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Or ever.
“I told him you’d say that,” Mandoran added, half-apologetically. Half was usually as much as he could muster.
“I’m surprised he didn’t listen,” Bellusdeo said, picking up a fork as if it were a fascinating, rarely seen utensil. “Usually you’re the one who chooses to be selectively deaf.” She smiled at Mandoran. “I’ve come to find it quaintly charming.”
Mandoran’s eyes shifted to a steady, deeper blue, the universal sign of Barrani fear or anger. And he certainly wasn’t afraid. “As charming as a Dragon in mortal clothing?”
“Oh, infinitely more so. I assume once you’ve developed better command of your manners, I will be far less entertained. But I don’t expect that to happen in the next decade. Or two.”
Mandoran’s natural dislike of Dragons as a race left Kaylin stranded with Annarion, who was still staring at her. No one could outstare Barrani.
“Why won’t you speak about my brother?” he asked. The question was softly spoken, but his tone made it more of a command than a request for information.
She considered and discarded a number of replies as she began to eat. She wasn’t hungry, and even if she had been, Annarion’s question would have killed her appetite. But she’d grown up on the edge of starvation, and she could always eat.
None of her possible replies were good. The truth was, she liked Annarion. He was—for a Barrani—honest, polite, self-contained.
“I don’t suppose you could ask your brother.”
Mandoran took a break from his barbed “conversation” with Bellusdeo. “He’s asked.”
“Nightshade didn’t want to talk about it?”
“No, he talked about it.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“He was lying.”
Annarion glared at Mandoran, looking as if he wanted to argue. He turned back to Kaylin instead. “I want to know your side of the story.” Meaning, of course, that he agreed with Mandoran’s assessment.
“I’ve got the usual mortal memory,” Kaylin replied evasively. “And I might lie, as well.”
Mandoran snorted again. “Your attempts at lies are so pathetic you should probably use a different word to describe them.”
Kaylin glared at Mandoran. Bellusdeo, however, said, “He has a point.”
Kaylin wasn’t certain how she would have answered. She was saved by the appearance of the last of her housemates. Moran—Sergeant Carafel in the office—entered the dining room. Moran was almost never late for anything, even breakfast.
Clearly, she had some reason for being late now, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. Her wings—or what remained of her wings—were stiff and as high as they could get with their protective bindings. Her eyes were blue. Aerian eyes and Barrani eyes overlapped in only one color. Moran was either angry, worried or both.
Kaylin had risen before she realized she’d left her chair, which did nothing to improve Moran’s mood. Moran did not appreciate any worry that was aimed in her direction. Ever.
“As you were, Private.” She sat on the stool provided for her; Aerian wings and normal chair backs didn’t get along well. To Helen, she added, “The mirror connection was smooth and solid.”
It certainly hadn’t started out that way. Helen had a strong dislike of mirrors, or rather, of the mirror network that powered their communication. Regular silvered glass didn’t bother her in the slightest. “I made a few adjustments, dear. I’m terribly sorry that the faulty connections to date have caused so much difficulty for you.”
“They haven’t,” Moran replied, her voice gentling, her eyes darkening.
Helen’s Avatar smiled. “They have.”
“The people on the other end of the connection have caused—or are trying to cause—the difficulty. It has nothing at all to do with you. If the connection had been faultless and solid, it would have given them more time to make things even less pleasant. I’m grateful for the respite.” Her eyes had shifted to a more neutral gray by the time she reached the end of her reassurance. She looked across the table at Bellusdeo.
“Was it the Caste Court?” Kaylin asked. Helen frowned at her but said nothing.
Moran glared Kaylin into the silence Helen would have preferred, but then relented slightly. “It was two castelords and one Hawklord. Before you ask, none of them were particularly happy. And it is caste business. Aerian business. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Moran then turned to Bellusdeo. “Are you accompanying us to the Halls today?”
Bellusdeo’s eyes were golden. “Of course.”
Moran then concentrated on breakfast. Annarion’s attention had fallen on the Aerian, as had Mandoran’s. Neither of the boys interacted much with her except at meals, and while Moran was polite, she wasn’t highly talkative.
“Helen,” Mandoran said, “what happened?”
“I don’t think she wishes to discuss that, dear.”
“That’s why I’m asking you.”
Even Annarion looked pained. “He’s gotten worse since he arrived in this city. He used to be capable of actual manners,” he said to the table at large.
“When they were necessary, yes. Here, no one needs them, and I hate to go through the effort when it won’t be appreciated in the slightest.”
* * *
Less than ten minutes later, Teela and Tain appeared in the dining room as if they’d been summoned. What was left of the breakfast conversation died as they were noticed.
“What, are we not welcome?” Teela asked as she sauntered in. She was wearing a sword. So was Tain.
“You are always welcome,” Helen told her. “Any friend of—”
“Yes, yes. Thank you, Helen.” Chairs appeared at the long dining table as if by magic. Well, actually, by magic. Teela turned one of the two so that its back almost touched the table’s edge. She sat, folding her arms across the top rail and resting her chin on her forearms. To Moran, she said, “What kind of trouble are you expecting?”
Moran glared at Mandoran. She knew the boys could communicate with Teela the same way they communicated with each other. They knew each other’s True Names. All of the children that had been taken, centuries ago, to the West March did. Kaylin thought it a bit unfair that Moran immediately blamed Mandoran.
Mandoran apparently didn’t. “What?” he asked, spreading his hands. “You asked the Dragon if she was heading into the Halls today. You know it gives Kaylin’s sergeant hives the minute she crosses the threshold. You’ve never asked before. Obviously you’re concerned that something requiring brute strength—or magical competence—might happen.”
Moran was silent.
“There are perfectly competent Barrani here. I’ll be damned if I let you depend on a Dragon for heroics. And Teela has to go to the Halls anyway.”
The Dragon in question said, “I’m still going. And in case it’s escaped your notice, Barrani can’t fly.”
“Some can.”
“Not naturally.”
Mandoran shrugged. “If we’re going to get technical, you can’t legally fly, either. Not without Imperial permission.”
The word permission touched off a distinct orange in Bellusdeo’s eyes.
Teela glanced at Moran with some sympathy. “I hear,” she said, her eyes almost green, the Barrani happy color, “that you have a lovely suite of personal rooms. I do hope they make up for the shared spaces.”
Moran was silent for half a beat. “Yes,” she finally said, “they do. They’re very quiet and very peaceful.” She surveyed the table with weary resignation. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected that the rest of the house would be the same—Kaylin lives here, after all.”
* * *
Helen wouldn’t tell Kaylin the content of Moran’s mirror-based discussion. Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered Kaylin; today, for reasons she felt were obvious, it did.
“They are not obvious to Moran, dear,” Helen replied, although Kaylin hadn’t spoken that part out loud. It didn’t matter. Helen could read the thoughts of almost anyone who crossed her borders. This bothered some of the immortals; it didn’t bother Kaylin. Helen was not judgmental about anything. “You understand that she is older, of a higher rank, and has handled far larger responsibilities than you currently officially have?”
“Yes.”
“She did not come here to put you in danger.”
“I know all that, Helen.”
“She does not wish you to worry. And, Kaylin? While this is your home, Moran is a guest here. Her privacy and her concerns are important to me. Had she no privacy, this would not be a home to her; it would be a prison. An imposition. That is not what you wished for her when you invited her to stay.”
“But Moran’s worried about her physical safety!”
“Yes. But she is not in danger while she is here.”
“She’s not staying here, Helen. She’s going to the Halls of Law.”
“Yes. That is also her choice.”
The small dragon squawked in Kaylin’s ear. When she’d ignored enough of this, he started to chew on the stick that kept her hair out of her way. “Fine.”
“Are you coming?” Mandoran shouted.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming.” Kaylin was at the front door of the foyer before the implication of his question sank in. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Nightshade’s supposed to visit today. I’m going to the Halls with the rest of you.”
“Mandoran—”
“I don’t have trouble masking my presence. Annarion still does. But he’s going to spend another several hours shouting at his brother. Or being coldly disappointed in him. I’m not sure which one is worse. Being here while he’s doing either, however, sucks.” He grinned, his eyes almost green. “And it sounds like you’re going to be having far more fun today than I would if I stayed here. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Kaylin sent Teela a mute glance.
“Don’t labor under the misapprehension that I can tell Mandoran what to do.”
“She’s already tried,” Mandoran added cheerfully. “I’ve been using some of your favorite phrases in private.”
Given what Kaylin’s favorite phrases were, the private part was probably for the best. She offered Moran a very, very apologetic glance. “It’s not always like this,” she told the sergeant.
“No,” Moran replied, her eyes a steady blue. “It’s frequently worse.”
* * *
Stepping outside the open gates that formed the demarcation of Helen’s territory, she felt her skin begin to tingle. Kaylin had what she called an allergy to magic, at least when she was trying to be polite. It made her skin ache. The stronger the magic, the greater the ache; in the worst cases, she felt as if her skin had been sanded off the rest of her body.
She looked down at her arm; the marks that covered two-thirds of her body weren’t glowing through the long sleeves she always wore. When they did, they took on a particular color—usually blue or gold, sometimes gray. It was never precisely a good sign.
Teela noticed her glance immediately, and her eyes lost their green, the Barrani happy shade.
Bellusdeo’s eyes were orange. Mandoran had annoyed her enough—or had reminded her of how annoyed she should be. The Dragon glanced at Moran, who was silent, her eyes a blue that almost matched Teela’s.
Mandoran’s, on the other hand, remained green. “Once you get used to the smell,” he said to no one in particular, “the city’s not so bad.” They had turned onto the more crowded streets; people multiplied, and carts, wagons and carriages began to demand room. Or at least their ill-tempered drivers did.
No one appeared to hear him.
“Kitling?” Teela said.
Kaylin nodded. “It’s getting worse.” And it was. Her arms now ached. Magic sensitivity wasn’t exactly directional, but Kaylin looked up. The sky—absent a few patrolling Aerians—was crisp, clear and empty.
The small dragon jerked to a full sitting position. He opened his mouth on a very, very loud squawk.
Teela cursed, drawing her sword.
“Corporal?” Moran said quietly.
“We have visitors.”
Kaylin reached out and grabbed Moran by the arm. In the Halls of Law, it would have been safer to cut off her own hand—and probably ultimately less painful. The marks on her arms flared; she could see the dim glow of their outlines through her sleeves. That cloth rubbing against her skin was hideously painful.
Moran didn’t fight her. That’s what she would remember with wonder later. Moran let herself be drawn—instantly—into the tight circle of Kaylin’s arms. Kaylin barely had time to close her eyes as the world directly in front of them exploded.
Chapter 2 (#u0c9f6aca-b74c-5481-8b30-a92b9ff7c5d4)
Stone shattered as if it were brittle glass, fanning out from the spot where Moran had been standing. None of the resulting shards hit Kaylin or Moran; they were protected by a bubble of shimmering gold, courtesy of Kaylin’s familiar. But Darrow Lane wasn’t empty at this time of day; the shards hit pedestrians, wagons and fences. It was the pedestrians who screamed. Other voices picked up the sound as fear turned to panic and people began to flee, often into other people.
Kaylin looked up, scanning the windows of the buildings to either side of the road. Some were open. An old woman and a young child peered down at the street. While it was possible they were responsible for the magical attack, Kaylin doubted it.
“Private.”
Kaylin immediately loosened her grip on Moran. She didn’t completely release her. “Don’t move from here,” she told the sergeant. “We have no idea if that was the only attack.”
Moran looked at the broken stone inches from her feet. “I need to clear the area.”
“You don’t need to clear the area. You’re the target. If you attempt crowd control here and they’re not done yet, you’ll just get people killed.” It was a small miracle that no civilians had died, and Kaylin knew better than to bank on another one.
“You need the streets cleared?” Bellusdeo asked. She turned toward Kaylin. The front of her very practical clothing was smoldering. There were more holes in it than there was cloth. Bellusdeo had not been within the bubble’s radius. The Dragon’s eyes were very, very orange. If eyes were windows into the soul, Bellusdeo’s was on fire.
Kaylin nodded.
