Kaylin knew the inside of the Pridlea by heart. She had often wondered where that expression—by heart—had come from, but she felt, now, that she understood. It wasn’t that the details were memorized—she could memorize a crime scene down to rusty nails and scuffs on the walls. But there was water and hot milk on the table, spiced with cinnamon and ginger; there were paper lamps—so out of place in the Pridlea they had probably been given to Marcus as an office gift and he had dumped them here. More than that, there was Kayala and her wives.
Graylin was awake, and she carried thick blankets over both of her arms. They were, of all colors, a rosy pink, and it took Kaylin a full minute to realize that they were blankets she had bought for the Pridlea with her first pay. She’d liked the color, then—she couldn’t imagine why. But if they had seen little use, they had obviously been valued by the four women who had been, in their own way, like fanged, furry mothers.
Sarabe sat with her arms around her sister. Marai allowed Sarabe to look at her wounds—and to lick them clean. Kaylin, having seen the younger cubs tended to in just such a fashion, didn’t even blink. It wasn’t what she would have done, on the other hand. There was a silence around these two women that was definitive, and it lasted for a while.
When it was broken, it was broken by Kayala, and Kayala didn’t speak to either of the sisters directly. Instead, she turned her wide, round eyes on Kaylin and the babe she carried.
“What happened?”
Kaylin, child tucked into her arms, hesitated. “I met with Marai, as planned.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“You took your Severn with you?”
“He’s not mine, and I didn’t take him. He kind of insisted on going.”
“And he is?”
“Outside somewhere.”
Kayala nodded. “I approve of him,” she told Kaylin, as if that settled something.
“Kayala—”
“And the child you carry? Marai’s cub?”
Her arms tightened as Kayala approached. Kayala, of course, noticed. She didn’t stop, but she noticed.
“His fur’s not red,” Kaylin said quietly. She couldn’t bring herself to surrender the child. Couldn’t have said why, but maybe that was because she didn’t want to admit that she was afraid to trust Kayala. This child, she knew, was a child who should never have been born.
“It wouldn’t have to be,” Kayala replied. She glanced down at the sleeping face, and her expression softened.
“I don’t think Marai was the only Leontine to bear a forbidden child.”
“Oh?”
“The father,” Kaylin replied.
Silence. But it was now a different silence, and it encompassed the watchful room. Even Sarabe and Marai now sat, breath held, waiting.
Kayala said, quietly, “What do you mean?”
“You said something yesterday. You called it—the color of the fur—witch-fur. I remembered it, but it all seemed like so much witch hunting to me, it seemed like a—a story that you tell children. But it wasn’t just a story, was it? Kayala, the man that Marai was living with was a mage. Marcus once told me there was no such thing as a Leontine mage—but I know magic.”
Kayala lifted both of her paws in front of her face, palms out, as if she needed protection from the words themselves. “A…mage?”
“I’ve met a few in my time. Trust me.”
“Kaylin, why do you say—”
“Most Leontines don’t throw great balls of fire around their home.” She hesitated and then said, “Kayala—he changed. His shape. His form.”
Kayala was silent again. The words seemed to strike her like blows; she weathered them, but they caused damage.
“But, Kayala, so did Marai.”
“Impossible,” Sarabe said. The other wives were standing or sitting in the corners of the dining room; Sarabe had not let go of her sister, and they formed an isolated huddle of two in the quiet room.
Marai said nothing. But the look she gave Kaylin had no accusation in it, and it made no plea. Because it made none, Kaylin fell silent.
“Continue, kitling,” Kayala said softly.
Still, Kaylin waited. Minutes passed; claws didn’t so much as scratch the scarred table.
Marai said at last, “It’s true.”
Sarabe’s arms tightened, and Kaylin remembered that in a different life, they had only had each other. They still did.
But Kayala made a lie of that, a quiet, cautious one; she approached them, and when she was close enough to touch, she crouched, bringing her face close to Marai’s. “When?” she asked quietly. “When did you discover this?”
Marai shook her head.
“When you were young?”
“No. Only after.”
“After.”
“After he came. He said—” She turned her head, caught a glimpse of Sarabe and drew a long breath. “He said we were special, Sarabe and I. And that he was like us. He wanted Sarabe to live with us. He told me—he said it was important that we be together. But she wouldn’t come. I thought he wouldn’t take me,” she said. “But he did. And he showed me—what I could do. He taught me how to become—become my other self.
“Sarabe could do it,” Marai said. Her sister’s hands tightened around her arms, but she offered no words.
“You could teach her this?” Kayala asked softly.
“No. But he could. He could do so many things,” she said. She seemed to shrink in on herself. “I was happy. For a while. I was happy. He didn’t despise me and he didn’t pity me.”
“Sarabe is neither despised nor pitied.”
“But she couldn’t be what we are. She could never be what we are, living here. Living with you.”
Kayala nodded. “There are some things forbidden us.”
“But why? Why are they forbidden? Is it so very evil to be able to run and hunt and see? Is it wrong to be able to do what others can’t? It was envy, that’s what he said. Envy and fear. You’re all afraid of what we can do.
“And we let you fear us. We let you kill us,” she added. “We live by your rules.”
Sarabe let her sister talk; Kaylin would have stopped her. But Kayala seemed neither afraid nor offended. She let Marai talk, and she let Marai cry—and Marai did both, as if she were a child.
But after she had finished, Kayala said, “Why did you ask to meet with Kaylin?”
Marai froze.
“Kayala—” Kaylin began.
“No. She will answer the question. Kit, I smell your blood. We all can. If you tell me that she did not invite you to the home of the man she lives with in order to harm you, I will believe you.”
“It’s because—”
“But I will listen to your answer when I ask you for it. Until then, be silent.”
Instinct made Kaylin’s jaw snap shut.
“Good. Marai?”
Marai burrowed into Sarabe’s arms. “She knew. About my son.”
“She was not the only one.”
“No.”
“Marcus knew.”
Silence. In that silence, a muted look of pain or horror slowly transforming her face, Sarabe disentangled herself from her sister. It was almost more than Kaylin could bear, and she held the child in her arms as closely as she could, as if he were a shield.
“Did you try to kill Kaylin, Marai?”
The silence was terrible. Kaylin broke it. “Yes.”
There was anger in the Pridlea then, sudden and terrifying.
CHAPTER 10
“Why are you even asking the question when you already know the answer?” Kaylin’s voice sounded thin to her own ears. Thin and angry, because she was angry.
Kayala rose and Kaylin took a step back. She stopped herself from taking a second one. When a Leontine was angry, fleeing was the last thing you wanted to do. If you wanted to survive.
“I wanted her answer,” Kayala replied curtly.
“She’s only giving you half of it, anyway. She wants to pro
tect her son. Yes, she meant to—she meant to harm me. You know that. But I’m not angry about it. I don’t see why you should be.”
“You are my kit,” was her cool growl of a reply.
“She stopped. She didn’t kill me. She didn’t even keep trying. I wouldn’t have brought her here if—”
“You are Marcus’s,” Kayala said. “You would have. He would have. You have no common sense.”
“No.”
“Why do you think she stopped?”
Kaylin drew a deep, steadying breath. “Because I claimed the right of Pridlea. I promised to protect our child. And Kayala? I meant it. I will not let you harm this baby.”
Kayala said nothing. She didn’t even growl. But she looked at the sleeping cub for a long, long moment.
“He’s a baby, Kayala. Whatever it is you’re afraid of, he’s just a baby.”
“And his father?”
“It doesn’t matter. She birthed him, I helped. I don’t understand what this child means, but—”
“Do you understand what his father means?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you should.” Kayala turned to look down at Marai. Her voice gentled, which surprised Kaylin. “Be grateful that Kaylin is who she is. Our husband has had a hand in shaping what he found, and he would be proud of her. Frustrated by her, certainly, but proud of her. I will not harm your son,” she added, “not tonight, and not unless it is necessary. But if it is necessary, you will know.
“I do not know what it is to grow as you grew. I cannot imagine the life you must have lived. For my part, I am grateful that you and your sister were allowed to live, for I love Sarabe dearly. But your—guardian is another story.
“He is a danger, Marai.”
Marai swallowed and nodded. “He would have killed us all,” she said. “All of us but his son. He wanted a son,” she added.
“Why?” Kaylin asked. “Why a son? It would mean—” She hesitated. “Marai, you couldn’t have raised a son. Not among the Leontines.”
“I don’t know,” Marai replied at last. “I don’t know why. I know it was important to him. That’s all.”
“And what were you going to do?” Kaylin asked. “How were you going to live?” She held the baby carefully. “I don’t understand what the child means to his father. If he had wanted to hide, wouldn’t he have run?”
Marai shook her head. “He said we could leave. The three of us. We could find a home outside of the city. I could form a Pridlea of my own on the plains.”
“But you didn’t leave.”
“No.”
“What was he waiting for?”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “But a week ago, maybe a little less, he left the Quarter for two days.”
“After the baby was born.”
She nodded.
“And was he different when he came back?”
“I thought so. But I was nervous. I was afraid.”
“Marai, did he speak with Marcus at all?”
“I don’t know. After the baby was born, I couldn’t leave the house. I couldn’t leave him,” she added.
“You didn’t trust his father.”
The hesitation was marked, profound. But in the end, she nodded. “I couldn’t. He wanted to take the baby with him—”
“When he was days old?” Kayala’s voice rose at least an octave on the last word. It was the only thing musical about her.
She nodded. “He thought I was sleeping.”
“I bet you didn’t sleep much after that.”
“No. I’m sorry,” she added. “I didn’t want to kill you. I thought I had no choice.” She tried to stand and Sarabe caught her, pulling her back into the safety of calmer, steady arms.
“I’m fine with it,” Kaylin said, meaning it. “But I’m not fine with Marcus.”
“Marcus wasn’t there.”
“No, he wasn’t. He’s locked in a cage in the middle of fancy pit. And I’m willing to bet money—my own, even—that the crime he’s accused of and your missing guardian are connected. Marai, I don’t know your guardian. I don’t judge him. I want to kill him, yes, but that’s almost beside the point. He’s a mage. Magic was used in the Quarter, tonight, and we need to bring mages in to track it.”
“Track it?”
“All magic leaves a…a signature. If it’s a very weak magic, it’s hard to tell what it is—but if it’s a column of flame, any mage worth their working title will be able to tell you who cast the spell if they’ve seen the signature before. At the very least it will tell us whether or not he’s performed other acts of magic that Imperial Mages know about. It would help me if I knew what he could do.”
“You mean the magic?”
Kaylin nodded.
“I’m sorry, Kaylin. I don’t know.”
Marai didn’t know very much, and Kaylin had to bite her tongue to stop herself from pointing this out.
“The form you saw—I knew of it. I know he can move quickly—much more quickly than I can—and that he can hide in the shadows. He can’t be tracked by scent. But the fire wasn’t something he showed me.” There was more than a trace of bitterness in those words.
“Did he say anything at all about the baby?”
“Only that it was important. He knew I knew it had to be kept secret from other Leontines. He wasn’t happy that I called you,” she said. “But the birthing, the labor—I was afraid. I was afraid that it was wrong somehow. I—”
“You got my name from Marcus.”
“Yes.”
“In person?”
She nodded.
“You were pregnant—that much must have been obvious to Marcus.”
She nodded again. “I meant to tell Marcus that the child died in birth, if it was a boy. If it was a girl, it wasn’t significant. Sarabe has girls.”
“But you didn’t?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t have the chance. Things happened here—” She waved one shaking hand in a half circle that encompassed the Pridlea, and possibly the Quarter.
“I don’t think this—this mage—meant to raise the child,” Kaylin said.
“What else could he have meant for it?” Kayala asked sharply. “Had he intended to kill the child, he would not have been in this danger.”
Kaylin shrugged, but very, very carefully. An armful of baby made nonchalance difficult. “I don’t know,” she replied. “But if he’d just wanted a son, he could have left the city with Marai the day after he met her. It would be far, far safer out there than it is here.”
“Out there, as you put it, her fur would mark her no matter where she traveled. And if the child was seen as hers, it would mark him as well.”
“Why are mages so hated among the Leontines? Marcus told me once that there weren’t any. He was proud of that, by the way—he hates Arcanists at least as much as I do. He’s only barely more polite to the Imperial Mages than I am.” Kaylin had the grace to wince at this.
Kayala was silent. They all were. At last Kayala said, “Bring your mages, if you must. It will be interesting to hear what they have to say.”
“You’re not going to tell me that this is not a matter for outsiders?”
“I would, if I thought you would listen.”
“She’s lying,” Reesa said calmly, speaking in her soothing purr of a voice. “She would not tell you that if she thought you would heed her. We need our husband back,” she added, as if this wasn’t obvious. “And we would like him back in one piece, if at all possible.”
“Reesa.”
“However, there may be those among the Elders who will object to your visit.”
Kaylin started to shrug again.
“The attempt on your life was an attempt on your life. If you choose to heed the words of the Elders—”
“Not in this lifetime.”
“—then you will turn back. But as you are not Leontine, you are not beholden to our laws.”
“That part, I understood.”
r /> Sarabe lifted her head. “If you are not careful,” she said, her voice so soft it was almost human, “you will be forced to mention my sister’s transformation. They will kill her.”
Kaylin took a deep breath. “Explain why your children are so dangerous. If it’s the magic—”
“It’s the magic,” Kayala said flatly. “But more. Our oldest stories warn us of the danger.”
“You’ve been married to Marcus a long time, Kayala. You know he has to deal with mages.”
She nodded. “But they are not Leontine. The Leontines have no mages.”
“Not if they kill them at birth, no.”
Kayala glanced at Sarabe, who shook her head firmly.
“It might be better if you leave us,” the Matriarch said to Sarabe, when it became clear that a glance was not enough to encourage her departure.
“No.”
Kayala lifted a brow. “Very well, then.” She turned her back upon her youngest wife and her wife’s sister. “You saw what he was.”
“You mean the giant cat?”
She nodded. “And…Marai has that taint.”
“Why exactly is it a taint?”
“You have stories, surely, of men who turn into wolves. Marcus has mentioned them.”
Kaylin hesitated and then nodded. The past year had taught her that sneering at old stories wasn’t always wise. “Werewolves.”
“Yes.”
“So you’re saying he’s the Leontine version of a were?”
“I’m saying that anything that can change its shape, that can become something entirely different, is a danger in any race. There is a…wrongness to this ability in those who are mortal.”
“This has nothing to do with magic.”
“Not directly, no. But…” She hesitated again. “This is a discussion for the Elders.”
“I don’t want to talk to the Elders unless I know enough to hold my own.”
“That will probably be never,” Reesa interjected.
“If you are very lucky, kitling, yes. Mortals are born living, they live, they die. It is the same with your race and mine.”
“And the Tha’alani.”
“Any mortal race. It is said that the Barrani and the Dragons require more to live. They are not born alive in a way that we understand it.”