But no, no—that was simple cowardice. Had she gone, Terrano might have attempted to untangle one of the paintings of the two mortals, to possible disastrous results for those mortals. She needed to bring them here, as much “in person” as out-of-phase, trapped souls could be.

And to do that, she needed this room to remain in one piece. She had a feeling that the Avatar couldn’t just re-create it at whim, as Helen could; something would be lost.

“Yes,” the Avatar said. “He will not harm you, Lord Kaylin; he avoids the Barrani because of their mutual past. Those who are fully Lords of the High Court—as you are—find him alarming.”

With good reason. She said nothing as it approached Terrano—who did not seem at all surprised. Or alarmed. Kaylin almost shrieked when a Shadow tendril reached out from the mass of the Adversary—as she privately called him—and planted itself in the nape of Terrano’s neck. Taking shallow breaths, she forced herself to remain still; Serralyn didn’t seem alarmed, and she realized belatedly that the Shadow was doing what Serralyn herself was doing.

“They provide an anchor for him,” the Avatar said. “But he is...in too many places at once, and some of those, Serralyn cannot safely reach. My friend can.”

Friend. “You really have been spending a lot of time with Terrano lately, haven’t you?”

“Yes. It is enlightening. To my friend as well; what Terrano now does is clearer to him.”

“Was this Shadow magic?”

“He does not entirely understand that question, but Azoria did, indeed, reach a source of magic that is not normally accessible to those born Barrani. He recognizes the taste of it.”

Taste. Kaylin didn’t ask.

She could hear the whisper of the Shadow’s voice; it was a chorus of sound, forced into syllables, as water, scooped out of the ocean, might fill a glass.

Terrano cursed in Elantran. The Avatar stiffened; it was not Terrano’s lack of good manners that alarmed him. As Terrano unwound the nimbus of darkness that surrounded the painting he had chosen, as the strands took on color—some a gray and some a deep black—the painting itself began to bulge, the canvas contorting the careful brush strokes that had formed the image of a woman.

“Don’t let them touch anyone!” he shouted.

It was late; the filaments, unbound, were far more like slender tentacles than they had been, and they reached out, as if grasping at air, looking for something to twine around. They passed through Terrano—just as the vines on the doors to these chambers had passed through the Avatar; they passed through Serralyn because she was, in a very disturbing way, part of Terrano at the moment.

They did not pass through the Shadow.

Terrano shouted a word Kaylin didn’t recognize and couldn’t pronounce if she tried.