“So they left it. But if the problem was magic—or lack of magic—I’m not sure I understand how the praevolo could be a vessel for enough magic to allow the Aerians to fly in their search. And yet, that’s what they think the praevolo did.”
Evanton nodded.
“The Barrani have what they refer to as a Test of Name.”
“Be careful, Kaylin.”
“I’m being careful. I’m only talking to you.”
“Yes. With your usual subtlety.”
She shrugged, fief shrug. “The reason they have the test is because of Shadow—our Shadow, the Shadow in Ravellon. What the Shadow touches, it alters. If altered, the person changed becomes part of that Shadow, subordinate to it. It changes something about the person.
“Those who survive the Test of Name can face the Shadow without being consumed by it. Those who fail can’t. That’s the theory,” she added. “Look, I hate it. But no one is forced to take the Test of Name. Most of the Barrani Hawks haven’t, and won’t.”
“One cannot be Lord of the High Court without undergoing it,” Evanton observed. “And children of important lineages almost certainly consider they have no choice but to take that risk.”
She thought of Annarion and fell silent for a beat or two.
“If Shadow is like fire, it’s likely to consume those who can’t control it.” She hesitated again. “The bracelet Moran is wearing—”
“Yes,” Evanton replied, as if the word was a wall.
“Only the praevolo can wear it. It apparently—”
“Destroys anyone else.” Evanton’s frown lines deepened. “Moran is praevolo. She was accepted—provisionally—as praevolo. She was adopted into arguably the most powerful and significant flight in the Southern Reach. Do you honestly think that adoption would have proceeded if the dar Carafel weren’t certain?” His frown was familiar, and oddly comforting in spite of the fact that it was turned on her.
Did she? No. No, of course not.
“They may not have let her keep it. In theory, there are guardians who protect the regalia. In practice, it is historically unwise to have men of ambition and power as guardians to objects—or kingdoms—they might otherwise desire to possess. In general, the guardians become the kings—usually when their charges die.”
“The praevolo didn’t rule, though.”
“No, perhaps not. But the praevolo’s power is considered close to divine. It is the heart of flight, to the Aerians. Moran is the mortal expression of it.”
“And she can’t fly.”
Evanton said a quiet nothing. A quiet, significant nothing.
“She can’t fly,” Kaylin repeated. “Have you taken a closer look at her wing?”
“She is praevolo.”
“Evanton—” Kaylin stopped. Froze. “You think—you think the assassination attempts started because she’s praevolo and she couldn’t fly. You think—”
“It is not my job to think,” was his testy reply. “It’s yours. In theory, you get paid for it.”
“I’m off-duty,” Kaylin pointed out.
“There’s no reason you can’t think on your own time.”
No wonder Grethan was invisible. But Evanton’s dour questions had kicked off thoughts that wouldn’t stop once they’d gained traction. “If the power of the praevolo is the heart of flight—if the praevolo was meant to give flight to the flightless, her inability to fly proves she’s a fraud.”
He was silent.
“The dar Carafel—the ones doing the adopting—knew that she could wear the bracelet. You’re right. They’d’ve had to know. They know she’s not a fraud, and they know it would be hard to convince the rest of the people—you know, the ones who do the actual work—”
“Classism, Kaylin.”
“I don’t care. It would be hard to convince them that she was a fraud when they didn’t believe it themselves. People like Lillias will give up their lives to protect her because of what she means as a symbol.” She slowed down. “People like Clint or the rest of the Hawks. If they believed it, they would.
“But if she couldn’t fly—in spite of injuries that would cripple any other Aerian—she becomes a fraud. And if she’s considered a fraud, her death means nothing. No, probably more than nothing: it’s like she’s been lying, and she’s been caught out, and she’s facing justice. Ugh. You know, she’s suffered because of those wings. She’s lost a lot. I can’t think of a thing she’s truly gained. And no one else is going to believe that, unless they know her well enough that she’s willing to talk about her life.”
“No.”
“But the thing I don’t understand is why? The power of the praevolo is random. It’s not predictable. It skips generations. Killing her means that in the future another praevolo might be born—with a better pedigree—but that future might be generations down the road.”
“We circle back, then.”
“It would only make sense if they had some way of passing that power on.” Her frown deepened. “Or if they believed they had a way of passing that power on. If they could choose.” She looked at Evanton. “Have you examined Moran’s bracelet at all?”
Evanton smiled then. “Only in a cursory fashion. I do not deem it wise—or safe—to handle.”
“But the mortal carried it.”
“Yes. The mortal who was, as you have mentioned, imbued somehow with Shadow.”
“Do you think it’s possible that it’s the bracelet that contains the power?”
“And that it’s the praevolo who can house it?” Evanton opened his cookie tin and handed it to Kaylin, almost as if the question deserved a smidgen of reward. “I think it is possible, yes. I think, however, it is unlikely.”
Kaylin deflated.
“But I think it very likely that men who are accustomed to power and its use, to rank and its use, to elevated birth and its rules, might well come to view it that way.”
“But if they’re wrong...” Kaylin hesitated.
“You think they may be attempting to unlock the power itself.”
“And Moran is wearing it.”
“And Moran is wearing it, yes.”
“They’re not getting it back unless they cut off her arm—and they’re not doing that unless she’s very dead.”
“Indeed. Have a cookie or two. I always feel guilty when I tear Lillias from the sky.”
Kaylin took two cookies. A thought occurred to her and she stopped chewing.
“You can think and eat at the same time.”
She swallowed quickly. “I can’t talk and eat at the same time. According to you.”
“Yes?”
“The wind is only carrying Lillias.”
Evanton smiled.
“But Moran is flying.”
His smile deepened.
“You are a devious old bastard.”
“Thank you. If I weren’t, I would not be a very capable Keeper.”
“But Grethan is your apprentice, and he isn’t.”
“Yes. It is a fear; there’s only so much I can teach him. The Tha’alani are not naturally devious—they’ve no reason to be. Grethan, absent the Tha’alaan, is probably as close as one of his kind can come, and frankly...”
“He’s terrible at it.”
“Yes. When he is not being ridden by his fear and his insecurity, he is painfully honest.” The Keeper rose. “Now, will you tell Moran, or shall I?”
* * *
“But the thing I don’t understand—”
“We will never make it down this very short hall if you do not stop asking questions. There are so many things you don’t understand I will expire of old age just making the attempt to alleviate your ignorance.”
“The thing I don’t understand,” she continued, dogged now, b
ecause it was important, “is how the Shadow got where it did. I mean, Moran never touched the first guy. You could make the argument that he handled the bracelet, and somehow, Shadow spilled into him—but I think that’s a pretty big stretch.
“And even if it weren’t, and that’s how he got the power, he didn’t make the Arcane bomb.”
“No. No doubt an Arcanist did.”
Kaylin stared at the door at the end of the hall. “...And there is an Aerian Arcanist, or so I’ve been told.”
“Yes. Are all Arcanists evil by default?”
“Yes.”
Evanton snorted. “Your time in the Hawks has been an almost unalloyed good for you—but in this one regard, it is faulty. No single group is, by default, evil.”
“You’ve met a lot of Arcanists, have you?”
“Only a handful. Your Teela was one.” As Kaylin opened her mouth, Evanton glared. “No. Shut up now or we will never leave the hall, and I, for one, am a tired old man. It is past my bedtime and I need my sleep.”
* * *
Lillias was on the ground when Evanton opened the door; she seemed to be waiting for them. Her eyes were filmed with tears, and clearly, some of those tears had already been spilled. She smiled at Evanton; Kaylin saw some hint of the younger woman she might once have been. To Kaylin, she said, “Can you see her?”
The answer was yes—but only barely. Kaylin knew that the skies above this garden were actual skies; they were not illusory. But Moran was a speck so small she might have been a tiny bird. A tiny bird with daydreams of being a hawk. She rose, she drifted, she dropped—the drop so sudden in its plunge Kaylin forgot to breathe—and she rolled. The Aerian Swords, the new ones, would have died of envy had they seen the ease with which she now covered the sky.
“How did she get hit at all?”
“She was carrying the netting,” Evanton replied. He was cranky and tired—he hadn’t been making that up—and seemed to feel that the answer was so obvious Kaylin shouldn’t have wasted air asking the question. “If you recall the purpose of the netting?”
“...To dampen magic.”
“Very good.”
Kaylin stared. She felt a pang of resentment for the Halls of Law and the Imperial Hawks and the Barrani, because Moran should not have been carrying those nets. Moran should never have had to touch them. Because this was what it had cost her.
“You are thinking with your mouth open,” Evanton said.
“You know, I really think you should leave your house more often. Go visit the Arkon; you’re practically the same person when you’re in a cranky mood.”
“Her duty did not cost her anything. She is, as I said, flying entirely under her own power. You could rip the wings from her back—”
Lillias almost shrieked.
“—and she could fly. She cannot be made outcaste. She cannot be sundered from the ability you see now.”
“I’ve never seen her fly like this.”
“Almost no one has.” Evanton’s voice softened as he watched her. “She does so only here, because here, she has privacy. Lillias has seen her fly like this before, and neither you nor I are Aerian; we come with no baggage and no expectations.”
Kaylin snorted. “You? No expectations?”
“She does not, perhaps, know me as well as you do.” Evanton folded his arms. “But even I find it almost breathtaking. I hate to interrupt her.”
In Kaylin’s experience, this meant very little. And sure enough, he spoke to the wind in syllables that sounded like language but failed to become actual words to her ears. The wind clearly spoke to Moran, and Moran became larger and larger as she descended; when she landed, she was an Aerian woman of nominal height and build, and her wings were the same wings they’d been since the night the High Halls had been attacked by their ancestors.
“Evanton’s grouchy because he’s tired and he needs sleep,” Kaylin said by way of explanation. Or apology.
“Evanton is, indeed, somewhat tired. He is grouchy because he has spent an hour listening to your private.”
Lillias watched with a frown that meant she was accepting Evanton’s version of events, which made some kind of sense. Evanton gave her the gift of flight she had lost—and it was clear that there was no greater gift. Yes, she had adapted to a wingless, human life. To hear Evanton speak of her, she had adapted well. But it was here that she could shed gravity and all of the pain of her past decisions.
And it was here, Kaylin realized, that she could watch Moran fly, and understand that the choice that had cost her flight had been, in the end, for the moment, worth it.
Moran’s wings rose and spread in a complicated way that spoke of respect or veneration as she turned to Evanton. She added a very human bow.
“You tell her,” Evanton said to Kaylin. “I am going to bed.”
* * *
Lillias left. It was late enough that she could refuse Kaylin’s offer of hospitality; late enough that she could also refuse Moran’s. And Moran did offer, assuming rightly that Helen would be just as happy to have Lillias visit as she was to have Moran.
Lillias thanked Moran profusely, which embarrassed the Hawk sergeant, who felt that gratitude, if it existed at all, should be going in the other direction. But, mindful of Evanton, she accepted Lillias’s undeserved thanks with patience and only the hint of a blush.
“Praevolo,” Lillias said, “it does my heart good to see you fly again. No one, ever, has flown the way you fly; no one could touch your flight, even when you were a child. No one.”
“Could I see you again?” Moran asked.
Lillias hesitated. “You should not be seen,” she finally replied, “in the company of an outcaste. It will do you no good.”
“It will do me a great deal of good—and as you might imagine, I’m not fond of the Caste Court or the dar Carafel flight at the moment. What they need, I can’t—won’t—give them. What I need, they could never, ever give me.” When Lillias once again fell silent, Moran added, “I ask as praevolo.”
Lillias bowed her head instantly. Moran caught her hands before she could fully fold to the ground, as Clint had so shockingly done. “Yes, praevolo. If I can be of use to you, even as I am, yes.”
* * *
“That was a bit low, wasn’t it?” Kaylin asked Moran after addresses had been exchanged and the two Aerians had parted.
Moran shrugged. “She would have said no for ‘my own good,’ and actually, I’m pretty sick of that.”
“Maybe she thought it would be for her own good.”
“Do you believe that?”
Kaylin’s shrug was more defensive, a fief shrug.
“I’ll take that as no. I—” She shook her head. “I was happy to see her fly. I know she can’t, when she’s not in Evanton’s garden. How did you meet him?”
“Teela.”
“Why did she introduce you?”
“He’s willing to use magic for practical things, and I wanted daggers that made no noise when I unsheathed them. I thought Teela would know where to go for that. She did. I had no idea what his other job was. Teela obviously did, and couldn’t be bothered to tell me.”
“Do you think he’d let me visit again?”
“You want to fly again?”
Moran nodded. If she caught the shift in Kaylin’s tone, she suspected nothing. Kaylin privately cursed Evanton in three different languages; Leontine was easier on the throat when it wasn’t spoken aloud.
“You can fly.”
Moran said, “Yes. The wind—”
“No. Lillias needed the wind. But Evanton said you didn’t.”
Moran stopped walking. Given the past few days, Kaylin wished she’d left this conversation for home, which was essentially a very welcoming, impregnable fortress. The small dragon was sitting on h
er shoulder in a state of alertness that didn’t make Kaylin feel any safer.
“What did you say?”
Kaylin began to walk, and Moran caught up with her. Moran wasn’t a groundhawk; she didn’t know how to walk the streets the way groundhawks did. She did, however, know how to march.
“Kaylin.”
“Evanton told me that the only person the wind was carrying was Lillias. You were never dependent on the wind for your flight.”
“But my wing—”
“He said you could still fly even if they cut the wings off your back. I think that’s what praevolo means.”
“I’ve been in charge of the infirmary for years now. I’ve seen all kinds of injuries—Aerian injuries among them. I know my own people.”
“Yes. But Evanton said that the wind wasn’t helping you at all—and I tend to believe him when it comes to the wild elements. He said you were flying under your own power. If you want, we can go wake him up—but he’d likely bite heads off. Probably mine,” she added.
Moran fell silent then. She kept moving. But her thoughts, such as they were, were turned entirely inward. It wasn’t a comfortable silence.
Kaylin tried to fill it, which was beyond awkward. “Have you tried to fly since the—the attack?”
“No. I could barely lift my wing.”
Kaylin swallowed. “Evanton doesn’t think you’d have been injured at all if you weren’t carrying the netting. It’s—”
“I know what its function was. I know how important it was—that’s why I was carrying it. You’re a Hawk.”
Kaylin nodded.
“You’re proud of the fact that you’re a Hawk. Your job is effectively the only life you want.”
“I hate writing reports.”
“Every Hawk hates writing reports. Except maybe Hanson. If you liked writing reports, they’d probably keep you off the streets because they’d question your sanity. But you’re a Hawk. Does it surprise you to know that I’m not that different? This job was mine. Is mine. It’s not about the Caste Court. It’s not about dar Carafel. It’s useful. I have a function, a role. I know what it is.