Читать книгу Cast In Flight - Michelle Sagara - Страница 9
ОглавлениеTeela and Tain had arrived at the office by the time Kaylin had finished her meeting with the Hawklord—or until the Hawklord had dismissed her, which was more accurate. She had gotten no further information from him, and she wasn’t certain what to do with the information she had gotten. She couldn’t figure out what the Hawklord wanted her to do.
But she was angry—and disturbed—by the Aerian application for exemption status. She wasn’t certain what she hoped Teela and Tain had found. No, actually, that wasn’t true. She wanted the assassin to be a Barrani Arcanist, because everyone with any capacity for thought considered them to be raging social evils.
She didn’t want them to catch an Aerian.
She accepted, as she glumly made her way down the stairs, that she was being unfair. The only Aerians she’d met were all Hawks, and she desperately wanted the Aerians to be above something as grim and illegal as assassination. But of course Aerians were people. If the Hawks managed to be Hawks first, it didn’t mean there was nothing left over.
Kaylin had always wanted family, ever since her mother died and maybe even before that. But she wondered if the lack of family was a possible advantage to her working life. She didn’t have family responsibilities that tied or bound her; she didn’t have to choose, consciously and continuously, between being a Hawk and being a human.
She hadn’t expected Clint’s reaction to Moran’s injury. She hadn’t expected to be told to butt out, to not care, to offer no help—except by Moran. She wanted to storm to the front doors and shout at Clint the way she’d been smart enough—barely—not to shout at the Hawklord.
She’s a Hawk, damn it.
“I think everyone knows that, kitling,” a familiar voice said. “Everyone knows you think that’s the only thing that matters, as well.” When Teela came into view at the arch that separated the Tower stairs from the office, she looked up. “I assume you didn’t mean to say that out loud?”
“Does it matter?” Kaylin replied, flushing. “It’s not like it’s going to change anyone’s attitude anyway.”
The Barrani Hawk shrugged. “If you’re going to think out loud, you might want to do it in a place with less acoustical emphasis.”
* * *
Teela had not chosen to meet Kaylin at the foot of the Tower stairs for no reason. Although Tain was absent, Mandoran could be seen in the distance, sprawled across Teela’s chair. The rest of the Barrani Hawks—there were only two in the office at the moment—viewed him with healthy suspicion. If he noticed, he didn’t care.
“Did you catch him?”
“That’s making an assumption.”
“Fine. Did you catch her?”
“No.”
“Did you at least see the assassin?”
“Not directly.”
“Teela—”
“Kitling,” Teela said gently, “we’ve been pulled off of the investigation. The Aerian Caste Court—”
“Can stuff itself!”
“Perhaps,” was the neutral reply. “But until the Caste Court is told to, as you put it, stuff itself by the Emperor, that call’s not ours to make. What did the Hawklord say?”
“He told me that the Caste Court had applied for pretty much instant exemption.”
Teela nodded, as if she’d expected no less. It made Kaylin feel vaguely stupid or naive, neither of which she enjoyed. Her life in the fiefs—or her life since she’d been thirteen—should have destroyed that naïveté completely.
But they were Aerians.
“You need to stop idolizing the Aerians.” As comforting statements went, this was about rock bottom—but it was pure Teela.
“I don’t idolize them.”
“You do. Kitling, they have wings, yes, but they’re mortal. They’re people. Wings don’t give them any moral or ethical advantage over anyone else who lives in this city. I know there were no Aerians in the fiefs. But there were no Dragons, either, and you don’t expect the Dragons to somehow be paragons of virtue. They’re not a single thing. They’re people, like the rest of us. And some of them are going to be unpleasant sons of bitches. It’s just the law of averages.”
“I don’t expect them to be paragons,” Kaylin replied.
“Good. That’ll make things in the near future much less painful for you.”
* * *
Kaylin did not immediately leave to go on patrol. She should have, but Marcus was busy growling at paperwork and his mirror. He was aware that she’d returned to the office, but he wasn’t yet of a mind to object. Or dock her pay.
She tapped Mandoran on the shoulder. He looked up at her. “Are we leaving?” he asked, deserting the chair Teela was almost certain to kick him out of anyway.
“Yes. We’re patrolling Elani. You always enjoy that.”
“And the Dragon?”
“She’s staying here.”
“Good.”
Kaylin exhaled heavily. She liked Mandoran, most of the time. It didn’t stop her from wanting to smack the back of his head. “You know, I think you’d actually like her if you could treat her with a smidgen of respect.”
“Not worth the effort,” he said, straightening his clothing. His hair, being Barrani hair, was straight and perfectly untangled.
“I like Bellusdeo.”
“Yes. And she likes you. Bellusdeo and I were born, raised, and trained in a world that doesn’t exist anymore. I am never going to be happy about Dragons. And she is never going to be happy about Barrani.”
“She seems to like Teela.”
“Teela is hardly Barrani.”
“I heard that,” Teela said, a distinct edge in her voice. “And if it came from anyone else, they’d be picking up teeth. Or body parts.” To Kaylin, she said, “Try to keep him out of trouble, hmm?”
* * *
Kaylin’s beat was Elani Street, and she headed there with Severn and Mandoran in tow. Only years of long practice stopped her from patrolling in ground-eating, angry strides. She made clear what she thought of politics in several different languages, settling at last on Leontine as the most appropriate, because it implied the most violence.
Mandoran understood every word; he’d picked up most of the phrasing from Teela without the need to actually learn it himself. Kaylin’s extremely foul temper seemed to be a balm to what had started out as a gloomy, bored mood.
“Did you see the assassin?” Kaylin demanded.
“Of course I did.”
“Did Teela?”
Sensing her mood, he answered. “No. And before you ask, I don’t know why I could see her and Teela couldn’t. She could, however, take a look through my eyes.”
“Male or female?”
“Is there a bet riding on the outcome?”
Kaylin rolled her eyes.
“What? If you could be careful enough to count every breath you take during an average day, you’d bet on that.” It was more or less true, which was annoying. So far, the morning had been nothing but annoying.
“Let me guess. You didn’t think to make a bet.”
She hadn’t. “It doesn’t matter. Was the would-be assassin an Aerian?” It was the only question that actually mattered. She desperately wanted the answer to be no, because she desperately wanted to be able to thumb her nose at the Caste Court. And if she were being honest, that wasn’t the whole of the reason.
She was upset because Teela was probably right. For some reason, Kaylin expected better from the Aerians.
“It depends.”
Kaylin glared. “On what? Did they have wings?”
“Yes.”
What was left of her hope curled up in a ball on the inside of her chest. Mandoran, however, stopped walking, forcing her and Severn to stop. When she turned back, he said, “Am I Barrani?”
* * *
She didn’t answer the question immediately, although anyone else looking at Mandoran would have. He looked like the Barrani. He didn’t look young or old; his age was only obvious, according to Teela, because of his behavior. But he had the same skin tone, the same eyes, the same perfect hair and flawless skin, and even the same height.
But she knew that the answer was both yes and no. Mandoran was in Elantra for Annarion’s sake, but he was trying to relearn the art of being Barrani, the race to which he’d been born, for his own.
“Does Teela know?”
“Of course she does. Teela couldn’t see her,” he added. “I imagine only your familiar and I could. She could see what I saw, when she chose to look.”
“Her.”
Mandoran grinned. Kaylin couldn’t. “Teela’s talking to your sergeant now. Oh, no, wait—she’s heading up the Tower stairs to talk to the Hawklord.” He frowned. “She’s just shut me down, so I can’t give you a report on what he has to say. This is bad information?”
“It means the Caste Court is likely to get its damn exemption, yes.” She walked for two full blocks, Mandoran keeping easy pace with her stride. “She wasn’t like you.”
“No. But she wasn’t entirely Aerian, to my eye. She had the form, the shape, the wings—and she also had an odd weapon, as well as a healthy command of magic. But Teela said her invisibility wasn’t entirely due to a spell.”
“What was it due to, in Teela’s opinion? Don’t give me that look—if I ask Teela she’ll just pat me on the head and tell me to mind my own business.”
“Not entirely clear.”
Kaylin hesitated. “Can we take a small detour?” she asked Severn.
He nodded. “Darrow Lane?”
“How did you guess?”
* * *
As it happened, they didn’t make it to Darrow Lane—an area that would have taken “investigational difficulty” to new heights, given the midday traffic. Kaylin had been considering the logistics glumly while they walked very briskly to the site of the attack, but she stopped as a passing shadow grew larger and darker overhead. It was an Aerian shadow, and it wasn’t doing a patrol flyby. She wasn’t surprised to see Clint join his shadow as he landed.
She wasn’t even surprised to see that his eyes were very blue. Disheartened, but not surprised.
“I’ve been sent to find you,” he told her.
“You’ve been sent to chase me away from Darrow Lane.”
“I’ve been sent to make certain that you observe the...etiquette of the laws of exemption, yes.” His expression made clear that he didn’t care for exemptions—but no one in the Halls did, unless the exemptions were for the Barrani. That was just practical. The Barrani were pretty much death for any Hawk who wasn’t.
And, Kaylin thought silently, even the Barrani didn’t care much if the Barrani were murdering each other.
“Clint—what’s going on?”
“I’m not on the Caste Court,” he replied. “And no matter how much I rise in rank, I’m never going to be on the Caste Court. I can’t answer your question.”
“Would you, if you knew?”
“Laws of exemption,” he replied.
Her hands found her hips as she looked up at her favorite Aerian. “Laws of exemption apply to legal consequences. They don’t govern answering bloody questions!”
“Kitling, the human Caste Court isn’t the Aerian Caste Court. They exert different powers. The human Caste Court might as well call itself the ‘Order of Merchants with Jumped-Up Titles and Pretensions’ for all the difference it makes to anyone who isn’t the Emperor. Do you know what happens to outcaste humans?”
Kaylin frowned. “What do you mean, what happens?”
“Are you, that you know of, outcaste?”
“No.” She paused. “I don’t think so.”
“Exactly. The human Caste Court doesn’t give a damn about you. As far as I can tell, they don’t give a damn about humans in general, except the rich or powerful ones. You don’t give a damn about them—you probably can’t name the members that constitute the Caste Court.”
“It’s not relevant to my life or my work,” she said, sounding defensive, hating it and unable to stop. She’d never liked being called stupid, even by implication, and while she’d made strides in her response, the feeling never completely vanished.
“No, it’s not,” Clint replied, his voice gentling. He’d known her for years. “You’re a Hawk. You’re a human. There’s no point in learning all of this crap because it doesn’t make a difference to either your life or your work. But, kitling, the Aerian Caste Court isn’t the human one.”
“You’ve never mentioned it before.”
“It’s never been relevant. If Moran weren’t a Hawk, it wouldn’t be relevant. There’s a reason she’s in charge of the infirmary.”
“Because she’s terrifying?”
He winced, giving in for a moment to amusement. It died fairly quickly. “Other than that. Do you know what happens to outcaste Aerians?”
She didn’t. She shook her head. “Was it covered in racial integration classes?”
“No. The human Caste Court adopted many of the practices of the Barrani Caste Court. They adopted many of the same attitudes and the same pretensions. If Barrani are made outcaste, and they are powerful, they are simply shunned.
“But the Aerian Caste Court adopted many of the practices of the Dragons. Do you know what happens to outcaste Dragons?”
“They die. Unless they fly into Ravellon.”
“Yes. It is the duty of each and every Dragon to exterminate the outcaste.”
“Well, yes—now. There’s only one remaining flight, and its boss happens to be the Eternal Emperor.”
“The Aerian Caste Court is far crueler, in my opinion, than the Dragon Court.”
Kaylin almost gaped, and pressed her mouth into a tighter line to stop that. “What happens to outcaste Aerians?” She had never asked. It had never occurred to her that it would be relevant, and—damn Teela, anyway—she had never truly imagined that an Aerian could be outcaste.
“They cut off our wings and abandon us on the ground.”
She stared at him. “Cut off your wings.”
“Yes.”
“Your wings.”
“Yes.” He looked down at her, some of the harshness leaving his expression.
“But Moran—”
“The sergeant will never be made outcaste.”
“So...they’ll just murder her instead.”
“Yes.”
“Clint, I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“No. But, Kaylin—you have a knack for kicking the hornet’s nest, even when you can’t see it. Look, I’ve known you since you were a kid. I know that you’ll only kick the nest when you’re in a big hurry to help someone; you probably won’t see it until there are swarms of angry insects buzzing around your face. I can ask you not to get involved.” His acute stare made it clear that he already had. “What I need you to understand, in this, is that the hornets aren’t going to sting you.
“If you kick this nest, they’re going to sting Aerians. In the worst cases, we won’t get welts. We’ll lose our lives in every meaningful sense. And yes, before you ask, mutilation is covered by the racial laws of exemption as long as both the involved parties are Aerian. The only person—the only person—who can safely discuss this with you is Moran. Ask me, ask anyone else, and get any answer...” He trailed off, his meaning clear.
“I can’t even look at the attack site?”
“No. The exemption has been granted.”
* * *
There were no more detours on the way to Elani.
Mandoran’s eyes were a restless green with hints of blue when he turned to Kaylin. “He’s wrong about the Barrani Court. In theory, it is the duty of Barrani Lords to kill the outcaste.”
“Nightshade,” was her flat reply.
“We’re a pragmatic people.”
“You invented freaking table manners, I swear. How is that pragmatic? Using utensils I get, but why do we need five forks?” Kaylin had to force herself not to march.
“It’s almost never five.” More seriously, he continued, “We’re pragmatic. Only when politics are heavily involved does it become trickier.”
“Meaning?”
“If the High Lord wished to rid himself of a particularly fractious member of his Court, he would order that lord to destroy the outcaste in question—let’s use Nightshade as our example. If the fractious lord doesn’t wish to become outcaste on a flimsy technicality, he has only one choice. He must attempt to destroy Nightshade.” Mandoran’s tone made clear how unsuccessful this theoretical lord would be.
“So...don’t tick off the High Lord.”
“That’s always good advice. Nightshade has survived all prior attempts on his life, and he is considered a favorite, in spite of his status, with the Lady. And now you’ve distracted me.”
“You were doing most of the talking.”
“True. What I meant was, if the High Lord were intent on the destruction of a Barrani Lord, that lord would die. Period.”
“Clint’s not wrong. That wasn’t what he was saying.”
“No? I admit Teela doesn’t have all that much information about him, at least that she’s willing to share.”
“He’s telling me that my interference could cost him his wings. His literal wings. Because the implication is the Caste Court takes its excommunication very, very seriously. And clearly, Moran is at the heart of it. He’s also telling me that Moran won’t be stripped of her wings. The worst she can do is die.
“But he didn’t make that claim for the Hawklord.” Her shoulders were bunching themselves up near her neck, which annoyed the familiar, who squawked loudly. “And I owe Lord Grammayre my life. All of it.” She glanced at Severn. “What do we do?”
“Our jobs,” he replied. “And until we figure out where the hornet’s nest is, only our jobs.”
* * *
The Elani beat was relatively quiet. The Hawks broke up one fight, stopped someone from breaking a window, gave directions—and withheld advice, which was much, much harder—to new visitors to the quarter. Mandoran headed into Margot’s house of fraud, leaving Kaylin and Severn to their actual work.
“If you’re doing that just to annoy me, it’s working,” Kaylin told him.
Mandoran grinned. “Teela’s advice. So you know who to blame.”
It was, if one ignored the assassination attempt—and apparently, she’d been ordered to do just that—a very normal day. The type of day she yearned for every time she left her own front doors.
* * *
The unusual part of the Elani patrol—and really, on a street full of fortune-telling frauds and miracle-medicine sellers, angry ex-customers trying to cause damage was the usual—came at the end of the patrol. Mandoran had rejoined them, his lips a suspicious shade of red that didn’t look entirely natural. He probably deserved to be clipped by a door that flew open without warning.
The door belonged to Evanton’s shop. Grethan, Evanton’s apprentice, stood in the open frame, looking vaguely anxious. The anxiety cleared as the small dragon launched itself off Kaylin’s shoulders and onto the young apprentice’s.
Kaylin and Severn, who had come to an instant halt, shared a glance before speaking. “Were you looking for us?” Kaylin asked.
Grethan nodded. “Evanton wants to speak to you. He’s in the kitchen with tea. And, um. Tea.”
“Um?”
“He has another guest. The lady’s been in, on and off, for the past three weeks. She wants him to make something he’s not certain he wants to make.”
“And...he’s asking my advice? Did he fall and hit his head?”
“No. If he fell, he’d probably manage to hit my head instead,” was the morose reply. “I’m not sure why he wants to see you,” he added.
“Does he want to see the rest of us?” Mandoran asked, remaining outside in the street. Given Mandoran’s previous visits—which had involved a lot of water in the wrong places—this was a perfectly reasonable question.
“He didn’t say,” Grethan replied. “But I think it should be fine.”
Mandoran looked dubious.
“I think he actually likes you and your brother. He just thinks you’re walking disasters waiting to happen.”
“They are,” Kaylin said before Grethan could continue. “You coming in or waiting outside?”
* * *
The small dragon liked Grethan; he always had. Grethan therefore remained his perch of interest while the apprentice led them to Evanton and his mysterious guest. They were, in fact, in the kitchen, a functional room that had never been intended for guests. The table could comfortably fit four. Evanton’s expression made clear that it was going to uncomfortably fit five, although he did take pity on Mandoran after everyone else was seated. “You can wander around the store, if you’d prefer. I would ask that you not touch anything without checking with Grethan first.”
Mandoran looked to Kaylin, who nodded with some envy.
Kaylin tried to gauge the importance of this visitor. Evanton didn’t let just anyone into his kitchen—probably some mix of pride and self-preservation—but guests of import or power were usually led through the rickety hall in the back to the Keeper’s Garden.
Tea was poured, and Evanton had a cup situated somewhere in front of him, although he didn’t generally like to drink it. He watched Kaylin for a long, silent breath.
“What did I do wrong this time?” It was a surrender on her part. Someone had to speak first, or they’d be here all afternoon.
“That really is the question, isn’t it?” Evanton exhaled. He turned to his guest. “This is Private Kaylin Neya, and Corporal Severn Handred. They are, as you can see, Imperial Hawks, ground division.”
“I’m not sure we call it a division,” Kaylin said. “The rest is accurate.”
She was an older woman. Not as old as Evanton, of course, but her hair was silver with shots of rooted black, and her square face was lined. Her eyes were a pale gray. She was what Kaylin thought of as handsome: there was nothing frail about her, but she had a compelling face. At one point in her life, she might have been considered beautiful. She apparently had no name she was willing to have divulged, because Kaylin and Severn were the only ones who were introduced.
Kaylin didn’t much care about manners for their own sake, but she was as curious as the next person, and the lack of an introduction made her wonder who the woman was, what she was hiding and what laws she’d broken. Then again, Kaylin was a Hawk, and her mind often ran in that direction, full tilt.
“Grethan said you wanted to see us.”
“Yes. I wish to ask your opinion.”
Evanton’s guest clearly didn’t want him to do so. She drank her tea looking stiff and increasingly uncomfortable in every possible way.
“Ask, then—we’re on the clock, and the sergeant is in a foul mood.”
“I would imagine he is, given the assassination attempt.”
Kaylin stiffened. Severn appeared to relax. Only one of these things was accurate. “You’re not just bringing that up to make conversation.”
“No. I try very hard not to waste my own time, given the number of people who seem willing to waste it for me.”
“What do you know about it, and how much do you want me to pass on?”
“I know that the would-be assassin was an Aerian.”
“How do you know that?” Severn asked, in the conversational tones people used to talk about either sports or weather.
Evanton ignored the question. “This is not a matter for the Hawks,” he said. “I believe it will be classified under exemption status. The target was Aerian, the assassin was Aerian. And I do not believe the target will seek to have justice done in the Imperial Courts. I would even be willing to wager on it.” Evanton was aware of the Hawks’ propensity for betting, and he knew whom most of that habit had come from.
“With your own money?”
“Not with money.”
“Odds?”
“Any odds.”
“Fine.” Kaylin folded. “What do you know about the attempt?”
“Very little. It was carried out by magic. The mage responsible will not be catalogued in the Imperial investigative archives, so there is no point at all in bringing in Imperial mages, even if the case were remanded to the regular system.”
“Do you know why?”
Evanton looked to his guest, who stiffened, her hands tightening around the bowl of the teacup as if to draw strength from it. She looked across the table at Kaylin. “If Moran dar Carafel is dead, the wings will pass on.”
“The wings?”
The woman’s lips tightened; this was followed by a downward shift of shoulders as she bowed her head. She was silent for long enough that Kaylin thought she wasn’t going to answer.
Evanton said nothing; he waited, as if he were patience personified. Given the way he generally treated both Grethan and Kaylin, this was unusual. “I was reluctant to involve you,” he said—to Kaylin. “I am still reluctant. You have a way of causing snarls and snags in the cleanest and simplest of tasks—most of which are not predictable and therefore not controllable. But in this case, there is no other option. Lillias, if you will not speak, I must allow the Hawks to go back to their duties.”
Lillias. It was not a familiar name. Kaylin waited while the woman struggled in the silence left by Evanton.
When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were a deep blue.
