She stood up and started to pace.
"Don't cling to your ignorance."
"I'm not."
"Don't hide behind it, either."
"I'm not hiding. Yes, the rest of Elantra is different. But people with power are the same everywhere—here they just have to be more clever about breaking the law. I'm not good with people who are above the law."
"Or beneath it?"
"No, I understand them."
"You've been willing to learn many things," he continued, failing to notice that she'd left her seat. "You spent four weeks—without pay—at the midwives guild."
She stopped moving.
"I told you, I do my homework. You also, I believe, spend time at the foundling halls—"
"Leave the foundling halls out of this."
"—teaching the orphans. To read. To write. You could barely stand to do this yourself, and I cannot think that this is an overt display of aggression. How, then, do you explain it?"
"I don't."
He nodded, as if the answer wasn't surprising. "Very well. Let us change the course of this discussion somewhat."
"Let's not."
He raised a brow over golden eyes. So far, she'd failed to annoy him; there wasn't even a hint of orange in them.
"I am aware that teaching or learning are not the only things you do, at either the midwives guild or the foundling halls." He raised a hand. "I am advisor to the Emperor, Kaylin. I am aware of the power you do possess. Sadly, so are the rest of the Hawks. Secrecy is not a skill you've learned."
"Emergencies don't lend themselves to secrecy."
"True. Power does. Do you understand that you have power?"
She hesitated; the ground beneath her feet was shifting, and in ways that she didn't like. She thought better of her need to leave the confinement of the damn chair, and sat again, hard.
"Yes," he said softly, the tone of his voice changing. "I know what you bear on your arms and legs. I've seen the records. I've even examined them. I know that you've healed the dying, on many occasions. But I also know—"
She held up a hand, palm out, and turned away.
He was a Dragon, through and through. "I also know that you've used that power to kill. To kill quickly, yes, but also to kill slowly and painfully. I understand that the Imperial Order of Mages can at times be insular. I understand that their insularity feels like condescension. I will not even argue that it is anything else, in your case.
"But you are playing games with something that you don't understand."
"You don't understand it either."
"No," he said without pause. "And it is because it is not understood that it is feared. You've treated this as a game, Kaylin Neya. The time for games has passed." His eyes were still gold, but his lower lids rose, lending opacity to the clarity of color.
"The Dragon Emperor is well aware of what you faced in the fief of Nightshade. We do not name the outcaste, and because we do not, I do not believe it has occurred to the Emperor—or his Court—that you can."
She frowned.
"Names have power, Kaylin."
"I… know."
"Good. It is not to light candles that I have come—and yes, I am aware of what you did with the last one—although candles are a focal exercise that even the most junior of mages must master."
"Why?"
"Because it shows us that they are in control of their power, and not the inverse. And for most, it is a struggle. You would be an object of envy for many of the students that pass through our doors."
"I don't want to pass through your doors."
"No. And I think it best for the Order that you never do. I will be honest with you, because it is something you understand. We—none of us who know—are certain you can be taught. Do you understand this? We do not know what you are capable of yet. It is to test your capabilities that we have been sent."
"Why didn't they just—"
"Say so? It may have escaped your notice, but the Imperial Order of Mages is not accustomed to explaining themselves to a young, undereducated girl."
"You are."
"I have less to lose," he replied quietly. "And I am aware, as perhaps they were not, of how much you have to lose, should we fail. Or rather, should you fail."
This caught her attention and dragged it round in a death grip.
"Yes," he continued in that serene voice. "Should you fail, you will be called up before the Dragon Emperor. The fact that you are, without question, loyal to the Hawks has caused the Emperor—twice—to stay his hand. I cannot think of a person for whom he has stayed his hand three times. If you cannot be trained, if you cannot learn to abide these classroom chores, these boring hours spent staring at an unlit candle wick, you will be removed from the ranks of the Hawks."
"Will I still be alive?"
Sanabalis did not answer the question.
"Can I ask a different question?"
"You are free to ask anything."
"Who else has he stayed his hand with twice?"
Sanabalis's frosted brows drew closer together. "Pardon?"
"You said you couldn't think of a person to whom he'd granted clemency three times. That implies that you can think of a person to whom he's granted it twice. I mean, besides me."
At that, the Dragon laughed. The sound almost deafened her, and she was glad she was in the West Room; nothing escaped its doors. "You are an odd woman, Kaylin Neya. But I think I will answer your question, since it is close to my heart." She didn't ask him which heart; she understood it was metaphor.
"Lord Tiamaris of the Dragon Court
."
Her jaw almost dropped; it probably would have if it hadn't been attached to the rest of her face. Tiamaris, honorary Hawk, was so… prim and proper it was hard to imagine he could ever do anything to offend his Lord.
"Lord Tiamaris was the last student I chose to accept," he added. "At my age, students are seldom sent to me."
"Why?"
"I am the Court of last resort, Kaylin. If I judge a mage to be unteachable, or unstable, no one else will take him."
"Because he's dead?"
Again, the Dragon was silent.
"In your case," Sanabalis continued smoothly, after the momentary silence, "you could have offended a full quarter of the Magi before you reached me. But because of the unusual nature of your talents, that was not considered a viable option." He reached into his robes and pulled out a candle.
She wilted visibly.
"This is like, very like, Barrani," he told her as he set the candle on a thin base and placed it exactly between them. "If you fail to learn it, you lose the Hawks."
"And my life."
"I am not convinced that they are not one and the same. I will take you," he added quietly. "If you are wearing your bracer, you may remove it."
Kaylin froze. Well, everything about her did but her eyes; they flicked nervously down to her wrist. Which was just wrist. The artifact, golden and jeweled, that could somehow dampen all of her magical abilities? Not there. She had a good idea where it actually was, too. "I'm not wearing it."
A pale brow rose. "I believe the Emperor's orders in that regard were quite clear."
She swallowed. Being in trouble was something that she lived with; she always was. Getting the Hawklord into Imperial trouble was something she would almost die to avoid.
And Sanabalis was good; he didn't even make the threat. She would have to watch herself around him, inasmuch as that was possible.
"I had to take it off," she told him, swallowing. "Last night." It wasn't technically true, but it would have to do.
"Ah. The midwives?" His eyes were gold; one brow was slightly above the other, but he chose to accept her words at face value.
"They called me in. I can't do anything when I'm wearing that bracer. I certainly can't deliver a baby that's—"
He lifted his hands. "I am squeamish by nature, I would prefer you leave the feminine nature of your nocturnal activities unspoken."
/>
She wanted to ask him to define squeamish, but thought better of it.
"Where is it now?"
"At home."
"Whose home?"
She cursed. "Is there anything about me you didn't 'investigate'?"
"No."
And sighed, a deep, short sound that resembled a grunt. "Severn's. Corporal."
He nodded. "Very good. Get it back. I will overlook its absence, since you wouldn't be wearing it during these lessons anyway." He paused. His eyes were still liquid gold, and his expression had never wavered; there was some deep sympathy lurking in the folds of his face that she didn't understand.
And she wanted it.
"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 Five
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 knotwork, 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.