“Fine. You intended to peddle something relatively harmless?”
“In legal terms, yes.”
“What did you give him instead?”
Margot looked extremely uncomfortable, which didn’t suit her. “I sat down at the table,” she said, by way of answer. She suited action to words, and sat, her hands in her lap. Closing her eyes, she straightened her shoulders and neck, lifting her hands so they rested palms down on the tabletop. She then lifted her hands, turning the palms in, toward the crystal ball.
Kaylin felt her skin begin to tingle. Magic. It wasn’t a strong magic; it was a normal one. The ball itself was likely enchanted. Then again, so were all the streetlamps. Magic was not illegal, Kaylin’s frequent, fervent wishes aside. The ball began to glow. It wasn’t with the radiance of streetlamps, though. “Is the room usually dark?”
“It’s ambient,” Margot replied.
“So...darker than this.”
“Yes.” Her grimace ruined the otherwise perfect picture she presented.
“So you set the ball glowing, and...?”
“I could not release it. I couldn’t move my hands away from its surface.” She did move her hands now, as if testing the ball for defects. “I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t look away from the ball itself. I think I managed to blink.”
Kaylin was now looking carefully at the ball, which appeared slightly magical but otherwise normal. Magic left visible sigils to Kaylin’s eye—but only strong magic. This was not strong. “Can I ask you to stand now, please?”
Margot seemed quite happy to be free of the chair, as if describing what had happened was like reliving the experience.
“Anything?” Severn asked.
Kaylin frowned and shook her head. “Nothing that I can see. If there was magic practiced, it didn’t require a lot of power. Sorry, Margot. You can sit again if you want.”
“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”
Kaylin nodded. “So, you looked into the ball as part of your regular routine.”
Margot nodded. “I also burn incense during these readings.”
“Anything special about the incense?”
“...No.” Which meant yes, but Margot was breathing it in as well, so it couldn’t be deadly. She didn’t like Margot, it was true. She also hated paperwork, and wasn’t willing to do it if it weren’t for something she considered practical.
“I’m not sure how this normally works,” Kaylin continued, because she wasn’t. She was often ignorant—which she hated—but didn’t consider herself stupid. Spending money in Margot’s parlor was stupid. “Did he ask questions?”
“Yes. In general, there’s discussion, a building of rapport.”
The image of the man—still captured in Margot’s personal Records—didn’t imply rapport would be particularly welcome, at least not on his part. “Records, reenact,” Margot said.
The man in the image began to move. “My apologies, Madame Margot,” he said, his voice the type of hard-soft that set Kaylin’s teeth on edge. “I have done some research on the various fortune-tellers in Elani—and elsewhere in Elantra. I would not have taken the time to visit you had it not been for one infamous difficulty in the past year.”
Whatever Margot had said in response, the mirror that looked like a painting hadn’t captured.
“The current custodian of the Oracular Halls, however, is not at all flexible, and any visit to the Oracles requires official Imperial permission. You, on the other hand, are rumored to be discreet. Discretion is a useful trait. I suggest you remember it.”
“Is the part where you punch him in the mouth and boot him out of your store coming up anytime soon?” Kaylin asked. The urge to punch his image in the mouth had caused her hands to curl in fists.
“No, sadly. I did say I couldn’t move, didn’t I?” For the first time, however, she smiled, and Kaylin smiled back.
“I have a few questions that associates of mine need answered. They are currently extremely busy men. I wish you to look at these items, and I wish you to look into your crystal ball. Ah, forgive me,” he added. He stood and walked around the table; Records capture was centered on him.
Margot entered the frame as he approached her. She looked poised, elegant, cool—and annoyed. Kaylin doubted very much that she would have looked half as calm had she been in Margot’s position, and a certain admiration tugged at her.
“First.” The man lifted a feather.
“Records,” Kaylin said. When the man continued to speak, Margot repeated the word, and then returned the capture to the feather. “Enlarge.”
Kaylin glanced at Severn. “Did he leave the feather here?”
“No. If you’re wondering if it’s an Aerian feather, it almost certainly was, given what followed.”
“We may have lost a very fine hunting bird,” the man continued, when Records capture resumed its play. “We wish to locate it. However, it may prove difficult without more information. This,” he said, fishing another item out of an interior pocket, “was the bird’s favorite toy. It has been handed down through generations of those who are tasked with the welfare of the breed.”
Kaylin really did not like this man.
“You’ll break teeth if you keep grinding them like that,” Margot told her. She ordered another freeze and enlarge, but this time, the object was a bracelet or an armband. It was either meant for large hands or slender arms; Kaylin couldn’t be certain. Circular, it appeared to be made of silver or platinum. It contained evenly spaced gemstones of a pale blue color.
“And last.” He held up a collar. “Now, I have a few questions I wish you to answer.”
“Are all your wealthy clients this odious?”
“A handful would probably pass your judgmental muster,” Margot replied. “This one, however, was in a class of his own.”
“And if word gets out that you turned him in?”
“I’ll deny it, of course. The Hawks and I have a known adversarial relationship. Those who matter would believe me.”
Fair enough. “I don’t suppose you know where he got any of these items.”
Margot shook her head, impatient now. Kaylin stared at her, frowning. She glanced at Severn; Severn was paying careful attention to Margot—but almost all men did that. “Records,” Margot said.
“I don’t suppose you could grant me temporary permission to give commands?”
“What do you think?”
Kaylin poked the familiar. He sat up, growled in her ear—which was practically a new sound—and then looked balefully at the crystal. He ignored the mirror. He ignored Margot. Kaylin paid attention to what Margot was saying in the Records capture playback, but what she now wanted to see was the end of this session, not its beginning.
“It’s dark,” Margot in the past said. “It’s dark, but the sky is clear. Over Elantra, it’s blue.” This made as much sense as most of what fell out of Margot’s mouth. “There are Aerians in the darkness.”
“Can you see their wings?”
“I can see that they have them,” was Margot’s curt reply. Her voice held an edge of something that sounded suspiciously like fear.
Kaylin lifted a hand, and Margot paused playback. “You weren’t making that up.”
“Good of you to notice.”
“You’re saying that this visitor somehow compelled you to have a—a vision?” She poked the familiar. The familiar sighed, bit her finger just hard enough to make a point, and launched himself off her shoulder.
Past Margot said, “No.”
“How many do you see?”
“Enough that it’s difficult to count.”
“I will warn you,” the stranger said in his velvet voice, “not to lie to me.” He walked away from Margot and resumed his seat. Past Margot’s voice was clear
, but she was no longer visible.
“Dozens,” she finally said. “They’re not hovering, and they’re not flying in the patrol formation. There’s also a Dragon.”
The man’s face became instantly stone-like. After a pause to digest this obviously unwelcome information, he asked, “What color is the Dragon?”
“I’m not certain. I did mention it’s dark.”
“Is the Dragon gold?”
“No. Gold, I think I could differentiate.”
“Take a closer look.”
Kaylin in the present said, “Is he an idiot?”
“He doesn’t seem to understand how visions actually work, no.”
Kaylin would have bet a lot of money that Margot didn’t, either, and clearly, she would have lost it.
Past Margot said, “That is not the way visions work. If it was a precise science, the existence of Oracles would have started seven different wars by now.”
“Why did he want an Oracle?” Kaylin asked.
“Maybe he wanted to avoid angry Dragons,” Margot replied. “I don’t know.” Margot’s response was dismissive, which was typical for her. But the line of her shoulders was a little too high, and her eyes were narrowed in something that wasn’t quite anger or hostility, both of which Kaylin knew quite well.
Something was wrong. Kaylin frowned and glanced at Severn. It was brief, but pointed.
Severn walked across the rug, bent, and examined something. The rug itself was a complicated weave of color and pattern. He rose and lifted an arm; the familiar came to land on it, as if he were a kestrel. He then carried the familiar back to Kaylin.
The familiar crooned.
Yes, Severn said, speaking privately, as he so seldom did. Kaylin was mortal. Kaylin had taken a Name—for herself, instinctively—from the Barrani Lake of Life. The only living person who knew it was her partner. The Name was a bridge he seldom crossed. I think you’re right. I think Margot’s visitor never left. I’m certain the playback is genuine. I’m certain the visitor did somehow cajole an actual vision out of her. But I think something in that vision involved you.
Is she likely to survive if we leave? Kaylin glanced, briefly, at Margot.
Would you care? Severn unsheathed his blades. Although the room was large, it wasn’t large enough that he could wield the full length of his weapon’s chain without lopping off someone’s arm or leg.
Yes. If I’ve managed not to kill her all these years, I resent some stranger strolling in to do it first.
Grab Margot.
You think he’ll use magic here?
Probably.
Past Margot inhaled sharply, and both Hawks stopped their discussion as the Records playback demanded their attention.
“What is it? What did you see? What changed?” the man demanded; he’d risen from his chair to lean over the table, staring into the crystal ball as if it could provide answers. As if.
Kaylin headed across the room to the mirror, and stopped at the midpoint between the table and the wall, which happened to be Margot. To Severn, she said, Break the ball. To present Margot, she said, “Can you speed this up a bit?”
Margot turned a familiar glare in Kaylin’s direction, and the Hawk draped an arm tightly around the redhead’s shoulders as Severn brought both of his blades crashing down on the glass orb.
Chapter 9
The glass shattered.
As it did, Kaylin felt the uncomfortable tickling across her skin become painful. She didn’t otherwise notice. Shards of glass flew outward. By some small miracle—and by small, she meant dragon—none of them hit either Kaylin or Margot.
She felt acutely embarrassed. She’d assumed the crystal ball was a kind of second-rate magic that Margot used to fleece people—and she’d been right, of course. But the ball Severn had just shattered wasn’t the one that had originally been sitting on the table. Kaylin was surprised she hadn’t seen the difference immediately.
She was also chagrined. Destroying it had been a hunch. Destroying it intelligently would have been the brighter move. Severn had one cut across his cheek, but it wasn’t deep. And he wasn’t bothered by it. He didn’t even look. He turned instantly toward the room’s fourth occupant.
The man whose visit had been captured in the Records mirror was looking slightly surprised. He was standing in the corner farthest from the door, where no one was likely to accidentally run into him. He wasn’t prepared for combat. He wasn’t prepared for discovery at all.
Kaylin watched his eyes widen, saw his mouth open, saw his gaze rake Margot’s face with slow blossoming fury.
“I didn’t tell them,” Margot told him, voice cold. “If you recall, I advised you against this course of action. The Hawks are a constant irritant, but they’re not reliably stupid.” To Kaylin, she said, “I would appreciate it if you escorted this man off the premises.”
“How far off?”
“He threatened to kill me. He held me prisoner. He forced me to lure you into my shop.”
“Did he?” Kaylin smiled. “He also used magic to control you, from the looks of it.”
“That, too.”
Kaylin turned to the man in question. Her skin wasn’t crawling or screaming in protest, which she would have expected had he been using magic. But her marks were glowing. “Severn.”
The man drew a weapon. It was longer than Severn’s two blades, double-edged but also faintly curved. Kaylin definitively disliked the look of that blade. “You are very clever,” he told Kaylin—but not Severn, who happened to be armed and closer. “But you are meddling in matters you do not understand. Stay on the ground with the rest of the worms; leave the skies to their kin. I will leave now. I will not cause you any trouble—but I suggest, strongly, that you don’t attempt to detain me.”
“Or?”
“Or you will die.”
Kaylin’s grin widened. Eyes on the man, she said to Margot, “I’m not sure I think threatening you is a jail-worthy crime. It’s got to happen every day. But threatening officers of the law? That’s bad.” The marks on her arms had passed from a deep gold to the color of aged silver; she could see them through the dark fabric of her shirt. “Hey,” she said to the familiar.
He obligingly lifted a wing, and this time didn’t smack her face with it before he let it settle across her eyes. She looked through the wing and sucked in air in a way that drew all eyes in the room except Severn’s, who was facing the armed man.
She cursed. Loudly. “Don’t touch him!” She could see lines of Shadow, like very fine mesh, drawn across every exposed inch of the man’s skin. It was probably crawling over the unexposed skin, as well. She glanced at Margot, and saw that Margot wasn’t free of that oddly spidery effect, either, although it was much, much sparser.
With the familiar’s wing as guide, Kaylin lifted a hand. It hovered over Margot’s face, and froze an inch from her skin. She didn’t want to touch either Margot or this Shadow.
The small dragon squawked.
“Once for yes, twice for no,” Kaylin told him.
He sighed.
“Is the Shadow dangerous?”
Squawk squawk.
“I can touch it safely?”
“What are you talking about?” Margot demanded.
Squawk.
“I think I can see how he controlled your movements,” Kaylin told Margot. “I’d like to break that spell, unless you want to be returned to his control in the near future.”
With obvious derision, Margot said, “You can break it?”
“I think so.”
“I’d rather not be subject to your magical uncertainty. No offense meant.”
“None taken. You can visit an extremely expensive mage of your own choosing. I’m not sure he’ll be able to help you, but frankly, I can’t force
you to allow anything, and I don’t actually give a rat’s ass if you get devoured by Shadow.”
“Not likely,” Severn said. “It’s more likely that she’ll walk into a busy street and stand still while she gets hit by a wagon or carriage.”
Margot stiffened.
“They don’t want you to talk. I’m assuming they wanted something from Kaylin, and I can guess what.”
“Fine. Fine. But if you screw up, I’ll take my complaint all the way up the hierarchy.”
“You’re welcome,” Kaylin said sweetly. She felt herself relax. This Margot, she understood. Margot wanting to share information was so foreign it was unbelievable—and actually, it was unbelievable for a reason. Margot did things to protect Margot. Margot did things that were advantageous for Margot.
Margot wasn’t particularly grateful that the Hawks had, in all probability, saved her life. Kaylin wasn’t entirely certain she was grateful for it, either. But she’d probably hate herself if Margot died. That was the thing about being a Hawk. You couldn’t choose. It was probably the reason for the laws as well—the laws defined what was acceptable or necessary. The individual Hawks didn’t.
There were no laws about tripping over sandwich boards, though. Probably for the best.
The man snarled. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.
“You’re wearing Shadow,” Kaylin replied, although she didn’t look at him. “You’re covered in it. I don’t know how you can do it safely—and at this point, I don’t care. If you don’t lower the weapon and come with us to the Halls of Law—”
“What do you mean, Shadow?” His voice had risen in tone.
Kaylin reached up, her eyes still cloaked in familiar’s wing, and brushed fingers across the subtle strands of darkness that had settled around Margot’s face. She felt no sentience there, although the strands weren’t like spiderwebs; they didn’t cling to her hand, and they didn’t instantly break. They stretched.
Kaylin frowned, and pulled harder. They stretched until they were almost invisible.
“Well?” Margot snapped, sounding actively waspish.