“A great deal of sympathy for Lord Sanabalis,” Lord Nightshade said. “If this is what he contends with. Kaylin, please, focus.”
“I just wondered, that’s all.”
“Wonder another time. Tell me of this language.”
She looked at Tiamaris. His shrug was slight but clear; whatever it was she knew, he had no objections to Nightshade also knowing. Or, since he was a Dragon and Dragons were the epitome of practical in most things, he thought it unlikely that Nightshade wouldn’t find out.
“He told a story,” she said slowly. “But when he started to speak—I…I had to be there.”
“A story.”
She nodded.
“And the language?”
“I didn’t know it. I didn’t recognize it, but I felt that I should. That it was almost familiar.”
“He told a story in this language. To the Leontines?”
“Good guess.”
Nightshade ignored the sarcasm. He turned to Tiamaris. “The significance of this?”
“Uncertain. It is, however, certain that her companion did not see what she saw. We suspect that no one who cannot shape the tongue itself experiences it the way Kaylin did.”
“Which implies that in time, she will be able to speak it.”
There was a tense silence.
“Does it matter?” Kaylin asked.
“To the Dragon Emperor, almost certainly,” Lord Nightshade replied. “And to the High Lord of the Barrani as well. It is, if I am not mistaken, the tongue of the Old Ones and it is not spoken. Until recently, I would not have said for certain that any of the Dragon Court could although, if I had to guess, I would have said the Arkon could. The great Dragon whose hoard is the Imperial Library and all it contains is ancient. And Sanabalis is old.
“Kaylin, the tongue can shape a race. When it is spoken with power and intent, it can change the very nature of its audience.”
“I can’t speak it,” she said flatly.
“No. I didn’t say that you could. I said merely that you have an affinity for it that only those who can speak it possess.”
“The Outcaste can.”
“No,” Nightshade replied softly. “You are making assumptions.”
“Sanabalis thinks he can.”
“Sanabalis sees his hand in this, and that conjecture is more informed. But there are things that lie trapped in the fiefs that undoubtedly can speak the Old Tongue.”
“If they’re trapped here, they can’t reach him.”
“No?” Lord Nightshade rose slowly, abandoning his chair. “I will aid you, Lord Tiamaris. Follow.”
Lord Tiamaris inclined his head and rose.
Kaylin stood last and trailed after them. The halls were both familiar and unfamiliar; the halls in the Castle had an unfortunate habit of shifting in place. But where Nightshade walked, she could also walk. He passed several closed doors, during which time Kaylin prayed fervently to nameless gods. There were some passages in this damn Castle that she’d walked before, and she had no desire to walk them again for any reason.
Nightshade did not approach the Long Hall, guarded by the sleepers. For that, if nothing else, she thought she should be grateful. But when he led them at last to their destination, she recognized the room: Mirrors adorned its walls. Only mirrors.
Nightshade glanced at Kaylin, and she remembered that she had seen him walk through one of these shiny, spotless surfaces and vanish. She hadn’t tried to follow.
“I would not,” he warned, hearing the thoughts that she could never quite dampen. “Were I you, especially. Force of will is required to navigate these mirrors. They are part of the Castle, and they bend to the will of the Castle’s Lord.
“You have had very little experience bending the will of others to your own purposes. You are afraid to force your will upon strangers. Such fear would be seen as weakness. And where these mirrors would take you then, even I cannot say.
“Come,” he added. He gestured in front of the center mirror in the large room. It was rectangular, and if it had a frame, Kaylin couldn’t see it. But she could see what shuddered into sight as the mirror accepted Lord Nightshade’s silent command—as if it were Records. All of the fief of Nightshade, the streets so meticulously detailed she could see old wells, old horse paths, old carriage tracks. She could see the Four Corners and, with care, could make out the run-down building in which she’d spent so many years of her life.
But…it wasn’t just Records. Because she could also see the people who traversed the morning streets. They stopped to talk to one another, or hurried out of sight, their furtive attempt at hiding made ridiculous by the merciless gaze of a mirror that seemed to watch them from above.
“If you desired it,” Nightshade said, standing at her back as she stared, “you could master these mirrors.”
“What would it cost?”
She felt his smile, even though she couldn’t see it as the mirror’s surface was no longer reflective. “If you can ask that question, you are not yet ready.”
“You can see the whole fief.”
“Yes.”
“At any time.”
“Yes. It is perhaps not as interesting a pastime as you assume. But I watch these.” He gestured and the image rippled, as if it were liquid. When the colors, muted and gray, reformed, she was looking at a different set of streets. Streets that were farther from the Ablayne than she had ever wanted to live. “These,” he told her softly, “are the boundaries of my fief. You are familiar with the boundary marked by the Ablayne, but I believe you are less familiar with the others.”
She nodded. “Can you see beyond them?”
“A curious question.”
“I take it that’s a no.”
“You would not be entirely correct,” he replied. “But it is…less reliable, and more difficult to look beyond my borders.”
“Why?”
“Castle Nightshade exists as part of Nightshade.” He waited. “Have you never wondered why there are seven fiefs?”
“I wondered. None of the fieflords seem like men who respect borders.”
“Lord Tiamaris?” Nightshade said, acknowledging the silent Dragon.
“It is our supposition that the Castle in which we now stand is one of a handful of such buildings that exist in the fiefs. To rule the fief, the fieflord must be able to shape the building to his will. To some, such force of nature comes naturally,” he said, lifting a brow as he glanced at Nightshade. “But there are some fiefs to which we have not traveled.”
“You haven’t?”
“It has been attempted,” he replied.
Kaylin thought about this for a moment. “Any survivors?”
“Three. They were, to a man, mad. We could not clearly discern what they had seen, or what they had been seen by. It was not in your lifetime,” he added, “but humans have no memory. What has been attempted—what has failed—is something they must try again in a generation or two.”
Kaylin looked at the streets. “This is the boundary between Nightshade and Barren.”
“Perceptive. It is.”
“Barren isn’t that much different.”
“Perhaps. The fieflords are not a caste. They do not meet, and they do not interact. I do not know who—or what—rules Barren.”
Kaylin said nothing for a long moment. Then she shook herself. “It’s one of the outer fiefs,” she said at last, and heavily. “It’s a crescent—you can still see the city proper if you stand on the right street. But farther in?”
Nightshade said nothing. It was a pointed nothing.
“Lord Nightshade,” she said, easing into the formality of High Barrani with a grimace. “The Outcaste—the Dragon Lord—could he be a fieflord?”
“Given his power and the scope of his ambition,” Lord Nightshade replied, “I fail to see that he could be anything else.”
There was a lot of silence then.
CHAPTER 18
She stared at Nightshade for about a minute too lon
g, and then swiveled to stare—in the same fashion—at Tiamaris. “Do you suspect—I mean, did you—the same thing?”
Tiamaris shrugged.
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“To you? No. But it wasn’t necessary. It remains largely irrelevant, unless the Leontine has gone to the fief—the possible fief—that the Outcaste rules.”
“He may well have,” she began. Then she stopped. “No, you’re probably right.”
Tiamaris raised a brow.
“If he could do whatever he needed to do from the fief, we probably would never have seen him at all, until it was far too late. And I don’t care where he was raised—no one with an ounce of sense goes into the heart of the fiefs for safety.”
“That was our thought,” Tiamaris said mildly.
“But he ran somewhere when he left the Quarter. I’m sure he didn’t remain.” She looked at Nightshade. “If he were in this fief, could you find him?”
Nightshade nodded.
“But not without looking.”
“No. If I understand correctly what I’m hearing, his power is not great enough that I would sense it otherwise.”
“There would be two,” she told him.
“Two?”
“Two Leontines.” She reconsidered her words. “Or two very large cats.”
“And they are dangerous?”
“Have you ever fought a Leontine before?”
“Yes.”
“Then you already know the answer.”
Nightshade nodded, steepling his hands below his chin. “What is your interest in this, Kaylin?”
She stared at him as if he were speaking a language she couldn’t understand.
And Tiamaris said, quietly, “There is a child.”
She felt Nightshade’s surprise. Wondered how surprised he would have to be to actually show it. “The Leontine you are seeking has a child?”
“Yes,” she replied curtly.
“Excuse me, but I feel that I am not in possession of all of the facts.”
Tiamaris smiled. It was a slight smile, and a subtle one; it was also completely unadorned by words.
Lord Nightshade gestured and the mirror went flat, its surface once again reflective. He turned to Tiamaris. “I am aware,” he said, “as no doubt you suspect, of some of the events occurring in the city. I am not, however, privy to the Councils of the Wise for obvious reasons. I know some of what Kaylin knows, but not all. I understood that she was in the Leontine Quarter, but it would not be the first time she has gone there. If the Leontine that you seek can change his shape, he is dangerous.”
Tiamaris nodded.
“Has Lord Sanabalis been to the Quarter?”
“Yes. With me,” Kaylin said.
“Ah. He must have explained some of the difficulty you now face.”
“He did. And you know about the difficulty how?”
“I believe you’ve seen it in the throne room. I have, in my time, counted Leontines among my guests. Seldom in the fiefs, but not never. The fiefs are a dangerous home to Leontines.”
“To anyone.”
“A different kind of danger,” he replied coolly. “But the fate of the Leontines did not concern the Barrani over much. None of my kin can now speak the Old Tongue. Some very few can read what is written in it, but even then, the interpretation is not reliable. Lord Sanabalis is both wise and very old. Older, by far, than the Emperor.”
“Older than the Arkon?”
“The Arkon does not leave his library. He is content to serve in the capacity of antiquarian. Lord Sanabalis has always been unusual for a Dragon. Dangerous, but unusual.” He paused and added, “You distract me. I learned some part of Leontine history from Leontines—my understanding is filtered through their perspective.
“But I know of the marked, or the cursed or tainted as they are sometimes called. The Leontine you seek is one of them?”
She nodded.
“And the child of whom Tiamaris spoke is his?”
She nodded again.
“It is too much to hope that you are concerned with the Leontine’s child because you wish to destroy it.” He paused for breath but did not wait long enough for Kaylin’s reply; clearly, he didn’t need it. “I will search,” he told them quietly. “Do not interrupt me.”
Kaylin nodded.
But he hadn’t quite finished yet. “The child is more of a danger than the father.”
“The mother is marked as well,” Tiamaris said.
Lord Nightshade looked at the Dragon Lord for a long moment, and then said, “Kaylin, Lord Tiamaris, please return to your duties in the city proper. When I have word, I will send for Kaylin, but a thorough search of the fief will take hours, and there are some aspects of these particular mirrors which, for reasons of security, I do not choose to reveal.”
“But—”
“If they are within the fief, I will know. If they have passed through it, I will also know. But they are not the only things I am now looking for.”
“The Outcaste?”
He nodded. “He is adept at cloaking his presence from those who rule. If it becomes necessary, you can attempt to attract his attention, but it is not the first option I am willing to consider.”
Tiamaris walked briskly through the fief’s crowded streets. The sun was still rising, which meant Rennick was still sleeping, and probably would be for another couple of hours. The Dragon Lord was silent, but it was the silence of preoccupation. He didn’t break it until they’d crossed the bridge over the Ablayne.
“We will take a carriage to the Palace. Sanabalis will be waiting for you there.”
“But I—”
“He is to return to the Leontine Quarter. He intends you to accompany him. If you are not to be derelict in your duties to the Hawks, you will arrive at the Palace as quickly as possible.”
Mallory seemed a world away.
“Yes, I’d heard there was some organizational difficulty in the department. Inasmuch as he can, Sanabalis has lessened the consequences of your current tour of duty. I do not believe the current Sergeant is pleased with this departure from standard operating procedures, however.”
“He wouldn’t be. If it were up to him, I’d be without the Hawk so fast I wouldn’t even hear the dismissal.”
Tiamaris stepped into the street and held out a hand in the universal “I need a ride” gesture used by anyone familiar with the city. The only difference was that he was standing in the path of the moving carriage when it careened to a stop. Dragons.
Sanabalis was waiting for Kaylin as she stepped down from the carriage. It wasn’t Imperial, and the driver was a little less suicidal than Teela—but in truth, not by much. Dragons apparently didn’t ride horses. And horses, apparently, didn’t like Dragons. Since her experience with horses and Dragons had all been Imperial, she found out the hard way how skittish horses could make the drive more challenging. She didn’t intend to repeat the mistake anytime soon. As in: Not in this life.
She would have said as much—and loudly, with a smattering of anatomically impossible verbs in at least three official languages—but Severn was also waiting, and his very casual posture made it clear instantly that behavior—hers—could be an issue on this particular day. When he worked that hard to look casual, it usually meant trouble was in the offing.
Sanabalis issued her a curt greeting. To Tiamaris, he said, “Was Lord Nightshade helpful?”
“That remains to be seen. He was civil, however, and we encountered no difficulties in his domain.”
“Ah. Very well, then. Kaylin? The Elders will be waiting.”
She followed where he led, in this case, to a familiar carriage. Severn opened the door, and Sanabalis said, “I took the liberty of having food prepared.”
“I—” She started to say ate, but managed to bite back the word. It was the only thing she’d really bitten today. Nightshade made her nervous enough that she hadn’t wanted to eat while he was around. “Thank you.”
&nbs
p; “You may thank the Corporal,” he replied. “It would not occur to me that any student of mine would be careless enough to go without necessary sustenance in a time of crisis. He, however, insisted that there was every probability you would do exactly that.” The Dragon frowned a moment. “You are wearing your bracer?”
She was. When she gave it any thought, she hated the thing—but it had become easy, over time, to give it no thought whatsoever. “Yes.”
“Good. Remove it. Give it to the Corporal for safekeeping.”
“Remove it? But—”
“I have been in discussions with the Imperial Dragon Court for the entirety of the morning—and the morning started when you left the Palace.”
“That was the middle of the night.”
“Indeed. Humans are often creatures of context, in my experience. I am therefore supplying you with necessary context. If you have some difficulty with a direct order, keep it to yourself.”
“Yes, Sanabalis.”
He sat heavily in the seat facing them and looked out the window. The carriage started to move, and Severn bent down and pulled a covered basket from beneath the bench they were sitting on side by side. He handed this to Kaylin.
“Eat,” he told her.
She ran her hands over the studs on the bracer in a quick and almost natural pattern of successive moves. It clicked audibly. Severn took it from her wrist before she could remove it.
“This,” Sanabalis said, still staring out the window, “is why I do not like to accept students. They are always a trial, and they complicate a life that is not, by any standard, simple to begin with.”
She had bread with something in the middle in one hand, and she meant to move it to her mouth, but it got stuck halfway and stayed there. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” he replied curtly. “And it was a great deal of work to ensure that that nothing happened.”
“The baby?”
“I gave you my word, in the short term, Kaylin.” His eyes, when he swiveled his neck to look at her, were the color of fire.
“The Emperor wants him dead,” she said flatly. She had meant it to be a question.