In the end, Daine had stopped trying to pry Kitten off her shoulder. The dragon refused to listen to her mother, and whenever the girl tried to drag her away she sank her claws a little deeper into the slick blue fabric. By the time Daine surrendered they were both gritting their teeth in stubborn irritation, and the dress was in danger of becoming a rag.
"Fine!" Daine threw up her hands and stood up so quickly that the dragon wobbled. "Stay there!"
Kit planted her hind paws onto Daine's hip and wrapped her tail around the girl's waist like a smug, scaly belt.
"Why are you doing this, Kit?" Daine asked, biting back her irritation and hastily dragging a comb through her curls. Because of the scuffle she was running even later than she already had been. Just as she'd managed to drag the yards of fabric over her head and lace up all the annoying fastenings, Kit had leapt onto her shoulder face-first and refused to let go. If she hadn't already been flustered about the time Daine would have seen the warning signs on the dragon's downturned face, but now she was stuck with a very clingy immortal and no time to actually work out what was wrong.
She left her hair in a frizzy cloud and wrapped her arm around the dragon's back, more to take some of the weight off her shoulder than to comfort the creature. Still, Kit chirped softly and buried her nose in Daine's neck. The girl felt a sudden rush of guilt and love, and held her more tightly for a second.
"I'm sorry, Kit." She murmured, nuzzling her nose into the creature's soft scales. "Of course you can stay there, if you want to."
Kitten sighed and closed her eyes. Whatever she wanted to say, it was clear that she was content simply to cuddle. Daine frowned and shifted the immortal to a more comfortable position. She was absently stroking Kit's soft scales when she left the room, and shook her head in a silent warning to Numair's quizzical look. He shrugged back and held the door open for her with a rueful look. They both knew that they were hopelessly late.
The court room was filled to bursting by the time they arrived. They slipped into the back of the room and found a space beneath one of the older tapestries: a spot which many courtiers avoided due to its habit of shedding stray threads. Nobody noticed them arriving, which made Numair snidely observe that at least no-one would know exactly how late they had been.
"They still know we weren't on time," Daine pointed out. The man shrugged easily and leaned back against the tapestry, treating them both to a shower of slate-blue yarn.
Over the throng of milling people who were coughing and whispering and muttering to one another they could just make out the cool tenor of Duke Baird's voice. He and his healers had been placed in charge of the villagers, who had been left cold and hungry by their nights in the barns. Their hands and feet were bruised and even broken, and some of the younger children had severe coughs which were growing worse in the cool evenings. Baird was asking the court to grant him permission to move the children into the palace. A few of the other healers supported him, admitting that while they were still wary enough to keep the men and women behind the shields, every single one of them seemed to be completely normal.
A few voices rose in anger, and a thin voice rose above the crowd. "If they are normal then they are murderers! You're telling us to let vicious, murderous children into our homes?"
"I'm telling you to show mercy before they die of exposure!" The healer snapped back, his voice carrying through the whole room. "They're children! Four, five years old… some are even younger than that! You cannot possibly believe…"
"Their parents are criminals, and so are they." The voice replied shrilly. "They learn it from their mothers' breasts."
"Must we humour this ridiculous nonsense?" Baird demanded, turning to address the king directly. Jon made a calming gesture with his hand and raised his head imperiously. Beckoning to the crowd, he waited for the outspoken noble to step forward.
"It's the father of the page who was killed," Numair whispered into Daine's ear. She craned her head to see better, but she didn't recognise the man or his pale, waxen wife as they stepped forward. Their servants' colours and the rich fur of their clothes told her that they must be wealthy lords from the north, but she knew they would have very little power over Jon's decision. She felt deeply sorry for them, and held Kit a little tighter as she watched them step forward. The woman was weeping, a steady flow of tears that seemed like it must have begun the instant their son was killed, and would not stop until they found some peace.
"Lord and Lady Tiyall." Jon bowed his head down respectfully, and his voice was rich was sympathy. "I am sorry for your loss. The whole of Corus mourns for you, and regrets the loss of another fine young man in a time of such bitter trial."
"He should not have died." Lord Tiyall nearly shouted it, his voice accusing. Jon's eyes sharpened but his voice remained calm.
"I might say the same of any of the people who have been slaughtered since the barrier fell." He waved his hand towards the milling people, and many of them refused to meet his eyes. A shadow fell over the king's face, and he shook his head. "I do not think a single family has been untouched, and I doubt a single father here would be able to tell you why their child was taken. It is the great tragedy of our age: that so many have died for so senseless a reason."
"I can tell you why. Those people killed him." The man spat through gritted teeth. Jon looked him straight in the eye.
"Those people are victims of the immortals. They have felt loss, like you. No infants survived that village. No old men or women have been found, and many of the fighting age men have disappeared. They have no recollection of killing, nor of fighting for their own survival. We must decide their fates, but we cannot pretend that they are malicious killers when we do not fully understand what befell them. That is what we are gathered to discuss, not the execution of innocents."
He turned his bright blue eyes to Duke Baird and his voice became less severe. "Bring the children into the warm, and treat them kindly. Ward the healers' wing until no trace of their ordeal remains, but do not force them to recollect…" he winced and looked away, unable to describe the revulsion of a child remembering the horrors they had committed.
The healer took over smoothly, bowing and gesturing for his healers to gather the children as soon as possible. In the hubbub as they left, Daine and Numair made their way forward, finding a niche that was closer to the dais in case they were needed. Jon noticed them there, and raised his eyebrows at them.
"He looks annoyed." Daine muttered. Numair smiled crookedly and bowed to the king, making the gesture look as apologetic as possible. By the time he had straightened up Jon was looking away, speaking gently to the Lady Tiyall.
After a few minutes of noise, the court settled down again and Jon gestured for the gathered people to hush. They fell into an obstinate silence, and he drew a deep breath. "The main matter before us is this: that a number of immortals have been discovered living in the moat of this castle. These immortals seem to be able to control human minds at whim. They were discovered in a lake beside Nethil Village where they possessed most of the villagers; those who were not possessed were killed by spidren. Presumably the lake immortals attacked first, and the spidren decided to pick off those who were unafflicted.
"The spidren attack was discovered by two of our mages, who investigated the ruins, discovered the possessed villagers, and decided that they should be examined by the experts here in Corus rather than being left to starve in the fields. Which is fair enough." He glanced up at Daine and Numair, and gave them a slight nod. "It is what I would have commanded."
There was a general mumble of voices, and a few people looked over at the two mages who both looked away from their sharp eyes. Jon cleared his throat to regain their attention, and continued.
"After bringing the villagers here they confined them to the barns outside of the city walls. The villagers became aggressive, so a second precaution of a magical barrier was put in place. The death of the child – although tragic – is only due to his breaking through this barrier despite the warnings of others. I cannot place blame on any single person for it, but to prevent similar unpleasantness happening in the future, I am commanding my court mages to design a spell which cannot be thwarted by a child." He scowled a little and shook his head. "That should not have happened."
Daine shrank back a little and caught Numair's hand, balancing Kitten with one arm. His fingers felt cold next to hers, and she squeezed them tightly.
"Finally," Jon was saying, "The immortals possessed Master Salmalin – who I know very well wards his mind against such attacks – and used him to lure Mistress Sarrasri into the moat, where she discovered that they were hiding. It is her assertion that the immortals were trying to communicate with humans, and the horrific consequences of that were…" he frowned slightly, "…an accident. Is that correct, Mistress Sarrasri?"
Daine realised that it was her turn to speak. "That's right," She called out, aware that her voice sounded a little high and nervous with all these fine lords and ladies turning to stare at her. Clearing her throat, which suddenly felt as if it were lined with sand, she blurted out the story which she had practiced so carefully in her head.
"They can't be heard on dry land. It sounds like… well, like pure silence. It's hard to explain, but if you imagine putting your head underwater and listening to the water in your ears, it sounds like… like that." She swallowed and then continued more strongly. "So I dove into the water this morning to talk to them. Before I even asked their names I made them promise to let the villagers go, and not to hurt or possess anyone else."
"A pretty promise," Someone sneered, "How do you know they'll keep it?"
"Never mind that!" Someone else yelled out, "How did they get here? I'm sure there weren't monsters in the moat when I was invited to court!"
Daine found that speaker and met his angry brown gaze. "They came here in the villagers. Inside their minds. They waited with them in the barns until nightfall, and then they rode the mist to the nearest pool of water. If you want them to leave, you'll have to let them break their promise and possess someone else." She shook her head irritably and her voice took on a new fierceness.
"They were frightened! They knew the spidren were nearby and they didn't know how to defend themselves. They told me that a hurrock fell in the water and it struggled and tore six of them to shreds. They had been safe behind the realms and suddenly after hundreds of years they were being killed, and they panicked! They found the villagers and saw these… these shells which were made of mostly water and could walk on dry land, and they tried to beg them for help, but the bats flew away and the people screamed and covered their ears and wouldn't listen. So they got desperate and possessed them, and we brought them here, but even we couldn't understand what the silence meant. The only thing that they could do which we seemed to understand was… was violence. That's what we humans are good at." She said that very bitterly, and the room fell quiet. "They learned it from us. But all the time they were trying to get me to listen, and until I was in the water I couldn't understand a word, even with my magic."
The room fell into a deathly quiet, and then someone hissed, "You brought them here."
"Why are you frightened?" Numair asked, bristling at the threat in the man's voice "She told you that they are harmless."
"And of course you believe her." The man replied in a vicious drawl, looking at their interlinked hands. The mage reddened and opened his mouth to retort, when the whole room burst into scores of arguments and aghast exclamations. The noise rose to a dull roar, and Daine sagged back against the wall against the ongoing tirade.
Some of it was directed at her, which she had been expecting – ever since Kitten's mother had nearly crushed one of the towers, she had been treated as something of a pariah where the immortals were concerned. But it worried her to hear the tone of their voices beginning to change and grow darker. People were still afraid, and angry. The angry ones were demanding that the immortals be removed from the moat, and the frightened ones were insisting that simply moving them wasn't going to be enough. Sooner than she had feared, she heard the first voice beginning to demand that they find some way to kill all the immortals before they could strike again.
"Gods," She breathed, shrinking into the tapestry. "They're really going to kill them. Look at them. Jon won't be able to calm them down."
Numair stood on his toes to see over the seething mob to the dais. Jon was watching the courtiers with a resigned expression, and the man felt his blood boil at the sight. "He's not going to try, Daine. You heard what he said to you. He doesn't believe they're harmless, either."
"His family are here, too." Daine murmured, clutching Kitten so tightly the dragon squeaked. "He's afraid for them."
"They're really not in danger?" Numair looked at her, and Daine felt a surge of anger at the question.
"Didn't you believe me, either?" She demanded. "Gods, Numair!"
He made an odd noise and said, "I've known you to come to a lesson with bite marks still bleeding and scratches on your arms telling me that it was a misunderstanding."
She gaped at him and then set her chin stubbornly and glared up at him. "Fine, I'll prove how dangerous they are. Since I'm the only one who can actually talk to them, I guess I'll have to convince someone I'm telling the truth… even if it's not you."
He groaned and tugged his nose with his fingers. "That's not what I meant, Daine!"
"Oh, was it a misunderstanding?" She retorted with heavy sarcasm. Planting her feet into the ground, she looked him square in the eyes and said in a flat voice, "You'll have to read my mind. Read what I'm thinking, and project it out so all of them can hear it."
"What?" His jaw dropped. Lowering his voice to a hiss, he leaned closer, "That would be illegal, Daine!"
"Oh, don't pretend you don't know how to do it." She huffed, and would have folded her arms if Kitten hadn't been in the way. "I bet you know lots more illegal magic than you let on. I bet it wasn't illegal in Carthak! I refuse to believe that Ozorne…"
"Stop it." He cut her off sharply, and drew a shaking breath. Daine bit her tongue so sharply that she could taste blood, knowing that she had said too much and that only his monumental self-control was stopping him from retorting with a furious outburst. She could see the anger in his eyes, and it took every scrap of her stubbornness to meet his fierce glare and match it with her own indignant outrage.
"Fine." He spat out the one word in a clipped outburst, and snapped a candle off the sconce in the wall beside them. Holding the soft beeswax like a pen, he sketched a rune on the girl's forehead, and crouched down to draw a second one on the floor. He nudged her onto it without a word, and rested his hand on the nape of her neck as he had when they had tried to speak to the dragons in the divine realms. Daine shivered. Back there his hand had felt warm, soothing. Today it shook with anger, and his skin was so cold the hair rose on the back of her neck.
She shook the image of the dragons away and called the right memory into the front of her mind, nodding slightly when she was ready. Numair whispered something under his breath, the words sounding very terse but predictably arcane, and Daine pushed the memory forwards and outwards to fill the vast courtroom.
It began slowly. Hardly anyone noticed, although a few heads turned around looking for the source of the sweet, chiming note which rang through the air. The note faded, and a second one took its place. It fell a minor third below the first, making a softly melancholy sound which blended sweetly into the echo. Then a third note rang out, and the crowd fell silent.
It was music: unspeakably beautiful music, which sang through the air with the sound of a thousand crystal bells. It was the sound of bubbles glittering on the banks of a melt-water stream, and the gentle shimmer of ice slowly ebbing into dew in delicate morning sunlight. It was all of those things, and more – major and minor, modal and odd as it streamed and flowed from melody to harmony and back again, never settling on a single theme or idea before it flitted away. No note seemed to be the same as any other, and yet they were all one voice which raised itself to the heavens and refused to be silenced. The people stood, transfixed, and closed their eyes to exist in a world of that pure sound.
"Stop." Daine whispered. Numair didn't move, and his soft voice was as frozen as the people before them.
"Why?" He whispered back, entranced. Daine shook her head and dragged herself away from his hand, stepping off the wax rune which was casting the spell. The noise vanished abruptly, with even the echoes cut sharply off. A memory, after all, could leave no trace.
Numair started to ask her something, and then frowned and raised a hand to his ear. When he brought his fingertips down and looked at them they were slick with blood. Looking over the girl's shoulder, he saw that other people were touching their ears and frowning in dazed confusion.
"It's still the scream, really." Daine said, her voice soft. "It just sounds like music when you know how to listen."
"That's their… voices?" A voice asked in disbelief. Daine raised her eyes to see Jon looking at her. Blushing, she nodded, realising that once again every person in the room was staring at her.
"Things are so different in their world." She said in the silence. "I don't understand much of it. But if we only believe in the ugly side that appears on dry land, we'll never get to see the beauty underneath."
Everyone turned to look at Jon, who rubbed his ears thoughtfully and then, slowly, raised himself to his feet. "I'll give you one week." He said, looking around the room as if any of the transfixed people would argue with him. "Find out what they want, and why and… and if they prefer to sing or to scream."