Cast in Shadow

by Michelle Sagara

  “They should appear in the sequence in which they were discovered,” he said. Each word chosen carefully to provide distance. She had always hated that; today she felt the hypocrite for her appreciation of the attempt.

  She watched. The mirror offered each new light slowly, and she had to assume that was because of Tiamaris’s silent command.

  “Do you want the names?” He asked quietly.

  She looked up; was surprised to see that he was now watching her, and not the mirror. But she shook her head, watching a disaster that she was powerless to prevent as it unfolded. Time was always her enemy; the past was just another part of time. When she was feeling particularly low, she daydreamed about being able to travel through it, as if it were the Ablayne; that she could somehow go back, armed with knowledge, and prevent each and every death from occurring. That she could find them before they died. That she could heal them all.

  It was her most visceral desire.

  “Kaylin?”

  “Can you tell me if anyone else has…done this?”

  “Done what?”

  “Mapped the deaths. Like this. Accessed this information.”

  “Records are kept for each access,” Tiamaris replied thoughtfully. “But that information is classified—”

  “I don’t give a damn about classification. Can you get me that information?”

  “Why?”

  She ground her teeth. “Because I need it,” she said.

  “No.”

  “Can you tell me if a particular person has done this?”

  “Which person?”

  “Severn.”

  He hesitated. “Kaylin,” he began.

  “Please.”

  “The question will be noted,” he told her. His way of encouraging caution. As if. When she didn’t reply, he said, “Yes. Severn accessed this information.”

  “When?”

  “Six years ago.”

  “Six years—he was barely a Wolf! I didn’t get access to Records until—no, sorry. Never mind. Was that being recorded, too?”

  “Probably.”

  She added a lot of colorful, multilingual swearing. Let some scholar chew on that.

  “I can see why Lord Grammayre considers you a challenge,” the Dragon said. But he smiled, and if it was weary, it was genuine.

  She watched as the map at last played itself out. She stood beside the mirror, counting red, blinking lights; counting deaths. Naming them silently, because she could. She had met them all, some more than once, some a lot more.

  “The only thing they have in common,” she said quietly.

  “Is their end in Nightshade.”

  She shook her head. “I knew them all. At least to name.” She lifted a hand, but didn’t actually touch the mirror; old lessons had taken a very firm hold. “You’re right. There’s no clear pattern.” But she was lying.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get something to eat. I’m hungry.” Another lie.

  Tiamaris wasn’t a hypocrite; his expression made clear that he knew she was lying, but he didn’t accuse her of doing so.

  After the nonevent that was lunch, she returned to the Tower. Tiamaris was still there, and the mirror—what she could see of it on either side of his broad back—was no longer graced by images of the dead; it was littered instead by swirling sigils. Some were on stone; some were on parchment; some on cloth. She tried to peer round his shoulder and he lifted a hand; the mirror went dead.

  “Sorry,” she muttered.

  He looked up, as if only just aware of her presence. “No apologies are necessary,” he told her quietly. “But I believe Sergeant Kassan expects you to go on patrol.”

  “With who?”

  “I am not entirely certain.”

  “Which means not you.”

  He shrugged. “I am not often sent on patrol.”

  “You’re not really a Hawk.”

  His raised brow was the whole of his answer. “Kaylin,” he said, as she was turning for the door, “I have studied this case for almost seven years, and for reasons of my own. I have a question that I wish you to answer, but I will accept silence.” The tone of his voice was odd. She was enough of a Hawk to understand it, but enough Kaylin to question.

  “You don’t normally have to accept silence, do you?”

  “Not normally, no. But nothing about this case is normal.”

  She hesitated, and then nodded.

  “Where did you live, in the fiefs?”

  He missed nothing. “Why?”

  “You are free not to answer the question,” he said, his frown deepening. “But you are not free to waste my time with idle games.”

  She closed her eyes. “Map,” she said softly. When she opened them, it was already there. So were the lights, the trail of the dead. She walked to the mirror, and lifting a finger, pointed to the center of the random pattern. “There,” she said quietly. “Near the Four Corners.”

  He passed a hand over the mirror; she thought the map might disappear. Instead, three more lights joined the original thirty-eight.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “Close to there.”

  “They don’t know you left.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure what proximity has to do with anything. The deaths occurred in the fiefs, but my arms are still changing.”

  “Thank you.” He lifted a hand again, and the map vanished. “You are free to go.”

  She almost made it out, but had to turn again. “Did you tell him to kill me?”

  He said nothing.

  “Tiamaris, did you tell the Hawklord to kill me?”

  “What do you think?”

  She had no answer to offer.

  Teela was waiting for her by Marcus’s desk. Marcus was absent; Leontines did eat. They didn’t cook much, though.

  “You took your time,” the Barrani Hawk said. She eased her backside off the newest set of claw marks and shrugged. “They’re keeping you busy.”

  Kaylin nodded. “Tain’s not coming?”

  “I thought I’d give Tain the afternoon off.” As she spoke, she eyed the mark on Kaylin’s face. Kaylin cringed. She’d forgotten it was there. Then again, she seldom saw her own face.

  “I haven’t changed,” she muttered.

  “You got here on time,” Teela pointed out with a grin. Everyone was a comedian.

  “I heard there was some trouble at the foundling hall.”

  Kaylin shrugged. “Did everyone hear about it?”

  “Pretty much, if they were within a mile of the office.” Teela’s frown was all surface; her eyes were narrowed. This was her worried expression. Funny how much like a threat it looked.

  “Why?”

  “Marrin’s loud when her kits are threatened.”

  “She is a Leontine.”

  “Yes. And she couldn’t reach you. Marcus was in a bit of a mood—it’s probably a good thing she didn’t come down to the Halls in person.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, the usual—two angry Leontines, a lot of hissing, a lot of claw, fang and fur.” Teela shrugged. “He did eventually tell her you were at home.”

  “How eventually?”

  “She had to tell him what happened.”

  Kaylin shut her eyes. “She’d hate that,” she said at last.

  “She did.”

  “Marcus?”

  “He didn’t add much. He’s male. He knows when to step aside.” She twisted the club in her hands—it was regulation. For a Barrani. Which meant it was almost four feet long, and it was made of something that looked like wood until it hit you. Teela wore her full street uniform, but she didn’t bother with armor. For the Barrani, armor was optional. Kaylin wore leather, although it was hidden by the drape of surcoat across which the emblem of the Hawks was embroidered in something that looked like gold. Given the office budget, it was probably something else. She never asked.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Barker’s.”

  “Why?” B
arker was a short, stout, weasel of merchant. He made oil seem clean.

  “You haven’t been paying attention, have you? We’ve got four and a half weeks until full High Festival in Elantra.”

  Kaylin rolled her eyes. “And Barker’s selling counterfeit licenses again?”

  “He’s human,” Teela said, with a shrug.

  “Hey, I resent that!”

  The Barrani woman laughed. “You would. No, we have no proof that he’s attempting to sell counterfeit licenses. Yes, he probably is. He tries some variation on this stupid scheme every year.”

  “He must have gotten lucky once.”

  “Probably. Either that or he’s incredibly optimistic.”

  “He’s Barker,” Kaylin said, shrugging. She paused, and slowed down.

  “What?” Teela asked, turning and striding back.

  “Why have you been assigned Festival duty?”

  Teela shrugged. “On report for hangover?”

  “Hah. If that was a problem, Iron Jaw would have arranged for a permanent state of Festival in the city. You’re senior. You’ve managed to avoid this for what—the past five years? You hate Festival duty.”

  “It’s not Festival yet,” the Barrani replied. And then she reached out and smacked the back of Kaylin’s head. “Don’t be so observant.”

  “You asked to be assigned.”

  “Do I look like a masochist?”

  “Only when you’re drinking with Tain.” Kaylin found her stride again. “Are you worried about me?”

  “I have no idea how humans manage to survive in the Empire. It must be the fact that they breed like rabbits,” Teela replied. “You are all so direct, you’re like walking targets.”

  “It’s part of our charm.”

  “It is. Which means I’ve probably spent too much time in human company. I’m hardly fit for Court.”

  “Good thing you’re not part of it, then.”

  Teela laughed. “You’ve never been to Barrani High Festival haunts, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “Teela—the mark doesn’t change me.”

  “Not yet,” Teela said quietly. “But it can. It gives him power over you. It’s—it’s as close as a human can come to giving their true name. Names have power.”

  Kaylin almost told Teela, then. That she had the fieflord’s name. She wanted to know if that evened the scales any—but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Wasn’t certain why.

  “If you’re not strong enough—and very, very few humans are—the Barrani Lord who marked you can use you in a number of ways. He can see through your eyes, he can hear through your ears. But it’s…more than that.”

  “Thanks. That’s enough.” But it wasn’t. “Could you do this?”

  “Mark you?”

  “Mark anyone.”

  “You really are too observant. And you have a big mouth.” Teela shrugged. “I’ve never tried.” Which was as close to admitting a lack of power as a Barrani of any stripe could get; they had their arrogance to tend to, after all. “Ownership, among the Barrani, means something different. Don’t forget it.”

  With the mark on her face, Kaylin thought that unlikely.

  Teela came to a full stop outside of a very large, very functional three-storey building. It was ornate to the point of being ugly, in Kaylin’s opinion, given that gargoyles and carvings seemed to populate any stone surface that threatened to be smooth. Gold, magically protected against mythical thieves who might spend hours trying to pick it off—as if—was also used in abundance, in particular across the surface of the huge plaques that proudly proclaimed the establishment’s name, and the conditions under which the lowly might petition for membership.

  Kaylin disliked the Merchant Consortium on principle.

  Merchants lived the daylight hours on the other side of the heavily guarded doors, and just in case incoming visitors were a threat, they put magical glass wickets between themselves and the mundane world. They also layered paperwork in piles so thick it was a miracle there was any floor at all in sight.

  But the floors, as they always did, gleamed.

  The Merchant Consortium had its own guards, and they fancied themselves a shade worthier than the guards of any save the high nobles. Which the Hawks demonstrably weren’t. They therefore sneered as they stepped—slightly—out of the way to let the Hawks through. If they were superior, they weren’t stupid.

  Kaylin doubted the superiority, though. When she was younger, she’d hated the guards for their smugness; now they were just another part of the Consortium, and at that, temperamentally suited to the job. They were paid a lot—but then again, if you were guarding something that didn’t deserve or command loyalty, you probably had to be.

  The merchant wickets took up the largest part of the first floor, but there were doors—guarded as well—that led to offices and the upper gallery. The merchants had their own dining hall, of course, and their own cooks; they hired their own mages. They were like a little fiefdom of their own.

  But in a fashion, they answered to the Lords of Law; they answered to the Emperor. And they paid—as they often bemoaned, and at length, their taxes. Which in theory paid her salary. She tried to remember this as she headed across the floor.

  Teela caught her shoulder, and Kaylin stopped walking. Stopped moving pretty much instantly. The Barrani seldom shouted a warning; the lack of subtlety was often beneath them. But when they touched you, when they gave you any signal at all, you paid attention.

  “What?” Kaylin whispered. Only a Barrani would have picked the sound out of the din in the hall.

  “I think we’ll come back later,” Teela replied. Her lips were inches away from Kaylin’s left ear.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just turn around—now—and head back out the door. Beside me.”

  Kaylin frowned. But she’d known Teela for all of her life with the Hawks, and she obeyed instinctively.

  They made it halfway across the floor when she heard the voice that she knew Teela had been trying to avoid. It was a lovely, deep voice, something far too perfect to be human, and it spoke in perfect Barrani. High Barrani.

  “Oh, come, Anteela. Will you not even stop a moment to offer or accept the greetings of your kin?”

  Teela swore. In Elantran. Her hand tightened on her club, but her face slid into that remote perfection that Kaylin always found so disturbing. The Barrani Hawk straightened her shoulders, pulling herself up to her full height before she turned. The fact that she interposed herself between Kaylin and this newcomer was not lost on Kaylin; Kaylin was absolutely still.

  Or as still as one could be, in comparison with a watchful Barrani.

  “Lord Evarrim,” Teela said, in carefully modulated High Barrani. Kaylin could see her back, and only her back—but her posture was perfect. “I tender my services at this time to the Lords of Law, and my time is not my own.”

  “The Lords of Law are mortal,” Lord Evarrim replied, his voice drawing closer. He must be important, Kaylin thought, because all around her, the din of idle chatter and heated barter had begun to die out. “But even mortals are not without an understanding of our graces. It has been many years, cousin. I did not think to see you here when I set out this morn.”

  “Nor I,” Teela replied. “And had I, I would have been certain to garner permission to remain. But you understand the weight of a freely given pledge, Lord Evarrim.”

  “Indeed I do, and I have always marveled at your ability to offer it so carelessly to those who cannot possibly prize it fully.” Kaylin could hear his steps now. “But come…there has been no battle within the Consortium walls, and no idle theft. Surely your business here cannot be so vital that you would offer offense to kin?”

  Teela was silent, assessing his words.

  At least that’s what Kaylin thought she was doing, until the club moved. It moved swiftly; Teela offered no warning at all. But it moved to bar his way.

  He came into
view then, moving carefully, his face as neutral as Teela’s certainly was. Kaylin saw him, and she almost lost her voice: he looked like Nightshade.

  No, she thought, don’t be an idiot. They all look the same to a human. But they didn’t, anymore. Tain, Teela, the other Barrani, had slowly become familiar enough that she could tell them apart. In the Hawks, they made an effort—an effort she truly appreciated at times like this—to help their comrades differentiate them.

  But this Barrani—he was high caste. Kaylin was certain of it. Not the castelord; that would have caused groveling bows and utter obedience in even Teela. But he was important enough. His hair was long, dark and fine; it fell past his shoulders. His forehead was adorned by a slender, platinum tiara, and in its center, a ruby was caught, as if in sunlight. He wore red robes, with emerald edges, and boots of a similar color; his skin was pale and completely without blemish.

  And his eyes were blue, bright, perfect, when she met them.

  But his brows rose as he stared at her, and his expression shifted slightly—he was surprised. Shocked, even.

  “What is this, Anteela?” He asked, sparing no glance to Teela. His eyes were upon Kaylin, and she felt trapped by them.

  “She is a Hawk,” Teela replied quietly, the club not wavering an inch, “in the service of Lord Grammayre.” She might have spared herself the words, for all the attention he paid them.

  “You,” he said, his voice cold and distant, his words dropping from the most formal of Barrani to the more common variant. She doubted he would ever lower himself to speak a merely mortal tongue. And didn’t doubt for an instant that he knew them all. “What do you bear?”

  And Kaylin understood, then. She said nothing.

  “Lord Evarrim,” Teela began.

  But the Lord was not interested in Teela. He stepped forward, and stopped when his robes touched the side of the club. “Do not,” he told Teela, “threaten me.”

  “I have offered no threat,” she replied evenly.

  “Stand aside.”

  “I have my duty.”

  “And I, mine.” He reached out, then, his hand moving as quickly as Teela’s club had, and touched Kaylin’s cheek. Or tried to.

  Light flashed, like magefire, beneath the tall ceilings of the Merchant Consortium.