When Kaylin woke up, she was in the infirmary, staring at the back of Moran’s speckled wings. They were moving up and down. Moran was seated on a backless stool, grinding something with a pestle. Kaylin felt instantly well. The very thought of any of Moran’s potions or unguents usually had that effect on the Hawks—or Swords or Wolves—who were unfortunate enough to be offered them.

Where offered was kind of like “ordered to take,” but with more force.

Moran wasn’t a Leontine, but she did have ears. She turned, the seat of the stool swiveling neatly. “You’re awake,” she said.

Kaylin nodded. “How long have I been out?”

“An hour and a half. Corporal—”

“Could you just call him Severn?”

Moran lifted a brow. “Severn, then. He brought you in. I examined you, you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“But not the type that sleep won’t cure. More,” she added darkly, “than an hour and half’s worth, although I’d be obliged if you gave me back the bed.”

Kaylin sat up slowly, and swung her legs toward the floor. In all, she did feel better. If running a marathon and being near to collapse was better.

“The Hawklord wants to see you when you’re awake. The Sergeant wants to see you first. They had a few choice Leontine words about precedence, but I believe the Sergeant won.” She shook her head. “It’s been less than a month, Kaylin. If I told you to take a leave of absence, would you listen?”

“See these fingers? See these ears?”

“Ha-ha. You’re a Hawk,” Moran said with a shrug. “Try not to visit so often, hmm?” She slid off the stool as Kaylin managed to gain her feet. Moran’s usual frosty expression thawed. “I won’t tell you not to go to the midwives,” she said quietly. “I won’t ask you to live with that. But there’s a damn Dragon Lord in the office, and his butt seems fastened to a chair. Marcus’s chair,” she added with a grim smile. “In case you failed to pay attention in Race class—”

“Moran, please?”

“Dragons are trouble. Arguments between Grammayre and Marcus are trouble. Barrani are trouble, and the Arcanum is trouble. Mixing them has to be worse. I might have failed to mention that Lord Evarrim was here until about forty-five minutes before you arrived.

“I do not want to see you on Red’s slab. I especially don’t want to have to deliver you there myself, all right? Humor a selfish woman, Kaylin.”

Kaylin swallowed and nodded.

 

Lord Sanabalis was, in fact, in Marcus’s chair. Moran had the gift of bardic embellishment, but then again, there wasn’t much need for it. Sometimes truth really was stranger than fiction. The Dragon’s eyes, however, were a shade too orange for comfort. He saw her well before she reached the desk, and he raised his lower membranes over those eyes.

“Private Neya,” he said, rising.

“Where is Marcus—Sergeant Kassan?”

“He is currently speaking with Lord Grammayre. I took the opportunity to rest old legs.”

She almost snorted. Dragons lived forever; age was a matter of cosmetics. She wondered why Sanabalis chose to appear aged, but was too smart to ask. “If you can breathe fire,” she said instead, “Marcus would be much obliged if you happened to hit some of that paperwork.”

Sanabalis raised a white brow.

“You have already missed our first lesson,” he replied. “And I am a busy man.”

“Which is why you’re still here.”

“I can see why the Imperial Order of Mages found you difficult.” He stood. “But I am at least as stubborn as you think you are. Perhaps more—I have the advantage of experience.

“You will be wanted, but I will wait. I believe Sergeant Kassan is almost here.”

“I don’t hear—”

Marcus strode through the arch that led to the tower. The fur around his face was standing on end in a way that exposed the softer, whiter skinfur, and his eyes were all the wrong color. But she noticed the fangs first.

She lifted her chin almost automatically, exposing her throat.

“Neya!” He growled, and leaped the distance that separated them. The fact that a Dragon happened to be in the way didn’t seem to occur to him, but he must have known, because there was no collision. Which was almost too bad; Kaylin’s natural instincts had taken over and she was calculating the odds of a scuffle and the attendant empty office. Luckily, she could in fact bet and stand still at the same time.

Claws touched her exposed throat. She felt each one press against the skin, as if testing its give. She wasn’t afraid; there was no point. Marcus had drawn blood a time or two—some of it hers—but although office legend spoke of the bodies he’d left on the floor, she’d never actually seen them.

His claws receded into pads, and she felt the soft side of his paws against her throat before he at last withdrew them. His eyes were yellow and bright, but his lips once again curled protectively over his fangs. Where protectively referred to her, and not to his teeth.

“You’re alive,” he said gruffly.

“More or less. If it helps, I feel like crap.”

His gaze skirted her cheek with a question. She shook her head. “No trouble.”

“Teela kept an eye on you?”

“You could say that.”

“No violence.”

“You could say that, too, but it would be a hell of a lot less accurate.”

“Did you start hostilities?”

“No, sir.”

“Then there was no violence.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The Hawklord is waiting.”

“Yes, sir.” She started toward the tower.

“Private?” Oh, he was in a mood.

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you happen to meet Lord Evarrim of the Arcanum while you were at the High Hall?” High was said in exactly the wrong tone.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“Not a word, sir.”

“Good.” He paused. “Lord Sanabalis thought it wise to engage the Arcanist in conversation. It was…interesting.”

She turned to look at Sanabalis, whose eyes were now thoroughly gold. The Dragon winked.

 

The Hawklord was standing beside the mirror, his hand spread against its surface. The surface showed no reflection. This wasn’t an act of vanity; he was accessing records. But when Kaylin entered the room through the open door—open, twice, in one week—he let his hand drop instantly, and the surface broke in a wave that ended with silver, bright and flat.

“Kaylin,” he said, meeting her gaze in that reflective surface before turning to face her. “I see you’ve returned.”

She nodded. Lord Grammayre disliked the word sir on general principle, understanding its value as a distancing tool. When he was inspecting his men, he expected to hear it; when he was not, he expected actual information.

“The difficulty?”

“It was…resolved.”

“How?”

She winced.

“Let me tell you the rumors that came to the tower.”

She nodded.

“The younger son of the castelord was, by all accounts, dead. Is this accurate?”

She shook her head.

“Was he dying?”

She hesitated. “I…I don’t know.”

“Teela seemed to think so.”

“He looked—to me—like he was sleeping. But not so much with the breathing.”

The Hawklord winced slightly at her use of language. And switched into Barrani, the bastard. “Was he wounded in any way?”

She was silent. At another time, he would have been angry. That he wasn’t said much about his understanding of the Barrani High Court. Which, given how little he was present there, was impressive.

“And now?”

“He’s an arrogant son of a bitch. When I left, he was giving orders.”

“Good. Have you been informed that—”

“Lord Evarrim was here?”

“I see that news travels.”

“If it’s bad.”

At that, the Hawklord smiled. Winter touched his eyes and lips, leaving the former gray. Ash-gray. “He has set a petition in motion,” the Hawklord told her quietly.

“With who?”

“The Emperor.”

“And this would be about me?”

“Indeed it would. He was not pleased when you were not here.”

“He’s never pleased.”

“I doubt that, Kaylin. But I hope you will never have cause to be disabused of your notion.”

“What’s the nature of the petition?”

“It involves the dead Barrani.”

“The ones who served the—”

“Outcaste, yes.” The word was sharp; a warning.

“Well, what about them? I think they’re all dead.”

“They were already dead.”

“Well, not moving as much, at any rate.” She shrugged.

“It will be of interest to the High Court Council,” Lord Grammayre said quietly. “The Emperor is aware of the facts. Very few others are.”

She nodded.

“I expect—eventually—to be summoned to Court by the Barrani castelord.”

“But he’s not your castelord. You don’t have to—” She stopped. “Do you?”

“I am not compelled to present myself, no.”

“You will.”

“This is a difficult city to govern, Kaylin.”

“You’re not the governor. The Emperor is.”

“The Emperor has not been summoned. He has not been invited, either.”

She frowned.

“I wish you to make yourself absent, if possible.”

“Because you think they’ll ask for me.”

He reached over to the mirror, and it moved beneath his hand.

A Barrani in very fine robes began to speak. And speak. And speak. Kaylin’s attention started to wander, but the words Kaylin Neya drew it back.

“They want me to go with you.”

“I would say they want you, period. I don’t matter.

“Lord Sanabalis is waiting for you. Continue your lesson for the day. No one will disturb you while you are in his company.”

“And after that?”

“Go back to your temporary domicile.”

Kaylin frowned. The frown turned on edge. “You knew.”

He said nothing. It was very Barrani of him.

“This is a delicate situation,” he told her quietly. “And you are not there as an officer of the Law…you are there as a guest. Although I do not expect you to understand this, there are worse places to be.”

“You asked him, didn’t you?”

“Kaylin, understand that you are accusing me of not only communication, but also cooperation, with one of the more notorious crime lords in Elantra. I will assume that you are exhausted, and your lack of critical faculty stems from that exhaustion. Is that understood?”

“But you—”

He lifted a hand. “I am happy to hear that rumors about the ill health of the castelord’s son were unfounded. Go.”

 

Lord Sanabalis was waiting.

He didn’t speak when she met him; he merely gestured to the West Room, and she took her lead from that gesture.

The lump of waxen candle sat on the table. Kaylin glared at it, and if, as the saying went, looks could kill, it would have been molten. If, however, the rest of the world was being turned inside out, the candle as a fact remained standing. Too bad.

“Kaylin,” Sanabalis said quietly.

She frowned and looked up.

“You appear…fatigued.”

“Welcome to my life,” she muttered.

He lifted a pale brow. And she sighed, and gave in with as much grace as she could muster. “I’m dead tired.”

“Better,” he told her. “Let us set the candle aside for the day. You appear to harbor it some animosity, and if my reports are to be believed, you have even been known to attack one. With a long knife.” He swept the candle to one side.

She shrugged. “I’m not allowed to carry a sword in the West Room.”

The answer fizzled somewhere between Kaylin’s mouth and the Dragon Lord’s ears. “The Lord of the West March,” he said quietly.

She shook her head.

“I am senior advisor to the Dragon Emperor. You are aware of this. You should also be aware of the fact that while I undertake other duties, none of those duties supersedes my responsibility to the Emperor.”

She nodded.

“I am fully capable of demanding your cooperation. I have only to speak with Sergeant Kassan or Lord Grammayre, and you will be obliged to speak freely.”

She was thinking about the Hawklord as he spoke. And cursing him silently in every language she knew.

“If I am forced to that,” Sanabalis continued calmly, “it will be a matter of official record.” The last two words hung in the air, as if written there for the benefit of the dim. As she was the only other person in the room, it was hard to find a good way to take it.

She thought about the Hawklord again, and modulated the cursing into something less harsh. Slightly. She wondered if he ever stopped thinking.

“I wasn’t at the High Court as a Hawk,” she said quietly. “And according to—”

“Elantran Law was designed at the whim of the Emperor. It was, it can even be said, designed for his benefit. With some effort, the Law can be changed. I would not, however, suggest that it would be without difficult ramifications in future.”

She shrugged and tipped the chair back on its hind legs, depositing her feet on the table. She also folded her arms across her chest, tucking her chin down as she did. “I get it.”

“Good. Demonstrate what your understanding is worth.”

“I was invited to the High Court as a guest.”

“Indeed. An honor seldom granted the mortal. You accompanied the Hawk called Teela.”

She nodded.

“Teela has an interesting background. I would not have thought to find her among the Hawks.”

“She suits the Hawks. She seems out of place at the High Court.”

“Does she?”

Kaylin thought back. But not very far. She shrugged.

“The Lord of the West March was…sleeping. I woke him at Teela’s request.”

“Sleeping?”

She shrugged again. The old Dragon’s eyes did not shade into orange; they were gold. And gold was both power and comfort here. “I thought—I don’t know why, but I thought he’d been poisoned.”

“And you think otherwise now?”

“Poison leaves damage,” she said carefully. “I’ve seen it before. Red—”

He lifted a hand. “That would be the chief Coroner for the Halls?”

She nodded.

“He is a competent man. Continue.”

“There was no damage. Look—I’ve never had to heal Barrani before. Do you have any idea how hard it is to injure a Barrani?”

“Some,” the old Dragon said, with the hint of a smile that was distinctly unpleasant.

“I’ve never had to heal a Dragon before, either. Tiamaris wouldn’t let me near him.”

“He is wise,” Sanabalis said with a nod. “And he obviously values you.”

“Everyone I’ve healed has been mortal. I understand mortality. I understand death.”

Sanabalis’s lower lids rose. “And yet you thought the Barrani High Lord had been poisoned.”

“I must have been wrong,” she replied.

“Oh?”

She really hated Dragons. “He was sleeping,” she said firmly. “He woke up.”

“Yet none of his kin were capable of this waking.”

She shrugged. “Not apparently. Or maybe they didn’t want to try. The Barrani are very political that way.”

“I would definitely say his unnatural sleep was a product of their politics, yes. The Lord of the West March has many enemies.”

She snorted. “Who doesn’t?”

“A good question. No man with power is free from enemies. And you, Kaylin, have shown yourself to be a power.”

“Someone didn’t want him to wake, that’s for sure.”

“Why do you say that?”

“A door.”

His brow rose.

“It was magically trapped. It kind of exploded.”

“Who touched it?”

“No one.”

“Why?”

“I guess no one wanted to die.”

“Kaylin, I am famed for my patience. But even my patience has limits. Who made it clear that the door was enchanted?”

She shrugged; it was uncomfortable. The eyes she faced were slightly orange, and without the benefit of lower membranes, the orange was striking. She promised herself she would never hate candles again.

“I did.”

He nodded, and the color in his eyes dimmed. “How?”

“I don’t like magic,” she told him, loosening her arms, letting the chair thud back against the floor, and resting her elbows on the tabletop. “Every door that any official hides behind is magical. Even the West Room door is magical.”

“And this door?”

“Magical, as well. But—different magic.”

“Different how?”

“You read my transcripts, right?”

“Yes. You failed Magical Manifestation. Do you want to offer an explanation for that?”

“Too many damn ridiculous words, all of which were more than two syllables long, and all of which meant ‘bad.’”

“Very well. Allow me to accept the inevitable. Put your impressions into your own words, and let me try to make sense of them.”

She shrugged. “No one else could.”

“They were not Dragons.”

“You didn’t meet Mrs. Maise.”

His smile was both thin and genuine. “In fact, I tutored Mrs. Maise.”

“If you tell me you taught her everything she knows—”

“I will leave that to your imagination. The door, Kaylin.”

“It just felt—wrong. Bad wrong. It had the hand symbol, and it was a normal door. A single door. It was framed by solid damn rock, and there were sconces to either side of the door. They were empty,” she added. Seeing as a Hawk saw. “But the hair on my neck stood on end when we approached it. Teela was dragging me. We didn’t have a lot of time.”

“You stopped her.”

“Severn heard me…Teela wasn’t paying attention. She often doesn’t.”

“She heeded the Corporal’s warning?”

Kaylin nodded. “She threw a halberd at the door. A really fancy, really expensive halberd. The walls down the length of that hall were adorned with weapons—crossed swords, crossed spears, crossed polearms. They had a lot of gemstones encrusted in stupid places,” she added.

“It was one of the old halls, then.”

“It wasn’t as pretty as the outer ones, no.”

“What happened to the halberd?”

“It shattered. The blade did. The door shattered when it made contact. The frame was—” She hesitated. “It looked like a standing crater.”

“Not a small amount of power was expended there.”

Kaylin shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“And had Teela opened the door?”

“Barrani would have spent weeks picking us off the floor and walls.”

“But Teela didn’t sense it.”

“She’s not a mage.”

“No. She’s not. But neither are you.” He closed his eyes slowly. “You have a strong sensitivity to magic. This is not uncommon. Some people are born with a strong sensitivity to smell. But your sensitivity is different. You knew the spell was inimical.”

“I knew it would kill us.”

“That is what I said.”

Kaylin, however, was frowning. “Teela came straight here,” she said. The frown was joined by narrowed eyes; she straightened slowly. “Her men knew that she was leaving, I think. They were left to guard the Lord of the West March.

“Just how damn long would it take to cast a spell like that?”

“Without risk? Hours.”

“They didn’t have hours.”

“No,” he replied, his eyes going opaque. “There are two ways in which this could be done, two ways in which I would do it. The first, and probably the less costly, would be to simply trap the door. But if the door was used at all, the victim intended would not be guaranteed to be the one to set it off.

“The second, and more efficient? Set it up hours before. Possibly before the Lord of the West March went to…sleep. Key it to Teela. Or to a human. In the second case, time would be less critical.”

She nodded. “I’d go for the second.”

“As would I. Continue.”

“Could an Imperial mage have done it?”

“Not legally.”

“And the Arcanum?”

“Not legally.”

“Evarrim was here,” she said mostly to herself.

“Indeed. He was, I think, surprised to see me.”

“I can’t think why.”

Irony was lost on the mage. Probably at his choice. “No one in the Halls of Law will file a report,” he said quietly, “because there will be no complaint.”

“I could.”

“Yes. You could. Think carefully before you make that decision.”

She nodded. “Sanabalis?”

“Yes?”

“Who exactly is the Lord of the West March?”

“If you mean the person, I fear you now know the answer far better than I. But I assume you mean the position.”

“Is it?”

The look he gave her was just shy of incredulity. “It appears,” he said after a long pause, “that I will be responsible for far more of your education than I first expected.”

“Did we even cover that?”

“Apparently not.” His voice was so dry the words should have caught fire by sheer proximity to one another. “He is the younger son of the castelord. The West March covers the stretch of almost uninhabited land that goes toward the mountains beyond the Empire itself. It is one of the ancient Barrani demesnes, and it is seldom open to outsiders.”

She nodded.

“The position is usually granted to one of the cousins, but the castelord and his consort have been blessed. The consort bore three children—two sons and one daughter.” He paused, and then added, “Given the span of Barrani years, this will no doubt not impress you…it does not impress me. What does? The fact that all three of their children still live. Usually, by this time, there is only one.”

“By this time?”

His eyes shaded slightly orange; wrong question. Kaylin tried a different one. “This isn’t a bad thing, then.”

“It depends. The surviving son of the castelord has, historically, become the castelord.”

“And he has two.”

“Very good, Kaylin. At least you think like a Hawk.”

“How much difference does that make if the castelord is going to live forever anyway?”

The Dragon’s upper lids closed completely. “Remind me that you failed history.”

“Completely failed it.”

“Then you no doubt slept through the official history of the pre-empire Kingdoms.”

She shrugged. It was a yes shrug.

“Then let me continue to torment myself with your ignorance. The Barrani can in theory live forever. There is, however, a difference between immortal and invulnerable. In the history of the Barrani High Court, I cannot think of a single castelord who has died of old age. I can think of three for whom that claim was made.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

“If the definition of death by old age involved a severed head, I would be more inclined that way, yes.” He paused for a moment. “In two cases, it is less clear. And perhaps we will see a third.”

“Isn’t that murder?”

“Not among the Barrani.”

“But we have laws now, don’t we?”

“We have laws if the Barrani castelord chooses to invoke their use. This would imply two things. The first, that the castelord survived the attempt…the second, that his successor would somehow draw attention to the crime that promoted him.

“And Kaylin, before you show the depth of your alarming ignorance again, let me add that any castelord who was fool enough to do that would not be castelord by the time the Law actually arrived. I understand that you are attached to the Laws—they seem to be one of the few things you did learn—but you must also understand, given your experience, that there are always two sets of laws, beyond those which govern the castes.

“And the caste-law is a separate entity. Were it not for that codicil to the laws which govern Elantra, there would be no Elantra.”

“A third Dragon-Barrani war?”

“A continuation of the second one.”

She nodded.

“But there is something in the codicil,” she added thoughtfully.

“That being?”

“That any being of any race who wishes to be excommunicate can avail themselves of the Laws of the Dragon Emperor.”

“How often has that happened, Kaylin? No, wait, I forget to whom I speak. Let me answer briefly.”

“Never?”

He smiled.

“So…if the second son died, why would it mean war?”

At this, Sanabalis frowned. Everything about his posture changed; it was as if he had suddenly snapped into place and become fully real. “It would not mean war.”

She hated hated hated her big mouth. “Teela told me that if we didn’t—wake him, it would mean war.”

“That is the first bit of interesting information you’ve divulged.” His frown was a bit too wide; it was definitely too deep. “I will leave you now, Kaylin. We will resume our lessons on the morrow.” But his eyes were narrow now, and his expression thoughtful.

On him, it wasn’t an improvement.

 

When she arrived, the office was emptying; it was the end of the day. Marcus, however, was besieged by paper, and sat at his desk, his familiar growl more of a sensation than a sound. She walked up to his impromptu fortress.

“You’re finished?” he asked, glaring at the dead mirror.

“For today. Apparently.”

“Good. Go home.”

“Marcus—”

“Home is not here.”

“I just want to ask—”

“I could swear my mouth moved.”

“This year, this Festival—those diplomatic seals—what do they mean?”

“And when my mouth moved, I believe it gave an order.”

“Do the words West March feature prominently on any of those papers?”

His growl was very loud. “You are not to involve yourself in the affairs of the Court. That’s an order, Private.”

“Bit late for that, sir.”

“Kaylin, unless you want to sleep in the brig, go away.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

She expected to see Severn when she left the Halls of Law.

She saw Barrani guards instead, and they were a vastly less welcome sight. But their armor was armor she recognized, and if some child-part of her mind was telling her to turn around and run back to Marcus, the Hawk-part was easing her hand off her daggers and her whistle.

“Andellen?” she asked as one of the six men broke away from the group and approached her on the steps.

He nodded curtly. “We are your escort for the evening,” he told her. “We are to return with you to Castle Nightshade.” He paused and then added, “We are not to linger here.”

She hesitated. “Has there been difficulty?”

“This close to the Halls of Law, no. But there may well be difficulty before we reach the bridge.”

“How much difficulty?”

“It is not your concern.”

She closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said to no one in particular. “I’ll go.”

 

But the route Andellen chose did not lead to the bridge. It led to the Ablayne’s banks. Kaylin started to ask a question, and let it go; there was a boat moored on those banks. She marveled at the fact that it hadn’t been stolen, until two more Barrani guards appeared. The nature of the incline had provided them cover from prying eyes.

“The bridge is watched,” Andellen told her quietly.

His voice was the stilted voice of the High Courts, but there was music in it, and she loved the sound. She certainly liked it better than the inside of a boat weighed down by eight armored Barrani.

“Who’s watching?”

Andellen did not reply. When he failed, Kaylin realized what had been so strange about the walk: He had answered most of her other questions. He’d talked to her.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said quietly, when the oars began to struggle with the moving current.

His look was as smooth and expressionless as glass. Dark glass. Clearly, gratitude was going to offer offense. Which was his problem.

“You helped me last night.”

He said nothing, which was about what she expected. But after a moment, he looked at her; he and one other Barrani were not involved in the oaring. They were, however, carrying unsheathed swords.

“Why do you do it?” He had dropped formal Barrani, which was probably as close to Elantran as he was ever going to get.

She understood that Barrani and humans had very little in common, but not even Tain had asked her why.

“Why do I help the midwives?”

He nodded. His glance met hers on the odd occasion it wasn’t absorbed by the approaching bank.

“If I don’t, people die.”

“People die all the time. Do you feel responsible for their deaths?”

“No.” Pause. “Sometimes. It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not there was anything I could have done to prevent them.”

“This matters to you.”

She shrugged.

“You have power. If you desired more, you would become Erenne.”

“I don’t want that kind of power.”

“Power is the only guarantee you have that your will is made manifest. There is no other ‘kind.’”

She frowned. “Is there much betting going on? About my being the Erenne?”

His look was odd; it changed the shape of his face. It took Kaylin a moment to realize that the man was almost smiling. Betting was universal. At least in the fiefs.

She kept that to herself. “If I became Erenne, if I became Lord Nightshade’s consort—”

“They are not the same, Kaylin Neya.”

“Let’s pretend they are. If I did, how would I have power? The power in Nightshade is his. It begins and ends with him. And he lets nothing go.”

“No. But he is Barrani.”

“There’s no advantage in it.” She spoke like a fiefling.

“There is safety.”

“If I wanted safety, I wouldn’t wear the Hawk.”

“If you desire it, he might extend his protection to those of your choosing.”

She shook her head. “He’s Barrani,” she said quietly.

“Yes. What we wonder, Kaylin Neya, is what you are.”

“Just Kaylin.”

The boat bumped against the shore. The sky was not yet dark; danger, if it came, would not come from ferals.

“I believe,” Andellen said quietly, “that you have angered the Arcanists. I would consider that unwise.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Of course not…humans never do. What humans rarely survive long enough to understand is this—lack of offense is also a choice.”