“Did you expect it?”
She started to say something cutting, and managed to shut herself up before it escaped. “Not that.”
“Why?”
“Because I failed racial interaction classes.”
“As well as magical classes?”
She gave up on the idea of pretending she was smart. Or pretending that the Dragons didn’t know she wasn’t. “Pretty much.”
“Kaylin,” Severn asked, both brows slightly raised. “Did you pass anything that wasn’t practical?”
“Barrani.”
He rolled his eyes. But his scar was whiter than it had been, and had he not been carrying Catti—still—she was certain his hands would be near some sort of weapon. It was damn hard to keep hers away.
“This particular part of Dragon culture is not studied in those classes,” Lord Grammayre said. His wings flexed and settled. It was disquieting.
“I take it it’s not exactly legal?”
“It does not have the approval of the castelord, no.” Lord Diarmat frowned. “As Tiamaris well knows.”
“And you’re here to—to—”
“They are here to evaluate me,” Tiamaris replied. “That is all.”
“And if you fail?”
“I will be judged outcaste.”
“You said there were no—oh.” She turned to Ybelline. “You were sent to read him?”
“If it becomes necessary.” Her reply was cool, now. “I do not, however, believe that it will be.”
“That is not for you to decide,” Lord Diarmat snapped. Kaylin could hear the echo of great jaws in the sound. She wondered what color he was.
“Blue,” Ybelline replied. But it was a very quiet word.
“Tiamaris—tell them!”
“If,” Sanabalis said, “you can contain your interruptions, he will do just that.”
“And if you can’t,” Marcus added, “you’ll be on the other side of the door. You decide in how many pieces.”
“We entered the watchtower in the fiefs. It is an old watchtower,” Tiamaris added, “and it is engraved in the style of the Old Ones.”
Kaylin hadn’t seen any symbols. She bit her lip. She also hadn’t seen the entrance, if it came to that.
“The child was already marked, as Ybelline has seen. There were thirteen in the chamber.”
“They were priests?”
“They were robed,” Tiamaris replied. “And they carried daggers that were also marked in the old fashion. I believe the daggers were active at the time of their attempted use.”
“The markings were,” Kaylin added.
Marcus growled. A lot. But Sanabalis lifted a hand, granting Kaylin permission to keep her throat, at least until there were no Dragons present.
“What do you mean, Kaylin?”
“The marks on Catti’s arms and legs. They were glowing.”
“Tiamaris?”
The Dragon Hawk looked at Kaylin, and she knew she’d said the wrong thing, whatever that was.
“She was marked,” he replied. “But I did not get close to her during the time the priests attempted to finish their ritual.”
“Death magic.”
“Of a certainty.”
“How did you find the girl, Tiamaris?”
The Dragon’s inner membranes rose. His eyes had shaded to orange. “I did not find her. Kaylin Neya did.”
Six Dragon eyes, of a similar color, were not a comfort when they were suddenly all focused on her. Kaylin didn’t squirm, but it took effort.
“How?”
Kaylin looked at the Hawklord, and the Hawklord nodded.
“I—a few days before she was taken—I was called to the foundling halls. She’d fallen. She’d fallen badly. I had to heal her.”
Sanabalis stared at her, and the orange eyes in his friendly face were somewhat worse than the same color in the granite faces of the other Dragons. “How badly injured was she?”
“She was dying.”
“Was she conscious?”
“No. She was barely there at all.”
“Continue.”
“I found her,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “And I brought her back. I healed the injuries.”
“So. Tiamaris, this was not mentioned in your report.”
“I was not aware of it until today, Lord Sanabalis.”
“Very well. There was a connection between the child and Kaylin Neya. You used it?”
“Kaylin Neya did. She found the child.” He paused, and then he, too, stared at Kaylin.
“We reached the watchtower,” she said faintly, “and we made it in through the wall.”
The Hawklord closed his eyes.
“And there were Barrani there. They were all Barrani.”
The Dragons exchanged a single glance as if it were a hot coal. “Thirteen is a large number,” Lord Emmerian said at last. “But in and of itself, it does not justify the extreme measures taken.”
Kaylin hadn’t finished. “But they weren’t—” she took a deep breath. “I’ve seen dead Barrani before,” she told them quietly, again looking to the Hawklord for permission. His wings flexed; his face, impassive, had turned an unusual shade of gray. “And they were usually missing things like, you know, their heads. Or their hearts. But these were different.”
“Think carefully, Kaylin,” Lord Sanabalis said. His voice was gentle. Gentle, in this case, was not good.
“They were dead,” she told him. “They were all—I’d bet on it, with my own money—dead.”
“Tiamaris?”
“There is nothing left of either their work or their bodies,” the Dragon replied.
“You are certain of this?”
“I am certain.”
“Thirteen,” Diarmat said, in a voice as soft as Sanabalis’s. “Are you certain the girl is not mistaken?”
“I ate one,” Tiamaris replied. Had he been any other Hawk, Kaylin would have sworn he was joking.
But the reaction of the other three Dragons made it clear they took it literally, and if they were grim, they were satisfied. She wondered, then, what he’d be able to tell her about herself if he’d eaten her. Which was more stupid than her usual idle thoughts.
Lord Diarmat bowed. “Lord Tiamaris,” he said quietly. “We will expect you in the Emperor’s presence before sunset. You have been injured. See that the injuries are tended.”
Good of you to finally notice, Kaylin thought sourly.
The only person in the room who could hear it gave a faint smile, and for the first time in her life, Kaylin didn’t resent the idea that someone could pluck her thoughts, defenseless, from behind her closed lips. She met Ybelline’s brief glance and actually smiled.
“Kaylin Neya, you are forbidden to speak of this to anyone,” Lord Diarmat added.
“Ummm.”
Marcus actually closed his eyes. “Kaylin…”
“Does Lord Evarrim count?”
CHAPTER 17
Apparently, Lord Evarrim did count.
Marcus, however, was not about to let the Dragons take it out on her—at least not right away. He looked at Severn, and said, “Corporal, go see the medics. Now.”
Severn’s hesitation was not marked in any way by nervous motion; he just stood there, waiting.
Waiting, Kaylin realized, for her. “I’ll see that he gets there right away,” she said, putting her hand on the small of his back and attempting to give it a subtle shove. “And we’ll take Catti back to Marrin.”
“No,” Lord Sanabalis said, “you will not.”
The hair on the back of Kaylin’s neck rose. It might have been a bit more obvious, had Marcus’s fur not got there first. The white-gold undersides of his close-skin fur were easily visible. So were his teeth; the black of his lips had pulled right off them.
“Were the current Emperor not so secure in his rule, there is every likelihood that he would demand the child’s death.”
“Kaylin,” the Hawklord said. “Sergeant Kassan.”
He turned to Lord Diarmat. “My apologies, Lord Diarmat, Lord Sanabalis. The full context of your intent is not clear, and they are Hawks.”
“Imperial Order does not require explanation.” Lord Diarmat had drawn himself up to his full height while he spit the words out.
“No,” Lord Grammayre said, “it does not. Nor does acceptance of Imperial Order require grace.”
But Sanabalis relented. A little. “You care for the child, Kaylin Neya. That much is clear, from both your reaction and Ybelline’s. That she cares for you is also clear, and we will trust your discretion in how she is told that she is not—yet—ready to return to her home.
“She is not safe there,” he added. “Unless we leave Dragons in full force in the halls, she cannot be made safe there, and if the Dragons are forced to act—as Tiamaris did—the rest of the children will, in all likelihood, not survive.”
“But what will you—what do you intend—”
“I give you my word,” he said gravely, and she knew what that was worth to a Dragon, “that she will not be harmed. The guard that she cannot be given in safety in the foundling halls, she will be given in the Imperial Palace.”
“She won’t be turned over to the Imperial mages?”
“No. They may examine her, but I will be present for those examinations, and as we have already had the Tha’alani’s testimony, there is limited information that they can glean. They will not be allowed to enspell her.”
“We need to explain this to Marrin,” she said quietly.
“Marrin?”
“Her pride-mother. The Leontine who runs the foundling hall.”
“Ah. I don’t envy you the task. But I trust that you will survive it.”
The medic on duty was Moran, an Aerian who would probably have been happier had she been born a Leontine. She had a great eye for detail—like, say, the ones you were failing to mention during her checkups—and absolute intolerance for stoicism. It made her oddly appropriate for the Hawks, but rather temperamental.
She was waiting, the duty table ready, when Kaylin managed to push Severn through the door. She clucked three times, which emphasized the birdlike build that most Aerians didn’t have, flexed her wings in the universal gesture of disapproval and took Catti from his arms.
“Kaylin,” she said, as she laid Catti on the table. “You look well.” Bruises, unless they were the wrong color—and Kaylin seldom asked for a more precise definition than that—weren’t a cause for Moran’s concern.
“You found her,” Moran added softly. “Has she regained consciousness?”
“She was awake when we found her,” Kaylin answered. “But she had to be examined by the Tha’alani.”
“Before she came here?”
Kaylin cringed. “The Tha’alani kept her asleep for the duration of the examination. You could probably wake her up if you wanted.”
But Moran shook her head. “She’s exhausted. Look at her eyes.”
Her eyes are closed, Kaylin thought. But she obediently looked anyway.
“And her lips are cracked. She probably hasn’t had much to drink for the last two days.” She pulled the tunic up, frowned at the shallow abdominal cuts, and turned toward the cupboards in which she hid her healing unguents. Kaylin privately referred to them as poisons. “They’ll heal fine,” Moran continued, her voice soft. “And I don’t think they’ll infect.”
“And the—the other marks?”
“They’re not bleeding,” Moran said. “And they’re not wounds. I don’t think they’re tattoos—and if they are, getting rid of them is probably going to be more painful than putting them on was in the first place.” She paused for just a moment, staring at Catti’s face, a Hawk’s pride in her gaze. “Good work,” she told them, although she didn’t look away.
“You,” she added, to Severn.
“Severn,” Kaylin supplied.
“Severn, on the other table.” This was more like Moran’s regular bedside manner. Probably the reason she didn’t have a private practice. Her wings bent.
“She means it,” Kaylin said, under her breath.
Severn sat down heavily.
Moran made him strip, and then let him have the sharp edge of her tongue. “You were walking around like this?”
“Clearly.”
“He used to be a Wolf,” Kaylin said, by way of distraction. “He’s been a Hawk for a short time, so he’s not used to the—”
“Spare me. I’ve done field work with the Wolves before. And the Swords. You Law people are all the same.” She went back to the cupboards, grabbed bandages and something that looked suspiciously like needles, and came back to the table. “This will probably hurt some,” she said. It didn’t sound like an apology. “You’ve lost blood, but I imagine you know that by now. You’ve got enough scars.”
Severn, flat out on his back, managed a shrug. “They didn’t kill me.”
“These ones won’t either.”
Because Kaylin knew Moran, she knew that this was a good thing, although Moran’s tone of voice certainly didn’t manage to convey it. “Can I watch?”
Moran shrugged, which was a clear yes. Kaylin grabbed a stool—Moran’s wings made regular chairs a tad unwieldy—and dragged it over to Severn’s side. She hesitated for a minute, and then caught his right hand.
His grip wasn’t strong.
So much to say. Kaylin, often accused of loving the sound of her own voice, couldn’t figure out where to start, and didn’t bother. She just held his hand while Moran set about stitching him back together. He tensed several times, but true to form, didn’t utter a word.
But he didn’t close his eyes much either, and his gaze stayed locked on Kaylin’s face.
When Moran was finished, and only barely, Kaylin excused herself. Severn started to sit up, but Moran started to stutter, and Moran won, as she so often did in the area she ruled.
“I’m just going to Marrin,” Kaylin told him quietly. “I won’t do anything else.”
“You can mirror her,” he said, through gritted teeth. Moran had actually hit him.
“I can. But I’d rather talk to her in person.”
Which was more or less true. More true while she was in the Halls of Law, and less—and less—as she drew closer to the foundling halls. Leaving Catti with Dragons had taken on a whole new meaning, and she wasn’t much liking it. She wondered if Marcus had seen Tiamaris go berserk before. Decided against, although it would explain a lot.
Amos was on duty, even though it was later. He was on his knees in front of the front gates, and it looked like he was trying to fix the latch. When he saw Kaylin, which was pretty much after she almost tripped over him, he stiffened and rose.
She smiled. “Catti’s safe,” she told him quietly.
All the stiffness went out of him, then. “I’m too old for this,” he muttered. He often said it, but it had a different meaning today. She put a hand on his shoulder.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she told him quietly. “And you’re actually fond of children. This isn’t supposed to be a prison, it’s supposed to be a home.”
“Kaylin—”
“I would have been happy, here. I am happy here,” she added. “And I wouldn’t choose a different guard for these gates. Is Marrin all right?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I’ll go in and talk with her right now.”
Marrin was already at the doors when Kaylin entered.
Kaylin held out her hands, and Marrin was across the foyer in a leap and a bound. Not really a good sign. Leontines could keep up a fight-ready response for a damn long while, but it took its toll.
Leontine nostrils flared.
“I would have mirrored,” Kaylin said quietly. “But there are some things mirrors don’t capture.”
“You found her.” She could pick up Catti’s scent.
“She’s alive.”
“Where?”
“In the Halls of Law. Marrin—”
Marrin had already s
tarted for the door, and Kaylin managed—by dint of years of training—to beat her there. It was close.
“She’s my kit too,” the Hawk said. “But she’s been marked. Like the other victims were marked.”
“She wasn’t harmed?”
“Not through lack of trying.”
“Who?”
“If it wasn’t worth my life, I’d tell you.”
Leontine growls of this particular nature made the more distant threat less effective. But not by much. Kaylin was a Hawk, and if she hated Imperial bureaucracy as much as the next Hawk, she also played—mostly—by the rules.
“Marrin, it was because of me that Catti was taken.”
Marrin stiffened. Her teeth were just a little too prominent. “What do you mean by that?”
“The healing,” she said softly. “They took her because I healed her. Because the healing made a connection between us that had to be there if Catti was to survive.
“It’s still there,” she added, voice low. “If we bring her back, they’ll just take her again.”
“You didn’t kill them?”
“We killed them.”
“Good.” It wasn’t; Marrin wanted to eviscerate them herself. But she was old enough to be practical. Just. “But you don’t think you killed them all.”
“I’d like to think so,” Kaylin replied. “But the Imperial aides don’t.”
“I want to see her.”
“I know. But she’ll be surrounded by Dragons. Can you handle that?”
The hiss was loud and long. Higher than Marcus’s, but more menacing. Leontine women were always the greater danger.
“They want her at the palace. Catti would like it, I think. And she’ll have so much to tell the others when she comes back.”
“When or if?”
“When,” Kaylin said firmly. “Definitely when. I know it’s not over,” she added. “But it’s going to be.”
“Kaylin. Kitling.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t do anything foolish.” Marrin’s fur was falling. Her lips were slowly lowering over those impressive canines.
“I won’t do anything illegal, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” She reached out, and her palm-pads were dry. Kaylin caught Marrin’s hand and turned it over. The pads were a shade of pale gray, and cracked.
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