Cast in Chaos

by Michelle Sagara

  The sun, when she reached the street, was more or less in the right position, and no new emergencies had reared their ugly heads; she’d actually slept reasonably well, and although she’d woken once in the middle of the night, the nightmare that must have caused it vanished before sleep did, and it didn’t return. Any night that had only one such interruption was, in Kaylin’s vocabulary, damn good sleep.

  She could mimic good sleep if she was falling-over exhausted; when she’d first left the fiefs, it was the only way she could sleep. Exhaustion, in the early days, was easy to come by.

  It had been more fun, as well, because aside from midwife emergencies, she’d spent a lot of time trawling bars with Teela and Tain. The exhaustion of the last year? Not so much. And, she thought grimly, it wasn’t likely to let up in the next few days. Of course, given the mood of Sanabalis and the rest of the Dragon Court, she could avoid the next few days by getting herself summarily executed for being late.

  She ran.

  Severn was at the Palace by the time she arrived, which was no surprise. He was, however, waiting, which meant she was technically early. She would have pointed this out because it didn’t happen often, but she would have had to shout to be heard, because the normally quiet Palace was now trembling with the raised voices of Dragons.

  In the lull between speakers—such as it was—Kaylin said, “I thought the Court session would’ve been finished by now.”

  Severn shrugged. “If you want to point out that we’re early and they’re late, be my guest.”

  She waited another two minutes before she was certain she could be heard. “How is it that the Palace Guard isn’t deaf?”

  Kaylin, who was never good at watching minutes, thought maybe a quarter of an hour of silence had actually passed before she caught sight of the first member of the Dragon Court. It was not, as she expected, Sanabalis; it was Tiamaris. He raised a brow as they came into view—and while he was generally always aware of his surroundings, he seemed slightly surprised to see them both.

  “You’re going home?” Kaylin asked, because the first question that had come to mind was What were you all shouting about? and even she wasn’t stupid enough to ask it while she was standing in the Palace.

  His nod was curt. His eyes were a shade of orange that was pretty damn close to red. “I return to Tiamaris, yes. You are?”

  “Escort for Lord Sanabalis for the day.”

  “I see. I’m surprised the Sergeant approved.”

  “Oh, he didn’t. But Imperial Fiat is Imperial Fiat.”

  Tiamaris literally snorted tufts of smoke. He nodded curtly, strode past the two Hawks, and then turned on his heel. “Kaylin.” His voice was flat.

  “Yes?”

  “Tara spoke to me while I was in Council session.”

  She schooled her expression as carefully as she could. “And?”

  “I do not understand why,” he said, “but she feels that your position in this matter—which has no official weight—should be supported.”

  “Evanton doesn’t think, aside from the usual shitstorm that the Arcanists can be guaranteed to cause when in possession of too much power, they’re going to be able to stop it. No matter what they try.”

  He frowned, and his eyes began to lose some of the almost literal burning rage. “You spoke to the Keeper, and this is what he told you?”

  “More or less. Well, less. There’s other stuff.”

  “And you failed to bring this up with the Dragon Court.”

  She lifted her hands. “I only just spoke to Evanton, Tiamaris.”

  “You went there that early in the morning? You?”

  Which was stretching the bounds of credibility. “No. Yesterday evening.”

  “So you were in possession of these facts for an entire evening during this crisis and you failed to find them significant enough to send a message?”

  “In case you failed to notice, the Emperor himself has made up his mind, Tiamaris. I made my opinion pretty clear to Sanabalis and the Arkon yesterday. You wanted me to send a message telling the Emperor that he was wrong?”

  “No. Your opinion in this would be considered irrelevant given the paucity of your experience. The Keeper’s opinion, however, would not be. I realize that you have some personal affection for Evanton, as he styles himself among the mortals. You cannot, however, allow that affection to render him pointless in the larger affairs of the state.”

  “If Evanton wanted—”

  Tiamaris lifted a hand. Kaylin shut up, because his gaze had gone over her shoulder to a direction someplace at her back.

  “Oh, do go on,” Sanabalis said, in a very cool voice. “I’m certain that Lord Diarmat would be interested in hearing the rest of your…discussion. I’m certain,” he added, his voice dropping a few degrees between syllables, “that the Palace Guard would likewise take an interest, since the halls have excellent acoustics.”

  She flinched, smoothed out her expression, and turned to face Lord Sanabalis. And his companion, Lord Diarmat, another Dragon of the Imperial Court.

  He looked less amused than Sanabalis, and vastly less resigned; he did not look as aggravated as Tiamaris, but Tiamaris had the singular advantage of much higher expectations. His eyes were a shade of darkening bronze, and he examined Kaylin as if she were a criminal. Which, while it was partially fair given that she had once been exactly that, conversely set her teeth on edge. She was here as a Hawk. She tendered Lord Diarmat a perfectly serviceable, if shallow, bow.

  “My apologies, Lord Sanabalis,” Tiamaris said.

  Sanabalis, whose eyes were a darker shade than his compatriot’s, didn’t even glance at Tiamaris. “Private.”

  “Lord Sanabalis.”

  Lifting a hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you, as Lord Tiamaris appears to be suggesting, speak with the Keeper about our current difficulty?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His frown grew more wrinkles.

  “Did the Keeper in fact suggest that interference in the opening of the portal would be, in his opinion, entirely unsuccessful?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you happen to ask him why?”

  “Yes, sir. His answer was inconclusive.”

  “How?”

  “He said he didn’t know.”

  Lord Diarmat’s lips were a quickly thinning line. “Is it, as Lord Tiamaris has so loudly suggested, possible that you considered the conversation with the Keeper to be entirely irrelevant?”

  “The Keeper’s not the Emperor,” she replied, still speaking in the brisk and factual tone she took when faced with a furious Leontine. “It was clear what the intentions of the Dragon Court were.”

  “The Dragon Court had not yet finished its session,” was Diarmat’s reply. It made Sanabalis’s initial tone seem pleasant and affectionate in comparison.

  “No, sir.”

  Unlike Sanabalis, he didn’t seem irritated by her flat, even response.

  “Therefore its intentions could not have been clear to one who was not even in attendance.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Private,” Sanabalis said, before Diarmat could speak again. “This conversation will now be relocated to my personal chambers. Lord Tiamaris, if you would attend us?”

  Tiamaris nodded.

  There was no food in Sanabalis’s rooms, which was to be expected, considering he hadn’t intended to use them. Kaylin, who could feel breakfast slowly dwindling, regretted the absence anyway. She wasn’t stupid enough to take a chair before Sanabalis took one, and when neither Diarmat nor Tiamaris chose to be seated, she stood, as well. Severn, following like a shadow, had earned a brief glance from the third Dragon Lord; Tiamaris and Sanabalis were used to him, and paid no obvious attention.

  She told them as much about her visit with Evanton as she deemed wise. Strictly speaking, the information embargo was in theory one way. Or at least only one direction had fangs and breathed fire. Evanton just snarled and made you feel like an idiot, and
she could survive that. She failed to mention her own thoughts on the matter of the Devourer.

  Diarmat listened, and Diarmat broke the resulting, thoughtful silence first. “Lord Sanabalis,” he said, his voice still chilly, “who was it that authorized Private Neya’s delegation as an Imperial Liaison to the Keeper?”

  “She does not formally serve in that capacity,” Sanabalis replied. “And as such, her continued interaction with the Keeper is valuable.”

  Kaylin frowned, and Tiamaris said, “Evanton is dubious about the intentions of the Imperial Court, and will not entertain an official delegate in any capacity that is not one of a customer. The Emperor has not—and in my opinion will not—see fit to command Evanton to accept one.”

  “Because Evanton is unlikely to comply?”

  “Even so. His role is well understood by the Emperor. Its functions and its routines, however, are not. He is one of several people whose existence is critical to the continued safety of the Empire itself.”

  She nodded.

  “But unlike the Barrani High Lords or the fieflords, who might be said to occupy similar roles of import, there are no successors eagerly waiting in the wings.”

  Diarmat lifted a hand, and Tiamaris fell silent. “If you are not there in an official capacity, why did you approach the Keeper now?”

  “It was in his store that I…got lost.”

  “I see. Continue.”

  She stopped herself from shrugging with effort. “I knew he’d be worried.”

  Lord Diarmat’s face might have been carved in stone; his expression didn’t change. But the room seemed to have experienced a sudden drop in temperature. He glanced at Sanabalis, whose expression was also composed of something like stone.

  “Lord Sanabalis?”

  Sanabalis did lift a brow then. “What, exactly, did the Keeper say?”

  The three Dragon Lords were silent. Diarmat had made his opinion of Kaylin’s memory—and by extension all mortal memory—more than clear by the time she’d finished. He had sifted through every word, pointing out clearly when the words varied by even so much as a syllable. Halfway through this inter rogation, the door opened to admit the Arkon. He entered the room looking almost haggard, and unlike anyone else, immediately took a chair.

  “This will not do,” he said, when she had told her story yet again, complete with interruptions. “We are not the full Court, and I have half a mind to summon Emmerian. This would be a much simpler exercise if Private Neya could be present when the Court convenes.”

  “You know why that is not wise,” Sanabalis said quietly.

  “I concur,” Lord Diarmat said. “At the moment, she is entirely unprepared for presentation to the Emperor.”

  The Arkon nodded. “Her lessons were to start this week, I believe.”

  “Indeed,” Diarmat replied. He then turned to the Arkon and said, “I accept the assignment, Arkon.”

  He might as well have been speaking in his native tongue for all the sense he made. Tiamaris came to her rescue, in a fashion. “It has been decided,” he said, “that Lord Diarmat, who deals primarily with the training and selection of the Palace Guard—as well as its command—will be your instructor in matters of etiquette in the Dragon Court.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “By who?”

  “The Dragon Court,” was Diarmat’s reply. This reply, rife with cool condescension, had more weight than any of the previous comments he’d made. “I, however, concur with the accepted opinion that the start of those lessons will be somewhat delayed until the current crisis is resolved. All of the current crises,” he added. “To that point—how shall we resolve the matter of the Keeper?”

  They were silent. It was the Arkon who rose, heavily, as if the weight of his own body was too cumbersome for speed. “I will speak with the Emperor in light of this new information. The Keeper did not recommend against making the attempt to diffuse the magic necessary for the portal to open. He merely stated that it would be—in his opinion—ineffective.”

  “If it’s ineffective,” Kaylin said, keeping her voice as quiet and even as possible, “can we go back to the first plan?”

  “Which would be?”

  “The Tha’alani and the Linguists.”

  “That would be wise, yes. The Swords are already stretched to their limits. You may find yourself on duty as a Sword, rather than a Hawk, in a few days’ time.”

  “Is it?”

  “Pardon?”

  “A few days? What has Master Sabrai said?”

  “Master Sabrai’s communications are now routed through couriers, but his estimation at this point is that we have a total of four days.”

  Four days.

  “He was not, for reasons I’m assured you understand, certain of his estimate, and offered it with grave reluctance.”

  “Have you already called in the Arcanists?”

  “Some negotiations are currently underway. At the moment, they are not your concern.” The Arkon paused, and then said—in theory to Sanabalis, “I deal less frequently with mortals than you, Lord Sanabalis. I have dealt far less frequently with this particular mortal. What is she hiding?”

  Kaylin had never been one of nature’s natural liars; she stiffened and hoped she neither paled nor reddened.

  Diarmat, whose actual interaction with Kaylin—their previous two encounters involving no spoken words—was the sum of this meeting, frowned. “Hiding?” he said, softly. For a Dragon.

  Sanabalis grimaced. “Private.”

  She was silent for a long, long moment, and when she did choose to speak, she spoke directly to Lord Sanabalis. He understood the nature of the Elemental Garden; he’d been in it, during the last crisis that involved Evanton. He understood that the elements were bound to it in ways that not even their Keeper fathomed.

  “I think the Devourer has been looking for this world for a long time.”

  “The Keeper told you this?” Diarmat said. He was the first person to break the extended silence that had followed her words. As if they’d been lightning, he spoke with thunder’s voice.

  “No.”

  “And you are now familiar enough with the so-called Devourer and his history that you can make this claim?”

  “No.”

  More silence. It was Sanabalis who broke it this time. “I believe the Private’s hesitation involves the utter lack of solid fact upon which to base this theory. It was your theory?”

  She nodded. “It’s my theory, or my intuition. Evanton didn’t entirely agree with it. He didn’t disagree, either.”

  “What, exactly, is this theory based on?”

  “The Elemental Garden exists only in this world.”

  The Arkon had resumed his seat, but he no longer looked tired or old. His eyes, unlike the slightly orange eyes of the rest of the Dragons present, were a lambent shade of gold; under any other circumstance, Kaylin would have cautiously said he looked happy.

  “The Keeper supports the World theory.”

  “It’s not really that theoretical anymore, in my opinion,” Kaylin replied. She quickly added, “The Keeper believes in the existence of multiple worlds. I didn’t ask why.” In part, she hadn’t asked because it now seemed so bloody obvious they did exist.

  “And the Elemental Garden’s existence?”

  “He was quite certain about that. It exists here. He…” She hesitated, and then shrugged. “I think this world is the original world. The first world. It’s why the Elemental Garden exists in this world, and in no other. I think—Evanton wasn’t as certain about this—that it’s the Garden in some ways that provides the connection between this world and the others. They find it because all of the worlds have to touch it somehow.”

  “You—you came up with this theory on your own?” The Arkon’s jaw was slightly open. It was the most surprised she had ever seen him.

  “It’s not proven,” she said instead. “But…the elements came from somewhere. They’re not just fire, just water. Or earth, or air. They’re
alive. They don’t age, but…they do change. Slowly, and with contact from every other world. They knew—I’m certain they knew—about the portal. They didn’t try to communicate their knowledge. They can communicate, when there’s a danger. They have in the past.

  “But I think this portal’s flux still feels natural to them.” She hesitated, because she knew what Diarmat would ask next. He didn’t disappoint her.

  “How do you know this?”

  “Because I could hear them.”

  Kaylin, who had never overvalued silence, liked it less than usual now—mostly because she couldn’t try to fit words in to cover the awkwardness their absence underlined. Diarmat’s eyes were orange, and his hands were fists. He kept them where she could see them.

  Sanabalis cleared his throat, which was only marginally less awkward than Kaylin’s words would probably have been. “You spoke with the contents of the Keeper’s…Garden.”

  The way he said the last word caused Kaylin to frown. “Why do you call it that?”

  “Because it was not always called a Garden. I believe that to be a conceit introduced by the most recent Keeper.”

  She wondered what it had been called before, and decided she didn’t actually want to know. “I have an affinity for one of the elements,” she replied quietly.

  “Water.”

  She nodded. Hesitated again.

  “Given the reluctance with which you speak in times of crisis,” the Arkon said, his voice as sharp as Kaylin’s best knife, “one might think you’ve forgotten that you are not, in fact, immortal.”

  Taking the hint, Kaylin said, “They weren’t concerned with the portal. They…were concerned, in a fashion, with the Devourer.”

  This produced another silence.

  “They could sense the Devourer?”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t ask them what the Devourer is or what it intends. I couldn’t ask them what they are or what they intend, not unless I suddenly become immortal.”