“No.” He paused. “But the Leontine you met—the one you called mage?”
“He could.”
“So it appears. There is a reason why those marked are destroyed at birth,” he said. “If, in the end, one is born who can contain enough of the shadows that lie beneath Elantra, the whole of the Leontine race cannot help but hear his voice, and know it. That Leontine, the one you mistook for a mage, had to hear the story—and it is not in any sense of the word what you mean when you say story—to come into the power he has shown.
“There is nowhere else in the Empire—to our knowledge or Barrani knowledge—where such a story could be told.”
The child…
She swallowed. “The…corpse…recognized you,” she said.
“Did he?”
“He said—”
“Enough. I have said before, and I hope not to have to repeat myself often, that there is a reason the Emperor chose to build his city in this place. You have seen the shadow’s power and you recognize what you see. Believe that they are not less intelligent.” He gestured with his hands and what remained of the corpse burned, blue and white, for just an instant.
There wasn’t enough left to bury when the flames disappeared into that deadness of vision bright light causes.
He gestured again and nodded toward Adar. “First Son, I believe you have your answer.”
Adar bowed. “Eldest,” he said, his tone gravelly and grave at the same time. “We have much to deliberate this eve. Will you join us?”
“No. I have other business in the Quarter which will not wait. I will take my companions, with your permission, and we will adjourn. It is wearying, to speak the oldest of tongues. I was not born to it.
“But gather your people, First Son. Gather those you feel are at risk. I will speak with them all tomorrow.”
“Eldest.”
“Wait, what about Marcus?”
The First Son was slow to acknowledge Kaylin. “As I said, we have much to deliberate this eve.” It was a dismissal.
Kaylin ground her teeth in frustration.
Sanabalis took a few moments to straighten out what remained of his robes. It didn’t help, much. The robes themselves were scarred by claws and fangs, and the center portion hung in a loose drape of tatters that wouldn’t have looked at home on a beggar. The Dragon Lord frowned. “Wait here,” he told the Hawks. “I was prepared for difficulty.” He left them and headed back up the stairs of graduated concentric ovals, in the direction of the carriage. Kaylin watched his back.
She was silent. Still. Severn touched her shoulder and the warmth of his hand was almost a shock. But she didn’t look at him. She was calculating distance and time.
“He told you to wait,” Severn said, correctly divining the direction her thoughts were heading in.
“Sarabe and Marai—” She stopped for a moment. “Marai,” she whispered.
“She is not dead.”
“Severn—he must have spoken to her. The same way he spoke to the Leontine who for all intents and purposes was dead when he tried to kill Marcus. We have to—”
“If she had been…possessed like that, you would have known.”
“How?”
One dark brow disappeared behind his bangs.
She shrugged, restless.
“He wanted her to bear a child,” Severn said, when it became clear that she would not speak. “How much could she change and still accomplish that goal?”
She nodded stiffly. “We don’t know where he went.”
“No.”
“Maybe Sanabalis intends to find him.” She held on to that thought as the Dragon Lord returned—in simpler and lighter robes. They were not as fine, and they were not as obviously official—but he didn’t really need much in a culture where loincloths were often considered more than enough.
“Kaylin,” he said, “I believe it is now time to visit the Pridlea of your Sergeant.”
Hope withered.
They left the carriage. Sanabalis wanted to walk. He probably had good reasons for doing so; Kaylin didn’t ask. She was a little too alert, a little too ready to fight or flee. He appeared to be watching the streets.
“We don’t know where the—the mage went,” she said.
“No.”
It was like fishing with a club. She gave up. The night streets—and it was night, now—were as quiet and preternaturally silent as any jungle. The moonlight was bright and silver, reducing everything to shades of gray.
“They might be sleeping,” she said, aware that she was trying too damn hard but unable to stop herself.
Sanabalis didn’t dignify the words with a response. He walked as if he knew where he was going. She followed in his wake, because she did know, and even the hope that she could somehow get lost—and that had the advantage of being something she usually did a few times—left her.
She was miserable. Marcus would be found innocent—he’d better bloody well be or she’d raise hell—but he wouldn’t be home when a Dragon came to visit his wives.
She stopped walking.
Sanabalis, a few steps ahead, stopped as well and turned. He looked older and wearier than she had ever seen him. “Private?”
“What do you intend to do?” she asked.
He could have pretended ignorance—not that it would have worked—but ignorance, apparently, was beneath the dignity of a Dragon Lord. “I intend to visit,” he replied. “Just that.”
“And Sarabe?” She couldn’t bring herself to mention Marai, not yet.
“You refer to Marcus’s youngest wife.”
“Yes.”
“Her fate is not in my hands,” he replied. “Unless she chooses to attack me, which I think unlikely, I intend her no harm.”
“You promise?”
A pale brow rose, was obvious even in the silvered light. “Kaylin, you are not a child.”
She didn’t even bridle.
“I spoke with the First Son while you spoke with the Sergeant,” he said at last. “And I am aware that the ruins of the home we visited belonged to the…mage. I am also aware that Sarabe’s sister lived there. There was no body,” he added, “and you have failed to tell me what I need to know.” His gaze was sharp. “I was only peripherally aware of Sarabe, but the fact that Marai lived with the mage has taken on new significance to the Elders. You will, of course, understand why.”
“I—”
“You did not tell me why you chose to visit,” he continued, when the sentence was abruptly truncated. “You did not tell me if the sister—Marai, I believe, is her name—was present. You failed to mention her at all.
“I can only assume that this oversight on your part was deliberate.”
She said nothing. It wasn’t the safest thing to do, but she was a miserable liar.
“Her sister, however, may be more forthcoming. Kaylin, this is not a game. There is a danger here, and it is profound. I will not ask you how you came to be at the mage’s home. I am aware that were it not for that coincidence, we would not now be aware of the danger we face, and I am not unmindful of that debt to you.
“But it is not a danger that will affect only the Quarter. It is a danger that threatens the entire city. Marai was marked, and the wisdom of the Elders was overruled. She was not destroyed—at birth—as she would have been on the plains. And on the plains, it would have been far safer to allow her to live.”
“She did nothing wrong—”
“Kaylin.”
“No. I’m a Hawk, Sanabalis. There are laws. She did nothing wrong.”
“And you are certain of this?”
She stopped, because she wasn’t.
“I see,” Sanabalis said.
“What of her sister?”
“Sarabe?”
Kaylin nodded.
“She has been closely watched,” he replied. “And she is not connected—yet—with the stranger.” He was silent for a long moment. “I would see her destroyed,” he said at last, and heavily.
All of the hair
on Kaylin’s neck stood on end.
“But that decision is not in my hands.”
“But it is. You can tell them what to do—and what not to do—and they’ll listen to you. They’ll listen to you in a way that they wouldn’t even listen to their own. If you tell them that you don’t think she’s a danger—”
“You counsel me to lie?”
“She’s not a danger. Sarabe has had her children, and she won’t risk having more. All of hers were girls, and they survived. And why the hell is it just boys that are considered a danger?”
“We do not know,” he replied. “It is perhaps because women can give birth, and the imperative to breed among mortals is physical, and requires some continuity and stability of form. It overrides much else, and on levels that simple magic cannot easily dislodge.”
“She’s Marcus’s wife,” Kaylin said. “She has a Pridlea, and children of her own. She’s done nothing wrong. She’s lived with the judgment of others all her life simply because she was born the wrong damn color. I don’t care if you want her destroyed—you don’t know her. I do. And you can’t legally destroy her,” she added. “It would be murder.”
“It would be a matter for the Caste Court,” he replied levelly.
“The hell it would.”
“I think you’ll find—”
“Marcus was willing to die to protect her—” Her brain caught up with her mouth and closed it down.
“I see. So he suspected.”
Severn gave Kaylin a long, inscrutable stare.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice slightly thicker, the syllables a little too distinct. “I won’t let it remain a matter for the Caste Courts. I was there and I’m not Leontine.”
“You were forbidden to be there.”
“No, I wasn’t. I was forbidden to interfere in Marcus’s case. This is entirely different. If Sarabe and Marai won’t take the matter to the Imperial Courts, I will.”
“No one is likely to thank you for it.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass. We have laws, and they’re not written with specific exceptions for people you think might be dangerous. If we could kill everyone who might be a danger, there wouldn’t be any bloody Arcanists.”
“A fair point.”
“Dragons,” Severn said, joining the conversation quietly and unexpectedly, as he so often did, “are not known for their sense of fairness.”
“No indeed, we are not. But I’m curious, Private Neya. The Hawk, of course, is yours to wear, but if you did not endanger it in pursuit of the truth about your Sergeant and his theoretical crime, what did bring you to the Quarter?” His eyes were amber, and seemed to glow faintly in the nightscape, as if lit from within by the fires that were legend.
The bastard knew, she thought. He knew.
Her hand fell to her dagger hilt; she had just enough sense of self-preservation not to draw it.
“This is not a game, Private,” he said quietly. “It is not a lesson. I am not your teacher here—you are not my student. There is more at risk than you can imagine.”
“Is there more at risk than there was when I developed my marks?”
He was silent for a long moment.
“Is there more at risk than there was when those children were taken by an Outcaste Dragon as sacrifices?”
She thought he might lie, and was prepared to tear through whatever reply he chose to make. But he lifted a hand, instead. “No.”
“But I’m not dead.”
“No. But in your case, Private Neya, there were mitigating circumstances. The danger you presented—and still present in your ignorance—could be weighed against the possibility that you might also do more good, and preserve more life, with the powers that none of us fully understand. There was the healing, for one.” He paused and then added, “There was the freeing of the dead Dragon. There was also the disaster that you averted when Donalan Idis kidnapped the Tha’alani child, for another.
“In the case of the Leontines? There is no mitigating factor. The most—the very most—that we can hope for is that the marked will live quiet, unremarkable lives and die without giving birth.”
She thought of Marcus. Of Kayala. Of Graylin and Reesa and Sarabe. All the lives touched by an unremarkable life. The happiness—and no doubt the tears—of living day to day, and loving. She straightened her shoulders and said, “But people like these Leontines are the reason we have laws, Sanabalis. They live their quiet lives, as you call them. They don’t threaten other people—on purpose,” she added quickly, when his mouth opened. “They love, they’re loved, they have their work to do, and they do it. The farmers are all unremarkable—to people who don’t know them and don’t have a clue about their lives—but without them, the city would starve.
“I made my oaths when I accepted the Hawk. People like Sarabe—they don’t deserve to be judged by people who think life can be reduced to—to math.”
“She will be judged, not by me, but by her own people.”
“I’m her own people,” Kaylin said grimly. “I practically grew up in that Pridlea.”
“I am aware of that,” he replied coolly. “I will give you my word that I will not harm the Pridlea this eve. Will that suffice?”
She wanted more. But she had also lived in the fiefs, and she knew a final offer when she heard it. She indicated a grudging assent. After all, what he offered was in spirit what Kayala had offered when Roshan had been given over to her keeping. In either case, it was a courtesy; she couldn’t stop Sanabalis from going to the Pridlea if she tried—although she was pretty certain she would at least live to regret the attempt.
They had walked at least another two blocks when Sanabalis stopped. He stopped so suddenly she ran into his back and bounced off it—it was like walking into a wall.
“Sanabalis?”
“I fear,” he said, in a completely expressionless voice, “that we are late.”
“What?”
He didn’t answer; instead he began to move. Something that could be so inert shouldn’t be able to move that quickly, but Kaylin had long since given up trying to make sense of Dragons. They were, in the end, magical creatures.
She ran after Sanabalis. Severn kept pace with her, although his stride was longer. Two more blocks, covered in seconds, and she could see what Sanabalis, with his strange Dragon sight, had seen: black smoke, rising into the midnight-blue of sky. Hazy, hot, very much like the air itself.
And she knew where the fire was coming from.
A block away from the Pridlea, the orange lap of flame could be seen; the flames were small compared to the shadow of smoke they cast into the windless sky. But the streets weren’t empty, and for that, she was profoundly grateful, for in the light of the orange glow, she could see Kayala.
Kayala had her arms full, but she turned as they approached, her lips drawn over her fangs in a warning growl. It was the first time that Kaylin had ever seen naked aggression on the face of Marcus’s oldest wife, and she missed a beat, stumbling in the darkness.
“Kayala, it’s me!”
The growl ceased, but the ferocity of expression did not.
“What happened?”
“We had a visitor,” she snarled. “And not a welcome one.” She turned and barked a command, and the other wives revealed themselves, coming from the sides of the buildings that faced other homes: Reesa, golden fur standing on end, Graylin, pale silvery hue darkened with soot, Tessa, black-furred, and very like the shadows.
“Where is Sarabe?” Kaylin said, a little too quickly.
“She’s safe,” Kayala replied in a more normal tone of voice. “She went to her children—they went out the back way.”
“And Marai?”
Silence.
“Kayala—”
Sanabalis, so silent and still that he could, like Severn, be forgotten, stepped forward.
Kaylin waited for the Dragon effect to take hold. But if Dragons usually entranced the Leontines, the effect of Sanabalis’s presence
at this time was clearly not as primal as the defense of one’s home and family; Kayala growled a warning note. Sanabalis actually took a step back.
“What did I tell you about bringing males here?”
“He’s not in your home,” Kaylin said, raising her empty hands so they could be clearly seen. “I wouldn’t have brought him in without your permission.”
“I see your Severn is wise enough to keep his distance.”
“Severn’s not a Dragon,” she replied.
Kayala’s brows rose at the same time. She actually looked at Sanabalis. Then she handed Kaylin the bundle in her arms without taking her eyes off the Dragon Lord. Kaylin knew what she carried, and she took the baby with the ease of long practice. But she didn’t look at him, not carefully. If Sanabalis hadn’t yet noticed, she didn’t want to draw his attention.
“Eldest,” Kayala said, in a growl. “Forgive the lack of hospitality. My Pridlea is not, at the moment, fit for visitors.”
“No, it is not. But perhaps I can be of aid, if you permit it.”
The fire had not gutted the building.
“We have attempted to put the fire out,” Kayala replied, “but it burns as you see it.”
Sanabalis frowned a moment, and then spoke—in Leontine. “You carry your home in your heart, and your heart is fierce.” He cleared his throat. “Forgive my pronunciation. It is seldom I have reason to speak your tongue.”
She nodded slowly. “Why have you come, Eldest?”
“You can ask me that while your home burns?”
She shrugged instead and turned to Kaylin. “Kitling,” she said, and the weariness in her voice overwhelmed, for a moment, the threat. “We will not be able to stay here this eve, I think. Why is the Eldest here?”
Kaylin cringed and straightened her shoulders. “It’s the—the Outcaste.”
Kayala closed her eyes.
“If you will permit it,” Sanabalis said quietly, “I will find other quarters for your family while we investigate the fire.”
Kayala’s hesitance was marked and it was cold. “All of my family?” she asked sharply.
“All,” Sanabalis said.
She didn’t trust him. That much was clear. But she also needed a place to stay in safety. “Where?”