Which means?
A lot of people will probably be dead before you’re asked.
This is not the whole of your concern. It was Scoros who spoke, and his voice was as flat in the Tha’alaan as it would have been in the room. You asked us about the names of the elements. Are you concerned that the newcomers will be mages?
The thought, which hadn’t even occurred to Kaylin, filled her with almost instant horror, in part because it was a damn good question. I wasn’t, she admitted.
Then why is the question relevant?
There’s something else caught on the outside of the world. Which is what I’ll call anything that isn’t part of the world we can see and touch, for now. It was called the Devourer. I think it belongs in the Elemental Garden, with the water, fire, earth, and air. I…don’t know how to put him there, but I think that’s the only option we have. And to do that, I think we’ll need to speak with the elements, and to do that we need people who know their names.
CHAPTER 22
The Linguists arrived shortly thereafter. There were three, one woman, and two men; none of them could be called young, although standing beside the Arkon made them look a little more robust than they might have in other circumstances. They were, clearly, intimidated by the presence of the Dragons, although not to the point of cowering in the farthest corner. On the other hand, they were also intimidated by the presence of the Tha’alani.
Given the two obvious threats, they clearly didn’t fear the Hawk. Kaylin grimaced, and then forced her face into something resembling a smile. She turned that smile on Ybelline and waited until Ybelline’s natural presence transformed it into something more genuine. She moved toward, rather than away from, the Tha’alani castelord, and she spoke, briefly, of the Foundling Halls, because Catti was pushing for another visit to the quarter.
Ybelline took this in stride. Scoros raised a brow; Draalzyn, who was, of the three, accustomed to dealing with humans in crisis, rather than in the suspected commission of a crime, had steeled himself for their lack of ease.
But the discussion had some of the intended effect on the listeners, and they relaxed—albeit slowly—before they began to discuss the matter at hand.
“But you’re certain,” the woman said, drawing slightly closer to Kaylin, in spite of the fact that this also brought her closer to the Tha’alani, “that this is an entirely new language?”
“Lord Sanabalis seemed to think it was, and it’s not a language that’s used in the City. It may have some variants on the outer edges of the Empire. I don’t travel much.”
“No? Oh, no, I suppose your line of work would prohibit it. We were informed that the Tha’alani understand the language.”
“That would not be entirely accurate. But the Tha’alani castelord,” Kaylin added, putting emphasis on the title, “has heard and absorbed some of it. Not enough to speak well, but enough to give you the information. She’s not a Linguist,” Kaylin added, in case it needed to be said.
The man now frowned. “You could read the minds of people who speak this unknown language, and understand it?”
Ybelline said, “I did not directly read their minds or thoughts. It is one way of learning a language, but it is not quick, and it requires constant contact.”
“So if my thoughts were in a language you don’t speak—”
Ybelline lifted a delicate hand. “I would understand your thoughts,” she replied.
“You’re saying thought and language aren’t entwined?”
“I am not saying that, no. But I would understand your thoughts, regardless. I am not in the habit of repeating those thoughts to any save those the Emperor chooses, and the words I would speak would not necessarily be the words you would think. But not all thought forms around words, and strong reaction or strong emotion is often separate from them.”
“Which,” Kaylin said, stepping in, “is beside the point. Ybelline has heard, and can understand, some of the language. What she knows, she’s shared with her companions, Scoros and Draalzyn. They’re here solely to give you the information in their possession. If we had time, they wouldn’t be here at all. They could write or transcribe what occurred.
“We don’t have time.”
The man raised a peppered brow. He didn’t look down his nose, but he wasn’t all that tall. “Learning a language is not something done in a matter of days, Officer.”
“Private Neya. And that’s unfortunate because learning enough functional language is something that has to be done in four days, if we’re lucky.”
While the Linguists picked up their collective jaws and added panic of an entirely different nature to the mix of their suspicions, Kaylin retreated to the back wall. She watched them; she couldn’t help it. But she had to admit that their reaction to the Tha’alani was a lot more civil than hers had once been.
“Ybelline doesn’t need your protection,” Severn whispered. He was smiling, but his tone was grave.
“I know.” The oldest Linguist present had volunteered to allow contact first, and that had helped, because even with the Tha’alani stalks forcing her face to stay relatively still, her sudden widening of eyes couldn’t be mistaken for anything but excitement. She actually physically turned toward her colleagues once, breaking the connection; Ybelline did not hold or restrain her. But the minute the connection was broken—and she realized it—she turned back in a different panic, as if she was afraid to lose what had been offered.
That kind of eagerness dispelled fear quickly.
“Ybelline is good at what she does,” Severn added.
“I know. I know she is.” Kaylin grimaced. “It’s my bad conscience, really. I hated them so blindly for so long, I’m sensitive to anyone else’s fear because I expect it, and I expect it to be as bad as mine was. You didn’t, so you’re not.”
“And you like her.”
“And I like her. She doesn’t deserve to have to deal with people even a tenth as bad as I was.”
“If she doesn’t, however, they’ll remain in fear. This way? Person by person she dispels it.”
“And she pays.”
“The privilege of being castelord.”
CHAPTER 23
The next morning began with a call from the midwives’ guild. Where morning in this case meant black, cloudy skies, with just the barest hint of moonlight in the darkened streets. Kaylin had crawled out of bed, and left about fifteen palm prints on the wall and the frame of her mirror before she actually managed to touch it.
It was Marya. She was grim and pale, but she usually was when she mirrored Kaylin; if things were going well enough that she looked normal and businesslike, Kaylin was entirely unnecessary. She therefore dispensed entirely with the usual pleasantries. But then again, so did Marcus or anyone else who used this particular mirror. Some of her friends, who had keys, didn’t even bother with the courtesy of a mirror at all.
“We need you down at the guildhall,” Marya said, her lips a thin line.
“Guildhall? Not at a house?”
“No. The birthing itself was no threat to the mother’s life. And not to the…child’s.”
“Why do you need me?”
“You’ll see. We’re revisiting the boundaries of the danger zone,” she added, running her hand through her hair. “You might want to mention this to your Sergeant.”
Kaylin stopped by the Halls of Law on her way to the midwives’ guild. She was, in fact, early, and this generally caused shock—but most people were tired enough given the extra shifts and the state of emergency that they couldn’t manage sarcasm for all that long.
Caitlin could, however, manage concern.
“I can’t stay,” Kaylin told her. “I’m heading over to the midwives’ guildhall now. I think I’ll be back on time, if nothing is horribly wrong.”
Since babies didn’t have much sense of day or night before they were born—and according to many new mothers, after, either—the Halls could be either catastrophically busy or empty at any time of day.
Kaylin hadn’t exactly run all the way to the guildhall, but she’d walked at a brisk clip. She took the steps two at a time, and entered the somewhat dingy front area.
Marya was waiting for her in the long hall where many of the beds were. In person, she looked even more exhausted, and the circles under her eyes were almost, but not quite, bruises. She wasn’t standing by an occupied bed; she was standing by the old and worn set of cupboards in which emergency supplies and pillowcases were kept. Beneath the slightly warped cupboards was a large crate that looked as if it should have held eggs.
“Good,” Marya said, as Kaylin approached. She hefted the crate off the counter with an ease that suggested she was either Leontine in strength, or it was lighter than it looked, and held it out.
Kaylin took it out of her hands; it was very light. “What is it?”
“Your problem,” was the curt reply.
“Is it fragile?”
“I have no idea.” The midwife then turned until only her profile was exposed, and ran her hands over her eyes. “It was a long night,” she finally said. “And the only thing we’re currently grateful for is it was not the family’s first pregnancy.”
“What happened?”
“We were outside of the area of quarantine. Chevaron is relocating people we know about now. Did you—”
“Yes. I spoke to the Sergeant. Word is being sent up the ranks. He’s going to want to know why.”
“You’re going to tell him what I’m now telling you. Talking to the Law gives me hives, and it takes a while.”
Kaylin nodded sympathetically, because Marcus on a bad day gave her hives. She also failed to point out that she was, technically, part of said Law.
“We were outside of the quarantine area. A few streets over, nearer the riverside on Howlhorn. The birth itself was routine, up to a point.”
“How?”
“We had heartbeat, and it was fairly regular, fairly calm. But…the baby’s head, when it became visible, was not what we expected. It is rounded, and it is both warm and soft, although it’s much less soft now than it was. The mother had no more than the usual difficulty birthing the baby.”
“It wasn’t a normal baby.”
“No. It wasn’t, like the others, some variant on normal, either. We’re not entirely certain what it is. Open the crate.”
Kaylin set it down on the counter from which Marya had removed it. The lid was loose enough it wasn’t hard to remove it; beneath the lid were blankets. She glanced at Marya, and then began to gently unwind some of the blanket.
“It’s…an egg?”
“Yes. Very much so. Before you ask, we have no idea what’s inside it. It hasn’t hatched, and after some debate, we’ve decided that it is not our problem.”
“The mother—”
“Both of the parents are, at the moment, in shock and mourning. I don’t think the egg would have survived there. I’m not sure,” she added, as Kaylin replaced the blanket and the lid, “that that wouldn’t have been a mercy, in the end. I have no idea where you take it, or what you do with it, or whether or not mages will be interested—but I want it out of my hands.”
Kaylin once again lifted the box. She turned toward the doors, and then turned back. “One way or another,” she said quietly, “it’ll be over soon.”
Marya, ever practical, didn’t ask how. Instead, she said, “How much is that area going to grow until it is?”
“I don’t know. We could only trace the circumference of the area the last time because it rained blood.”
Kaylin, after a brief hesitation, took the egg in its crate home. She considered dropping it off at the Foundling Halls, but decided against it, given how much it might otherwise resemble exotic food. Instead, she left it in its crate, and stood it in as much sunlight as she was willing to let into the room when she wasn’t also in it. Then she headed out to work, aware that by now she had just won someone in the office the betting pool. She wasn’t sure who.
Marcus, predictably, was several inches bulkier on first sight. This would be because his hair was standing on end in various clumps. His claws were entirely visible, and there was an invisible—and wide—circle around his desk which everyone was carefully avoiding. This didn’t mean the office was quiet, mind. The window was chatting to any poor fool who stood still for more than thirty seconds.
To avoid being classed as one of them, Kaylin headed straight to the duty roster. It was only barely legible; if you’d had the misfortune of starting work this week, it wouldn’t have been. She was, no surprise, on Palace duty. So was Severn. Teela and Tain were on boundary duty, as were most of the rest of the Barrani Hawks. They had all also pulled double shifts.
Taking the better part of valor, she headed to the Quartermaster’s, and from there, out toward the Imperial Palace. There was no carriage waiting for her; there was a familiar Corporal.
“You’re late,” he said, with just enough of a lift in the last syllable that it might have been a question.
“This lose you the betting pool?”
He grinned, but didn’t answer. No one liked to lose bets, but Severn had always been pretty laid-back after the fact.
“The midwives called me in.”
“When?”
“Morning, more or less. I was actually here earlier but left.” She hesitated, and then added, “The magical spill zone seems to have grown in the last day or two.”
“Problem with a birth?” The easy smile slid off his face; his eyes were both dark and serious.
“You could say that. It wouldn’t be entirely accurate. The birth was fine. It did not, however, produce a baby.”
He was silent for a few blocks. “The parents?”
“Traumatized, by all reports.”
“And the…offspring?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’ll show you later. It’s at my place.” When his brows—both of them—rose, she added, “It was an egg. I didn’t leave it lying on its back, starving.”
Lord Diarmat was, to Kaylin’s surprise—and immediate discomfort—in the large halls just beyond the first checkpoint. No Dragon was a comforting sight first thing in the morning, but Kaylin was used to bristling Leontine by this point. She straightened her posture, and executed what she hoped was a crisp bow. Judging by his expression, it was a vain hope.
“You’re late,” he told them curtly.
She decided to follow Severn’s lead, and said nothing, which was just as well; he didn’t bother to wait for a reply. Instead, he turned on his heel and began a brisk stride down the hall. Given the difference in the length of their strides, this meant Kaylin was almost jogging to keep up; Severn didn’t have that problem. Not keeping up, however, didn’t seem the wise option.
He led them, not surprisingly, to the Library. The door wards were still down; it was possibly the only thing she’d miss when—and if—things returned to normal. In the absence of door wards, however, there were now Imperial Palace Guards. They looked like perfectly gleaming statues as Lord Diarmat walked through them.
But they moved when Kaylin attempted to follow. She gave them her name, rank, and reason for existence. The last, however, was lost to their famous sense of humor. Like Dragons, they had none.
To be fair, they also demanded the same information of Severn. Diarmat did not seem to hold this delay against them. Much. She would have said the Dragon Lord was in a bad mood, but had the sinking suspicion that this wouldn’t have been accurate; he had a face that looked enough like chiseled stone that a smile would have probably cracked it.
“The Arkon,” he told them both, when they had fully entered the first—and most well-known—of the Arkon’s many rooms, “has been waiting.”
The Arkon, with Lord Sanabalis as a companion, was indeed waiting. He was more or less silent, as was Sanabalis. There were four Imperial Guards who were keeping them company, if statues were company. There was, however, no sign of Ybelline or any of the other Tha’alani.
If the stiff formality of Lord
Diarmat allowed for—and accepted—no excuses, the Arkon’s stiffness was of a different sort. It demanded excuses, with the understanding that none of the excuses offered would actually be acceptable. Kaylin found this more comfortable, because she was used to Marcus. She had also, by this time, become familiar enough with the Arkon that while groveling she kept her voice calm and fact-focused. Where she wasn’t willing to share facts—the egg, for instance—she closed the gap between sentences in a way that suggested the information wasn’t important. She also, however, lifted her chin, exposing her throat.
The Arkon did not breathe fire or snort smoke as she spoke. Instead, he glanced at Sanabalis.
Sanabalis nodded. “We’ve received word from Master Sabrai.”
“He’s narrowed the timing down?” Kaylin asked sharply.
“In a manner of speaking. Last night every Oracle in the Halls had what he feels are Oracular dreams or visions.”
“Everly?”
“He sketched. The majority of his work is already done. There were no significant changes to the painting,” he added, aware of Kaylin’s concern. “And he seems to have recovered from his previous endeavors.”
“The others?”
“The visions as an aggregate are clearer than they were. I believe they will refine the information you already have. But Master Sabrai felt that the incidence of Oracles was now high enough that he could more accurately assess the timing of the event.”
“How long do we have?”
“A day and a half. The…enlargement…of the contentious zone is in keeping with his estimate.”
Kaylin frowned.
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