They were silent for a while. Even pain did not separate them.
“But now—” She shrugged when it was safe to lower her hands. “I’m not his weapon. Whatever I was supposed to be, I’m not. But whatever I was supposed to be used for—”
“The Festival.”
“You think so, too.”
He nodded quietly. “I’m going with you.”
“You can’t.”
His smile was slight. Like the edge of a dagger was slight. “There was Lethe in the Court,” he told her. “And Lethe is a matter of the Law.”
“It’s not—” She stopped. Laughed. “Teela.”
He nodded.
“She must either like you, or have lost an awful lot of money to you in betting pools.”
“Or both.”
“Severn?”
“I’m going,” he said again, but quietly. “Have you ever seen Lethe used?”
She shook her head.
“Then I’m surprised you know it at all.”
“It’s a legal thing. It’s useful.” She shrugged. “If it helps, I’ve seen Tain and Teela half kill a dealer by the Ablayne. They take it pretty seriously.”
“I’ve seen it,” he said softly. “If they only half killed him, they don’t take it seriously enough.”
“We’re not Wolves,” she replied quietly.
He shrugged, Shadow Wolf. “You should take a bath, or something close. I believe you’ll be kitted out soon.”
In her heart of hearts—as if humans actually had more than one, or as if they were like those funny dolls that nested inside each other—Kaylin had always loved finery. Loved to look at it, loved to dream about it. Usually, she’d dreamed about stealing and selling it, but that was the fiefs; it had a way of breaking the dreams it let you keep.
On the other side of the Ablayne, as a Hawk, she had learned what finery really meant, and she had learned, as a consequence, to loathe it. If envy played some small part in making the loathing easier, she wasn’t big enough to ignore it.
It was therefore with very mixed feelings that she approached the very livid Quartermaster. She wondered idly if she could get assigned a desk job for a few months, because she was damn certain she would pay for every minute scratch in any of her regulation wear for at least that long.
Longer, judging by the white cast of his tight little lips. He handed her a…bag. With a hanger on it. As if it contained poison of a type which had to be imported by people with more money than sense.
“This,” he said, “is yours.”
“It will need fitting,” Severn began.
“The Hawklord gave the seamstresses full access to current medical records. If there are any problems with the accuracy of the measurements, they are to be taken up directly with the seamstress guild.” His eyes were a pale blue that verged on gray. Usually, Kaylin liked this color. She had to admit it didn’t go well with mottled skin.
She thanked him profusely. She thanked him with as much groveling as a person could decently fit into Elantran. It probably wouldn’t do any good, but with the Quartermaster, it was always best to go for overkill.
The worst he could do was laugh.
She took the bag and retreated, and Severn accompanied her. He was dressed as a Hawk. With a chain. And a sword. And several less obvious daggers. She wondered if he ever cut himself just moving.
They turned toward the change room, such as it was—it was mostly storage with a bit of empty space in the middle—and Severn nudged her forward. “I’ll watch the door,” he told her.
She nodded.
And thought better of it once she’d opened the bag.
It wasn’t that she’d never worn a dress before. She had, in the fiefs. But those had been simple, like long shirts with ties. This? It was…impossible. It took her five minutes to unfold enough cloth to figure out which parts were the sleeves.
And her hands? They looked dirty. Mostly because they were; it was her nails. They also looked a bit on the square side, and her knuckles were too damn big. She’d never liked her hands much.
She struggled with string. She figured out which end was up, and figured out that the buttons on the back—all fifty of them, at rough estimate—were actually not there for decoration. She dropped something that she thought was a handkerchief, but when she picked it up, she realized she was wrong—unless it was designed for giants. Which weren’t real. Mostly.
In the end, she kicked the door, and when Severn opened it a crack, she said, “Get Teela.”
“You need help?”
“I don’t just need help—I need a full term of classes.”
“Which you’d probably fail.”
“Ha-ha. Get Teela, will you?”
Teela pushed the door open with all the caution she usually showed when approaching an angry Sergeant. Her expression wasn’t all that much different, either. But her brows rose up past her damn impeccable hairline as she looked at Kaylin. She stepped in quickly and shut the door behind her.
“Kaylin, the buttons go on the back.”
“I figured that out,” Kaylin said forlornly. Her arms were sort of loosely inserted into the sleeves. Just not the right way. And the dress was fitted enough that she was afraid of removing it because if it tore, she was a dead woman. High Courts had nothing on Quartermasters. At least not while the latter was closer.
“Hang on. Let me pull it—ugh—up.”
She managed to pull the dress off, and Kaylin was briefly free. The younger Hawk eyed the deep, deep green with active suspicion. “How the Hells did you manage yours?”
“Mine is less complicated,” Teela said smoothly.
Kaylin, who hated to be patronized, snorted. “My ass.”
“That’s probably less complicated, as well. And if you must know, I generally have help. It’s useful, when dressing.”
“Rich people can’t even dress themselves?”
“It’s not—for reasons you’ve discovered on your own—considered wise. Not if you don’t have hours and aren’t possessed of double-jointed elbows. Not to mention another dress, when you destroy the one you can’t get into or out of on your own.”
“I bet the men don’t have this much problem.”
Teela laughed. “They have different problems. But yes, among the High Court, they also have servants who see to these things.”
“You have a servant?”
“Yes.”
“Here?”
Teela’s smile was all Hawk. “Here, I make do with Tain.” Her smile was also all cat.
“It’s good to know he can be useful for something.” The dress was now on, and properly oriented. It didn’t weigh as much as armor, but it was a damn sight less convenient. “These skirts are going to get covered in—”
“Lift them. That’s what the loops are for.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
Teela frowned.
“Right. Loops. These?”
“Those. And this,” the Barrani added, lifting and retrieving the giant handkerchief, “is worn around your shoulders.”
“My shoulders aren’t bare.”
“No. Be careful, Kaylin. Those sleeves cost a fortune.”
“I can see that. It’s all the gold. Why the Hells do the sleeves have to hang to the floor?”
Teela paused, and a look of pure horror stole up her face. “What are you wearing on your feet?”
“Boots.”
“Those boots? Not if the Hells were threatening to open up and swallow you whole!” Teela turned and slammed the door. Which, given it opened in, was a feat. “Corporal,” she snapped at Severn, “go back to the Quartermaster and tell him to give you the shoes. Now!”
“It’s not like you can see the damn boots anyway,” Kaylin said. “The skirts are so damn long you can’t—”
“Yes, you can. If you can’t see them, someone else will. Or they’ll hear them. Those are for walking the beat.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Shoes
.”
“Why?”
“Never mind, Kaylin. Just—try to look Courtly. And stand still. I’m not finished with the last of the buttons.”
Kaylin wanted a word—or hundred—with the seamstresses. But she also wanted a mirror. When Lord Nightshade had given her a dress, it had at least been wearable. Not in any way practical, and there was admittedly a lot less of it—but it was nowhere near as nightmarish as this one.
Nowhere near as ornate.
She tried to spin, lifting her arms awkwardly.
The door opened, and shoes appeared on the end of one of Severn’s hands. “Tell Kaylin she owes me.”
“I’m sure she’s aware of it. She saw the Quartermaster herself.”
“Not the second time.”
Teela came in, and in a voice that was pure Sergeant, she told Kaylin how to stand, when to lift a foot, and how to walk. The shoes were…shoes. They weren’t exactly hard to walk in, but they felt like little ledges beneath the soles of her feet, and she didn’t much like it.
“I couldn’t run half a mile in these,” she muttered, looking at her ankles.
“If you have to run at all,” Teela replied with a sweetness that could have dissolved teeth for miles, “you’re already dead.” The Barrani Hawk took a step back. “Your hair,” she said with a grimace.
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“If I went into detail, we’d be here for two hours. Take the stick out.”
“But it’ll just get in the way—”
“Kaylin. The stick.”
Kaylin pulled. Her hair fell down her shoulders. It was frayed at the ends in places, and it certainly wasn’t sleek or straight. Which, given Teela’s pained expression, was obvious.
“I don’t suppose you own a brush?”
“There’s probably one in the stables. Joking! Just joking.”
“You don’t.”
“Well, not really. They’re bulky. And I usually just wear my hair—”
“As if it were a bad hat. Yes. We’d noticed.”
“You own a brush?”
Teela snorted. No, of course not. That would imply imperfection. “You’ll have to do.” She took a critical step back.
Kaylin was familiar with the look—but she wasn’t used to seeing it outside of a drill circle or an exam hall. She kicked an empty bucket, and really hurt her toes.
“Come on,” Teela said. “There’s a carriage waiting.”
“You’re driving, I’m walking,” Kaylin replied.
They entered the hall.
Severn was lounging against the opposite wall, and when he saw Kaylin, he kind of got stuck there. His eyes rounded, but nothing else changed; he just didn’t move. Or breathe much for a minute.
“Do I look like an idiot?” she asked self-consciously.
“You look very…different.”
“Different good?”
He shrugged. “Different. Like a noble.”
“If I swear a lot, will that help?”
“You’ve never spent much time around real nobles, have you?”
“They don’t let me.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
She kicked him. That hurt her toes as well; he was wearing shin splints beneath his pants.
But when she’d stopped hopping, he offered her an arm. She stared at it.
“Take it,” Teela said curtly. “Or you’ll trip and fall flat on your face, which we don’t need. Showing up at Court with a bleeding lip is likely to make you popular in ways you don’t even want to think about.”
Kaylin took the arm, and Severn paused to adjust her fingers. “Don’t grip,” he told her with an odd smile. “It’ll make you look like an invalid or a child.”
“Then what good is it?”
“It’s for show,” he told her. “It’s all for show.”
She hesitated.
Teela’s brows were shifting in an awkward way. “What now?”
“My daggers.”
“Put them in—oh, never mind. Humans always make clothing as impractical as possible.”
“Meaning?”
“You don’t take them.”
CHAPTER 10
Teela on the inside of a carriage was a good deal better than Teela on the outside, although Kaylin noticed that the Barrani Hawk had stopped to whisper something to the horses. Not, of course, the driver; that was beneath her. Kaylin never quite understood the Barrani when it came to animals.
Then again, if she were honest, she never completely understood them when it came to anything else, either.
Andellen and Samaran chose to sit on the back bench on the outside of the carriage, far enough away from the driver not to cause alarm. Kaylin could see them through the windows; they were stiff and watchful. If they spoke at all, they didn’t look at each other to do it.
She turned to Teela.
“Are you going to be in trouble?”
Teela raised a dark brow. “We’re going to the High Halls, how could I not?”
“I meant for the Lethe.”
The pale, perfect features grew paler, which was never a good thing. In well-enunciated Elantran, Teela said, “I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
Which made her Kaylin’s kind of Barrani.
She cleared her throat; even in a carriage, dust came up through the windows. “Did you hear about any difficulty at the Arcanum?”
“No.”
“There was a fire—”
“I said no, Kaylin.”
“Right. That kind of no. You didn’t want me at Court, did you?”
“Good guess.”
“And the Hawklord did?”
“Bad guess.”
“But I’m going, aren’t I?”
“He didn’t want you there. He wanted to annoy the Emperor less. Just slightly less, if that’s a consolation.”
“The Emperor wants me at Court?”
Teela looked at Severn, who shrugged in a “not my problem” way. She stepped on his foot. Which, curse the thin and spindly shoes, had no effect whatsoever.
“Kaylin, the Emperor is in no way involved.”
“Politics?”
“Got it.”
Politics were outside of Kaylin’s natural realm because so much that was political involved the capacity to lie with a straight face.
Severn said, “You’ll learn.”
“I’m not sure I want to.”
“When has that ever mattered to either of us?” Hints of life on the wrong side of the river. But she nodded. “It’s not that different from gangs,” he added, staring out of the carriage window. “The person in charge is always looking over his shoulder and waiting to see who wields the knife that’ll mark a change in leadership. If he’s smart and canny, there won’t be anyone, if he’s too soft or too brutal, there will be. It’s a game.”
She understood that game.
“It’s the same game,” Severn added. “But with more money and a lot more history and education.”
“Don’t forget to mention subtlety,” Teela added, looking vaguely bored.
“Severn, did you pass everything?”
He raised a brow. “I was a Wolf,” he said with a shrug. “We have different duties.”
“You hunt.”
“At the Emperor’s command, yes. But Kaylin, sometimes what we’re hunting isn’t running. Usually because they don’t have to.” It was more than he’d ever said about the Wolves.
“No,” he added before she could ask—and damn him, she was thinking about it—“You wouldn’t make a good Wolf. The Hawks are different. Remember what we used to say?”
“There are two laws.”
He nodded. “One for the powerful, and one for everyone else.” He shrugged. “There will always be two laws.” But the way he said it turned everything on its head. “You serve the latter. It’s better work.”
“It’s slower,” Teela said, looking out the window. “But it has very little relevance where we’re going.” She looked at Kaylin’s
face, and her eyes narrowed when they fell on the mark of Nightshade. They almost always did.
The carriage continued in silence for some time—if by silence one meant the bumping and squeaking of wheels pulled by a set of thundering hooves.
“Remember that you are here as kyuthe to the Lord of the West March, that your actions will reflect on his choice.”
“And his actions?”
“He is the Lord, you are merely mortal.”
The carriage rolled to a halt. “Will I be staying?”
Teela smiled. It was not a kind smile. “You will,” she said quietly. “But your clothing may need some work.”
“Work?”
“Never mind. You’ll see.” She looked pointedly at Severn, who rose and opened the carriage door. He offered his hand to Teela, and she accepted it gracefully. Kaylin accepted in her turn far less gracefully, because she was staring at Teela’s back.
“Teela?”
“Yes?”
“What exactly does one do in the High Court?”
“If you’re very, very lucky? Nothing.” She paused. “The High Halls were created to be an open space in the confines of a smelly, dark city. They are, even by our standards, graced with beauty. You, however, are graced with lack of education. I am not certain how much you are capable of appreciating.”
“Thanks,” Kaylin said sourly.
She stood by the carriage, Severn’s hand in hers.
“How bad can it be?” she asked of no one in particular. The fact that she was about to find out was no comfort.
The fact that she was about to find out flanked by Barrani who served an outcaste was even less of one. Andellen allowed Severn to escort her, but it was clear from the shade of his eyes that he barely tolerated the intrusion. Samaran, however, was more sanguine. Or perhaps he was simply more aware of where they stood: the High Halls.
She wondered, then, if he had lived here before he had chosen to follow Lord Nightshade into exile.
But Tain hadn’t, and perhaps he was like Tain. She could hope.
The High Halls, when seen in a state of emergency that didn’t involve imminent death—well, not someone else’s at any rate—were impressive. Kaylin entered them on Severn’s arm. She tried to mimic Teela’s graceful, stately walk, and gave up after about five steps; she didn’t have the carriage or bearing, and trying to develop it without a few years of training probably made her look even more out of place.