The Chronicles of Elantra Bundle

by Michelle Sagara

  “Part of it.”

  “Not all of it. I’m a busy man, Private. Don’t waste my time.”

  She nodded firmly and said, “Have you ever met a Tha’alani boy named Grethan?”

  He continued to work in the oddly magical light that he’d called forth without a word. “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t remember.”

  “Liar.”

  He raised a brow, but without looking at her. Squinted a bit more at the glittering beadwork before removing the glass from his eye. “All right, I remember, and it’s none of your business.”

  She shrugged. Severn’s shrug. “It wasn’t Grethan who came here, that night.”

  “No, Kaylin, it was not.”

  “Was it Donalan Idis?”

  This, finally, caused him to stop his work and place it to the side. She now had more of his attention than she actually wanted; he was still an intimidating man, even given the aged stoop.

  “An odd question, that. Why do you ask, and why that particular name?”

  “You know him?”

  “I know of him, yes. He’s a member of the Arcanum. I can, with some ease, recite the names of most members of the Arcanum, past and present. It is a surprisingly long list. The shorter list—much, much shorter—would be the names of those who are welcome to cross my threshold, and that name would not be among them. At the moment,” he added, “the short list would also coincide with the historical list.”

  “Oh?”

  “They’re all dead.”

  She nodded. Dead Arcanists were more to a Hawk’s liking than living ones any day.

  “But you have linked two names—Grethan and Idis—and I am curious. Why? The boy—” His expression shifted into something that look suspiciously like pity. But words didn’t follow it. Then again, Evanton probably knew they didn’t have to.

  “Grethan is missing from his home in the Tha’alani enclave,” she replied, her voice thickening. “And so is one of their children.”

  He seemed to get older as she watched his shoulders stoop at some invisible new weight.

  “It is possible,” he said at last. “Was the missing child you speak of connected in some way to Grethan?”

  “I…think so.” Remembering Ybelline’s face, darkened by worry and a fear that drove Kaylin even now. But also remembering that Ybelline did not consider this a matter for Common Law.

  “And the water?”

  She shook her head. “What I saw there doesn’t appear to be part of it.”

  “Yet.”

  She didn’t really like the tone of the word.

  “If it is Idis, Kaylin, be cautious. He is not a man who can be crossed with impunity. The wolves were sent to hunt him, and they failed.”

  She didn’t ask him how he knew. “What does he want, Evanton?”

  “Oh, probably power.”

  Fair enough. “Why do people who want power always threaten thousands of lives?”

  “That is a better question. Possibly because power is something that calls out to be used.” He paused and then said, “Hurry, child. Whatever it is that the Hawks do, do well, and do it quickly.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you still have time, but not much of it.”

  “If the Imperial Court and the Oracles—”

  “What concerns them, in the end, does not concern you in the same way. What you can do, you must do.” He smiled, and if it was weary, it was genuine. “What you did in the High Court,” he told her, “and what you do every time the Foundling Hall summons you, every time the midwives call—you think of them as small things.”

  “No, I damn well don’t. It’s just—”

  “But large things are built on small, and sometimes, broken by them in unexpected ways. No, I don’t know what your task is. I therefore have no idea how it is to be accomplished, and even had I, I would not tell you.”

  “Evanton—”

  “You must learn. Lord Sanabalis is teaching you, if I am not mistaken.”

  She thought of candle wicks and grimaced. “He’s trying.” A thought occurred to her. “As a mage, did you—”

  But he lifted a hand. “If it was only magic,” he said, as if he were talking about selling vegetables, “it would be less important. Not everything he will teach you is about your own power, not directly.

  “And he is canny, for a Dragon. He understands mortals better than any Dragon I have ever met.”

  He handed her the patch that he had been working on. It was a beaded representation of the Hawk in flight. “For you,” he told her quietly.

  “You knew I was coming?”

  “I guessed. Put it on. Leave it on.”

  “But it—”

  “It’s still a Hawk.”

  She nodded. Cringed. “I can’t really sew well—”

  “It doesn’t need to be sewn on—it will adhere to whatever you place it on. I’d suggest your uniform.”

  She nodded again, failing to notice the bite of his condescension. “Thank you,” she said, surprising herself as she opened her hand and stared at his handiwork.

  “I hope you will, girl. Why are you staring at it? It doesn’t bite.”

  “It…doesn’t hurt my hand.”

  “Hurt it?”

  “It doesn’t feel like…magic.”

  “Maybe it’s not,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe it’s just a folk charm from bygone days.”

  “But you—”

  “I’m a busy man, Private Neya.”

  You never really wanted to disobey that wizened little man. Or to mock him. Or, and she looked again at his handiwork, to be in his debt.

  “Are you still standing there?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good.”

  The front door seemed promising, and she took it. On rare occasions, she could take a hint.

  “Neya,” Marcus growled as she entered the office. Loud growl, but then it would have to be—the office was packed.

  “Sir?”

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “To check the betting—” She paused. “Nowhere, sir.”

  “Good. Sharks lost,” he added as she about-faced and came to his desk’s side. The heartless bastard didn’t even look up. “Sit down.”

  “Sir. Am I late for something?”

  “Yes.”

  She tried to think back on her admittedly chaotic schedule and came up blank. Sadly, she did this frequently when she did, in fact, have some meeting or other to attend. “Sir?”

  “Don’t even.” He looked up from his paperwork then, and his eyes were bleary and pale orange. It was an odd combination. He was tired—and angry. But not furious. Not yet. Having seen him furious once or twice, Kaylin knew better than to push.

  “Lord Sanabalis is waiting for you,” he told her.

  “But I—”

  “I don’t believe this involves a lesson. If it does, he’s doing it for free.”

  “What else does he—Wait, what do you mean for free?”

  “It means that we’re not paying for this one.”

  “What—We’re paying for these lessons?”

  “Yes. And consider yourself lucky that they aren’t coming out of your salary.” He paused and added, “Because your salary wouldn’t cover them.”

  She was momentarily silent. In that gaping, embarrassing sort of way.

  “West Room, Private. He’s been waiting for almost an hour.”

  “But I was out on the beat—”

  “Yes. That’s why you’re not in trouble.”

  “Yes, Marcus.” She turned away from the desk, only to be dragged back by his growl.

  “Sir?”

  “Why,” he said, “just tell me why, does every damn case you become involved in deal with children in one way or another?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, and this time her expression was shorn of anything but worry. “Maybe because—”

  “It was rhetorical, K
aylin,” he told her. But he stood, his eyes still that pale copper, his brows still bristling if you knew enough to recognize it. “I asked Kalaya.”

  The leader of his pridelea, his oldest wife. “What did she say?”

  “Because humans desert their children, by dying. It’s bad to have only two parents.”

  “That’s not their fault—”

  “And because you care, Kaylin, and you’re marked by magics we don’t and can’t understand. She thinks if you cared less—”

  “I’d be less involved?”

  “They’d die more. She also asks me to tell you—nicely—that she would like you to be careful. Possibly because she doesn’t have to deal with you daily.”

  It took her a moment to realize just how highly his wife had praised her. She wasn’t all that great at accepting compliments—they were almost a type of charity. But she managed a nod, and he offered the same in return, letting the words pass by.

  Lord Sanabalis was waiting for her the way he always did: with characteristic patience. Which is to say, he was playing with something in his hands and idly glancing toward the door every minute or so. As if, she thought sourly, he hadn’t actually heard it being opened.

  She took her customary seat across from him, and even thought about going to get a stupid candle. But if she’d been any good at going through the motions—any motions—she wouldn’t still be a private. “Iron Jaw said you wanted to see me.”

  “I do.”

  “Why exactly?” She paused and then said, “And how much do you charge for these lessons, anyway?”

  “Oh, money,” he said, with the vague wave of a hand. “I’m not personally in charge of fees. That is a duty left to the Imperial Order.”

  “Which doesn’t mean you don’t know.”

  “Of course not. It merely means you may discuss it with a bureaucrat.”

  He bent toward the floor and opened a case by his feet. It was a worn, black case, with tarnished metalwork and a faded engraving. It was also flat and wide.

  He pulled a long piece of paper out of it, and then set the case aside on the flat of a spotless table. “I merely wished to ask you a simple question,” he told her quietly.

  She nodded, more curious than annoyed.

  Until he laid out the paper, and she saw that it was a drawing, sketched in pencil and shaded with something that had either smudged or bled.

  “Do you recognize this girl, Kaylin?”

  Staring at her, with wide, almost bruised-looking eyes, was the face of the girl the water had shown her in Evanton’s elemental garden.

  “I will take that as a yes.”

  “You’ve seen her?”

  “Not exactly, no.” He gestured at the paper. “She has been seen, in a manner of speaking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Oracles.”

  “The Oracles drew this?”

  “This? Gods, no. This was drawn by a young Tha’alani, a rather sheltered but very sensitive boy. He is not in service,” he added, “not yet, and if I had any say, he would never be in our service. But he was able to untangle some of the dreams that lay upon the Oracles themselves, and the imagery was shattered enough that the dreams were just that to the boy—dreams. Or nightmares. Both exist in the Tha’alaan, and both have a quality that removes them from reality. I deemed it safe to request aid, for that reason. Ybelline suggested the boy. He is gifted in his chosen art. The Oracles, with one or two notable exceptions, are not.

  “There are other drawings,” he added softly.

  “The boy did the others, as well?” She could not take her eyes off the contours of the girl’s face.

  “No. Would you care to see them anyway?”

  “I don’t know if it would help or not.”

  Sanabalis had not yet resumed his seat, and it became clear a few moments later that he would not. “I would like you to accompany me, Kaylin.”

  “But I have—”

  “I have asked permission, of course,” he added.

  “Of course.”

  “Corporal Handred is not required, but if you wish his presence, he may also be seconded. I leave that up to you.”

  “You’ll be with me, won’t you?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Then what could go wrong?”

  Lord Sanabalis visibly grimaced. “You clearly do not believe in angry gods,” he told her, as he carefully slid the drawing back into its case and handed the case to her. “Be careful with that, it’s quite old.”

  “Yes, Lord Sanabalis.”

  “Good girl. My carriage is waiting.”

  “Your carriage?”

  “The other drawings were done by a boy who lives with the Oracles.”

  “He’s an Oracle?”

  “Of a type, yes.”

  “Why didn’t you just bring those?”

  “He draws what he sees,” Sanabalis replied, “and Oracles see everything. You cannot direct them without great effort, and some cannot be directed at all.”

  “The Tha’alani boy?”

  “Touched the Oracle boy, yes. This is what was safe to call forth.”

  His carriage was an Imperial carriage, with fine painting, fine gold leaf, fine emblems, and wheels that probably weighed more each than the horses did, in Kaylin’s estimation.

  She clambered up after Lord Sanabalis, still carting his unwieldy case.

  “Set that on the floor,” he told her. “It won’t be harmed there.” Or more harmed, his tone implied, than it had been by her handling of it. He pulled the curtains back as the carriage began to move; the ride was smooth, but here, the roads were well made.

  She looked at the unlidded eyes of her companion for a long moment, and then drew a breath.

  “Yes?”

  “I was wondering if I could ask a small question.”

  “Smaller than that one?”

  “Well, maybe a bit larger.”

  His smile was weary. “I half expected to be interrogated for our entire journey. For someone who disliked learning, you’re very curious.”

  “What did happen with the Shadow Wolves eighty years ago?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Ummm, curiosity.”

  “You aren’t a Wolf, Kaylin. You are certainly not Shadow material. Believe that if you were, you would have been dead long ago.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “I meant it as a compliment. Of a sort. And a warning, as well.”

  “It’s history…”

  “Yes. It is. And I deem it not harmful to answer your question, although you should have known far better than to ask it, for your corporal’s sake.”

  She was silent, then. Mouth first, thought later. Severn had always said that about her, and he was right.

  “There was some difficulty with the Wolflord of the time,” Sanabalis finally said. “He had made some powerful friends among the less pleasant members of society, and his estimation of both his worth and his ability to skirt the Imperial Laws had grown beyond the reality of his situation.

  “He felt himself to be careful enough and powerful enough to avoid those laws, and in the end, he posed a risk to the Court that could not be easily overlooked. Some word reached him of a possible replacement, and he had that man killed almost before the words themselves had been uttered. In all, it was not a good time for the Wolves. Their leader was privy to much information that the Wolves must have.

  “There were a few more deaths, and a great deal of ugliness, before things were sorted out.”

  “Sorted out how?”

  “The Imperial edict against the Dragons assuming their form within the bounds of Elantra was broken by the only person who could freely break that law and be certain of his survival.”

  Kaylin looked at the impassive face of the Dragon lord; he was watching her instead of the passing streets.

  When he failed to see whatever it was he was looking for in her gaze, he said, “The Emperor flew. It rained fire, Kaylin.”


  CHAPTER 8

  “Take everything you’ve learned about Oracles,” Lord Sanabalis told Kaylin, as the carriage drew to a stop, “and throw it out the window. That one,” he added, with a slight glare that didn’t really change the color of his eyes. “The Oracles are often a little…scattered. Some of them are also easily offended. Or easily frightened. We believe that they have some understanding of what they’ve glimpsed, but an inability to communicate it—and shaking them until their teeth rattle does not produce the desired effect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The most gifted of their number almost never speak with outsiders. The least gifted are usually the most functional, but they are ambivalent about their position, and ambivalence in humans is something to be wary of.”

  “Oh, and it’s not in Dragons?”

  “We are seldom ambivalent, and yes, it is.” He paused and added, “We naturally believe ourselves superior. Our ambivalence does not make us foolish, but cautious.”

  He paused for another moment, and then said, “One or two of the people you may meet today will not even speak at all. They seldom introduce them when I am present, however.” “Oh?”

  “I frighten them.”

  She looked at him. “Well, you are a Dragon.”

  “Yes. And while most of history—mortal history—has forgotten what that means, they can still taste it in the air I disturb simply by breathing. It is an interesting truth of the Oracles. They are all human, your kind, Kaylin, and to those who already know what it is they’ve seen, their prattle actually does make sense.

  “Mortals, however, have learned to love the dark, to love ignorance.”

  “That’s a little harsh,” she said, substituting her first reaction with a swiftness that would have impressed Severn, had he been there.

  “Is it? You are mortal. By definition, Kaylin, you will all die, no matter what you do. There is no precaution you can take that will save eternity for you. Death is the road you walk, from the moment you first breathe. It surrounds the fabric of your living. You are always saying goodbye.

  “My kind, and the Barrani, have oft overlooked the importance of life to the mortals because it is so very brief, and because so little is lost—in our eyes. A handful of years. If I chose to sleep, I might have missed the whole of your life—and it seems long to you, even though you are young.