Cast in Shadow

by Michelle Sagara

  Kaylin was certain that Marcus would repeat his demand, and almost fell over when his jaws clamped shut.

  “Lord Tiamaris.”

  Kaylin almost stepped behind the Dragon’s broad back as Lord Evarrim of the Arcanum sauntered over. His four shadows sought to follow, but they were headed off by Tain; Teela joined him instead, and it was clear even to Kaylin that she would not have been his chosen escort.

  It was also clear that, had she carried a dagger, he would have been its preferred sheath.

  “Kaylin,” she said quietly. It was a warning.

  “Lord Evarrim,” Tiamaris said, before Kaylin could speak. Not that she would have. “I had not expected to see you here.”

  “No, I imagine you didn’t. There are, however, Imperial aides who are also recently arrived, and they will speak with no one. Not even Lord Grammayre, who is taxed by their presence.” His smile was tinged with malice. “The mortal races are obvious and little patient. The subtle nature of immortal politics are obviously beyond their ken.”

  “At least we have the good sense to stay dead when we are dead,” Kaylin snapped back.

  Teela froze.

  That was bad. Lord Evarrim froze as well, which was worse. The moment went on forever, like one of those dreams in which you realize you suddenly have no clothing on in a roomful of vain, malicious nobles.

  Tiamaris came to her rescue, such as it was. “Kaylin, Severn,” he said quietly, “Much as I desire the ability to accommodate Lord Evarrim, I require your presence now. My apologies to the Arcanum,” he added, tendering a bow to Lord Evarrim that was so far beyond what was necessary it had to be sarcastic, “but the Emperor’s aides will not wait forever, and any attempt to keep them from me, now that they are alerted to my presence, would not be in your interests.”

  He put a bronzed arm around Kaylin’s shoulder, and although the hand that fell across her shoulder looked gentle, it wasn’t. Kaylin had the impression that his hand could have been cut off at the wrist, and his finger positions wouldn’t change at all.

  “Be cautious, Lord Tiamaris,” Lord Evarrim said with a cold smile. “It cannot have escaped your notice that this one already bears a mark.”

  “In no way has it escaped my notice, Lord Evarrim. It has not escaped even yours.”

  Kaylin would have been shocked, but Marcus actually sniggered, and she couldn’t add to that without earning Lord Evarrim’s enmity. If she hadn’t already done that merely by existing. She silently swore she would be eternally grateful to Tiamaris for his rescue as she crossed the floor, bumping into office-mates who, she realized, were at least as nervous as she was. Severn took a little longer to follow, as he didn’t have the advantage of a Dragon’s grip to ease his passage.

  Everyone in the office was a Hawk, and all of them had seen active duty at some point in their tenure. They wanted to see Catti up close, because she had survived, and they had all been almost certain she wouldn’t.

  Proud day to be a Hawk.

  But it was a bad day to be a Dragon, and Kaylin wondered how it was that eternity could actually wind up being so short. Because the aides that had been so obliquely referred to weren’t human. They weren’t Aerian, they weren’t Leontine, and they weren’t Barrani.

  Which left three races, one of which she’d never actually encountered, given their racial agoraphobia, and the other two?

  Dragon. And Tha’alani. Three of the former, and one of the latter, but one was enough if it wasn’t dead.

  Tiamaris’s grip actually gentled, although his arm did not leave her shoulders. Which was a good thing. Sight of Tha’alani usually had two effects on Kaylin. The first involved a great deal of running, in the opposite direction, as quickly as humanly possible—and with her conditioning, that was pretty quick—and the second, when the first was denied her, throwing up.

  But Tiamaris’s body language, as the four aides approached, made her feel safe. That and unworthy of their attention, since they clearly had eyes for no one but Tiamaris.

  “Lord Tiamaris,” one of the Dragons said. His voice was not austere; it was ice. His eyes were that whirl of red-centered orange that was an instant sign of danger.

  “Lord Diarmat.” Tiamaris gave Kaylin’s shoulder a squeeze—which she interpreted as a warning—before he released her and tendered the Dragon a bow.

  Lord Diarmat was taller than Tiamaris, but he was more slender across the shoulders and chest. His hair was both shorter and darker, but his skin was a darker shade as well. He did not wear jewelery, which Kaylin considered a good sign, but he did wear the royal red, edged with platinum that was probably real, and cut across with the Emperor’s emblem: a Dragon, in gold. He moved as if he wore no armor, and given her experience with Tiamaris, she knew he probably didn’t.

  “Lord Emmerian,” Tiamaris continued, bowing to the second Dragon. “Lord Sanabalis.” The third seemed older than the first two—graying hair did that—and returned the bow more readily. When he rose, there was an odd expression across his face, and it exposed lines that neutrality didn’t. It wasn’t—quite—a smile, but Kaylin felt herself drawn to Lord Sanabalis in a way that she wasn’t to the other Dragons. Even Tiamaris, at least not when they’d first met.

  He noticed her reaction, and he met her gaze with an open appraisal of his own. “Tiamaris,” he said, his eyes not leaving Kaylin’s face, “this is the girl?”

  “Forgive my lack of…manners. Yes, this is Kaylin Neya. Kaylin, this is the Dragon who had the responsibility of tutoring me when I was considered young enough to be in need of lessons.”

  “He was a very focused student,” Lord Sanabalis said, his golden eyes bright in a way that suggest liquid, not metal. “But unfortunately, he tended to choose his focus, and it was oft not the focus of his many teachers.”

  “This is hardly pertinent, Sanabalis,” Tiamaris said, dispensing with the formality of the title.

  “I see.” The oldest of the Dragon aides turned. “Let me also introduce the fourth member of our entourage. This is Ybelline, of the Tha’alani.”

  Ybelline of the Tha’alani turned to look at Kaylin. So did her tentacles. Well, to be fair, they were more like long, dancing stalks that just happened to jut out of her forehead, and at a distance, they weren’t as ugly, as, say, exposed Leontine teeth—probably because of the lack of blood—but Kaylin hated them with a passion. A meagre and stupid phrase which she intended to give real meaning.

  The stalks didn’t actually contain eyes—eyes were things that didn’t pierce the surface, after all. But as far as menace went? Kaylin had made an inhouse motion that by law Tha’alani should be forced to bind the damn things to their heads with thick cloth—because no one else was allowed to run around the streets brandishing the most deadly of their weapons.

  She had, of course, been denied the request, and also forbidden to make it through the usual bureaucratic channels, as it would reflect badly upon the multiracial makeup of the Hawks, and their leader. Especially their leader. She’d pointed out—loudly—that the Tha’alani didn’t join anything; there certainly wasn’t a single member of that race within the Hawks, so it shouldn’t matter.

  And Marcus had pointed out that there were worse things to be than a private.

  So Kaylin smiled—in as much as that movement of lips could be identified as one—and bowed.

  Ybelline’s smile, however, was infinitely more gracious, and had it been on anyone else’s face, it would have lit up a room. Or ten. In fact, if it weren’t for those hated stalks, she would have been lovely; her hair was a pale, pale gold, her eyes were the color of brown honey and her skin—what little there was of it that wasn’t covered by Imperial red—was unscarred and unbruised. She could almost give a Barrani a run for her money, and that could be said about very, very few mortals.

  The smile faded, though, when Kaylin just couldn’t match it. The bow became brisk and formal, and the Tha’alani turned back to Tiamaris, called Lord by three Dragons.

  “The humans
are necessary?” Lord Diarmat’s voice was about as friendly as Kaylin’s smile had been.

  “They are my witnesses,” Tiamaris replied, in measured tones. “But this is not the place for this conversation.”

  “Indeed. It appears that something that occurred within the fiefs has caught the interest of the Arcanum.”

  “The Lords of Law saw fit to ask the Arcanum for advice,” Tiamaris replied, in his depths now. “And, as the Emperor’s request was the one acceded to, I feel it is not my place to judge their presence.”

  “As you say. And what room in this building would do?”

  “The West room” Kaylin heard herself say.

  Tiamaris spared her a look.

  “But we have a child who’s been injured, and we’d really like to take her back to her—to her pride-mother.”

  “The child is not a matter that concerns us—”

  “Lord Diarmat,” Ybelline said, her voice soft, her expression…feminine. Wrong, to Kaylin’s eye. “I believe that it is best that the child be examined. If her guardians will give consent—”

  “Marrin of the foundling halls is her guardian.”

  “—I will ascertain that she is whole and unharmed, and that she is substantially the same child that she was before her abduction.”

  “I won’t—”

  “Kaylin.” Severn stepped on her foot. “This is exactly what’s going to occur. If you fight them, you’ll just scare the girl, and you won’t change anything else. There are worse Tha’alani than this one. Come. The West room.”

  They were joined by Marcus and Lord Grammayre. The former, the Dragons attempted to throw out—with words, of course—and the latter, they accepted without apparent qualm. It was a good deal less frosty in the West room than it was in the outer office, although given the amount of chatter—none—Kaylin couldn’t say why.

  “Kaylin.” The Hawklord’s wings were folded in a way that was just shy of tense.

  She bowed, and made sure it was perfect.

  “It appears you’ve been busy while on leave. I will not fault you for it. The child?”

  “She’s been injured.”

  “Marked?”

  Kaylin swallowed and nodded.

  He turned to the Tha’alani. “The child sleeps. I believe it would be best if she continue to do so. Can that be arranged?”

  “Yes, Lord Grammayre.”

  “Tiamaris?”

  “The child does not appear to be under the influence of magic,” the Dragon replied, as if tendering a report. “Nor does there appear to be any enchantment that is active.”

  “Good. Ybelline?”

  The Tha’alani nodded gracefully to the Hawklord. She failed to notice the way Kaylin tensed as she approached Catti, and even failed to notice the restraining hand that caught her upper arm.

  Marcus, however, growled a warning. It wasn’t pretty.

  Kaylin could fail to notice many things, but not as gracefully as the Tha’alani did. She answered with a short Leontine phrase, and let go.

  The stalks moved, elongating as Ybelline bent. The bend was, strictly speaking, unnecessary; she must have done it to make Kaylin feel less queasy. It didn’t work, but Kaylin tried hard to appreciate the gesture.

  She knew she was holding her breath because she exhaled—loudly—as those stalks touched Catti’s forehead. Severn pushed strands of red hair out of the way, moving Catti gently so that she might be closer to the Tha’alani.

  The woman’s eyes closed. Minutes passed; Catti’s expression shifted into a small smile. “She likes you,” Ybelline said, and Kaylin started.

  “Yes, she means you,” Severn said.

  “She trusts you,” the Tha’alani continued.

  “Is that pertinent?”

  Severn, still burdened, stepped on Kaylin’s foot. Kaylin tried to shut up; she knew the rules. One wasn’t supposed to interrupt a Tha’alani investigation with speech. It apparently distracted them.

  “Records,” Lord Grammayre said. “Ybelline, we need to see what happened to the child. She is the only victim to survive, and this examination will be invaluable in our attempts to find her would-be killers.”

  Ybelline nodded.

  And Kaylin, unhappy, nodded as well. She had known this would happen. Of course she’d known it. She just hadn’t allowed herself to think about it.

  “Catti would tell them,” Severn said to Kaylin, and only to Kaylin. “She wants to be Hawk. She wants to be you.”

  “Catti’s a child—”

  “Not for much longer. If she is, now. She’s asleep, Kaylin. She won’t have to relive the experience. Wake her to get her permission, and she will.”

  Kaylin said nothing more. But it didn’t last. “Severn—if I were her, I would still want that choice.”

  “You’re not a child. You’re not Catti. Let it go.”

  “They’re her memories.”

  “Not all memories are a kindness.”

  “I wouldn’t want to—” She stopped when Marcus growled.

  Sanabalis chuckled. “Tiamaris,” he said, against convention, “I see that you have indeed grown in patience since I was last capable of being your teacher.”

  He was rewarded with two human glares and one Leontine chuckle.

  Ybelline continued to stand above Catti, her hands by her sides. It was Ybelline’s face that twisted, first in confusion and then in fear; it was Ybelline’s face that froze in agony. Catti, peaceful, slept. And Kaylin, watching, felt the first twinge of something other than manic hatred for the Tha’alani. She had seen them work only rarely, and one of those experiences had been her own. But she had never truly watched their faces.

  The last expression was a mingling of pain and something akin to joy. “You’ve arrived,” Ybelline whispered, her voice carrying the texture of both of those sensations. She did not break contact, and she did not speak again.

  They waited in silence, Severn, Kaylin and Tiamaris, remembering what they could of the quick, dark fight in the old watchtower.

  But when Ybelline finally staggered back a step, it was Kaylin who moved to catch her; it was Kaylin who steadied her—and Kaylin had never willingly touched a Tha’alani in her life.

  She knew, of course; the Tha’alani were sensitive to simple thoughts when they had even this level of contact. Stalks swivelled in the air, but they stopped just short of contact as honey-brown eyes opened.

  “Kaylin,” she said, with just a faint hint of question in the two syllables.

  “You—you looked like you were going to fall,” was the lame reply.

  “The memories of the young are stark,” Ybelline replied. “And bitter, in this case.”

  “In all cases.” Sanabalis’s voice was serene, his eyes gold. “It is seldom for reasons of peace or joy that the Tha’alani are summoned.” He bowed to Ybelline. “You are afraid,” he told Kaylin, “of what the Tha’alani see in you when they touch you. Did it never occur to you to think that they are not less afraid? It darkens them, always. And it wounds them. Very few of the Tha’alani can serve among the deaf for long.”

  “Deaf?”

  He sighed. It was a gust of wind.

  “Sanabalis,” Ybelline said, her voice slightly cool, “that was unkind.”

  He shrugged. Kaylin realized she had never seen Tiamaris shrug that way. “So is she.”

  Ybelline began to speak, and Kaylin—who still held her by the arms—tightened her grip. “Don’t defend me,” she said. “I’ll accept it. It’s true.”

  “Fear does not make a kind person,” Ybelline replied.

  “Neither does envy. Could you please try to be a little less gracious?”

  The Tha’alani woman laughed, and if her smile could light up, oh, the Imperial Palace, her laugh was better. Or worse, depending on how guilty one felt. Kaylin was caught between the two. She loosened her grip slowly, met Ybelline’s eyes, managed not to flinch at the stalks, and said, “If I ever have to face the Tha’alani again, could I call you?”
>
  “I am seconded to the Emperor,” was the quiet reply, “but in so much as I am able to choose my assignments, yes.”

  “You do her too much honor,” Sanabalis said.

  “She saved the child” was the serene reply.

  “Not alone.” Sanabalis’s voice changed at the tail end of those two words, and he turned away from Kaylin, from Ybelline and from pretty much anyone else in the room who wasn’t Tiamaris.

  “Kaylin,” Marcus said in perfectly enunciated Leontine. “Take Catti. Take Severn. Get out.”

  As he spoke, Lord Diarmat and Lord Emmerian stepped toward Tiamaris; Tiamaris did not move. And Kaylin had one of those sudden bad feelings that was a lot like losing lunch, but without the mess.

  “This room isn’t big enough,” she said, to no one in particular.

  “For what, Kaylin?” Sanabalis asked.

  “One Dragon, never mind four.”

  Lord Diarmat frowned. “Tiamaris.”

  Tiamaris raised a brow at Kaylin.

  “We have to stay. No,” she added, after a pause, “I have to stay. Severn, take Catti home.”

  “I’m not leaving without you. We can take Catti home.”

  “We’re his witnesses. That’s what he called us. And he never says anything without a reason.”

  “Very good,” Sanabalis replied. “She is not completely hopeless, Tiamaris.”

  “I did not say completely.”

  Kaylin shot him a dark look, but it was without heart. “When you—when it happened,” she said, skirting what had suddenly become a dangerous word, “they felt it?”

  “The entire Imperial palace felt it,” Lord Diarmat replied.

  “Meaning the Dragons.”

  “Meaning, as you quaintly put it, the Dragons.”

  “How?”

  “That does not concern you.”

  “But it does. I was there.”

  “Kaylin,” Sanabalis said. He reached out slowly, but she wasn’t fooled; when he touched her arm, his grip was like steel. “How often have you seen the change?”

  “Never.”

  “Never?”

  “I think even I’d remember that. Without help,” she added, glancing at Ybelline. “It’s not a big secret, is it?”