“He was…an odd child. I see few human children,” he added quietly, “few mortal children. But in Severn, there was almost something worth using. I would have taken his service, had he offered it. Has he ever mentioned that?”
“You know damn well he never—” careful, she thought, and bit the rest of the sentence back, holding it as if it were on a very thin leash.
“Oh, indeed, he could not have offered it freely then. His loyalty was elsewhere. He was afraid,” he added, staring at her obliquely over the cup’s glimmering edge, “of me. But the fear was balanced by a greater one. It is seldom that this is the case, and I admit I was curious.
“I knew of the deaths, of course,” he added, his eyes brushing past her face, as if his gaze were physical. “I had my own mages seeking those who committed the crimes within my fief.”
She felt his anger viscerally, as if it were her own. For a moment, it was; they were one person, in the quiet of a small, elegant room. Hard to disentangle herself, then. But she did.
“He had come to me, he said, with information about those deaths. We did not…treat him kindly. But we did not injure him overmuch. I knew at first glance that his was not the hand behind those deaths.”
“Because he wasn’t—”
“A mage. No. He was, in his fashion, wise. And he was—as are all of my people—desperate. He would not have sought me otherwise. He told me of you.”
She was utterly still.
“Not by name,” he added softly, “and not willingly. We bartered for information, in a fashion. To receive what he needed, he had to give up what he hoarded.”
“What did he—”
“He asked me if the deaths had occurred in any other fief.”
She closed her eyes. Could still see his, burned on the inside of her lids, like sunlight on the unwary eye.
“He suspected the answer, and it was not costly. I told him no. He then asked what the marks on the corpses of the dead children signified. And I, Kaylin Neya, asked him when and where he had seen them.”
“We’d all heard about them—”
“Oh, indeed. But his knowledge was more than that of hearsay. He could describe their color, their form, the place where they began and ended, almost as intimately as if they adorned him. He was…reluctant to part with that information, and I’m certain you understand why.
“But in the end, he answered, because I would not answer his questions otherwise. He told me that he had seen them…on you. I would have forced him to take me to you, then—but he would have died first. And my power, my presence is known. If someone of like power was watching my movements, I would have led them to you. I was not, however, pleased. I considered the killing,” he added quietly. “And decided against it.”
“I wish you had,” she said bitterly.
“Do you? Do you really?”
“I tried to—”
“Kaylin, my name binds us. You cannot lie to me, even if you can lie to yourself. You have never truly tried to kill Severn. You have raged against him, you have injured him. You have even let others believe that you meant his death. But I know you now. Had you intended his death, he would be dead.”
There was nothing she could say. It was still damn hard to say it.
“I…was interested in you. I confess it. It is an interest that has grown with time, and I confess that I am old enough that very little holds my attention. Had I realized how close you were—” He shook his head and his smile was thin. “But I asked him if the names of the dead had meaning to him.
“I knew them all,” he added softly. “I listed them. All. He was a quiet boy. Almost a man—on the edge of the act that would define him. He didn’t have to answer. Words are often merely a barrier, a set of curtains pulled to one side or the other that cannot change the face of the window.
“He knew them. Which meant, of course, that you did.”
“And you—you thought someone with your power—” Thought caught up with words. “You thought you knew who might be doing this.”
She wanted to run. It was a terrible impulse and she was on her feet before she could fully name it for herself.
But so was he, the cup in his hands crashing to the floor, its contents a spray of dark liquid beneath, and upon, their feet. “Perhaps. But I may have been in error, and if I was not, I was not yet ready to face him.” His hand was on her wrist—her bound wrist—and he cursed for the first time as light flared between them.
From the scent of singed flesh, it wasn’t just for show.
But when she looked at his face, it was smooth and expressionless, and the angry Barrani word—a word she actually didn’t know—might never have left his lips. “Do not run in the Long Halls,” he told her gently. “They change, and often suddenly. More than one visitor has been lost within its walls, and I will not have you be one of them.”
Her legs were shaking. She told herself this was due to lack of sleep, of food. But she sat stiffly only because she knew he wouldn’t continue until she did.
“I do not understand the marks you bear in their entirety. I would examine them, but it discomforts you, and I will bide my time. You bear my mark now, and you bear my name. Even if you do not accept the truth—and you are very good at refusing to accept truth—you are part of me.”
“You understood something,” she said, mouth dry. She wanted to change the subject. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything safe to change it to. Small talk had no place in these halls, no place in front of this Lord.
“Yes, Kaylin Neya. After speaking to your Severn, I understood that the sacrifices were chosen because the names were known to you. They were chosen because of their ages. There was not a child older than twelve or younger than ten among the victims. I guessed that whoever was making those sacrifices in my domain was drawing closer and closer to where you resided. That something about those sacrifices was meant to speak to you, and through you, to the marks you bear, and not to your benefit.
“I asked him only one further question in return for the answer I offered him.”
“You asked him,” she said dully, “if the marks had changed.”
His black brow rose slightly; his eyes were a shade of deep, calm green. “Very good, Kaylin. That is exactly what I asked him. He did not choose to answer, which was of course answer enough.
“I do not know who is behind this. I can guess, but I will hold that guess a while. It is not the act of a sane man, but neither is it the act of a mad one. I would guess that it is not the act of a man at all.”
She thought of the seal, then, and the man of blue flame. Thought of the Long Hall, with a door of stone that looked like it was part of the wall—probably because most times it was.
“I could number the deaths. I could count them. And numbers, in the ancient world, had power.”
She didn’t ask him how he knew because she didn’t want to know. Hawks were hunters; Hawks were scouts; Hawks were gatherers of information. She was suddenly glad that she hadn’t worn anything that bore her insignia. “What did you—tell him?”
“I told him the truth, and only that—that if the numbers were as I suspected, the time was coming when the last sacrifice would be offered, and the power of the sacrifices made manifest.” He was silent for some time, and then added, “This particular type of sacrifice was once simply called death magic. There is a strength in it that living magic cannot rival.”
“Sacrifices are made to something,” she said bitterly. She knew it for fact. There were a lot of gods in the Empire; more than she could name were worshipped every day in the City of Elantra alone. She’d gone in with Tain, Teela and most of the Aerians when they’d destroyed the makeshift temple to one of them; there were some gods that the Dragon Emperor frowned on. Or, Kaylin thought, with chagrin, ate. She hadn’t been present when the Emperor had arrived at the building; Clint had grabbed her by the armpits and had flown her up to the Hawklord’s Tower just ahead of the small Royal army.
“If they were sacrific
es—dammit, if they are sacrifices—who the hell is the power of the death magic feeding?”
“Do you really not understand?”
His gaze was level; intent.
But if he had accused her of lying about Severn, he didn’t repeat the accusation; he merely frowned.
“They are made, Kaylin Neya, to you.”
She was glad she was sitting. Falling flat out on her butt would have been more indignity than she could have handled with grace.
But she shook her head, over and over again, as if the simple act could erase the words. No, not the damn words—the utter, implacable certainty that they were truth.
“Severn was old, too old to become a sacrifice. He asked nothing. But I knew from his expression that he clearly understood the risk.”
“What risk?”
“Kaylin, you bear power. You are power. Perhaps you are human. Perhaps you were merely mortal until those marks and sigils began to write themselves across your skin. He understood the significance of the numbers, the timing of the sacrifices, the phases of moon. And he was bright enough.
“He asked me why the sacrifices had to be connected to you.
“I told him, truthfully, that I did not know. But I also told him that the greater the bond, the greater the power that would be channelled from the death to its recipient.”
“How could you know that?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Then it was you—”
“But Kaylin, I was not wrong. I told him to think of you—whoever you were, girl, boy, child—as a chrysalis. I did have to define the word for him,” he added, “but I assume your education in the Hawks makes such explanation unnecessary.”
She swallowed. “It’s the stage between caterpillar and whatever crawls out of the damn cocoon.”
“Indeed. The sigils are your cocoon. The sacrifices? They are meant to make certain that what, as you so quaintly put it, crawls out of the cocoon is wed to the death magic and the dying itself.”
She swallowed. “What would—what would happen to me?”
“I am not entirely certain.”
“You’re lying.”
His eyes changed shade again, swiftly, as if at passing cloud. But although they did, he spoke as calmly, and as clearly, as before. “I told you, Kaylin, my name gives you much. Yes, I am not being entirely truthful. It is my belief that you would rise from the ashes of your mortality as a goddess—an ancient force, and a very dark one.
“And I told your young protector that it would take one more death for the tally, and one for the wakening. Two. I thought it likely that those two would have to be close to you in ways the others hadn’t—if not the thirty-ninth, then certainly the fortieth.” He hesitated; she knew this not because she could see it, but because she could almost feel it.
“I asked him, Kaylin Neya, if he had any idea of who those two might be. I told him to send them to me, and he asked me if I could protect them. I didn’t have to answer, but I am not kind, not even by Barrani standards. I merely told him that their deaths would be less hideous, and far less costly to Elantra—and the whole of the Empire—than the deaths they would otherwise face.”
The world shattered. She held the shards together, and they cut her and cut her and cut her. She sat, her hands dangling loosely over her lap, her sightless eyes staring at the bright reflection of lights on a hard floor.
“You have what you came for,” he told her quietly.
She could not be certain how much time had passed. Didn’t want to be.
“Why is it happening so quickly now?”
His arm was around her shoulders, and for just a moment, she took comfort from his presence. Dangerous moment, and short one; she pulled away.
Was aware that he let her.
“If I stay here—”
“I would keep you here. It was my intent. Had I not been forced to surrender my name to you, Kaylin Neya, it would be your intent as well.” His smile was lazy and compelling; it was also unpleasant. But he rose. “There would be safety, I think, for a small time were you to remain within these walls.
“But only a small time. Someone is hunting you, and it is someone who knows what those marks mean. I am hunting him,” he added softly, “and not without success. But you are not as malleable as you were, and I…think…the sacrifices are happening quickly because your enemies have little time. You are no longer standing on the brink of adulthood—you have crossed the threshold, but the transition is incomplete. You cling, still, to the memories of your childhood. If I am not mistaken you have already used the power granted you in ways that would not suit their interests, and in the using, you have anchored some measure of it.
“If they wait, Kaylin Neya, you will become something entirely beyond their control. Their ability to rewrite what is written is slipping from their grasp.
“And now, I fear you must return,” he added quietly, “to your Hawks. I will see you escorted to the bridge.”
“I don’t need an escort.”
“It is meant as a mark of my regard, no more.”
“I don’t need one.”
He bowed, then. It surprised her. “I have never been interested in the weak or the infirm, although many of my kind are. You have become a fledgling Hawk—fly, then, Kaylin, but do not look away from what you must see.” He offered her an arm, and she found that she needed it. Touching it drove Severn’s image away, and she needed the distance.
They walked in silence, the warmth of his arm both comfort and accusation.
“Kaylin, one other thing.”
“Lord Nightshade?” She turned just at the edge of the coruscating light that was the portcullis.
“Tell Lord Evarrim—tell any of the high caste Barrani—that if they so much as touch you without my leave, they will be at war.”
CHAPTER 14
“Gods damn it, Kaylin, you are on report. What do you think that means?” Marcus’s growl filled the room, and pretty much silenced the office. People, however, could be bloody suicidal when it came to satisfying curiosity, and they didn’t drop their work and flee instantly at the tone of his voice.
“That I wear civvies when I visit?”
“That if Clint let you in, he’s out of a job.”
She gave him her best I’m-harmless-and-really-sorry smile which was, unfortunately, a different variety of sorry.
“I should have you thrown out of the office. By the window,” he added, glancing in its direction. There was only one, and it wasn’t much of one; windows and security didn’t exactly speak the same architectural language. Kaylin doubted she’d fit without causing structural damage. Then again, Marcus habitually caused structural damage to things like his desk. But even as he turned back, his fur flattened; his outrage was strictly for show. She was part of his office pride, as close to family as she could be, while being furless.
“I’m sorry.” She hoped it didn’t sound as lame to his ears as it did to hers; the Leontines had an acute sense of hearing. And smell. And touch. Oh, hell, and temper, while she was making mental lists. “But I need to know—”
“On report,” he replied firmly, “means that you’re out of the loop. You’re suspended. Which means,” he added, spreading his glare across the office in an even cloud, “that no one talks about internal matters or investigations with you.” He stretched his claws across his desk, but didn’t embed them. “The Hawklord’s not happy.” He might have been talking about the weather, except he never did. “The Swordlord is underimpressed as well.”
“The Wolflord?”
“What do you think? Severn was seconded to the Hawks, but the Wolflord is proprietary. He wants reasons. And the Hawklord isn’t inclined to give ’em.”
She put her hands flat against the scored surface of his desk and bowed her head. Her arms were stiff. “Marcus—”
“I’m going to lunch,” he announced to the office at large. “Don’t follow me,” he added.
She waited until he’d made his exit—his
overly obvious exit—and then turned to Caitlin.
Caitlin didn’t manage to dredge up a smile. “You haven’t slept at all, have you?”
“Some,” Kaylin managed. “Caitlin—”
“They haven’t found her.” She looked up to see Marcus’s back vanishing between two doors. “And not for want of trying, Kaylin. Marcus spent the whole of last night closeted with Imperial mages.”
At any other time, Kaylin would have winced. Marcus’s love of the Imperial Order of mages was just one rung up from his love of paperwork. But today? She loved him for it.
“And,” Caitlin added, before she could find words to express her gratitude, “he spent early this morning closeted with Arcanists.” She looked down at her desk—at the papers and missives that girded it—and picked out one. Kaylin didn’t really notice what was on it; she was having trouble assimilating the word “Arcanist.”
“They don’t work with—”
“The Lords of Law. No. Apparently the Emperor added his voice to the Hawklord’s request.” Her tone implied “and high time,” but she was wise enough not to say it. “This, in case you’re too dumbfounded to read it, is a request sent out to the titular head of the Oracular order.”
“Oracles?”
“Them too. If you insist on hanging around the office, you’ll probably see her in about, oh, half an hour.” She paused, and then added, “This is the first meal that Marcus has taken a break for since Catti disappeared.” She didn’t have to add what they both knew: He wasn’t eating. He was giving Caitlin strictly forbidden time with Kaylin.
“Has Marrin called?”
Caitlin nodded quietly. Although she could be sharptongued, none of that edge was applied to the pride-mother of the foundling hall. “Three times. Her fur’s on end, and she can’t keep her claws sheathed.”
“I’m surprised she can even speak.”
“She couldn’t. Not our tongue. But Marcus took those calls.”
Kaylin sagged against the desk. “Caitlin—when am I going to be off report?”
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