Cast in Honor (Chronicles of Elantra, #11)(89)

“Is there any chance that window leads to actual Elantran rooftops?” she asked Severn while watching the water’s currents.

“Possibly.”

Kaylin turned away from the rising river the house had functionally become. She could see the window clearly now. Water roiled on the other side of the closed glass. “I hope not, given what that would mean for the rest of the city.”

Kattea said, “Is Gilbert okay?”

Fair question. Gilbert had not made the list of Kaylin’s immediate worries. “Gilbert,” she said, “is probably the only one of us guaranteed to survive this. Well, Gilbert and Evanton. I’m worried about us, selfish as that sounds.”

Kattea said, in a much smaller voice, “Sounds practical.” But she said the last word as if it were a guilty confession. She looked, for the moment, much younger and frailer; she was afraid. And of course she was afraid: she had working eyes and ears. Water did not work this way unless magic was involved—and in general, if there was a clash between normal people and magic, magic won.

She turned to the door again.

“The water?” her partner asked. He did not set Kattea down.

“Rising, of course.” Kaylin exhaled. “I’m going to leave the room. I’m closing the door. Don’t open it.”

“Kaylin—”

“Don’t open it. Promise me.” She turned back. Kattea’s slender arms were around his neck. “You’re a Hawk,” she whispered.

Memory was a bitch. Always. It cut you at the worst times, for the worst reasons. It returned in a way that made no sense; it followed no logical pattern. Kattea was not Steffi or Jade. She wasn’t Kaylin’s baby sister; she wasn’t Kaylin’s responsibility.

But she was the same age. She was a shadow of the past; a shadow of everything that had come between her and Severn.

Severn nodded.

Kaylin walked out the open door, closing it firmly behind her. She leaned her forehead against it, briefly, and then turned and headed down the stairs.

*

The water was rising as she watched. She hadn’t lied to Kattea; she was certain Gilbert would survive. She wasn’t certain that his ability to interact with the rest of them would, and in any practical sense, that was the only thing that mattered to Kattea.

But Kaylin hadn’t come down the stairs without a plan. The plan, unfortunately, involved contact with the water—but the sooner she managed that, the better.

The currents, while strong, couldn’t knock her off her feet yet. Sliding her right arm between the banister rails, she caught one picket firmly in the bend of her elbow, bracing herself for the unexpected; she had no idea how much time she had before the inches of water became a flood.

She knelt, grimacing, and tried not to think of water damage to her clothing. Stupid thoughts, really, but she didn’t have the time to remove her pants—or boots. She had time to place her left hand firmly in the water.

Self-preservation made her yank her hand clear.

Responsibility made her grit her teeth and once again submerge it.

Kaylin was not Tha’alani. She was not one of the native race of telepaths that lived in Elantra, doing their level best to keep to themselves and away from every other race’s inborn isolation.

That isolation, to the Tha’alani, caused insanity. It caused bitterness and delusion and fostered misunderstanding and self-hatred—which, of course, led to hatred, which led to violence, and in the worst cases, death.

If the only people in the world had been Tha’alani, there would be no need for Hawks or Swords or Wolves. Misunderstanding was pretty hard to maintain when everyone around you could hear your thoughts. It was hard to maintain when you could hear theirs. The fears were addressed before they had time to grow ugly roots; the pain was addressed, comforted. You were never alone.

Once, Kaylin had feared that: you could never be alone. There was no privacy. There was no way to hide what needed to remain hidden if you were to live in the world. But she hadn’t considered that maybe there was no need to hide. Not until she had touched the Tha’alaan. Not until she had experienced the truth of it.

Had it been up to Kaylin, she would never have left it. But...she wasn’t Tha’alani. She had no way of contacting the Tha’alaan except this: to touch the elemental water. Because the core of the thoughts, emotions, dreams of the entire race was contained in the heart of the water.

It was the reason that elemental water, alone of the four elements, was different. The long, slow accumulation of the daily lives of thousands—tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands—had slowly altered the way the water itself thought. But only part of it; the elemental water was still a wild, chaotic force.

Kaylin could not hear its voice. When angered, when frightened, when outraged, its voice was too loud and too destructive. And yet, throughout, the Tha’alani were part of it. It was the Tha’alani she needed to reach. It was the voices of mortals, not ancient, imperturbable nature. No, she thought; what she needed to do was hang on to the rails and wait until they could reach her.

*

Kaylin.

Ybelline. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t plug her ears; she had no way to block the roar of moving water, the distant sound of deluge. But she could “hear” Ybelline Rabon’Alani as if the castelord was beside her, lips pressed against her ear. More: it felt like a hug.