“I think that the High Halls and the interaction with the cohort now and in the future might cause subtle, but very real, changes.” Teela’s voice held firm.

“You want those changes.”

“Is that what you think?”

Kaylin nodded. “You were the only member of the cohort who wasn’t trapped inside Alsanis. You had to walk forward on your own. But you never forgot them.”

“I have Barrani memory.”

“That’s not why.”

Teela exhaled. “No, kitling, that’s not why. But understand that if that information is known, it will have the same effect upon me as it would upon Sedarias. None of us is invulnerable; all of us project invulnerability to discourage those who might otherwise think it safe to attack. It is safe for the Consort to mimic affection, or to openly display it, because of her import to the Barrani people as a whole.

“It will become far less safe if a replacement suitable to the duties she undertakes is found. So far, there has been no likely candidate.”

“You check?”

“Frequently, but I am not the only one. Should a suitable replacement be found, should that replacement be credible, all of that will change or the Consort will perish. I know I have said this before, but it would be best for both of you if you refrained from public displays of affection that involve the Consort.”

Kaylin nodded, remembering how little she liked Barrani society. If people could just care about the things they cared about, Barrani society would be a very different place. Why did so much devolve, in the end, to power?

Survival, Hope said.

The path through the forest continued when the trees fell away; they ringed a large clearing that was every bit as impressive as the space the high thrones occupied. There was, however, no throne here. There was a fountain in what seemed to be the center of the clearing, and sculptures that stood where trees otherwise might have grown, their lines clean and precise, draping cloth of stone replacing more martial, obvious armor.

The Consort sat on the lip of the fountain, gazing into the ripples of water as if she sought to read meaning from them. She looked up as they approached, and rose.

Her eyes were indigo, her expression remote. Kaylin regretted getting out of bed in the morning.

Teela offered the Consort a low bow—it was formal, elegant, and, as Barrani manners so often were, distancing, as if they were meant to be a wall. Kaylin internalized a grimace and bowed as well, secure in the knowledge that no matter how perfectly she executed her bow, it would always be inferior to Teela’s.

The Consort made no move to stop her or interrupt her. Sometimes she hugged Kaylin in greeting, but that wouldn’t happen today. Kaylin prayed this had nothing to do with Azoria.