I—I don’t know. Marcus won’t talk, Kaylin said. He could, but he won’t. I think he wants you to take the memories. He can’t give them up. And I didn’t want him to suffer—she remembered, briefly, the first time she had met the Tha’alani. She shuddered, tried to pull away, and felt the soft curve of Ybelline’s arms around her.
I’m sorry—I—
You have no secrets, came the soft reply, because you don’t need them. Not with me. Not from me.
Kaylin felt the tension ebb from her shoulders, her legs, the fighting stance she had tried—while being held—to adopt.
Ybelline nodded. You were afraid for him.
I was.
And now?
Kaylin shook her head. I trust you, she told Ybelline. She stepped back, almost overbalanced on the edge of a step, and cursed in Leontine as Ybelline pulled her back, laughing. It was warm, that laugh, and it was audible. The antennae no longer touched Kaylin’s forehead, but it wasn’t necessary; Kaylin could feel the amusement and affection rolling off Ybelline like ocean waves against sand.
Kaylin turned to the Elders. “Sorry,” she said in Elantran. They said nothing—at all—and she escorted Ybelline down the rest of the stairs.
Marcus was waiting. He seemed slightly surprised at the choice of Tha’alani presented to him. “It’s not often that you are called upon, Ybelline Rabon’alani.”
“No,” she replied serenely. “But I have visited the Halls of Law before.”
“Ah, yes.”
“It was thought that my ability would serve best when dealing with the memories of a child,” she added.
Kaylin raised a brow. “That’s why it was you who touched Catti?” She felt a chill in the heat of the unfettered sun. Catti was one of Marrin’s foundlings, and she had been kidnapped—almost sacrificed—because she was part of Kaylin’s life. She’d survived.
“Yes. She was young, and while it was absolutely essential that we understand exactly what had befallen her in her captivity, Lord Sanabalis suggested that I might be the most suitable of the Tha’alani seconded to Imperial Service to perform the task.”
Kaylin turned to look at Sanabalis.
“It is hard,” the Dragon Lord replied, with no expression whatsoever, “to fear Ybelline.”
“Catti was only a year younger than I was when I—”
“Catti did not attempt what you attempted.” If his face still looked like carved stone, his voice had dropped a few degrees.
It was true. Kaylin looked away.
“Lord Sanabalis,” Ybelline began, but Kaylin lifted a hand.
“I deserved that,” she said quietly.
“If it comforts you at all,” Ybelline added, “your preoccupation with the welfare of the young was noted, and I was asked to attend as much for your peace of mind as for Catti’s.” She reached out and caught Kaylin’s clenched hands in her own, as unselfconscious at the physical contact as any member of her race might be. “I am glad that I acceded to the request, Kaylin. We are very, very different women, but we share some of the same concerns and the same goals—and we have chosen to let what we love, instead of what we fear, define us.” She let go of Kaylin’s hands.
“Did you bring her because you thought it would make things easier on me?” Kaylin whispered to her teacher.
Lord Sanabalis frowned. “Ybelline is far too modest,” he replied at last. “Marcus is stubborn and he surrenders nothing gracefully. What she takes from his thoughts, she will have to work for. Very few of the Tha’alani are as…adept…at such work.”
A different and equally unwelcome thought occurred to Kaylin, and she looked at Marcus. Marcus was staring straight ahead, so it took a bit of work to catch his attention. When he gave it, it was with the tired resignation of a parent who hasn’t been able to sleep for more than three hours at a stretch and is seriously reconsidering the wisdom of having offspring.
“Yes, Private?”
“I—nothing, Sir.”
“Good. Shut up and sit down. Preferably at a distance.” He growled. She had started to lift her chin, to expose her throat in the accepted posture of submission. “I will not hurt her,” he told her. “If that was your concern. I will also endeavor not to be insulted.”
“Yes, Marcus.”
“Good. Corporal.”
Severn nodded, and put an arm around Kaylin’s shoulders, drawing her back.
She watched in silence as Ybelline approached her Sergeant, and watched as their faces grew closer together. The antennae weaved in the air so gracefully it was almost impossible not to be hypnotized by their movement.
But they stopped suddenly against the fur of Marcus’s forehead, and the Sergeant stiffened at the contact. Kaylin had to look away. She loved Marcus, yes. But she also loved Ybelline.
And if Marcus would only talk—
“You wouldn’t,” said Severn quietly, divining her helpless anger.
“Wouldn’t what?”
“You wouldn’t give them the information.”
“If I knew damn well they were going to get it anyway, I would.”
“No,” he said quietly, and certainly. “If it meant the death of your wife—or the death of your children—you wouldn’t.”
She didn’t answer. Put like that, there wasn’t much she could say.
“Ybelline has seen worse.” He was aware of all Kaylin’s fear. “Far worse.”
“And you know that how?”
“I know who she’s touched.”
She started to ask him how, realized that it must have been when he was a Wolf, and fell silent. “We’re going to be late,” she said tonelessly.
“We still have two hours.”
“It won’t be enough.”
It wasn’t even close.
Ybelline and Marcus stood facing each other in silence, while Kaylin watched. Sweat beaded Ybelline’s perfect skin as the sun climbed. Somewhere in the city, Richard Rennick would also be rising. But she couldn’t leave. Not while the striking antennae that characterized all of the Tha’alani were still nestled in Leontine fur.
Marcus might have been sweating—with Leontines, it was hard to tell. But his expression was the expression that had earned him the nickname Old Ironjaw; it was grim and set, and it didn’t falter. There was no widening of eyes, there was no cry of dismay—or worse, shame—and in her time, Kaylin had done and seen both.
There was just Marcus, accused of treason, and Ybelline, beholden by Imperial Law to do as she was doing: rifle through his memories, discarding those that weren’t relevant to the investigation.
Two hours after noon, the antennae withdrew. For a long moment, that was the only change in the strange tableau of Leontine and Tha’alani. Ybelline moved first. She took a step back, that was all. But Sanabalis was by her side instantly, his presence clearly—if silently—warning all others to keep their distance.
Not that they needed the warning.
Kaylin could see the Leontines clearly. They were all watching Ybelline with barely veiled hostility and fear. She would have hated them for it—she wanted to hate them for it. But she had been exactly where they now were: witness to something alien and terrifying. Like most mortals, they had secrets to guard.
But if she’d walked in their shoes, she had discarded them for a pair that suited her better, to stretch the analogy, and she stood quickly and walked to Ybelline’s side.
Severn gave her a warning glance, but he did nothing to hinder her. In his own way, he cared for Ybelline and the Tha’alani as much as Kaylin did. Possibly more.
Kaylin held out both hands, and Ybelline took them gracefully; her own were trembling. But she smiled, and if the smile itself seemed less brilliant, less effusive, it was real. There couldn’t possibly be another person in the world like Ybelline Rabon’alani, but there only had to be one.
Ybelline did not touch Kaylin’s forehead with her antennae. She spoke instead. “You were wrong, to fear for me, to fear what I might see. I understand why you care for him,
” she added. “He is unusual. But the secrets he kept—those secrets, Kaylin, would be understood even by the Tha’alani. And that is true of very few mortal secrets. Come.” She did not surrender both of Kaylin’s hands, but did free one so that she could walk, and drag the Hawk with her.
By her other side, Sanabalis walked in silence. But when he reached the Elders, he said “The meeting may now continue.”
“And the accused?”
“If you feel it necessary to cage him, that is your prerogative. I see little chance of attempted escape,” he said, making his own opinion clear.
They bowed to Sanabalis’s intent.
“Ybelline, what occurred on the day Gorran was killed?”
“Sergeant Kassan received a message from an old friend. It was routed to the office, to a small mirror that is keyed for specific use. As he was not one of the people for whom it was keyed, Sergeant Kassan was surprised and somewhat suspicious.”
“That agrees with what he has said to the Council,” Adar replied.
“His friend suggested a meeting, at a public place near the borders of the Leontine Quarter—but not inside them. Again, Sergeant Kassan was suspicious, and he asked at this point, why such a location was necessary.” She drew breath.
“His friend replied, ‘I fear that the Council of Elders will, upon discovery of relevant information, order the surrender of your wife, Sarabe, to the Elders’ judgment. It is likely that you will keep her children, for they are not marked.’”
A hiss—a literal hiss—broke the flow of her words. Adar lifted a hand and in the high sun the glint of flexed claws carried all the warning he needed to give. Silence resumed before Ybelline spoke again.
“At this point, the Sergeant was…upset. His attachment to his wives is as strong as any Leontine’s. But…he is also an Officer of the Law. He asked his friend about the ‘relevant information’ in question. His friend said, ‘I cannot discuss it at this location. I do not wish to alert the Elders, and I do not wish to be considered guilty of offering you any warning at all. If we meet, I will reveal what I know, and you may—perhaps—take precautions.’”
“So he agreed to this meeting.”
“Yes. But he was still suspicious. He disliked the suspicion, because the man was an old friend, and if asked, he would have said he trusted him with his life. But he took some basic precautions against possible magical interference, and other unlikely difficulties. He had confidence in his ability to handle a physical fight.”
“And the nature of those precautions?”
“I am not at liberty to detail them, as it involves the internal affairs of the Halls of Law,” she replied smoothly.
Adar glanced at Sanabalis, and Sanabalis nodded.
“He then waited until the appointed time, and he went to meet his friend.”
“He took none of his Hawks with him?”
“No. He told no one. If the Elders had been invoked, it would have been considered a Caste matter, and even if danger did arise in some unforeseen fashion, it would still be a Caste matter unless his Hawks were involved.”
Adar nodded. “Prudent.”
“He is Leontine,” she replied. “He is a Hawk, but he is Leontine.” She said it with more force than she had yet used, although her expression seemed the same calm expression she always wore.
“He met his friend at a pub. It was midday, and therefore very sparsely occupied. His friend was seated and waiting for him. When he saw his friend, he knew something was wrong. He wasn’t certain what, but he knew.” She paused, and then added, “The closest Barrani word would be scent—he scented danger.”
Adar nodded gravely, as if this made sense.
“He approached the table, took a chair, tried to relax.”
Kaylin snorted. She could imagine just how much relaxation he achieved. She wondered how much of the tabletop he’d shredded while making the effort.
“The man asked after his wife and children, and in particular after Sarabe. The Sergeant’s replies were terse and neutral. And then the Leontine said, ‘We have reason to believe that Marai has borne a child.’”
There was a sudden, deafening silence from the Elders. Kaylin, braced for bad news, felt herself beginning to crouch, and straightened her legs, moving her hands away from her daggers.
“And the Sergeant’s reaction?”
“He said ‘Impossible. She is not even married.’”
“What was he thinking?”
Ybelline’s frown was slight, but it clouded her face. She turned to Sanabalis and said, “I do not believe it is relevant.”
“Overruled.”
She hesitated, and then said, “Loosely translated? ‘Damn.’ He was, however, surprised.”
Adar looked as if he would question her further, but he fell silent instead. He was thoughtful, watching her face, the slight curve of her lips, the obvious antennae.
“‘We believe,’ his friend said, ‘that the child is a boy.’”
All of the Elders now looked at Sanabalis, some with dread, some with no expression at all. Sanabalis, however, looked at Ybelline.
“The Sergeant said nothing, and after a moment, the friend said, ‘We expected you might have some information about this, Marcus. One of your Hawks was said to have attended the birth. Did she say nothing of it to you?’
“To which the Sergeant responded, truthfully, ‘No.’”
“The friend was silent, and the Sergeant—moved.”
“Moved?”
“He leaped off his chair and away from his table, grabbing the edge of the nearest table and flipping it sideways. He rolled behind it.”
Kaylin smiled. She had rarely seen Marcus in action—but that had Marcus written all over it.
“Why?” Adar asked.
“Instinct,” Ybelline replied serenely. “It saved his life. There wasn’t much left of the table. The payment for damages to the pub is still outstanding, and he regrets that.”
“What was he fighting?”
“A Leontine,” she replied. Her expression grew remote, as if she had moved away from them all while standing in place. “To the eyes of the barman and the pub’s owner, that was all he fought. To his own eyes, on one level. But on another, because he was prepared, he could see…shadow.
“And because he could see the shadows clearly, he understood what the Elders in tribes across the plains fear. He understood the significance of the marked, and understood why they were exterminated. And he understood, as well, that Sarabe, marked but nonetheless his wife, would be in danger.
“He called out to his friend,” she continued, still at a remove. “He called out three names. Only one is the name you call him,” she said, “and I did not think it germane to press for further knowledge.”
Adar lifted a hand. “It was not germane,” he replied, “and I thank you for your hesitance. But if he understood the nature of what he faced, why did he call out?”
“They were friends,” she said starkly. “And he could not—not completely—believe that his friend was no longer there. Controlled, yes. Enspelled, yes. Possibly enslaved—but not absent. He took some injuries in the fight because of this,” she added quietly.
“But he killed the—the abomination.”
“Yes. In the end, he killed. But there were Leontine witnesses in the bar by the end of the fight. Witnesses who had not been there at its beginning. He understood, then, that the death was a sacrifice, and he was its intended victim.”
“And he said nothing.”
“No.”
Adar was silent for a moment. “I see.” He turned, then, and offered Sanabalis a deep bow. “Eldest,” he said. “We will deliberate, now. We thank you for your intervention.”
Sanabalis nodded in return. “How much time will these deliberations require?”
“I am not certain. There is much to discuss.”
“There is much that is relevant to the Emperor,” Sanabalis replied in turn. “We will wait.”
“Rennick is go
ing to kill us,” Kaylin told Sanabalis as they stood together some distance from the Elders. Ybelline had taken a seat along one of the curved stone benches. She was silent.
“While I would like to see him make the attempt,” the Dragon Lord replied, “I took some precautions before I left the Palace. He is aware that you will be somewhat tardy.”
“Did you tell him why?”
“No. I’m certain you’ll—what is the phrase among your kind? Ah, yes. Think of something.”
Leontine growls punctuated the otherwise silent day; the sun began its march toward the horizon while they listened. Kaylin heard snatches of conversation, but never quite enough to make sense of; her Leontine belonged to the Pridlea’s hearth. She did, however, pick up a few of the more familiar phrases she occasionally used.
She glanced at Marcus. He remained standing where he had stood while Ybelline examined him; he hadn’t moved an inch. His hands were by his sides, and his eyes were closed, probably because he was listening. He had stood there for hours, and could probably stand there for several more. They hadn’t insisted that he return to his cage; they hadn’t really spoken to him at all.
He didn’t draw their attention to this oversight.
But when the Elders were done, his eyes opened.
Adar approached him in silence. The Elders followed.
“Marcus son of Horus, you are called before the Council.” He spoke in very slow High Barrani.
Marcus nodded.
“We have considered the circumstances with care,” Adar said, “and it is our opinion that, in choosing silence, you have endangered the kin.”
Marcus nodded again.
“But if you have sidestepped an ancient law, you have done so because you have chosen to follow laws equally ancient. The laws of the Pridlea,” he added. “The blame is ours, and we accept it. We should have ordered the deaths of Sarabe and Marai when they were presented to Council at birth. We did not. And because we did not, you were left little choice in the matter. You are a man. A man does not abandon his wives.
“You understand the threat we face, Marcus. You are not an Elder, but we ask you now what you would do, were you to carry the weight and responsibility of the tribe.”