“It would, alas, be outside of the Quarter. On short notice, I cannot navigate the complicated—”
Kayala raised a hand; it was almost as good as a “shut up.” She raised her voice, spoke a few harsh words in Leontine.
From the alley came three Leontines. Two were golden, and one was gray-furred, although the gray was smeared; their eyes were wide and round as they approached Sanabalis; they were ten years old, shared a birthday and several mothers. Kaylin saw them, saw that they were both frightened and whole, and looked beyond them to the alley’s mouth. There, standing with her arms tightly folded across her chest, stood their birth mother, bristling.
In the night sky, it was hard to tell that her fur was red. It was hard to tell anything much beyond the “approach with caution” that was Leontine panic.
“This,” Kayala said, although Sarabe advanced no further, “is my youngest wife. It is my duty and my privilege to protect her with my life, Eldest.”
“Her fate,” Sanabalis replied, “is not in my hands. I am not Leontine, but I understand enough of the Pridlea to know that any offer I make will of course include all of your wives, and all of the children living with you.”
Kayala tilted her head to one side for a moment, studying the Dragon Lord. Her breath came out in a hiss, but she hooded her fangs. “He is your friend, kitling?”
“He’s my teacher,” Kaylin replied. And then, after a moment, she continued, “But inasmuch as Dragons and humans can be friends, I consider him a friend.”
“Then I will, on behalf of the Pridlea, gratefully accept your offer, Eldest.”
Sanabalis nodded. Kaylin thought there would be questions, but he merely said, “Is this all of your Pridlea?”
Kayala nodded.
“Then follow. You will not all fit in the carriage, and at this time of night, it is safe to walk the city streets.”
On this side of the Ablayne, Kaylin thought. She didn’t say it. “I will of course have questions,” he added, “but they can wait the night.” He bowed to her.
Kaylin kept her questions to herself, but it was hard. It would have been even more difficult if Severn weren’t there, reminding her, with a silent glance, of the cost of words.
CHAPTER 16
The walk through the streets was long and silent. It wasn’t until they approached the boundaries of the Quarter, harsh lines softened by the silver of moonlight, that Sarabe’s children, huddled around her, began to speak amongst themselves. Kayala was silent, as were the wives, and the only words that Sarabe spoke were so muffled Kaylin couldn’t hear them.
The streets outside of the Quarter were well lit but mercifully empty. How much of that emptiness had to do with a pack of Leontines, Kaylin wasn’t certain—but she didn’t really care. She wanted to get the Pridlea out of the streets. That much, she could do for Marcus. Better still, Sarabe wouldn’t be in the Quarter, and whatever decision awaited her at the hands of the Elders wouldn’t matter. In the parts of the city that were not subject to Caste Law, she would be safe.
Or as safe as she could be, when escorted by a Dragon Lord. Sanabalis had not spoken a word since he had begun to lead them to the palace. Words, apparently, weren’t necessary. He’d made his offer, it had been accepted. Reluctantly accepted, but accepted nonetheless. Kaylin wanted to break the silence because it seemed so—so funereal. But Severn was by her side, and the one time she opened her mouth to speak, he caught her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She’d clung to silence as if it were a particularly difficult ledge. For her, it was.
The Palace never truly closed down. The lights were never dimmed, the torches never put out. People obviously slept, but the quiet and certain footsteps of patrolling guards, the rustle of servants’ skirts, could be heard if one listened. Given the absolute silence of the Leontines—whose voices were very seldom called quiet—listening was easy.
Sanabalis was met at the front gates, and the guards took note of his guests, but they didn’t question him, and they didn’t speak to the Leontines. They nodded briskly to Kaylin and Severn—if there was any rivalry between the royal guards and the officers of the Halls, it was one grounded in grudging mutual respect. The fact that Kaylin and Severn looked as if they’d been in a messy fight, and the Leontines, in a bath of ash, didn’t cause them to even raise a brow.
Then again, they were used to the whims of the Dragon Court. Kaylin wondered how often Sanabalis brought guests with him. She did not, of course, ask. Instead, she followed Sanabalis from the gates to the Palace proper without any obvious hesitation at all. Leontines could read body language the way sages could read dead ones. She didn’t want to make them nervous. Or more nervous than they already were, at any rate.
The head of the household staff met them when they’d cleared the outer doors, the guards just beyond the doors, and the internal doors. What happened outside, this well-dressed and officious man’s demeanor suggested, was not in any way a concern. Certainly not his concern.
And like the guards, he did not bat an eyelash or raise a brow, and the Palace lighting was good enough that he could easily see how grungy and bedraggled Sanabalis’s guests were.
“I require the use of the east guest wing,” Sanabalis said without preamble, and with no explanation at all. “My companions—the Leontines—will be housed there until further notice is given.”
The man nodded. His head was faintly luminescent in the light of too much fire, even contained. “And there will be no other guests?”
“No. They will be Leontine quarters for the duration.”
“Very good, Lord Sanabalis. I will inform the staff of the required levels of service. Do you desire me to show them their quarters?”
“No. Merely have them opened, and suitably furnished, and I will do the rest.”
The man bowed again. It was a clean, clipped movement that was both respectful and entirely free from any sign of groveling obedience.
Sanabalis turned to Kayala when the man had disappeared from view. “There are doors,” he told her, “and they are warded. We have no hangings and no keys. I apologize, but it is the one basic security precaution that is not overruled by cultural preferences. The ward will be set to recognize your Pridlea, and also Private Neya if you permit.”
“And you?”
“No. If I wish to visit you, I will visit in the usual fashion. The Emperor, however, has access to any room in the Palace, from the highest tower to the lowest dungeon. It is unlikely that he will find cause to visit, but if he does not choose to follow the rules of courtesy…”
Kayala nodded and growled her assent.
“Food will also be brought to your chambers. It will be left outside the keyed doors. Unless you request it, the servants will not visit, and they will not clean or tidy without your permission.
“The wing contains a large bath chamber,” he continued, his voice so blandly neutral it was a simple statement of fact. “The baths will not be drawn or filled unless you request it, and they do not adjoin the chambers in which you will otherwise live. While you occupy the rooms, they will not be used by anyone but your Pridlea.
“Should you wish to entertain visitors, there will be no interference while they are within your chambers. They will, however, be required to pass the same guards that we passed on the way in, and to answer any questions those guards pose. Again, it is a simple precaution, and the lack of hospitality is something that anyone who resides within the Palace accepts as the cost of their lodgings.”
Kayala nodded again. No one else had spoken a word; even the girls were silent. Nor had Sanabalis addressed any of his comments or explanations to any of the other Leontines. Then again, they were all but cowering behind Kayala, so that probably made some sense. It was hard to talk rationally to someone who was cowering. Kaylin, as a Hawk, had some experience with this.
“Follow,” Sanabalis said gravely. Kayala turned to the rest of her Pridlea, her glance encompassing Kaylin and neatly bypassing Severn before she strode down th
e hall after Lord Sanabalis. They took the hint and followed. Kaylin hesitated a moment, and Severn shook his head. “Pridlea rules,” he said with a faint smile, “don’t seem to extend to a Dragon Lord. I’ll wait. If you’re going to stay, let me know, and I’ll meet you in the morning.”
She nodded, and then trotted after the vanishing Leontine Pridlea.
Kayala, however, stopped for a moment and turned, causing a small pileup at her back. “Corporal Handred,” she said, in formal Leontine, “we are not in our Quarter, and we are guests of the Dragon Emperor. As guests, some flexibility may be called for.”
“The rooms are yours, Kayala,” Kaylin began.
“Kitling,” she said, waving a paw almost wearily, “shut up. Learn tactful silence from your Corporal. It’s too much to be expected that you could learn it from our husband—since he also lacks the ability to use it.”
The rooms were big. They made Rennick’s rooms look small in comparison. There were, admittedly, more Leontines than there were Rennick’s. There was also a hair rug on the floor in front of a fireplace that looked large enough to burn houses in. There was a low table, throws and pillows, and the table held fairly simple food: breads, cheeses, fruits—and a lot of meat.
There were two normal chairs, but they were larger than those in Rennick’s room; large enough to comfortably contain a male Leontine.
Kayala’s eyes widened slightly. “Eat,” she told her wives and daughters. “Eldest, will you join us?”
“I will stay,” he replied quietly. “But I do not require food. I require answers,” he said. “What happened tonight?”
Kayala held out her arms, and Kaylin reluctantly handed her the sleeping baby. The Leontine then examined the chairs for a moment before deciding against them; she made herself at home on the floor by the table. Her wives and daughters were slow to move from her side, and their dignity—or Kayala’s—would have suffered greatly if they’d been forced to huddle around a freestanding chair.
There was a long silence. Kayala glanced at Kaylin, and Kaylin nodded slightly.
“We were not yet asleep,” she said—in Elantran. “My youngest wife was restless, and we were all concerned with the fate of our husband. We do not have your door wards,” she continued. “And perhaps—just perhaps—there is wisdom in their existence. But we have what we were born with—our senses. Our instincts.
“We felt the intrusion of a stranger.”
“And when you saw him, did you recognize him?”
Again, a hesitation. This time, however, Kayala did not look to Kaylin. “Yes, Eldest,” she said at last, as if begrudging her words. Or sifting them. “We meet very few of the males, and never without the company of our husband. But this one, we have seen before. He frequents public areas. He was injured, and he did not speak coherently.”
“This stranger,” Sanabalis said, “can you describe him?”
“He was male. He is called Orogrim by my people. His fur is gray,” she said, “although in the right light, it pales. He is taller than my husband, and slightly narrower of build.
“He came to our house to make demands of us,” she continued, “and those demands were refused. When he understood that his presence was undesired and, further, that we were prepared to…enforce…his departure, he changed.”
“Changed how?” Sanabalis asked quietly. The words, however, were dagger-blade sharp.
“I cannot describe it,” Kayala replied after a pause. “It was not something seen, but something…smelled. Is that the right word?”
“It’ll do,” Kaylin said, in rough Leontine. And added, in the same language, “You’re saying his scent changed?”
Kayala nodded. She closed her eyes a moment, and continued to speak, rocking back and forth without any conscious effort, child in her arms. “It was foul,” she said. “And sweet. Like rotting meat.
“I knew there was a danger—” She shook her head. “One of us—I don’t remember who—attacked him then.” She opened her eyes suddenly, as if what she’d seen behind her lids might jump out of memory and become substantial.
“He called the fire,” she continued, in a voice that had grown more subdued. “He called the fire and the hearth rug burned.”
The silence was heavy with things unsaid. Kaylin, in particular, had to struggle to keep her lips firmly closed over the questions that she wanted so badly to ask. Severn’s hand was over hers. His touch was light, but the fact of it helped to anchor her.
Sanabalis waited for a long moment, and then shook his head. “What happened to Marai?”
Kayala was good; she didn’t so much as glance in Kaylin’s direction. Her grip on the baby changed slightly as she straightened her shoulders, shifting her stance as if she were now accepting the weight of a heavy burden. She made no attempt to dissemble.
“Marai,” she said quietly, “attacked the stranger. We were slow to react—she was not.” Kayala hesitated and then said, “The fire burned her, but it did not stop her, and in the end, the stranger chose to retreat. She was injured, but she fought well. Our husband could not have bettered her.” She took a steadying breath, and this time she did glance—at Sarabe. Sarabe’s arms and lap were full of children who were too old to fit comfortably and too young—just—not to want to try.
Sarabe nodded, and her arms tightened almost imperceptibly.
Kayala continued. “We woke the children and we made our way out of the fire. It was not large, but it was not easily extinguished.”
“It wouldn’t be,” Sanabalis said. “Go on.”
“Marai—we tried to call her back. We tried to tell her to stay with the Pridlea. But she was frantic. She left in pursuit.”
Sanabalis lifted a hand to his eyes for a moment. “This is bad news,” he said, wearily. “Did you see where they went?”
“No, Eldest. They followed the road that led out of the Quarter.”
“But, Kayala—I don’t understand—what was she thinking? We fought him the night before—she could have died then!”
“I cannot say. As you can guess, we had very little time in which to have a reasoned discussion.”
Kaylin started to speak again, but Kayala caught her gaze. “Come, kitling,” she said. She held the infant out and Kaylin accepted both the burden and the warning. With the baby came the certainty that she did, in fact, know what Marai was thinking: her child was safe, but his safety was tenuous. While his father lived, he could return, again and again. The Pridlea had been lucky, the stranger less so. But the Pridlea would have to continue to be lucky, and the stranger, Orogrim, would only have to be lucky once.
The baby stirred, and Kaylin stood. She began to pace in a little circle to one side of the low table. She had been with the Hawks for barely a few weeks when Marcus had taken her home and introduced her to Sarabe’s daughters, cubs a few years older than the one she now carried.
“Out of the Quarter?” Sanabalis said, and his voice was almost a surprise. It was impossible to forget that Sanabalis was in a room, but…she’d almost forgotten anyway.
Kayala said, “I do not know if they will leave the Quarter, but if the stranger ran the road to its natural end, they would almost have had to do so.” She hesitated once more.
Sanabalis was no fool; obviously, he had marked each hesitation.
“He left in the form of a panther,” she told him. “He ran at a speed that none of us could equal.” She turned to Kaylin. “If she returns, she must come to us. She must be allowed to come to us. Will you watch for her?”
Kaylin, holding Marai’s son, nodded.
And Sanabalis looked at Kaylin. “I understand that you hope I am befuddled by the wealth of years I possess,” he told her coolly. “And to my surprise, Private Neya, there has been some temptation to play at ignorance. But even old and distracted by concerns as I am, I cannot help but notice that you carry a baby.
“The babe is not Sarabe’s. No pregnancy was registered with the Elders, and by Caste law, such registration is required. T
he baby could be Marcus’s,” he continued, “but none of the other wives have so much as touched the child. Only the Pridlea Matriarch—and you.
“Is the child Marai’s?”
She saw the liquid orange of his eyes and knew that fire waited her answer. But she, as Kayala before her, straightened her shoulders. “Yes,” she said evenly. “But by the common law of the Pridlea, he is also mine. I helped to birth him, Marcus. I licked him clean.” This last was an exaggeration which she felt Marai would forgive. “And I promised Marai that I would protect him.”
“It is unwise to give your word if your word cannot be kept.”
“Or die trying.”
“That,” he added, with just a touch of dryness, “is more easily achieved.” He rose. “This child of Marai’s is the son of Orogrim.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“The Elders would not allow the child to live,” Sanabalis told her evenly.
“No. But Marai was not married.”
One brow rose.
“She wasn’t married. Her pregnancy wasn’t registered because in the mess of Leontine Caste laws, pregnancy doesn’t seem to officially happen to women who aren’t wives.” Kaylin snorted.
“Do you understand the danger he presents?”
“Look at him, Sanabalis. From over there,” she added. “How much of a danger can he be? He’s been asleep the entire time. When he’s awake, he’s a baby.”
“He will not always be a baby. He will be his father’s son—his father’s and his mother’s.” Then he, too, rose. He was not, at his full height, a small man. Dragons never were. “And will you protect the city from such a child, grown to power?”
“Yes. With,” she added quietly, “the same life I’d spend protecting him from you.”
“And is there something else that you have neglected to mention?” “Yes.”
“Mention it now.”
She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t quite force the words out. Severn, as he so often did, came to her rescue from a silence that had almost made him invisible. “Marai was not entirely Leontine.”