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“Lord Grammayre has been very cooperative, he has aided me in every conceivable way in my investigations. I believe he would like you to survive these trials. Inasmuch as the Lord of Hawks can afford to be, he is fond of you. And inasmuch as it is wise, he does trust you.”
And you, old man? she thought, staring at the candle that was unremarkable in every way. Dull, white, mostly straight, with a small waxed wick, it stood in the center of the table.
“Not yet,” he replied. “And if you wish to keep your thoughts to yourself, you will learn to school your expression. I’m old, and given to neither sentiment nor tact. If I trust you, in the end, it will because you’ve earned it.
“And I understand you, Kaylin Neya. You value nothing that you have not earned. You want it, covet it, hold it in some regard—but you don’t value it.” His face lost its perpetual smile, and his lower lids fell, exposing his eyes again. “Begin with the shape of fire,” he told her quietly.
What the hell shape did fire have, after all?
It was going to be a long lesson.
Or it should have been.
But the West Room had a door, and when the door swung wide, Kaylin jumped out of her chair. Literally. She had a dagger out of its sheath, and she was moving to put the table between herself and whatever it was that had slammed that door into the wall.
Her brain caught up with her body, and she forced herself to relax, or to mimic it. It was hard when the door was full of bristling Leontine.
Sanabalis, however, had not moved an inch. As Kaylin stilled, as she took in Marcus in full fury, he lifted his chin an inch or two. “Sergeant Kassan?” The inquiry was about as friendly as a rabid feral, but a whole lot politer.
“You’re wanted,” Marcus said to Kaylin, ignoring the mage he’d told her not to offend. “Tower. Now.”
“The Hawklord?”
“No, the tooth fairy. Go.”
“I believe the lesson will have to wait,” Sanabalis said, rising.
On any other day, that would have been a good thing. But Kaylin had to walk past Marcus, and Marcus seemed disinclined to actually move his bulk out of the door. His fangs were prominent.
“Marcus?” she dared as she approached him.
He turned red eyes on her, and she flinched—which was always a bad thing to do around a Leontine. But his eyes lost their deep flare of red as he saw her expression. “No,” he said curtly, the single word a raw growl. “It’s not about you. Yet.” He stepped aside then, and she ran past him. The office seemed quiet, which was usually a bad sign—but not when Marcus was in a mood. When that happened, the word that best described the room was empty. This wasn’t, quite.
She caught Caitlin’s expression; it was frozen on her face. The rest of her had retreated to a safe distance. It was an art that Kaylin could appreciate and couldn’t master; she didn’t try.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
Caitlin only pointed to the far door, the tower door, and shook her head.
Kaylin practically flew up the stairs. Fear did that; it shoved exhaustion into a small corner for later use. Given the previous night, it was going to see a lot of use.
The door, thank whatever gods the Hawklord worshipped—if he did—was already open; he was waiting for her.
Standing beside him was a tall, elegant stranger in a fine, dark dress the color of mythic forest. She wore a small tiara, with an emerald that would beggar small houses to own, and her slender arms were gloved in a pale green that echoed the dress.
Her hair, Barrani black, was loose; it fell past Kaylin’s immediate vision. Barrani hair wasn’t worth noticing; eyes were. Hers were blue. But they were an odd shade of blue, not the dark, deep sapphire that marked so many of the Barrani; these were almost teal.
Kaylin couldn’t recall seeing that shade before, and it made her nervous.
The Hawklord, however, was grim, and that was perversely calming. Kaylin started to bow, and he cut her off with a gesture. Formality was out.
“Kaylin,” he said, his voice a shade grimmer than his expression, “your services are required.”
She stared at him blankly. Something about the woman was familiar. Something—“Teela?”
“She hasn’t gotten any faster on the uptake, has she?” Teela said to the Hawklord.
“Nor has she become more punctual. Teela will take you where you need to go.” He paused. “Do exactly as she says. No more. No less.”
“Where are we going?”
“Definitely not faster,” Teela said, her Elantran jarringly at odds with her appearance. “We go,” she added, sliding into High Barrani, “to the Court of the castelord.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. But we don’t have time.” “What—you don’t need me as a Hawk.” “Smart girl. Slow, but smart.” “Teela—what’s happened?”
“There has been a minor difficulty at Court,” Teela replied, reaching out for Kaylin’s arm. Kaylin was too stunned to move out of the way. “If we do not repair to the Court in time, it will become a major difficulty.”
“How major?”
“War.”
That was major. Kaylin looked down at her pants, hating Nightshade.
“Severn is waiting below,” the Hawklord told her quietly. “I’ve summoned a carriage. It’s an Imperial carriage.”
Teela began to drag her out of the tower room, but the Hawklord had not yet finished. “Go quickly, and return quickly. Do not leave Severn’s side.”
CHAPTER 5
Severn was waiting. He was tucked into a corner of the carriage, and appeared to be sleeping. Or he would have, had she known him a little less well. She watched him for a moment; his closed lids were like fine-veined membranes, round and edged in a black fringe. His hair was actually pushed up over his forehead by a knotted band; she didn’t recognize the knot-work, but it was expensive enough to be official. He looked nothing at all like the boy she’d grown up with.
And yet, at the same time, exactly like him.
She shook her head; too much time spent looking and not enough moving. When she scrabbled up on the bench beside him, he opened an eye.
“Did you offend the mage?”
She snorted. “The mage is probably impossible to offend.” Then, slightly more quietly, “No. I didn’t.”
“Good.”
Bastard. He was smartly attired; he wore dress uniform, and it even looked good on him. His scars made him look like a Ground Hawk in any case; there was probably no clothing so ostentatious that it could deprive him of that.
The door slammed shut.
“Where’s Teela?” she asked.
“She’s driving.”
“She’s what?”
“You have a problem with that?”
Gods, Kaylin thought. This was an Imperial carriage.
It lurched to a start. “Yes!”
Severn managed to grip the window; it was the only reason he was still seated. He glared up through the coach wall. “Never mind.”
“What happened to the driver?”
Severn’s head disappeared out the window, and reappeared just as quickly; the window was not a safe place to hang a necessary appendage if you wanted it attached at the end of the journey. Not when Teela was driving. “He’s the large man in livery with the purple face?”
“I’m not looking,” Kaylin told him.
“Just as well.”
The carriage didn’t stop. Not once. It teetered several times on the large base of its wheels, and Kaylin and Severn tried to balance the weight by throwing themselves in the opposite direction. But Imperial carriages were heavy enough to carry four Dragons; they didn’t tip easily. If she had thought Teela was aware of this fact, it would have eased her somewhat—but she’d been in a carriage that Teela had driven before. Once.
She’d promised herself—and everyone else who could hear—that she’d never do it again. So much for promises.
Then, Tain had been her companion, and he had found the entire journey amusing, especially the part where Kaylin turned green. You had to love that Barrani sense of humor; if you didn’t, you’d try to kill them. Which was, of course, suicide.
Severn was not turning green. As if acrobatics on the interior of a very unstable vehicle were part of his training, he moved in time with the bumps, raised stones, and ruts that comprised the roads that Teela had chosen.
But these passed quickly by, as did the large, narrow buildings that fronted the streets, casting their shadows and shielding the people who were smart enough to get the hell out of the way.
The roads widened, and smoothed, as the carriage picked up speed. Beyond the windows, the buildings grew grander, wood making way for stone, and stone for storeys of fenced-off splendor that spoke of both power and money. The towers of the Imperial palace could be seen, for a moment, in the distance; the red-and-gold of the Imperial standard flew across the height of sky. Only the Halls of Law had towers that rivaled it, and that, by Imperial fiat; no other building erected since the founding of the Empire of Ala’an was allowed, by law, to reach higher.
There were other buildings with towers as high, but they were in the heart of the fiefs, where even Kaylin had not ventured. Not often. They were old, and had about them not splendor but menace; they spoke of death, and the wind that whistled near those heights spoke not of flight but of falling.
She shook herself. Severn was watching—inasmuch as he could, given the rough ride.
“The fiefs,” he said. Not a question.
She swallowed and nodded. The years stretched out between them. Death was there, as well. In the end, Severn looked away—but he had to; the carriage had tipped again.
There was so much she wanted to know. And so much she was afraid to ask. She’d never been good with words at times like these; they were awkward instead of profound, and they were almost always barbed.
Instead, she tried not to lose the food she hadn’t had.
“Remind me,” he said when the carriage began to slow, “never to let Teela drive again.”
She tried to smile. “As if,” she told him, “you’ll need a reminder.” Her legs felt like liquid.
He had the grace not to ask her how she was; he had the sense not to ask her if she would be all right. But as the carriage came to a halt in front of tall, stone pillars carved in the likeness of a Barrani Lord and Lady, he opened the door that was nearest him. He slid out, dragging his feet a few steps, and then righted himself.
She closed her eyes.
His hand touched her arm. “Kaylin,” he said quietly. “Come.”
She nodded, biting her lip as she opened her eyes and met his gaze. The pillars were perfect in every aspect; Barrani writ large, like monumental gods, the falling folds of their robes embroidered with veins of gold and precious stones. They dwarfed her. They made her feel ungainly, short, squat—and very, very underdressed.
But Severn wasn’t Barrani. He didn’t notice.
He offered her the stability of his arm and his shoulder, and she let him. The sun cast his shadow across her like a bower.
Teela jumped down from the driver’s seat, and rearranged the fall of her emerald skirts until the gold there caught light and reflected it, suggesting forest floor; the skirts were wide and long, far too long for someone Kaylin’s height.
Teela spoke a few words to the horses, low words that had some of the sound of Barrani in them, but none of the actual words. The horses, foaming, quieted. Their nostrils were wide enough to fit fists in.
“Don’t speak,” Teela told Kaylin quietly as she left the horses and approached. She didn’t seem to feel the need to offer the same warning to Severn.
Kaylin nodded. Speech, given the state of her stomach, was not something to which she aspired. She took a few hesitant steps, and mindful of the facade of the building that was recessed behind those columns, stopped. She had once seen a cathedral that was smaller than this. It had been rounder; the Barrani building favored flat surfaces, rather than obvious domes. But it was, to her eye, a single piece of stone, and trellises with startling purple flowers trailed down its face. A fountain stood between two open archways, and water trickled from the stone curve of an artfully held vase. The statue that carried the vase seemed a perfect alabaster woman, half-naked, her feet immersed.
She looked almost lifelike.
And Kaylin had seen statues come to life before, in the halls of Castle Nightshade.
“Kaylin,” Teela said, the syllables like little stilettos, “what are you doing?”
“Staring,” she murmured. Half-afraid, now that she was here. It was almost like being in a foreign country. She had never ventured to this part of Elantra before. Would not, in fact, have been given permission to come had she begged on hands and knees.
Standing here, she knew why; she did not belong on this path. Unnoticed until that thought, she looked at what lay beneath her feet. She had thought it stone, but could see now that it was softer than that. Like moss, like something too perfect to be grass, it did not take the impression of her heavy—and scuffed—boots.
Teela jabbed her ribs. “We don’t have time,” she whispered. It was the most Teela-like thing she’d done since Kaylin entered the Hawklord’s tower, and the familiarity of the annoyed gesture was comforting. And painful; the Barrani had bony hands.
She swallowed and nodded, and Teela, grabbing her by the hand, began to stride toward the left arch.
It was work just to keep up. Kaylin stumbled. Her legs still hadn’t recovered from the ride. But she had just enough dignity that she managed to trot alongside the taller Barrani noble. Severn walked by her side with ease and a quiet caution that spoke of danger.
She noticed, then, that he wore a length of chain wrapped round his waist, the blade at one end tucked out of sight. He had not unwound it, of course; he wasn’t a fool. There were no obvious guards at either arch, no obvious observers, but Kaylin had a suspicion that Teela would have taken it upon herself to break his arms if he tried.
Kaylin wanted to marvel at the architecture, and buildings rarely had that effect on her. She wanted to see Aerians sweeping the heights above, and Leontines prowling around the pillars that were placed beneath those heights, as if they held up not only ceiling but sky. She wanted to stop a moment to look at—to touch—the plants that grew up from the stone, as if stone were mooring.
But she did none of these things. Beauty was a luxury. Time was a luxury. She was used to living without.
A large hall—everything was large, as if this were designed for giants—opened up to the right. Teela, cursing in Elantran, walked faster. Kaylin’s feet skipped above the ground as she dangled.
She saw her reflection in marble, and again in glass; she saw her reflection in gold and silver, all of them distorted ghosts. She couldn’t help herself; Teela kept her moving, regardless.
There were candles above which flames danced; nothing melted. There were pools of still water, and the brilliant hue of small fish added startling life to their clarity. Too much to see.
And then there were doors, not arches, and the doors were tall. There were two, and each bore a symbol.
Her natural dislike of magic asserted itself as Teela let her go. But Teela stepped forward, and Teela placed her palms flat against the symbols. The doors swung wide, and without looking, Teela grabbed Kaylin and dragged her across the threshold.
