* * *
Margot had enough money that it wasn’t just the windows that were rotten with magic. The interior doors were warded, as well. Some of the clutter of decorative kibble was warded, but not in the way the doors were; Kaylin’s skin was tingling, but it hadn’t reached the rubbed-raw pain pitch yet.
The small dragon was alert. He muttered to himself while standing upright on her left shoulder; she wasn’t surprised when he lifted one of his wings and smacked it against her eyes.
“You and I are going to have to learn how to communicate,” she told him. “You can’t smack me every time you want me to do something. Well, okay, you can, obviously—but I don’t like it.”
He snorted, rolling his eyes.
Severn headed up the stairs as Kaylin looked at Margot’s accumulation of personal treasures. The obviously expensive ones were up front; they would be. Margot was a peacock. She wanted her customers to know that she was valued, was considered valuable, by powerful—or at least rich—clients, and this was the unsubtle way of making it clear.
And it was also, Kaylin thought, frowning, an easy way into a home that was otherwise surprisingly secure. “I see it,” she told the familiar. She was looking directly at a small statue. It appeared to be made of gold, with rubies for eyes, and wings that seemed vaguely demonic. It resembled what Aerians might have been if they’d been born with bat wings.
Kaylin didn’t have Barrani or Dragon memory. She had no idea if this was new. But seen through the familiar’s translucent wings, gold leaf had been laid across obsidian that moved and roiled even as she watched it. She fished about in her pockets, but came up empty: no gloves.
So she borrowed one of Margot’s tablecloths, wrapped it around her hand and lifted the offending statue. “This is Shadow magic.”
The familiar squawked.
“It’s not attacking me; it’s not attempting to take over anything—but this is Shadow magic. I’d bet next month’s pay on it.”
There was a loud crash from up the stairs; Kaylin wheeled, the statue still clenched in one cloth-covered hand. She took the steps two at a time, bouncing off the wall in the bend of those stairs to give herself more momentum.
When she reached the landing, she slowed. Severn’s back was toward her, and he was armed—he’d pulled both of the blades, but the chain itself was not at all useful for indoor fighting in close quarters. Glass shards were scattered across the carpet runner and the wooden floors to either side, and as Kaylin approached, she saw an almost unrecognizable Margot in the hall.
“She threw something?”
Severn nodded.
Kaylin poked the familiar, whose wing had dropped when she’d taken off up the stairs. Teela would have had her hide if she’d headed upstairs without backup, the way Severn had. The wing rose, and this time, there was no accompanying smack.
There was, however, accompanying cursing, all of it Kaylin’s.
Margot didn’t speak. She opened her mouth, but no words escaped. Her eyes were round and wide and not at all her normal eyes; her hair was a wild mess of tendrils that seemed to move with a life of their own.
This was not good, but it was in line with what Kaylin expected of Shadow possession. The familiar squawked, dropping its wing; Margot, without his aid, looked normal—for a variant of normal that involved enraged beyond belief.
“Shadow,” she told her partner.
Controlled?
She hesitated. I don’t think so.
Can you get it out of her?
The general answer to that question had always been no. The more specific answer was she’d never tried. Not when someone was as far gone as this. But no—that wasn’t true, either. To normal eyes, Margot was not—yet—consumed. The Shadow was in her, and clearly someone, somewhere, was manipulating it.
Kaylin looked at the statue she was carrying in her hand. She set it on the floor. The familiar squawked, his voice rising on the last syllable, such as it was.
“Yes,” she told him. “Breathe on it.”
* * *
The small white clouds had the kind of shimmering opalescence that Shadow did. Kaylin had noticed this before, but had avoided really thinking about what it meant. She considered it now. The familiar’s breath had some transformative power—she’d seen what it could do to Shadows with her own eyes. She knew that the immortals considered it very dangerous.
She watched him breathe on gold and rubies.
She watched the pale stream that left his open mouth gain weight and color as it made contact with wingtips of gold, and she watched those wingtips melt. There was no heat; as the gold continued to melt, the rug and the floor did not catch fire.
Margot screamed; there were words in it. Kaylin registered them as a protest, but ignored them; even if she had wanted to pull the familiar back, it was too late. Margot rushed at Severn, and Severn, realizing that she intended to impale herself on his blades, moved; he let her momentum carry her, and gave her a little shove; she spilled onto the floor, twitching, shouting and struggling.
Severn caught her arms, pinning her in place with one hand and one knee. “She’s still in there,” he said.
Kaylin nodded. “I think they meant to kill her with our help.”
The gold congealed in an uneven circle that looked more like a spill than anything else. Somewhere in that mess were rubies. Neither were important. There was a small nexus of Shadow that looked, to Kaylin’s covered eyes, like a hole, a rip in the fabric of reality.
The small dragon circled it, breathing steadily until it suddenly snapped shut.
Margot slumped instantly, unconscious.
“Can we alter the report so that you didn’t head up here without backup?”
“We could if you were a better liar.” Severn reached out to touch Margot’s throat; Kaylin caught his hand, pulling it back.
“Let me.”
* * *
Margot was alive. Her pulse was steady, her breath even. She looked like she’d fallen out of bed and had avoided the many mirrors she owned, but she appeared to be healthy, if sleeping.
The small dragon was, once again, slumped across Kaylin’s shoulders, but he was muttering like an annoyed bird. Severn made use of Margot’s mirror to report to the Halls of Law; Kaylin could hear Leontine cursing from the other room.
“Teela’s coming.”
“Why?”
“Because Bellusdeo insisted.”
“Wait—Bellusdeo’s coming?”
“Shadow.”
Kaylin indulged in some very Leontine cursing herself. “But who’s staying with Moran?”
“Given her aerial maneuvers this morning? Probably every Aerian in the Halls. I think the Dragon bodyguard might be superfluous at this point.”
“It was Aerians who were responsible for the other assassination attempts,” Kaylin quite reasonably pointed out.
“That was then. This is now.”
* * *
Bellusdeo was orange-eyed, but had not ditched clothing for the very practical, but very martial, Dragon scales. The lack of scales didn’t make a difference to the very martial bit, sadly. She was almost breathing fire. “Tell me everything that happened.”
Kaylin did. Bellusdeo had come from a world in which Shadow, in the end, had swallowed all life; she had seen Shadow in its many forms, had seen it used, had almost fallen to it herself. She knew more about Shadow than anyone who wasn’t part of Ravellon.
This, however, confused her.
Teela lounged against one wall; Tain kept an eye on the door. “Did the prisoner have much to say?” Kaylin asked. And then, when no answer followed, “Is the prisoner still alive?”
“The prisoner is still alive,” Teela replied, brooding. She glared at Tain, who, in fairness, hadn’t even opened his mouth.
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Mandoran entered the room. “Don’t give me that look,” he told Kaylin without bothering to see what her expression actually was. “If the Dragon can be here, so can I.”
“The Dragon has experience with Shadow and its incursions.”
“Honestly, it’s a small wonder to me that your sergeant hasn’t removed your throat by this point,” Bellusdeo muttered.
“He doesn’t hold me responsible for Dragons,” Kaylin replied. “He probably doesn’t hold me responsible for Mandoran, either—he’s Teela’s fault.” She did turn to Mandoran. “Why are you making that face?”
“Which face?”
“The something-is-wrong-here face.”
“Teela’s shouting in my ear.” And glaring at the side of his face. “Have you ever tried to concentrate on something when she’s shouting in your ear?”
“She doesn’t shout in my ear. Often.”
“So that’s a no.” He turned to the familiar. “Do you see this?”
The familiar squawked.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
But Bellusdeo turned to the familiar, as well. Kaylin wished he was perched on someone else’s shoulder. “Where?” she demanded. The familiar sighed and launched himself off Kaylin’s shoulder, where he fluttered pointedly above the circle of melted gold on the floor.
“That was the statue,” Kaylin offered.
Bellusdeo whispered a word and Kaylin’s skin developed instant goose bumps in protest. To Kaylin’s surprise, the Dragon turned to Mandoran. “Here?” she asked him, without any other identifying information that would make the question make sense.
Mandoran, however, frowned. “I think so. There’s a bit of haze about two feet above the floor. You said he breathed on the Shadow?”
“Yes,” Kaylin replied, although technically she hadn’t said it while Mandoran was in the room.
“And he breathed on the statue?”
She nodded again.
Teela was pinching the bridge of her nose, as if a headache had taken up residence and she had no hope of evicting it.
“What happened with the prisoner?”
“One of the Barrani Hawks was paid to pass a message on.”
“Paid by who?”
Her smile was grim. “Not someone human.”
“How ugly is this going to get?”
“Well, that depends.”
“On what?”
“We have an appointment in less than an hour. Go home and get changed.”
Kaylin wilted. “An appointment where?”
“At the High Halls.”
“But—”
“It’s the safest neutral ground we currently have. Trust me.” The High Halls was not neutral ground for Teela.
“Who are we meeting?”
“Evarrim.”
* * *
Evarrim was an Arcanist of long standing. Kaylin disliked him, which was a step up from the very visceral loathing she had felt on their first acquaintance. He was a Barrani High Lord, he was old, and he was power hungry; he disdained the merely mortal as ignorant ephemerals. And he wanted the power of the marks of the Chosen.
But she had watched him fight to save the same people she had fought to save—the Consort, for one—and she had seen him surrender some part of his power, and in one or two cases, put his own life at risk. She couldn’t like him. She didn’t trust him. But she knew there was more to him than the disdain he had always showed her.
She told herself this with as much force as she could muster while she dressed for the High Halls. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t wear her tabard and her working clothing, but she accepted Teela’s grim command. She just wasn’t happy about it.
Severn was also required to change, which he couldn’t do at her house; he headed back to his apartment, leaving Kaylin with Bellusdeo and Mandoran. Bellusdeo had no intention of going to the High Halls, and there’d been some argument about the designated “neutral” venue, but Teela was having none of it.
Mandoran, on the other hand, wanted to go.
And Teela was having none of that, either.
“Don’t argue with her,” Kaylin murmured. “Not when she’s in this mood. It’ll just make her angry and it won’t change anything.”
“And not changing anything is making me angry.”
“No,” Teela snapped, “it’s making you petulant.”
Tain had absented himself from the argument, and came to stand beside Kaylin. She glanced at Teela’s partner, and he shrugged. “They’re siblings for all intents and purposes—and only a fool gets between siblings while they’re arguing. What will he do?”
“Mandoran? He’ll sulk, but he’ll accept it.”
“I heard that,” Mandoran said to Kaylin.
“If the Dragon accepts it, I don’t see that you accepting it is any more humiliating.”
“They’re my people, not hers,” he snapped.
“Yes, and some of them are the people who sentenced you—sentenced us—to the green,” Teela interjected. Her eyes were blue and her voice was ice.
“Aren’t most of them dead yet?”
Teela said, “You’ve spent far too much time recently with the mortals. We are going. You are staying. There’s enough instability in the present situation that I will go Leontine if anything else breaks. Understood?”
Mandoran’s brows rose. After a brief pause, he surprised Kaylin; he grinned. “I think I’d like to see that.”
“You really, really wouldn’t—not at this distance,” Kaylin told him. Tain relaxed slightly, and Kaylin took that as a good sign. She’d known Teela for over a third of her life, but she didn’t know Teela the way Tain did, and she’d always found Teela’s temper unpredictable.
* * *
Severn appeared at the front door dressed for Court.
Kaylin had one dress that was appropriate, and had no luck arguing her way out of wearing it; she did, however, get a jacket from Bellusdeo that more or less covered the exposed skin. It was too large, but it was vastly better than nothing, in Kaylin’s opinion. Helen didn’t entirely share that opinion, but Kaylin put her foot down. If she couldn’t wear the jacket, she was going in her patrolling clothing, and that was final.
“It’s not like I haven’t met Evarrim before,” she told Helen. “And I wasn’t wearing a fancy dress for any of those meetings.”
“No. But I believe you did have appropriate clothing when you visited the High Halls.”
“Yes. And it got destroyed, and the quartermaster hated my guts out for months afterwards. We’re only barely speaking now, and I am never requisitioning clothing from him again.”
“Then you will have to spend some of your pay on appropriate clothing. The Emperor has indicated that he will visit again.”
Some of her pay was not the same as all of her pay, and all of her pay was pretty much what would be required. Kaylin didn’t bother to say this out loud; Helen could hear what she was thinking.
* * *
Since she had to be dress inspected before leaving, she made Teela promise that they would hire a carriage. Contending with stupid clothing was bad enough; she was certain nothing would survive Teela’s driving. Teela sourly pointed out that Kaylin had demonstrably survived her driving on previous occasions, but agreed.
“Why Evarrim?”
“He is the least untrustworthy Arcanist we could speak with on short notice.”
“And on longer notice?”
“Short is relative. I believe I could find another if we had between three and five years.”
Tain’s brows rose, and Teela gave him a look. “You can’t mean—”
“No, clearly I can’t. Leave it alone.”
Unlike Mandoran, Tain did.
“What
do you expect him to tell us?”
“I don’t know. The Aerian Caste Court—or at least the dar Carafel flight—clearly has fingers in the upper echelons of many of the Caste Courts. The remand to the human Caste Court must have been a barter decision. I’m fine with that. But the request was not delivered by humans. It was delivered by a Barrani Hawk. The Barrani Hawk in question was not, by the by, breaking any laws. He, however, was given the message to carry—”
“By someone Barrani.”
“Indeed.”
“Someone with power.”
“Yes, Kaylin. A Lord of the High Court.”
“But that wouldn’t be Evarrim.”
“No, fortunately for us, it was not.”
“So we’re going to the High Halls for two reasons.”
“If it comes to that, yes. But the meeting with Evarrim is necessary at this point. An Aerian Arcanist was mentioned, and that statue—it screams Arcanum, to me. I could, of course, be wrong.” Before Kaylin could speak, she added, “Yes, I know. Any ‘bad’ magic screams Arcanum to you. It’s the one way in which the Hawk training lacks anything remotely resembling either objectivity or subtlety.”
“If you look at the objective record where magic is concerned, the Arcanum is often at the heart of the worst of the problems.”
“Perhaps in the last decade. That was not always the case, however. The immortals—in particular, the Dragons—did not practice sorcery in packs; they did not require either companions or cooperation.”
“Fine. But this case is occurring in this decade.”
“Kitling, you will have to find a way to take criticism of the Hawks less personally. It really isn’t about you. If you want personal criticism, however, we can talk about your clothing.”
“Thanks, Teela.”
* * *
Kaylin was, in theory, Lord Kaylin. She had inadvertently taken—and passed—the Test of Name that the Tower of test offered Barrani would-be lords. The fact that she didn’t have a Name at the time was a bit of a sore point for the Barrani who had not yet taken that test. It was probably a sore point for the Barrani who had, as well. The fact that a mere mortal had taken the test sat particularly poorly with Annarion, who had been forbidden to make the attempt himself. She had some sympathy with his frustration, and had attempted to be logical about it.