Cast in Honor (Chronicles of Elantra, #11)(72)

“I am of the opinion that I have never set foot in a building such as this. You called it Helen?”

“If you mean did I name her, then no. Helen is her name. She’s in charge. I live here, and I can ask her for things—but I can’t enforce obedience.”

Both of his brows rose. “And it—she—cannot enforce obedience from you?”

“I imagine if she bent her mind to it, she could.”

“She’s certainly been doing a number on Annarion,” Mandoran added. Annarion glared, but said nothing.

Gilbert looked about the room. “She reminds me of my youth. We once lived in homes such as these—places that heard our voices and spoke with their own. But we knew their names. It was one of the many ways in which we communicated our desires.” His eyes were a curious shade of brown, almost rust in color.

“It was,” Helen’s disembodied voice said, “the chief way in which control was exerted.”

“And such control was unpleasant?”

“Was it not unpleasant to you?”

Gilbert frowned. “It was not possible,” he finally replied. His eyes darkened. They weren’t, then, like mortal eyes. Until this moment, Kaylin hadn’t been entirely certain.

“What wasn’t possible?” she asked.

“For our names to be known. I understand that your names are not like ours,” he added.

“We don’t—Kattea and I—have names.” Her frown mirrored Gilbert’s. She understood why immortals resisted being healed. It was almost impossible for the healer not to see the thoughts and emotions of the healed, to some extent. “When I tried to heal you...” Her thoughts weren’t solid enough to form useful questions.

Gilbert’s nod was quiet. “You almost lost your life.”

Kaylin shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” She hesitated and then said, “I had no idea what I was doing. And having done it, I still don’t understand. When you say knowing your name is impossible, what do you mean?”

He turned his head, his gaze fixed on nothing.

The nothing squawked.

“It is impossible for you or any of your companions. I am told it is impossible for any who live as you live.”

“But you have a name.”

Squawk.

“There is some misunderstanding. I am an earlier iteration of life. An earlier design. The Ancients were my creator; they were my parents. I do not, cannot, have children in the fashion I am assured you do. Children such as yours—any of yours—would not have been considered possible or desirable on the eve of my creation.” His smile deepened as Kaylin’s confusion grew. “I am not so very different from your Helen.”

“He is mistaken,” Helen said.

“Am I? You were created to serve a specific function. I do not know what that function was or is; your story is opaque to me. I sense its presence, but I cannot read it. I cannot hear it. I was created to serve a specific function—but that function did not rely on others. You cannot move from the space you occupy; to move would destroy you. In that, we are different. But in all else, I believe we have more in common than I have with any of your inhabitants.”

“Your name—it’s like the names of the ancestors,” Kaylin said.

Gilbert frowned.

Kaylin turned to the empty space that Gilbert had been addressing. “Can you explain the ancestors to him? Please?”

Squawk. Squawk. Squawk.

Gilbert’s expression shifted with each screeching syllable. “Where did you encounter these ancestors?”

“In Nightshade’s Castle.”

Squawk. Squawk. Squawk.

His eyes shifted color as Kaylin watched; they were a true brown now. As brown as Kaylin’s, although they had darkened so much she could no longer see pupil. He was rigid by the time the invisible familiar fell silent.

“Yes,” he said. When Kaylin’s forehead creased, he added, “My name is very like the names of those you call ancestors. They are not,” he added, “ancestors, in the Elantran meaning of that word. Their names are not as complicated as mine. I thought them gone or contained.”

“The two we met were sleeping. They woke up.”

“They heard Annarion.” It wasn’t a question.

Annarion looked about as comfortable with this statement as Kaylin felt.

Gilbert glanced at him. “I heard you when I first attempted to leave my home. I followed the sound of your voice...but I could not hear you when I finally arrived in this Elantra. I could not hear you when I first met Kaylin. I can hear you now. I can hear your friend. It is...distracting. Distracting and compelling.”

This didn’t increase Annarion’s comfort level; it also added Mandoran’s discomfort to the mix.

“We hear your pain,” Gilbert continued. “We hear your loss. We hear your fear. We do not understand its cause, but we understand that you are here, that you are real. Your voice is that strong.

“In a bygone era, your voice would have been one of thousands.” He hesitated. “You were not created as I was. You were...born. You have not been altered by any will save your own. The word at your core is so simple, so singular, I cannot hear it. And yet, Annarion, I hear you. I hear Mandoran.” He grimaced. “I hear Kattea.”