Cast in Fury

by Michelle Sagara

  “If I were in your position, and I had decided that Sarabe and Marai must die,” Marcus replied, without expression, “I would kill me.”

  “And would you decide that their deaths are necessary?”

  “No.”

  Adar stepped forward until he was within arm’s reach of the Sergeant. “No?”

  “No. We failed to protect Marai. The failure is ours.”

  “She had a son.”

  “Yes. But she was not married, and she was adopted by no Pridlea. She was left to fend for herself. She is not tainted by the Shadows. Or she was not. And Sarabe has borne girls, and their births were registered. None of them are marked. They have lived their lives by the whim and rules of the Elders, and they have lived them as well as they can. Were I you, Adar, I would hunt the shadow-spawn, and I would kill him. If it were possible. But I would not destroy two innocent women to appease the wrath of Dragons.”

  “Even though you have seen for yourself the truth of the ancient story, and the danger.”

  “Even so.”

  Adar was silent for a moment. “The tainted one must be stopped,” he said at last. “And a Pridlea must be found for Marai—one that meets the Elders’ approval. Sarabe is, as you say, without blame. Her existence is not without risk, but it is a risk that we are—for the sake of peace between the Emperor and our kin—willing to accept. If the Eldest accepts it,” he added, glancing toward Sanabalis.

  “The Dragon Court is not without its misgivings,” he replied slowly. “But the continued existence of the only Leontine to serve the Halls of Law is marginally more valuable to the Emperor than the death of the marked. The tainted one was not born within the city. He might not have been born within the Empire. Some investigations are ongoing with regards to this, but they do not concern the Caste Court at present.”

  Kaylin could see the sudden sagging of Marcus’s shoulders, could hear the breath that he had been holding as he slowly, slowly let go. But he kept something in reserve, for he nodded warily, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “Very well. If it is acceptable to the Eldest, it is acceptable to the Elders. In these things, we take their lead.”

  Marcus nodded again, still silent, still wary.

  “But the child—his son—must die.”

  “No!”

  As one man, they swiveled to look at Kaylin.

  “The child has done nothing wrong. How can he? He’s a baby!”

  They stared at her for a long moment, and then a few of them glanced at Marcus. Marcus was massaging his temples and, yes, showing his fangs. It was the universal sign of frustration in Leontines.

  “Private,” he said, a warning growl underpinning the familiar word.

  “No,” she said. It was a different no; it didn’t sound as if it had been torn out of a place so deep it had left a wound on exit.

  “It is not your place—”

  “It is my place. I helped deliver the baby. There was no one else there. I licked the birth fluids from him. His name is in part my name.”

  “He is not your child.”

  “No? And Sarabe’s children are not Kayala’s?”

  “There is a difference.”

  “There is no difference. They didn’t bear those daughters, but they were there to catch the babies when they were born. Even you weren’t present,” she added. “Marai asked for me. I was there.

  “And I claim the right of Pridlea law. I won’t just step aside and wait for his death.”

  “The Ancient Laws supersede—”

  “You just told Marcus that primal law counts for something. That it is as old, and as honorable, as—as anything else. I believe that,” she said grimly. “I also believe that it’s my duty to defend the helpless. I have the right of a mother. I have the responsibility of a Hawk.” She folded her arms carefully. It kept her hands from her daggers.

  “The tainted,” Adar said almost gently, “are not recognized at birth as kin. They are kinless, and they are motherless.”

  She snorted. She stopped herself from using the choice Leontine phrase that was hovering on the edge of her tongue by dint of pure will.

  And Lord Sanabalis spoke.

  The hair on the back of Kaylin’s neck rose and she felt an answering tingle from the skin beneath it. From the skin on her arms, her thighs, her back. She heard his voice, and felt it. He was not speaking Leontine. Or Elantran. Or any tongue she could recognize.

  But she recognized it anyway. It had been the language that he had first spoken when he had disembarked from their carriage into the crowded Leontine streets what seemed half a lifetime ago.

  She could not see the words the way she had that day. They were not the same words, she thought, although the sound of each syllable was resonant with strength, intent, power.

  The Elders forgot her. They forgot Marcus. They fell, slowly, to their knees before the standing Dragon, with his flashing eyes and his trailing beard of frost that made a lie of the infirmity of age.

  When he had finished, and it was a short speech in comparison with the telling of the long tale of their creation, he bowed to them all and rose. “Private, I believe you are late.”

  She shook herself, coming back to the present. “What did you tell them?”

  “The truth,” he replied wearily.

  “Which one?”

  “That anything that knows life—anything at all—can be corrupted or swayed from its purpose.” He offered a hand to Ybelline, and she accepted it gracefully. “Sergeant Kassan is to remain with the Elders,” he said, “until the tainted is either contained or destroyed.”

  “But—but why?”

  “Because you would not scruple to hold the city hostage for the sake of your convictions. And because I do not think we will come to the tainted in time without your aid.”

  “The child—”

  “I will not lie to you, Kaylin. The child is safe—for now. But his fate is yet to be determined, and when it is, it will be by the Emperor. Who cares nothing, in the end, for the Pridlea laws or your personal loyalties.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Ybelline shared the carriage back to the Palace. Sanabalis was not, and had never been, small; Kaylin was wedged between his bulk and the door, while Ybelline and Severn sat opposite.

  “Aren’t we going the wrong way?” Kaylin asked Sanabalis.

  “No.”

  “I think we missed the turnoff to the Tha’alani Quarter.”

  “There are severe restrictions on traffic in that Quarter,” the Dragon Lord replied, “but even if there were not, that would not be our destination. Ybelline Rabon’alani is to accompany you to your meeting with Mr. Rennick.”

  “Oh.” She had almost forgotten Rennick.

  “Your time with Mr. Rennick will be severely curtailed over the next few days,” Sanabalis continued. “But Ybelline has graciously consented to oversee his work in your absence.”

  “Is he aware of this?”

  “Not yet.”

  “And we’re already late.”

  “He is less likely to frown on that than your Sergeant. Your current Sergeant,” he added. “And if he does shout or throw things—for which he is famed in the kitchens—he nevertheless dislikes overweening pride in authority figures. He will, however, accept it from the Emperor.”

  “He’d have to. He’s still alive.”

  Rennick must have crawled his way to the door, he took so long to open it. Kaylin had a suspicion that he wouldn’t have answered at all if Sanabalis had not cleared his throat. In the lovely, cavernous heights of the Palace halls, it sounded suspiciously like a roar.

  She wasn’t quite sure what to expect from Rennick, because she and Severn were, at best estimate, almost four hours late. While this was not entirely unheard-of in the office, even Kaylin recognized that days this late generally caused starvation due to lack of employment.

  But Rennick stared into the hall, first at Sanabalis, and then at the Tha’alani woman who stood at his side. Sanab
alis’s brow lifted—it was a subtle motion—and Rennick, whose mouth had opened slightly, bowed instead of speaking. He rose and said, “I’m sorry—it’s a bit messy. I wasn’t expecting guests.”

  “Kaylin and Severn were expected, surely?” Ybelline asked.

  “Well, yes—but they’re Hawks. They’re not exactly guests. Speaking of which,” he added, “you’re late.”

  Kaylin nodded. “We were waiting for Ybelline.”

  “And you didn’t think to inform me?”

  “It would have been a good idea, but there were other things on our mind at the time. Can we come in?”

  “Yes. There’s not a lot of visible floor, but you don’t have to worry about what you step on. Unless it squeals or snaps.”

  He fully opened the door, and Kaylin shrugged. As mess went, it was pretty clean. Granted, she couldn’t see the carpet. But the only thing that covered it was paper and books.

  Rennick had busied himself shoving similar crumpled pieces off the surface of the large dining table, and from there, off the seats of various chairs. He pulled one of these out and gestured to Ybelline, who took it gracefully. Kaylin and Severn found their own chairs.

  “I will leave you all to the matters at hand,” Sanabalis said, eyeing one of the slender chairs with some disdain. “Private, Corporal, I will send Lord Tiamaris to retrieve you should we receive word that your services are required elsewhere.”

  “Hey!” Rennick shouted, before Sanabalis could touch the large, gleaming handle on the door. “They just arrived. Late, I might add.”

  “Yes. If all goes well, you will have their full attention—their full, respectful attention—for the remainder of the day. If it does not, Ybelline has graciously agreed to aid you in their stead. Since she is the Castelord of the Tha’alani, and she is noted for her ability to tolerate other races, you should be able to obtain any information you require from her.”

  Rennick looked like he wanted to argue—but Rennick always looked like that. He did however manage to snap his jaw shut before anything unfortunate could fall out of his mouth. Lord Sanabalis apparently tolerated his frequent outbursts with equanimity, but you probably didn’t want to rely on that forever. Not with Dragons.

  “What have you been up to?” Rennick asked, when Sanabalis had opened the door and closed it from the other side.

  “Oh, same old, same old,” Kaylin replied.

  “Which means you’re not going to tell me.”

  “Pretty much. It was Hawk duty, if that helps.”

  Rennick had finished what he called a rough draft. It sat before him in as neat a pile as office paperwork usually sat in. He started to hand it to Kaylin, stopped himself, and almost sighed. “Ybelline?” he said.

  She nodded.

  “This is a second attempt at writing to order. Would you care to read it?”

  She glanced at Kaylin, but it was a quick glance, and it didn’t stay on Kaylin’s face long enough for Kaylin to reply in kind.

  “Yes. I’m curious. I understand that this has been difficult for you,” she said, “and I understand why the Emperor thinks it necessary. I also understand that we are not its intended audience, and I will do my best to keep this in mind.” She held out her hand, and he placed the night’s work—the long night’s work, by the look of his stubble and the gray circles under his eyes—into her hands. Then he sat back into his chair and stretched like a cat.

  Ybelline read. She was meticulous in her handling of the pages—far more than Rennick himself. But her expression—or rather, the total lack of it—was making Rennick nervous. Kaylin guessed this because it was making her nervous, and she hadn’t written the damn thing. It was almost torture to watch, and Kaylin alleviated this by standing and pacing between the small mounds of paper all over the floor.

  But when Ybelline cleared her throat, Kaylin took her seat again. Severn, damn him, hadn’t really moved.

  Her first question surprised them.

  “May I bring my people to see this play?”

  Her first reaction—that this was a bad idea in a hundred different ways—didn’t escape before Rennick spoke, possibly because she couldn’t decide which of the hundred to start with.

  “Of course,” he replied. And he smiled. It was a tired smile, but for a moment, he looked genuinely pleased.

  “I liked the orphans,” Ybelline continued. “We are not without accidents or illnesses, and many of our young have faced life without parents. But not this way.” There was compassion in the tone that didn’t dip toward pity. “Some of my kin might understandably wonder why you placed the orphans in the Quarter, but I think that such a complaint would not be reasonable.” She turned to Kaylin, then. “There is a note in the margins—your foundlings are to act?”

  “Not all of them,” he replied. “And, boy, is that going to cause trouble.”

  Ybelline nodded. “Is that all, then? Will this play be performed soon?” And now, into the smoothness of her voice, cracks appeared. She was weary. Or worried. Probably both.

  “With some luck,” Rennick replied. “I have actors in mind for some of the parts, but the rest?” He shrugged. “I’ll have to have auditions. I have to find the right people—exactly the right people—to play the Tha’alani.”

  “I would suggest some of my kin, but I do not think they would be well-suited to what I understand of your acting.”

  “Lord, no. We want them to think humans can be sane,” Rennick said cheerfully.

  “She knows us,” Kaylin said with a snort. “I’d say Ybelline, at least, is a lost cause.”

  Rennick chuckled, but the chuckle lost steam. He looked at Ybelline for a long moment, and then held out his hand; she placed the play into it.

  “Rennick,” Kaylin said. “Don’t even think it.”

  “Don’t you have somewhere you have to be?” Rennick replied. He flipped through the first few pages. Stopped, splitting the stack as if it were a deck of flimsy cards, and set the smaller pile to one side.

  “Not yet, we don’t. Rennick—”

  A knock interrupted her. Rennick grinned at her glare. “Providence,” he said cheerfully, “is on my side. Go on, answer it.”

  “What I’d like to know,” Kaylin said to Tiamaris, “is how you can even receive a message from Nightshade. He’s a fieflord. He’s not exactly an Imperial Subject, and I always thought the Emperor frowned on people who lived in the boundaries of his Empire who weren’t.”

  “If the Emperor could in safety clear out the fiefs,” Tiamaris replied as they trudged along the emptying streets, “you would have grown up in a very different world. If the fieflords do not serve the Emperor’s will or law, they also serve no others.”

  “That you know of.”

  “That we know of.”

  “Which still doesn’t answer my question.”

  “No. There are ways of sending messages you might be familiar with. They involve no mirrors and no magic.” Dragons were not as good as Barrani at sarcasm, but Tiamaris was cutting it close.

  “And you knew it was genuine because?”

  Tiamaris had stopped by the bridge that crossed the Ablayne. He pointed, and Kaylin saw a familiar, armed Barrani waiting on the other side. Andellen.

  He bowed to Kaylin as she approached. It was a pure Barrani court gesture; it was graceful, and it was absolute. It was also a little too serious.

  “Andellen, what’s happened?”

  “Lord Andellen,” Tiamaris said, bowing in turn. It was not as low a bow, and it was not as perfect, but it held genuine respect.

  Andellen’s bow had been an obeisance. To make this clear, he offered a nod to Severn, who was silent.

  “Lord Nightshade sends word,” Andellen replied, nodding at Tiamaris yet somehow implying that Kaylin had the entirety of his attention. “He requests your presence in the Castle, but also requests that you be prepared to move. Corporal Handred,” he added, “he requests your presence as well, if you are available.”

  “I’m here
,” Severn replied. “How bad is it?” he said, in a level voice.

  Andellen shifted his gaze toward the falling sun. “Not yet as bad as it will become,” he said gravely. “If there is anything you require, retrieve it. I will wait.”

  Severn glanced at Kaylin. It was a subtle glance, but she understood what he was asking. Quietly, she rolled up her sleeves and touched the luminescent gems that studded her bracer in such an ornate row.

  In the silence the click was like distant thunder. She handed the bracer to Severn, and he accepted it wordlessly.

  Andellen said, “Lord Tiamaris, did you ever study astrology?”

  Tiamaris glanced at the sky. It was cloudless, although the heat-haze of the summer months smudged the air somehow. “The moons,” he said.

  “That is our suspicion.”

  “They will not be full this eve, but they are close.”

  “It is why my Lord feels this eve is critical.”

  “I concur. Private?”

  Kaylin said, “Let’s go.”

  She accepted the passage through the portcullis as if it were of no consequence. She didn’t have space left in her thoughts for the luxury of complaint. She accepted being dumped more or less on all fours on the marble floor of the hallway, and accepted, with as much grace as she had ever managed, Severn’s silent offer of help. She took the hand he held out and levered herself to her feet.

  Nightshade was waiting. He wore robes, not armor, and she thought this was a good sign. Until she saw the hilt of the sword that hung by his side. A shorter man would have trailed it across the polished floor. Even a taller man might have looked somehow encumbered by it. It was one of the three named Dragonkillers. Kaylin, who had never named an inanimate object in her life, couldn’t remember what it was called—couldn’t remember at this point if she had ever known.

  Tiamaris, however, looked at the sword, and the inner membranes of his eyes rose, muting the shade of orange the bronze was quickly adopting. But he said nothing, did nothing.

  “Kaylin,” Lord Nightshade said. “Lord Tiamaris. Corporal. Accept my apologies for the lack of proper hospitality.”