He stopped walking and closed his eyes. “Yes,” he said softly. “The Keeper is failing. It is his failure that caused the death of the couple in the merchants’ quarter. It is his failure that may see the deaths of every living being in the city, and if, indeed, he has failed completely, not even his shop will in the end withstand what is to come.”
“But what the hell is to come?”
“I do not know myself. Water, certainly. We must find this child of whom you both spoke, and I must speak with the Dragon Court.”
“In that order?”
He hesitated. “It is far worse than we feared,” he told her at last. “And it is also exactly what we feared. No, I do not need to report immediately.”
Severn was waiting when they returned. He was waiting in that kind of grim silence that keeps everyone else at a safe distance. Sadly, Kaylin had never mastered the art of grim silence. Grim words, yes. But not silence. Where she went, the office trailed.
She went directly to Severn.
Severn looked up without surprise at Tiamaris, and nodded his greeting. He also handed Kaylin her bracer. It had kept the habit of returning to Severn, no matter where she let it drop. She held out her wrist like a penitent child, and he snapped it securely shut around said wrist.
“You heard,” he said.
She nodded. “We went to talk to Evanton.”
“And he had useful information?”
“Not exactly.”
Severn, knowing her better than anyone, waited.
“The reliquary that was stolen,” she said at last, putting a few extra syllables into the ones that she was hesitantly speaking.
“Yes?”
“He thinks—no, he’s certain—that it’s behind the deaths. What did Red say?”
“Death was caused by drowning in both cases. Bruising was self-inflicted.”
“Did he say what kind of water?”
“Yes. Sea water.”
“Tiamaris doesn’t think it’s possible that a mage caused those deaths.”
“I concur. Possibly an Arcanist, but the Arcanum is not being particularly helpful.”
“Is it ever?”
“No.” He stared at her for a moment, then he shrugged his shoulders in one elegant motion and covered his face with his hands. When he lowered them, he looked exhausted, but the grim anger was—for the moment—leashed. She frowned. She had just noticed that he was wearing black. All black. Not even a Hawk adorned his shirt.
“What’s with the mourning?”
He raised a brow at Tiamaris, who had, until this moment, said nothing.
Tiamaris shrugged. “Have you had a chance to access the records?”
Severn nodded quietly. “The information was not complete, but there was information in the records that I hadn’t seen before.”
Kaylin frowned for a moment. She hated coming in on conversations in the middle, but really hated it when she’d actually been there at the start, and still couldn’t follow it. “Donalan Idis?” She hazarded a guess.
Severn nodded.
She looked at his clothing again. “You’ve spoken to the Wolflord.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“You’re a Hawk—”
“I am a Hawk, yes. But the Halls of Law are the Halls, Kaylin, and we are in theory working toward the same goals.”
“Not the Shadows.”
Severn said very little.
“Severn, do you understand what Evanton does?”
It was Severn’s turn to look slightly confused. “I understand,” he said after a moment, “what he feels he is doing, yes.”
“But did you know before you saw it?”
“No. But I’ve done some reading since then.”
“What? Where?”
“The library.”
She snorted. “Which library?”
“The Imperial Library.”
“You found out about it from books?”
“I spoke for some time with the Arkon,” he said quietly.
Even Tiamaris looked surprised. The surprise, however, faded. “You hunt Donalan Idis.”
Severn nodded. “The Wolves don’t like to fail,” he replied softly. “And Donalan Idis is one of three men we’ve failed to apprehend. He was considered dangerous when the writ was signed,” he added quietly. “Kaylin?”
She frowned. “I want to know.”
“You have to know. Come.” He left the desk he was standing in front of—it wasn’t his—and led her to the West Room. Tiamaris followed.
“Teela will join us shortly,” Severn told them both, as he placed his hand on the door-ward and waited for the door to open.
It did. The West Room, with its single table and its heavy chairs, waited in carpeted silence. They entered, and each took a seat.
Teela arrived five minutes later, and when she did, Kaylin winced. She was wearing, not the uniform of the Hawks, but rather the very expensive and exquisite gowns of the Barrani High Court; her hair was pinned about a thousand different ways above her very long nape. She looked taller than she usually did, and seemed infinitely more delicate.
And more dangerous.
She also looked a bit irritated, and when she sat, she uttered a very un-Barrani-like curse.
“We believe,” Severn told Kaylin quietly, as Teela rearranged the folds of her skirt, “that the two drowning victims were killed in the building they oversaw.”
“They were killed at home.”
“Not their own, no. But they had rooms within the complex.”
“You think they died in the rooms that the killer occupied?”
“Let us assume that there was a killer that can occupy normal rooms. If we can safely make that assumption, then yes, that is indeed what we assume.”
“But why?”
“It’s possible or even probable that they entered into the rooms in question—for reasons that are not clear—when the occupants were in the middle of something they did not wish made public. What that was, we can only guess.”
Kaylin frowned. “Do we need to speak High Barrani for a reason?”
And Teela laughed out loud. “No,” she said in Elantran. “It’s habit forming, and it’s a much easier language to say almost nothing useful in.”
Severn grimaced.
“Who was living in those rooms?”
“That would be the odd thing. According to the financial records which the daughters of the deceased gave us, no one.”
“According to the other tenants?”
“Ah. According to the other tenants, a widower and his daughter.”
Kaylin leaned forward. “When were they last seen?”
Severn hesitated. “People weren’t very clear on that. They were certain that an elderly man and his daughter lived there, but no one could say for certain when they were last seen.”
“Did they have any visitors?”
“Not frequently, but yes, although one of the neighbors thought the visitors were relatives.”
“How long were they living there?”
“Again, the neighbors are slightly unclear. If we average out their guesses, about six months.”
“None of the neighbors visited?”
“Not often. The daughter was shy. She was also, apparently, mute.”
“Mute? As in, couldn’t speak at all?”
Severn nodded. “They’re all shocked by the deaths,” he added quietly. “The couple wasn’t terribly friendly, but they were good landlords.”
“The occupants would have had to leave in a hurry,” Kaylin said. “How easy would it be to find another set of rooms?”
“Since they didn’t appear to be paying for the rooms they were in?”
“Good point. What did the mages say?” She hated to have to ask that question.
“They’re still combing the rooms and arguing a lot,” Teela chimed in.
“They’re mages.” Kaylin hesitated and then said, “Did you call in the Tha’alani?” She hated that question e
ven more. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because the description of the man in question was the same no matter who we spoke to. I do not believe he went to the trouble of disguising his appearance—that of a frail, somewhat downcast middle-aged man. I believe that the man used magic to avoid paying rent, which means he had very little money. No mage in hiding would use magic if it were unnecessary. No one knew what he did for a living, if he did anything. But he is not the only widower in Elantra, and he is certainly not the only one with a child or two.” “He’s probably the only one with two corpses in his living room.”
Severn nodded and looked to Teela.
Teela made the type of face she generally made when someone served her bad ale. “First,” she said, in Elantran, “the Lord of the High Court sends his greetings to Lord Kaylin Neya and her kyuthe, Lord Severn Handred.”
Kaylin looked irritated.
“Don’t give me that look,” Teela snapped back. “You didn’t have to stand there for an hour while he offered the damn greeting.”
This made Kaylin laugh. When her laughter subsided, she said, “I’ll buy you a drink. I’ll buy you an hour’s worth of drinks.”
“With what money?”
“Probably mine,” Severn said drily.
“Second, the Lord of the High Court expressed both his concern at the current investigation—and no, before you ask, I didn’t mention it first—and also his willingness to help you in whatever way he can.
“Unfortunately, whatever way he can doesn’t extend to giving a direct order to Lord Evarrim.”
“Evarrim?”
“He’s an Arcanist, you might recall.”
“I try not to think about him at all.”
“Well, try less hard for the moment. He’s an Arcanist, and he worked with Donalan Idis, in as much as a Barrani Caste lord is willing to work with one of the merely mortal.”
Kaylin was silent for a moment. “When you said the Lord of the High Court expressed his concern—”
“He, like the Emperor, has been consulted by and has in turn been consulting with, the Oracles.”
“And he takes it as seriously as the Emperor does.”
“More, I think.” She was silent for a while, looking at her perfect gloves, her slender hands—things that were designed to accentuate the ways in which she was not a fumbling human. But Teela was, among the Barrani Hawks, the one most likely to swear and get drunk. Second only to Tain in betting, she spoke Elantran as if it were her mother tongue. Kaylin didn’t like the Court version of the Teela she’d known since she was thirteen.
She particularly didn’t like the way this Teela raised her chin slightly, as if mulling over words Kaylin was suddenly certain wouldn’t bring her any joy.
“The Lord of the High Court has an unusual request,” she said at last, and Kaylin wilted.
Severn was leaning back in his chair, affecting ease. But his expression was on the rigid side. “What request?”
“It’s for Kaylin,” she said at last. “And it is strictly a personal request. It has no weight in the High Court, and your refusal of it would likewise have no weight. Nor could it be counted against you.”
“Not legally.”
“No. But I don’t think it would count against you anyway. The Lord of the West March still considers you kyuthe, and he is known to be unwisely fond of you. He was present when the High Lord made his request, which, as I mentioned, does not have the weight of the Caste behind it.”
“Why?”
Severn cursed in Leontine. He seldom did that—most of his swearing had been learned with the Wolves. But sooner or later, Marcus got to everybody. “Nightshade,” he said curtly, when the swearing had died down.
Teela nodded slowly. “As Nightshade is outcaste, the Lord of the High Court cannot directly acknowledge his existence. This made the request a long and tedious affair,” she added, with just a hint of smugness.
Kaylin looked at Severn. Nightshade had given them the name. Donalan Idis. The man himself, they had not yet found.
“This is another game,” Severn said bleakly. “Nightshade’s game.”
“He gave us—”
“He gave us information, yes. But did he give us all the information he had?”
“I highly doubt it,” Tiamaris said quietly.
“You have met the outcaste on a number of occasions,” Teela said, more as a question than a statement.
“Our studies in the fiefs led us across his path. He did not seek to hinder us, and in one or two cases, may actually have been of aid.”
“What game does he play?”
“I am not a Barrani lord. I do not know.”
Teela nodded as if this made sense. From the standpoint of Barrani arrogance, it did.
“But he gave us the name. Donalan Idis.”
“Yes. But the name was not involved in this case,” Kaylin began—and then reddened. Severn raised a brow, but didn’t even try to save her from her own big mouth.
“Which case did the name concern?” Teela asked, with perfectly feigned nonchalance.
“Severn, help me here.”
But Severn was silent.
You like the damn Tha’alani, she thought, with bitter anger. I don’t. But she could still see the fear and the exhaustion in the lines of Ybelline’s beautiful face. It was not something she wanted to add to. Not in this way.
Not when a child—and the sanity of a race—was at stake.
“Do you think the widower was Donalan Idis?” she asked, by way of avoiding her own gaffe.
“I think it possible,” Severn replied. “Because the two are dead in this unexplained fashion, and because an Arcanist would be capable of such killing. But…he has been careful, for all this time. I don’t think it was his power which killed the couple.”
“No sigil.”
“None. There was no sign at all that magic had been done by any of the means our mages can trace. And we have one who can detect the signature of the mage on cases that are more than two decades old, if you can point him at the traces.”
“It shouldn’t be possible, though—no signature at all? No trail?”
“Kaylin,” Teela said, very, very gently, “you are going to have to answer the question.”
She looked at Tiamaris, and at Severn. “We should talk with Ybelline,” she said at last, defeated.
“Ybelline? Ybelline Rabon’alani?”
Kaylin nodded.
“When—and why—were you talking with Ybelline? She is the Castelord of the Tha’alani.”
“I don’t think that word means that much to the Tha’alani,” Kaylin replied weakly. “And I went to see her because she asked me to come.”
“You hate the Tha’alani! Was the Hawklord out of his mind?”
“She didn’t send the request through the Hawklord. She didn’t send the request through the Halls. It was strictly a personal visit.”
“So personal that you didn’t think to inform the Hawklord before you went?” Teela was practically gaping. Normally, this would be a small personal triumph, but Kaylin’s sense of triumph was pretty much ash.
“I didn’t think it was any of his business.”
Teela’s eyes swept upward, as if the Barrani believed in heaven and she were actually imploring one deity or another for patience. “What did she want?”
“She wanted my help,” Kaylin said, her voice dropping until it was almost inaudible. “There was some difficulty in the quarter.”
“If she asked for your help—”
“It’s a caste case,” Kaylin added firmly.
Teela stopped talking for a moment. She didn’t look less grim when she started again. “You have no business in Tha’alani caste cases. They have their own investigators for that.”
“Their investigators—such as they are, and they are in no way a body of law enforcement—do not leave the quarter, Teela,” Severn replied.
“You’d better tell me,” Teela told her, fixing Kaylin with that
blue-eyed stare that spoke of imminent Barrani temper. The bad kind. Severn, apparently, had not spoken.
So he tried again.
“It is not Ybelline’s wish that this be publicly known, and if it is brought up, it will upset the balance between the Tha’alani and the Law.” Severn sounded like a schoolmaster, albeit a young and attractive one. “She will claim it as a matter for the Caste, and any chance we have of aiding her—any chance we have of building a bridge between the Tha’alaan and the outsiders—will be lost.”
“Fine. Tell me off the damn record.”
“There’s no way to keep it off the records,” Kaylin said bitterly, “if Donalan Idis is somehow involved in both cases.”
Silence, then. Teela, however, was not much one for silence that didn’t suit her. “Try.”
Kaylin glanced once at Tiamaris. His gaze was golden, although his lids were raised. “The Dragon Court fully understands its crimes against the Tha’alani,” he said quietly, “and the Emperor will also understand. Where it is possible, the Tha’alani will remain outside of the scope of this investigation. Even if Donalan Idis is, in the end, found in residence there. I will take what responsibility needs be taken for your disclosure.”
“You can’t,” she said bitterly. Knowing that they were all right. The Hawk was heavy, but she wore it anyway.
“A Tha’alani child is missing from the enclave,” she told Teela.
Teela was silent. The silence did not last. “I understand why she sent for you.”
“I don’t. She didn’t touch me. And the Tha’alani who did certainly didn’t get anything—” She closed her eyes. “Never mind.”
“She touched Catti, Kaylin. She touched Catti’s memories. Catti is from the Foundling Halls, and as you had just saved her life, I can’t imagine that her thoughts weren’t full of you.”
Kaylin shrugged. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about a missing Tha’alani girl. She was last seen—in the Tha’alaan—in the company of a Tha’alani male who was born deaf. Deaf by the standards of the Tha’alani. He can be touched the way any thinking being can, and he can be read if he so chooses. The others can read what he remembers. But he can’t actually touch the Tha’alaan himself.
“He ran away,” she added. “When he was a teenager. He came here to find people who would understand him.” Even saying the words cut her. “And he went back, and he wouldn’t share his experiences here. But…he had one friend, or someone he felt was a friend, in the city outside of the Enclave.” “Who?”
The Chronicles of Elantra Bundle Page 99
