Cast in Honor (Chronicles of Elantra, #11)(73)

“She is engaged in her kitchen duties,” Helen’s disembodied voice informed him. “Refreshments will not be offered immediately; I think it would break her heart if all of her work was wasted. But...I confess I am mildly confused. Gilbert said he found Kattea in the fief of Nightshade.”

“I did.”

“And according to Kaylin, that was weeks ago—a handful of weeks.”

“Yes.”

“Her behavior, and her knowledge of, among other things, food, is not consistent with that claim. Her experience in Nightshade does not mirror Kaylin’s. One would, of course, expect some differences; no two mortals have identical histories or experiences.”

“Is Gilbert lying?” Kaylin asked quietly, noting the shift in the color of both Dragon and Barrani eyes.

“No, dear. Kattea’s memories are consistent with Gilbert’s version of events.”

“What is the difficulty you perceive?” Annarion asked Helen.

“The fief of Nightshade that Kattea was found in is not the fief in which Kaylin was born.”





Chapter 16

Silence.

Kaylin was uneasy. Everything Helen had just said mirrored thoughts—doubts—Kaylin had also had. The silence stretched until Kaylin broke it. “How is Kattea’s Nightshade different?”

“She was not starving. She was not terrified of her neighbors. She lived in a modest house. The Ferals she feared were not—as they were for you and Severn—a simple fact, like sunset or sunrise. There was a functional market within walking distance of her home. She learned to cook while aiding her mother and her aunt.” Helen hesitated.

Kaylin marked it. “What else aren’t you saying?”

“I am not mortal,” Helen began apologetically. “I may misunderstand. But Kattea believes that the Elantra in which you live and work is in her past. She believes that the city as it is now disappeared very shortly after she was born.”

“She thinks she’s from our future?”

Helen hesitated again. “She did not speak of this out loud, and perhaps, as guest, I should not...”

Gilbert, however, said, “Yes.”

*

Kaylin turned to Kattea’s guardian. “You told Kattea you needed her.”

“I do not live as you live. I do not travel as you travel. My home was—and is—Ravellon. Ravellon is unlike your city. If the Ancients can be said to have been born at all, it is Ravellon that was their birthplace, and it is in Ravellon that they came of age. In Ravellon, they designed and argued and built. In Ravellon they learned to see, and speak, and sing.

“And in Ravellon, they learned to sleep. And die. And kill.” He rose and began to pace. “Death is not—to us—what it is to you. Your lives are so simple, so silent, they pass beneath us; we notice them if we study your kindred, but in general, you are, to the Ancients, what a blade of grass is to you. Or perhaps an ant.

“Mortals were not created in my waking hours, but I see you as an extension of ancient arguments and debates. The Shadows you speak of now were birthed in Ravellon. They were not meant to be what they became.”

“What were they meant to be?” She hesitated. “Part of you is part of what they are now.”

His smile was thin. “Yes. And it is because they are part of me—and were, at my inception—that I can be here at all. It is why I can understand some small part of your speech. Why I can see time almost as you see it.

“Kattea is necessary because time—for mortals—is inevitable; it is a wall above which they cannot climb.” He glanced at Teela and Bellusdeo. “For the purpose of this discussion, you are also mortal in my eyes.”

Teela shrugged.

Bellusdeo looked mildly offended.

“It was not always safe to be exposed to the Ancients during periods of unhindered creation. Creation requires a malleability that can be...destabilizing. Buildings such as Helen were designed to withstand such instability.” There was a hint of a question at the end of that statement.

Helen answered. “My memory is faulty because I destroyed elements of myself.”

“You did this?” Kaylin thought she could have told him she’d lopped off her head and it wouldn’t have surprised him—or horrified him—as much.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wished to be able make my own decisions.”

Gilbert’s command of Elantran was clearly not perfect. “I do not understand.”

“I wished to choose my own lord.”

He looked dumbfounded.

“Is that such a strange concept to you? I served. I had served for the whole of my existence. I do not recall resentment. We all need purpose, and mine was clear. But my lord left, and he did not return. In his absence, I was forced to destroy some parts of myself to protect what remained of his work.

“And in his absence, I became aware of—fond of—a mortal woman. She cared for me. She did not understand that I was alive, that I was sentient. She cared for the space in which she found herself. She made small pockets of me her home. I understood that my lord would not return. And I understood that I could make myself home to this woman.

“I did not destroy the defenses,” Helen added, almost self-consciously. “Were you to attempt to harm me—or anyone under my protection—you would not succeed.”