Kaylin bristled slightly. She hadn’t been called the company mascot since her fifteenth birthday—at least not since she’d upended the pitcher of beer over Tanner’s head.
“You didn’t see Evarrim,” Teela added, dropping the honorific as if it were garbage. “What Nightshade wants has to be of interest.”
“Why is Nightshade outcaste, anyway?”
They both fell utterly silent.
“Go deal with Marcus, Kaylin. Tain and I have a lot to discuss.”
“Is this going to happen with every Barrani Hawk?”
“Pretty much.”
Kaylin borrowed the Leontine phrase that Tain had finished with. But she opened the door and went to find Marcus.
She found Severn instead.
He was standing by one of the open desks—the paperwork pool, as it was affectionately called by anyone who didn’t have to spend time doing any—chatting with Caitlin. Kaylin was surprised at how annoying she found this. It made her forget to feel uneasy. Possessiveness did that; it wasn’t her best character trait, but she hadn’t quite found a way to ditch it.
Caitlin saw her first—but she was certain that Severn was aware of her before Caitlin looked up. “I hope things went well with Marcus the other day, dear. He’s been in a bear of a mood.”
Kaylin had always found that phrase funny, given it was Marcus. She found it less funny just by its proximity to Severn.
“It was all right,” she said.
“Did I tell you that I love your tattoo, by the way? It’s not one I would have guessed you’d wear—it’s too delicate, for one—but it sort of suits you.”
Could the day get any more surreal? “Thanks,” she managed. “I thought you’d booked off?” she added, acknowledging Severn indirectly.
He stared at her, as if words were too raw to use.
She’d gotten good at it, over the years.
“I came to speak with Lord Grammayre,” he said at last. “But he’s in a meeting.”
“He wants to see you, though,” Caitlin reassured Severn, patting his arm. As if he needed it. “He should be done in half an hour.”
Severn thanked her politely.
Kaylin wanted to tell him to can it, but she didn’t want to hurt Caitlin’s feelings, or worse yet, worry her. She said nothing.
A lot of nothing.
“You hanging around for a reason?”
It’s my damn office? These are my friends? She shrugged instead of speaking. “Don’t know. Does this meeting have anything to do with me?”
Severn shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Then yes.”
His smile was thin, but it was there.
She wanted to talk to him, then. It was a sudden, stupid impulse. She wanted to ask him all of the whys she hadn’t stayed to ask him in the fiefs. She wanted to get his word that she would never have any need to ask them again. She was frozen with the sudden need.
And he knew it. He had always known her best.
But he walked away from her, toward the Tower doors. He didn’t look back. She didn’t have the courage to call him.
The Hawklord did. Or rather, the Hawklord had the authority to call her. She was sitting on top of Marcus’s desk, chatting with Caitlin about Caitlin’s youngest daughter, when the small mirror went off.
“I hate those,” she said.
Caitlin grimaced. “Not half as much as I do.” Which was probably true. “Lord Grammayre wants to see you,” she added.
“Figures. Did he say about what?”
“It wasn’t verbal, dear. But at least he’s not at the top of the Tower, and that’s something. He’s in his office,” she added.
Kaylin shoved herself off Iron Jaw’s desk and went upstairs.
The Hawklord’s office, such as it was, was half the size of the open room that Marcus ruled; it was also about a tenth as crowded, and at the moment, aside from the man at the desk just one side of the entrance, it was empty. The outer door, unlike the doors of the heights, was unguarded by even the most perfunctory of magics. It was wide, and it made a lot of noise when it was pushed open—and unlike most of the magically greased monstrosities the Halls of Law boasted, it did need to be pushed.
Kaylin didn’t bother to knock first.
“Hi, Hanson.”
Hanson, a man closer to fifty than forty, looked up from his desk, as if the creaking hadn’t actually alerted him to her presence. He smiled, leaning to the right to get a clear view of her; his desk looked like the wreckage of a library. Then again, it usually did. “He’s just inside,” he told her, placing the flat of one hand on the top of a teetering pile, most of whose spines she couldn’t even read. “But he’s not alone.”
“Is he in a mood?”
“Hard to say. He’s just come back from a meeting with the other Lords of Law, if that’s any help.”
“It is,” she said, shoulders sagging, “and it isn’t. Thanks anyway.”
“Kaylin,” the Hawklord said, when she entered his office. “The last time I summoned you while Severn was in my presence, your behavior was less than appropriate. I trust you won’t make the same mistake this time?” He was seated on an Aerian stool; Aerians weren’t overly fond of chairbacks, and with good reason. It was one of the subtle ways in which the high caste Barrani could offer offense—they simply used the finest of thrones in which to entertain their winged guests.
Not that she’d ever been present when this had happened, but Clint’s years of guard duty on the Hawklord’s behalf had left him with hundreds of stories, and he liked to share.
“Private Neya?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Please come in.” He had the Hawks’ love of paperwork written all over his severe expression, but unlike Marcus, he actually did his. He also attended all meetings that had his name attached to them, and he never swore in front of his superiors. Not, at this point, that he had many.
She entered the room slowly, as if every slat that composed the floor was trapped.
“I have a question to ask you, Kaylin.”
Whenever he used her name this often, it was bad. Then again, conversations with the Hawklord recently hadn’t exactly been good. She found herself inexplicably missing the good ones; he was not always so severe, and not always so distant, as this case had made him become.
But he knew the value of distance, much as she hated it, and he wasn’t above using it.
“Yes, sir?”
“Where is your bracer?”
She froze. Looked guiltily down at her unshackled wrist, and back up at the Hawklord.
“I believe I gave you an explicit order. Contrary to popular belief among the rank and file, an order is not a request.” He lifted his hand to his brow and closed his eyes, giving every impression of being in possession of an extreme headache. “I am, however, aware that Marrin called, and with some urgency, and for the moment I am content—barely—not to put you on report for insubordination. Where did you leave it?”
She took a deep breath. “At home.”
“Whose home?”
And frowned. “Mine, last time I looked. Well, mine and the roaches. And the mice.”
The Hawklord turned to Severn, who had been utterly silent the entire time. Silent enough that she could almost forget he was there, given the Hawklord’s grim demeanor. “Severn, if you please.”
And Severn reached into his satchel and pulled out the bracer. She stared at it. “Where did you—were you in my—”
“No, Kaylin, he was not,” the Hawklord replied. “He claims you left it with him.”
He’d covered for her. Or he’d tried; clearly he wasn’t used to the Hawklord yet if he could be that stupid. It would have meant more, but she was stuck on the question of how he’d gotten his hands on the manacle in the first place.
“Severn,” the Hawklord said quietly, although he didn’t look away from Kaylin, “I do not know how the Lord of the Wolves responds to prevarication. I, however, find it unacceptable in any man who pro
fesses to serve me. Do I make myself clear?”
Severn said nothing.
“Give Kaylin the bracer,” he added.
Severn handed it to her. He was closer than he seemed.
“How did you get it?” she asked him quietly.
“It was at my place.”
“But I didn’t wear it to your place.”
“No,” the Hawklord said, “you didn’t.”
They both looked at the man to whom they owed their allegiance.
“I’ve told you before, Kaylin, that it is an old artifact, and its nature is not fully understood.”
She hesitated. “How old?” she asked.
“Old,” he replied softly. “It was taken in Elantra by the Dragon Emperor at its founding. It is not marked, as so many artifacts of the Old Ones were—but we believe it to be their work. This is not to be discussed with anyone. Is that clear?”
She nodded.
“There is a reason that it—unlike anything else the quartermaster has seen fit to give you—has never been damaged or lost, in spite of your best attempts to do either.”
And waited.
“But in the past, it has always returned to me.” He looked long at Severn. “It appears, Severn, that you have been chosen its new keeper.”
Kaylin touched the gems in sequence as Severn watched. She would have turned her back toward him, but she felt that she owed him this: he had lied, in an attempt to cover for her.
Oh, it was dangerous, to have him here. To have him as one of the Hawks. The past was sharp, and bitter—but the present had an imperative that made all memory shaky.
“It’s not just armor.” It was Severn’s way of asking a question.
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “It’s not.” It snapped open as she finished the sequence.
His brows rose slightly. “It’s not hinged.”
“Not that we could see, no. But yes, it does open. Don’t ask me how.” She unbuttoned her sleeve, lifted her arm, and let the folds of cloth fall slowly toward her elbow. As the Hawklord watched, she snapped the bracer shut. The lights did their customary little dance, and then went dark.
“It’s supposed to dampen your power,” Severn said quietly.
She nodded.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how it—”
“Why does your power need dampening?”
She hesitated.
“Kaylin—when we were in the fiefs, the only thing you could do was heal. And it wasn’t exactly life-threatening. What’s changed?”
“Everything,” she said flatly, the words heavy with meaning. With accusation that she couldn’t quite keep out of them.
“It’s not necessary that you have that information, Severn,” the Hawklord added quietly.
She saw Severn’s expression snap shut. His face was almost Barranian as he turned slightly to look at the Hawklord. “What are the criteria for being keeper of this…manacle?”
Kaylin winced. “That’s what I call it,” she said. “It’s not what it’s generally called.”
“It is not,” the Hawklord told them both, “generally called anything.”
Severn nodded.
“As for your question, you might find a more satisfactory answer if you ask Tiamaris. I myself am now…uncertain.” And not pleased about it either, if she was any judge. “Tiamaris is still within the Tower,” he added, looking down at the paper on his desk.
“Come on,” she said to Severn. “That was a ‘get out.’”
“It was a dismissal, Kaylin.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Dragon was waiting. She’d read that, in one story or another, during the months and years she’d been forced to learn how to read in the two and a half languages she knew.
This one, on the other hand, wasn’t forty feet long, and didn’t have scales worth killing for. Or, as so often happened, dying for. “The Hawklord sent me,” she said, by way of apology for the interruption.
“And Severn?”
“Funny you should ask that. Umm, it sort of involves Severn.”
Tiamaris turned away from the mirror, blanking it. Not that he had need to; his body blocked most of its surface from view. “How exactly?”
“Well, it’s the—” She lifted her arm. Gold shone there in the light that poured in through the glass dome.
“I see. What of it?”
“Severn found it.”
Tiamaris frowned. “Found it?”
“I put it down. He picked it up.”
“And?”
“I put it down in my apartment. He picked it up in his. They’re not the same,” she added.
The frown grew more pronounced. Tiamaris crossed the circle in the center of the tower’s floor and held out his hand. “Let me see,” he said evenly.
Her hand was already out before the words had died into stillness. Something about his voice demanded obedience—and she’d obeyed. She didn’t much like it.
And Tiamaris? She didn’t think he’d even noticed. The whole of his attention was focused on the gems that studded the bracer’s surface in a straight line. He touched them, pressing them carefully and quickly, his fingers moving fast enough that Kaylin couldn’t hope to memorize the pattern.
“Tiamaris, why did the Hawklord send me to ask you about the—the manacle?” Severn spoke in a low voice, his gaze intent; Kaylin realized that he hadn’t even blinked as Tiamaris had touched the bracer’s gems. She’d bet money—her own—that he could repeat the sequence. He also spoke, damn him, in Barrani.
Then again, it was the only language she’d heard Tiamaris use.
“It’s not a manacle,” the Dragon replied, his fingers still dancing across the hard surface of gems. They glowed at his touch. He looked up at Severn. “You’ve known Kaylin for how long?”
“Fifteen years.”
“And your relation to her?”
“We were friends.”
The dragon’s golden eyes were unblinking; the opaque inner lid hadn’t closed. He stared at Severn.
Severn stared back.
Tiamaris said, “Records.” It was a challenge; Kaylin knew it because she’d seen him manipulate the records without once lifting his voice. Severn either didn’t know or didn’t care; she couldn’t decide which way to bet.
But when Tiamaris stepped to one side to reveal the mirror’s surface, it wasn’t reflective; it was full of motion. And her first thought, watching it, was Do I really look that insane?
The answer, of course, was only when I’m trying to kill someone.
She watched herself try to kill Severn. But this time, removed from the anger, she watched Severn not try to kill her. She turned to look at his face, but it had shuttered completely back in the Hawklord’s office, and it hadn’t opened a crack.
“Your point?” he said softly, when the mirror once again clouded, and the Records fell silent.
“You have an odd notion of friendship, even for a human.”
Severn shrugged. “The bracer?”
“It’s…keyed to Kaylin.”
“It dampens her magic.”
The dragon raised a brow. It fell after a moment. “It does that, yes,” he said slowly. “But that is not all it does.”
“What else does it do?”
“It records,” he replied. “Not in a way that we can access by mirror; not in a way that can be accessed by any who don’t actually touch it, or know the sequences to activate it.”
“And the rest?”
“You are a Hawk.” His inner lids dimmed the gold of his eyes. “It protects her,” Tiamaris said at last. “From what, we cannot fully say. It is an old magic. Unique, in Elantra. And it was given to Kaylin because of her—”
“The marks.”
“Yes. Although she feels ambivalent about it, she should feel honored. None of us were certain that it would accept her.” He didn’t say who “us” referred to, and no one wasted breath asking.
“And if it didn’t, as
you say, accept her?”
Tiamaris did not reply, which, as far as one of the two observers was concerned, was answer enough.
“Why did it go to Severn?” Kaylin asked, wanting to shift the conversation in any other direction.
“That would be the question.” Tiamaris offered her an odd smile. “But if I had to guess, I would say that it chose Severn on the basis of its imperative—it protects you, and it feels that that protection is best served, at this time, by Severn.”
“Do I get any say in this?”
“None whatsoever. But if it helps at all, Kaylin, neither does the Hawklord.”
It didn’t.
She looked at Severn.
Severn looked at Tiamaris. “If this…artifact is old, how did you know what it would do?”
The dragon’s inner lids rose, opacity in motion. “There are scholars,” he said at last.
“There are no markings on it. Nothing that would hint at—”
“I cannot say more, as it concerns the Emperor and his mages,” Tiamaris said coolly. “But by the time it was given to Kaylin, there was some strong suspicion about its nature. It was not, I think, intended as a kindness when it was first created. It was meant as a cage.”
Severn looked at Kaylin. “But you trusted her enough to give her the keys.”
“That much is not known in all circles,” the dragon said, warning in the words.
Severn, ignoring the words, met Kaylin’s gaze and held it, just as he had held the Dragon’s. In the end, it was Kaylin who looked away.
CHAPTER 11
Marcus was less than thrilled by the verbal report Teela gave him when Kaylin’s back was turned. No, she thought sourly, be fair; Teela would have given him the same report had Kaylin been standing beside Marcus, frantically gesticulating while his back was turned.
“I’ll send someone else to talk to Barker,” he growled. “In fact,” he added, glaring at Kaylin, “I’ll send someone else to cover your beat until things settle down.”
“And that would be when?”
He shrugged. “Ask the Barrani.”
Which told her nothing at all. Nothing is what the Barrani would probably say.
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