necessarily a good sign.”

“Gilbert...”

“Yes?”

“...I don’t think he knows who you are.”

“Yes. Come, Kaylin.”

“I’m following, but I don’t understand—he thinks he’s in his Castle.”

“Yes.”

Understanding, when it came, was fractured. “You think—I’m speaking to him before whatever emergency occurred that caused the Castle to expel him.”

“Yes.”

“But—”

“He was not meant to live in Ravellon; not as it is currently constituted. There was a time—” He shook his head. “But no.”

“But you said you were trying to find a way to bring him back.”

“Even so.”

“Gilbert—you wanted to help him because he became your friend.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, you do not. What confuses you now?”

“If we can reach Nightshade now, he’ll never go to Ravellon. He’ll never meet you. You’ll never—”

“Yes. Yes, Kaylin. The only way back, for your Nightshade, is now. If we resolve the difficulty before it engulfs your city, the Castle will release him. He will be, as he once was, Lord of Nightshade.”

“And you?”

“I do not understand your question.”

It was Mandoran who answered. Of course. Kaylin understood only half of what he said.

“I will return to Ravellon.”

“But he won’t be there.”

“I do not know.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yes. The Arkon is impatient.”

“The Arkon is always impatient.” She picked up the pace, trusting Gilbert.

Mandoran kicked her ankle; she turned to glare, and he whispered, “He knows what he’s doing. He’s made his choice. No, it’s not a happy choice—but immortals are accustomed to that. All of us. Leave it?”

She opened her mouth.

Annarion—who wasn’t even present—added, “Please.” The desperate tone of his voice hit her, hard.

She closed her mouth. Next topic. “Why do you look like Shadow?”

“I do not know what you see when you look at me. I am certain that what I see of you is not what you see of yourself. When you speak of Shadow—or when Kattea does—she refers in large part to what she calls Ferals.”

She would.

“But, Kaylin, the Shadow of which you speak exists in you, as well. It is not so large a component as exists in me, but it is unfettered.”

He must have seen her expression with one of his floating eyes, because all she could see was his back and he didn’t have eyes in it. “The Shadow in you is slight and unrestrained. In me, it is contained, confined. It is a necessary component of my existence. It gives me...flexibility.”

“But the Towers were created to guard against Shadow.”

“Yes.”

“And the Shadows in Ravellon—”

“Yes. It is complicated. Shadow as it exists in me has no will. In you, it has no will; you are in control of most of your actions. You require sustenance. You require rest. You do not classify these as particular weaknesses. If, in sleep, a differing sentience arose, you would. Change is a fundament of your world. If you could not change, you could not exist. Time is the allowable axis around which that change revolves.”

Time. Again.

“Change was revered, before I, and my kin, were created. What you classify as Shadow is ancient. It was the work of many and its existence, the cause of many debates. Perhaps you would call them wars, if you could witness them at all; I do not think you could.”

“Could we?” Mandoran asked.

“It is possible you could perceive it. You are not as Kaylin is. But it is not relevant, at least not now. The malleability of Shadow was considered a gift; it was a medium in which much that had been impossible became possible. It was not, itself, sentient. But in the way of things, Shadow itself could alter what could not otherwise be altered.”

Kaylin frowned. After a pause, she said, “The words?”

“Yes, Kaylin. The words. The words that gave life, even to those who were of Shadow. They could not destroy the words, of course—but they could, with time, alter their construction, and in so doing, change the meaning. I do not believe this was the intent of their creators, and at first, it was not seen as a threat; it was...new. Unexpected. A surprise. Not all such surprises are pleasant.

“I was created long after. I was not meant to police the Shadows, or even to guard directly against them; that was not my function. Only where their actions crossed my directives did I seek to destroy them. Kattea has said she hates Shadow.”