“She was underfed, undereducated, undertrained. Were it not for her markings, her wings—so unlike her mother’s—she would have been considered mediocre at best. But she was, indeed, praevolo. They could not deny it and did not try. They offered the mother respect, praised her for keeping the child alive and hidden. They bade her to continue to do so, flew her to new quarters vastly larger and better appointed, and left to make their report.
“The castelord was enraged at what he considered the waste of it. A child who might have been a boon if born to the Upper Reaches was now a weakness. Had she been just another—what is your word? Bastard?”
At Kaylin’s stiff nod, she continued, “She would have been insignificant. But the castelord felt that she had illegitimately taken hold of the equivalent of an artifact, something to which she should not have been born, and of which she could never be worthy. The Caste Court decided, at that time, that her death was regrettable, but necessary. If she perished, the wings would return again, and this time, they would be watching, they would be alert. They would not make the same mistake.”
Kaylin hadn’t touched her tea; if she were drinking it, she’d’ve choked.
“It was the Caste Court’s decision to make.”
Kaylin hated the laws of exemption with a blinding passion at this moment, because Lillias was talking about the perfectly legal murder of a child. She managed to contain every visceral Leontine phrase that tried to tear itself out of her mouth. “Moran’s still alive,” she said. “Did they decide to wait and see?”
“No. An attempt was made. Three attempts were made, actually. Two involved poison. Neither poison was successful. It was assumed that the poisoner was incompetent, or deliberately treacherous. As it happened, they were neither. They poisoned the food. The child ate the food. The poison failed to take effect, and the child did not die. Her mother, however, did.
“History was then studied, but our historical records are not like your Records. The castelord could find histories of the deaths of the praevolo, but not one had fallen to disease or poison. Not one died in childhood of the things that might otherwise take the young.
“And so it was decided that she would have to die in a different fashion—history did record other deaths; the praevolo were not immortal or invulnerable. Moran’s grandmother died in the third attempt. Moran had servants, of course, but they did not serve her, and they were ordered to other duties that day. The child was alone with her grandmother.
“Not all of the servants who absented themselves intended to turn a blind eye. One traveled some distance up, to find someone who would listen—and care. The orders were quiet but absolute—they were not meant to leak down to the people beneath the Upper Reach, as there was some concern that the decision would not be popular.
“Someone intervened. Not in time to save the grandmother, but in time to save Moran.”
“But wouldn’t they just try again?”
“They would, yes. They would have. But Moran’s wings were then made public. She was flown—no, Kaylin, she flew—through the entirety of the Aeries; through every crag, every valley, to every peak of the Southern Reach. She wept and she raged and she soared until flight was the only thing she felt, the only thing that mattered. And we saw her. Upper Reaches to Outer, we saw her. We knew that she was Illumen praevolo. Every one of us.
“They could not kill her then.”
“But they’re trying to do it now?”
“She cannot fly,” Lillias said, as if that explained everything.
“She can’t fly yet.” And this was going to get them both nowhere. “What do the wings mean? What exactly is the Illumen praevolo?” Kaylin demanded.
“The wings mean nothing,” Lillias replied, ignoring the second question. “Because Moran dar Carafel will allow them to mean nothing. In the past, that was acceptable, but only barely. But now, it is much less so. As I said, she cannot be made outcaste. She can be summoned to the Aerie, but because she is an Imperial Hawk, she can disobey. The laws of exemption require her permission to be invoked if she is at the center of the controversy.”
For one moment, Kaylin saw the bright gleam of a way out. It guttered. If the laws had been invoked, if Clint believed they had been accepted, it meant Moran had accepted them, too.
Lillias shook her head. “She has not chosen to heed the summons.”
“She probably can’t, if she can’t fly. Yet.”
“She was capable of flight before. She has never heeded the summons. The castelord responsible for the death of her mother is dead. The Caste Court is comprised of different men, different women. Until she was injured, she lived in the Upper Reaches, but she spoke with no one. She has never forgiven the Aerie for her mother’s death.”
“Or her grandmother’s?”
Lillias said nothing.
“Why do you want to help her?”
“Is that what you think I am doing?” the old woman replied. Before Kaylin could answer, the woman closed blue eyes. “Do you believe in her?” she asked softly.
It wasn’t the question Kaylin had been expecting. Then again, she wasn’t certain that she’d expected any of the conversation Evanton had forced on both of them.
“How can I not believe in her?” Kaylin replied, although it took time. “I’m a Hawk. She’s a Hawk. She got her injury fighting something that was powerful enough to take down Dragons. Plural. She got that injury doing her duty—doing what the Aerians could do that the rest of us, wingless, couldn’t.”
“And her duty to her own people?”
Kaylin struggled with this for longer. The Aerians had murdered her mother and her grandmother. She owed them nothing. There were racial tensions among Hawks. But there were personal tensions, as well. They were all people. And they were all people who’d decided, despite race or even because of it, to serve the Imperial Law that protected those who didn’t have a lot of money or power. Were they perfect? Hells no. But they were trying. It was more than the fieflord of Nightshade had ever done. It was more than any fieflord, with the exception of Tiamaris, had ever been rumored to do.
Kaylin felt no particular attachment to her own race. She had daydreams of being born to a different one—Aerian, usually. She hadn’t ever considered what she owed the human race. Then again, she hadn’t really considered what she owed anyone who wasn’t a Hawk.
She was Chosen. That was special. But Chosen, or rather, being Chosen, didn’t depend on race. Kaylin wasn’t certain what it did depend on. She wasn’t even certain what it meant on most days.
Had it been dependent on being human, had humanity somehow required it, would she have changed her entire life to fulfill the debts and obligations she’d never asked for? Would she do it if that debt and obligation had indirectly killed her mother?
“I’m sorry, Lillias,” she finally said. “I don’t know. I admire her. She’s always been slightly terrifying—especially if you’re already injured and she decides you need to be strapped to a bed for a week—but she’s a Hawk. I don’t see her the way you see her.”
“Do you even know how I see her?”
“No. You haven’t said. I’m willing to listen, if you want to talk about it.”
Lillias nodded. She turned to Evanton instead of speaking.
Evanton turned to Kaylin. “I will do as Lillias has asked. But, Kaylin—stay out of this. Everything you can safely do, you’ve done. And I do not think you are ready to pay the cost for more.” He rose. “I will see you out.” To Lillias, he added, “I will be but a moment.”
* * *
Kaylin hit the street in an internal fog of confusion and anger. She had retrieved her familiar from Grethan’s shoulders, and he had immediately wrapped himself around hers, squawking in soft complaint as he did. She barely noticed, he was so much a part of her life. “Did he do that on purpose?” she asked her
partner. Mandoran, retrieved from the bowels of the oldest shelves in the building, glanced at both of them.
It was Mandoran who answered. “Of course he did.”
“Do you even know what I’m talking about?”
“Introducing you to the Aerian woman. The wingless one.” Mandoran stared at Kaylin, his eyes an odd shade: not green, but not blue, and not the usual blend of both, which was almost the Barrani resting state. “You like Aerians. You like Hawks. You like Aerian Hawks better than you like most of the rest of the Hawks, with some obvious exceptions. She lost her wings. She’s outcaste.
“If you push this, some of your Hawks are likely to end up the way she did. He wants you to understand that as more than theory.” Mandoran stopped in front of Margot’s sandwich board. “Did you?”
“Did I what?” she asked, irritable and restless.
“Did you understand it? Could you imagine Clint without wings?” He froze for a moment, his eyes going flat. “Teela tells me I should apologize for that.”
“Don’t bother unless you mean it.”
“That’s what I told her.”
* * *
The rest of the day was uneventful. The Hawklord did not demand to see her again, and Marcus, while growly, was content to snarl at everyone and not Kaylin in particular. Teela and Tain had not returned from their own beat when Kaylin checked out; Severn remained with her instead of heading to his place.
She stopped at the infirmary to pick up Bellusdeo and Moran and discovered that there had been trouble on the banks of the Ablayne—no surprise there. If there was trouble anywhere in the city, odds were it had occurred on or near the Ablayne’s many bridges. The bridges that fed into the fiefs, with the growing exception of Tiamaris, were in low-rent areas.
But this trouble was only a mundane knife fight, and the Hawks had come out on top, although they’d pulled in a couple of Swords; it was the Swords who required medical attention, and they received it with their usual stiff upper lips. The Hawks, Kaylin reflected, cursed more. And in better languages.
They were late heading home, and by the time Moran was ready to leave, Teela and Tain had returned. They were waiting, lounging really, outside the infirmary doors. The infirmary was strictly for mortals, as far as the Barrani on the force were concerned. Moran contested this from time to time, but the Barrani, accustomed to kin who were just as likely to kill them as come to their aid, weren’t bothered by the sergeant’s demeanor.
Moran’s lips tightened as she caught sight of the Barrani, but she said nothing. She locked the office with the touch of a palm and a three-word command, and headed out of the building.
The guards had changed shifts, and happened to be human, not Aerian, which made passage between them less awkward. And it was going to be awkward, because Mandoran’s question still cut her when Kaylin returned to it.
She wanted to help Moran.
Was she willing to risk Clint losing his wings, if she made a mistake?
Was she willing to risk Lord Grammayre losing his?
* * *
Helen was waiting for them at the door, and as Kaylin stepped into the front foyer, she felt her jaw unclench. There had been no further problems on the way home. No invisible assassins, for one. Helen gently draped an arm around Kaylin’s shoulder, taking care not to crush the familiar, who lifted a lazy eyelid to look at her before he shut it again.
“Why is he so exhausted?” Helen asked.
“Who knows? All he’s done today is complain and sit on people’s shoulders.” Except for saving Moran’s life. Kaylin glanced apologetically at the familiar, who failed to notice.
The small dragon squawked without opening his eyes.
“You visited the Keeper?” Helen asked Kaylin.
Moran stiffened. “I’m going to take a bath,” she told Helen. “I’m not sure I’ll be down for dinner.”
“That’s fine, dear. I’ll have food sent up if you aren’t.” She watched Moran mount the large staircase, but waited until she had disappeared before speaking again. “She’s worried about you,” she told Kaylin.
“I’m beginning to understand why people hate worry so much,” Kaylin replied. “You guys eating here?”
Teela glanced at Tain, who shrugged. “Looks like a yes. We’re going out drinking after, if you want to come.”
“Maybe.”
The Barrani exchanged another glance.
“I’m going to get changed for dinner,” Bellusdeo told them all. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t leave without me.” Her eyes were close to gold as she met Teela’s. Teela’s were closer to blue.
Unable to ditch her Barrani guests, Kaylin looked to Severn, who raised a brow. But he did nod, and headed toward the dining room, which had become the equivalent of an informal parlor. There was a lot of room, it had chairs and it was always well lit. The Hawks used it the way they used the benches in the mess hall; the parlor was almost intimidating in its formality by comparison.
Kaylin hung back.
“She knows what you’re doing,” Mandoran said cheerfully.
“Great. Can you tell her that I enjoy being worried about as much as she does?”
“Yes,” Teela said, before Mandoran could reply, “and when you’ve got centuries of experience under your belt, I’ll stop.”
Which, of course, meant never, because Kaylin wasn’t immortal and was, in all likelihood, never going to see one century.
She kept seeing Clint without wings. It was his wings she had loved first. Everything else had followed, as wings—and what they meant to Kaylin—made way for the person to whom they were attached.
And yes, that probably meant Teela was right. The Aerians were people, just like any other people; the fact that they had one physical characteristic that was at the heart of Kaylin’s many, many daydreams and longings was Kaylin’s problem, not theirs. They didn’t owe her her dreams. They didn’t have to live up to them.
To Helen, she said, “Can I use the mirror?”
“Now, dear?”
Sarcasm came and went. Kaylin managed to keep it to herself, but Helen, who could read the thoughts of almost anyone who entered the house, heard it all. Helen, like Tara, didn’t mind hearing it all.
“Why is now bad?”
“Lord Nightshade is still speaking with his brother.”
“And?”
“I still don’t trust him. It requires a diversion of attention in order to properly contain the intrusion of the mirror network.”
“I honestly don’t think he’s going to do anything damaging or stupid—at least not to you.”
“No. But Annarion is at his least stable when his brother is visiting, and it takes some effort to contain the possible danger of his instability, as well.”
Kaylin exhaled, nodding glumly.
* * *
Moran did not come down to dinner. Bellusdeo and Maggaron did, the former dressed in something other than her armor. Kaylin was certain she’d be hearing about the armor sometime in the morning, and tried not to think about it too much.
The entire dining table fell silent when Annarion joined them, because Annarion brought his brother. Both he and Nightshade were blue-eyed, and it wasn’t the resting state of caution and natural superstition; it was dark.
Annarion bowed very formally and very correctly; Mandoran snorted. Loudly. While both Teela and Tain had stiffened into the type of formality that signaled the possibility of upcoming death, Mandoran lounged. He nodded at Nightshade as if the fieflord were mortal.
Helen set a place for the unexpected guest without being asked. But Helen, like Teela and Tain, had an air that was distinctly more martial. The dining room became, with the insertion of Nightshade, a small battlefield. On the other hand, the cutlery didn’t turn into daggers or swords.
Nightshade’s seat was not beside Annarion; nor was it beside Kaylin. It was between Bellusdeo and Teela. A dark, perfect brow rose as he glanced at Helen; his lips folded into something too sardonic to be a smile. An acknowledgment, perhaps. Her suspicion did not offend him.
No, Kaylin thought with some surprise. The only thing in the room that appeared to do that was the younger brother he had come to visit.
Chapter 5
The table was silent for a good five minutes. This was almost miraculous for a house that contained Kaylin and Mandoran. Kaylin was willing to swallow words; she was too ill at ease to speak without thinking, and her thoughts were so tied up in the Aerian problem she didn’t have any left over to waste on not offending Barrani.
You will not offend me. No one but Kaylin could hear Nightshade’s voice, a reminder—probably deliberate—that they were bound by his True Name. She started, flushed and met his gaze. His eyes were much greener, but given his seating, not green.
You have this thing about dignity and proper respect. All of you do, except Mandoran, Kaylin replied.
I was long considered overly tolerant among my own kin.
How many of those that believed this are still alive?
His eyes widened. She’d surprised him. And amused him; the two expressions chased across his face, easing the lines of tension slightly. A few. At least one of them is at this table now.
He could only mean Teela. Kaylin’s gaze swiveled toward her, and veered at the last minute. Too late. This amused Nightshade, as well. It had never been Kaylin’s life’s ambition to amuse Lord Nightshade.
“I hear,” he said gravely, “that you had an eventful morning.”
She nodded, glaring at Mandoran. Mandoran shrugged his lazy, bored shrug. It was too long, too indolent, and too graceful to properly be the fief shrug that he was trying to copy. “Annarion was worried.”