Читать книгу Cast In Shadow - Michelle Sagara - Страница 11

He took her back to the rooms she had woken in, and there, she found her daggers. Her clothing, however, was nowhere in sight. When her brows rose, he smiled. His smile was so close to her face it was almost blurred; she could pretend it was something else.

Her arms ached. Her head hurt. And her cheek? It continued to bleed.

The fieflord set her down upon the bed. He reached out to touch her cheek and she shied away—which overbalanced her. She really was pathetic. “Don’t.”

The word displeased him; his face fell into its more familiar, cold mask. “I have no intention of harming you,” he replied. “And I seek to take no screaming mortal children to my bed. Those who are fortunate enough to come to the Long Halls come willingly.”

“Willingly.” She snorted.

“Kaylin, I have perhaps made an error in judgment, and you have paid for it. Do not presume overmuch.”

Another warning. Too many warnings. She fell silent. But she did not let him touch her again, and he didn’t try. They were quiet for some time.

“My clothing?” she asked at last.

“It will return to you when you leave the Long Halls. It is, as I said, unsuitable.” He rose. “We will return you to your Hawks for the moment.”

She waited until he had reached the door; when he did, she rose. “I want to cover my arms,” she said.

He said nothing; he simply waited.

Her legs were wobbly, and she made her way, clumsy and entirely graceless, toward him. When he offered her an arm, she bit back all pride and took it; it was either that or fall flat on her face.

Teela had taken her drinking when she had been a year with the Hawks. It had been something like this, but with more nausea. Not a lot more, though.

When he opened the door, the forest was gone.

In its place? A long hall. Funny, that. She felt magic as she walked through the door, and she swore under her breath. It was a Leontine curse. It would have shocked Marcus, if anything could.

“You will be weak for two days,” he told her quietly, “if only that. Eat what you can eat. Drink what you can drink. Do not,” he added softly, “be alone.”

“Why?”

“I do not understand all of what happened, Kaylin. But I understand this much … by presence alone, you activated the seal. In my life, I have never seen it burn. And believe that I, and the mages at my disposal, have tried.

“It is not, however, of the seal that I speak.”

“Your name,” she whispered.

“Indeed. The giving of a name is never an easy thing. It is, in essence, the most ancient and most dangerous of our rituals. It is a binding, a subtle chain. In some people, it destroys will and presence of mind.”

“You mean—”

“I did not think it would have that effect upon you, but it was a risk.”

Her brows rose. He smiled, but it was a sharp smile. “Barrani gifts,” he said softly, “have thorns or edges. Remember that.”

Like she could forget.

“I would take the name from you,” he added softly, “but I think I would find it difficult. And if the taking of the name was costly to you, the giving was costly to me.” Clear, from the tone of his voice, which one of the two mattered more.

“Do not let go of my arm,” he told her quietly. “We will meet some of my kin before you are free of the Hall, and two who have not seen the outer world for much, much longer than you have been alive. They will be drawn to you.” His lips lost the edge that was his smile. “They will not touch you, if they see the mark—but it bleeds, Kaylin, and you will not let me tend it.”

“I couldn’t stop you,” she said quietly.

“No. But in this, I have chosen to grant you volition. It is another lesson.”

The Hall was, as the name suggested, long. It was tall as well, but not so tall as the great hall that opened into the Halls of Law. No Aerian wings graced the heights; they were cold, serene and perfect. Funny, how lack of living things could make something seem so perfect.

They walked for minutes, for a quarter of an hour, passing closed doors and alcoves in which fountains trickled clear water into ancient stone. She didn’t ask where the water came from. She didn’t really want to know.

But when they came at last to the Hall’s end, there were tall doors, and the doors were closed. An alcove sat to the left and right of either door, and in each, like living statues, stood a Barrani lord.

She could not tell, at first glance, if they were male or female. They were adorned by the same dark hair that marked all of their kind, and it, like their still faces, was perfect. Their skin was white, like alabaster, and their lids were closed in a sweep of lashes against that perfect skin.

She heeded the warning of the fieflord; she held his arm. He walked beside her until the Barrani flanked him, and then he said, softly, “The doors must be opened.”

Eyelids rolled up. Nothing else about the Barrani moved. Kaylin found it disturbing.

The doors began to swing outward in a slow, slow arc. She stepped toward them, eager to be gone; the fieflord, however, did not move. She turned to look at him, and her glance strayed to the two Barrani on either side of her.

They were speaking. Their voices were unlike any Barrani voice she had ever heard, even the fieflord’s: they were almost sibilant. They reminded her of ghosts. Death that whispered the name of Nightshade.

But when they reached out to touch her, she froze; the dead didn’t move like this. Fluid, graceful, silent, they eyed her as if she were … food.

“Peace,” the fieflord said coldly.

They didn’t seem to hear him. Icy fingers touched her arms. Icy fingers burned. Unfortunately, so did Kaylin.

The hand drew back.

“She is yours?” one of the two said. His voice was stronger now, as if he were remembering how to use it. The words held more expression than any Barrani voice she had heard, which was strange, given that his face held less.

“She is mine,” Nightshade said quietly.

“Give her to us. Give her to us as the price of passage.”

“You forget yourselves,” he replied. He lifted a hand, and thin shadows streamed from his fingers. They passed over her shoulder, around the curve of her arm, without touching her. She froze in place, because she was suddenly very certain that she didn’t want them to touch her.

“They smell blood,” he said quietly.

It made no sense.

“They are old,” he added softly, “and they have chosen to reside here in Barrani sleep. They are also powerful. Do not wake them, Kaylin.”

“You rule here.”

“I rule,” he said softly, “because I have not chosen to join them. They are outcaste, and they have been long from the world.” He paused, and then added quietly, “They were within the castle grounds, even as you see them, when I at last took possession. They fought me. They are powerful, but they seldom speak.”

“They’re speaking now.”

“Yes. I thought they might. You have touched the seal,” he added.

“Will they leave?”

“No. They are bound here, but the binding is old and poorly understood. Blood wakes them. It is a call to life.”

The lesson, then. She raised a hand to cover her cheek.

“She bears the mark,” one of the two said. It confused Kaylin until she realized they weren’t talking about the fieflord’s strange flower; they were talking about the ones on her arms. “Leave her here. Do not meddle in the affairs of the ancients.”

“She is mortal,” the fieflord replied. “And not bound by the laws of the Old Ones.”

“She bears the marks,” the Barrani said again. “She contains the words.”

“She cannot.”

Silence then. Shadows.

“She is almost bound,” a flat, cold voice at last replied. “As we are bound. We grant you passage, Lord of the Long Halls.”

Kaylin passed between them in the shadow of the fieflord, but she felt their eyes burning a hole between her shoulder blades, and she swore that she would never again walk through a shadow gate, not even if her life depended on it. She’d been hungry before, but never like they were, and she didn’t want to be whatever it was that satisfied that hunger.

“You will not speak of them here,” he told her.

“I—”

“I understand that you will speak with Lord Grammayre. I understand that, if you do not speak well, he will summon the Tha’alani.”

She shuddered. “He won’t,” she snapped.

“You already bear the scent of their touch. It is … unpleasant.”

“Only once,” she whispered, but she paled.

“Do not trust Lord Grammayre overmuch,” he said softly.

“Your name—”

And smiled. “Not even the Tha’alani can touch it. No mortal can, if it has not been gifted to them, and if they have not paid the price. The name, Kaylin Neya, is for you. If he questions you, answer him. I give you leave to do so.”

“Why?”

“Because the Lord of Hawks and the Lord of Nightshade are bound by different laws. We have different information, and I am curious to see what he makes of you, now.”

He stepped through the doors, and they began to close slowly behind them. When Kaylin turned back to look, she saw only blank, smooth walls. But at their edges, top and bottom, she saw the swirled runic writing with which she was becoming familiar.

“Not even I can free them,” he said quietly. “I tried only once.”

She started to say something, and to her great embarrassment, her stomach got there before she did; it growled.

His beautiful black brows rose in surprise, and then he laughed. She wanted to hate the sound. “You are very human,” he said softly. “And I see so few.”

Which reminded her of something. “Severn,” she said.

“Yes. Perhaps the last of your kind that I have spoken to at length.”

“Why?”

The laughter was gone, and the smile it left in its place was like ebony, hard and smooth. “Ask him.”

“He won’t answer.”

“No. But ask him. It will amuse me.”

When they left the next hall, she heard voices.

One was particularly loud. It was certainly familiar. She closed her eyes, released the fieflord’s arm, and stumbled as she grabbed folds of shimmering silk, bunching them in her fists. She lifted the skirt of her fine dress, freeing her feet, and after a moment’s hesitation, she kicked off the stupid shoes, the snap of her legs sending them flying in different directions. The floor was cold against her soles. Cold and hard.

Didn’t matter.

She recognized both the voice and its tenor, and she began to run. The lurching movement reminded her of how weak her legs were. But they were strong enough. She made it to the end of the hall, and turned a sharp corner.

There, in a room that was both gaudy and bright—as unlike the rest of the Halls as any room she had yet seen—were Severn, Tiamaris and the two Barrani guards that had accompanied the Lord of Nightshade.

The guards held drawn weapons.

Severn held links of thin chain. At the end of that chain was a flat blade. She had never seen him use a weapon of this kind before, and knew it for a gift of the Wolves.

And she didn’t want to see him use it here.

“Severn!” she shouted.

His angry demand was broken in the middle by the sound of her voice. It should have stopped him.

But he stared at her, at the dress she was wearing, at the bare display of shoulders and arms, her bare feet, at the blood—curse the fieflord, curse him to whichever hell the Barrani occupied—on her cheek, before he changed direction, started the chain spinning.

And she knew the expression on his face. Had seen it before a handful of times in the fiefs. It had always ended in death.

This time, though, she thought it would be the wrong death. She moved before she could think—thought took too much damn time, and she came to stand before him—before him, and between Severn and the fieflord, who had silently come into the room as if he owned it.

Which, in fact, he did.

“Severn!” She shouted, raising her hands, both empty, one brown with the traces of her blood. “Severn, he didn’t touch me!”

Severn met her eyes; the chain was now moving so fast it was a wall, a metal wall. He shortened his grip on it, but he did not let it rest.

“Severn, put it down.”

“If he didn’t touch you, why are you dressed like that?”

“Put it down, Severn. Put it away. You’re here as a Hawk. And the Hawklord wants no fight with the fieflord. You don’t have the luxury of dying. Not here.”

If he did, she wasn’t so sure that his would be the only death. “Don’t start a fief war,” she shouted. Had to shout. “He didn’t touch me. I’m not hurt.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

“The mark is bleeding,” she snapped back. “And I don’t need you to protect me, damn it—I’m a Hawk. I can protect myself!”

He slowed, then. She had him. “I don’t need protection,” she said again, and this time the words had multiple meanings to the two of them, and only the two of them.

His face showed the first emotion that wasn’t anger. And she wasn’t certain, after she’d seen it, that she didn’t like the anger better.

“No,” he said at last, heavily. The chain stopped. “It’s been a long time since I could. Protect you.”

Tiamaris, Dragon caste, said in a voice that would have carried the length of the Long Halls, “Well done, Kaylin. Severn. I believe it is time to retreat.” And she saw that his eyes were burning, red; that he, too, had been prepared to fight.

“Your companions lack a certain wisdom,” the fieflord said, voice close to her ear.

“What did you do here, fieflord?” Tiamaris’s voice was low. Dangerous.

“What you suspect, Tiamaris.”

“That was … foolish.”

“Indeed.” He made the admission casually. “And I am not the only one who will pay the price for it. Take her home. She will need some time to recover.”

Severn slowly wrapped the chain round his waist again. He stepped forward and caught Kaylin as her knees buckled. His grip, one hand on either of her upper arms, was not gentle. Kaylin did not resist him.

“The deaths, fieflord?” Tiamaris said quietly. Or as quietly as his voice would let him.

“Three days,” the fieflord said, “between the first and second.”

“And it has been?”

“One day since the last death. If there is a pattern, it will emerge when we find the next sacrifice.”

“Why do you call them that?” Kaylin looked up, looked back at him.

“Because, Kaylin, it is what we believe they are. Sacrifices. Did the Hawklord not tell you that?”

No, of course not, she thought, bitter now. Bitter and bone-weary.

“You will return to the fiefs,” he added softly. “And to the Long Halls.”

“The hell she will,” Severn said.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then the fieflord turned and walked away.

It was, of course, night in the fiefs.

And they were walking in it. Or rather, Severn and Tiamaris were walking; Kaylin was stumbling. Severn held her up for as long as he could, but in the end, Tiamaris rumbled, and he lifted her. He was not as gentle as the fieflord, because he was not as dangerously personal.

She preferred it.

“Kaylin,” Tiamaris said quietly. “Do you understand why the fiefs exist?”

She shrugged. Or tried. It was hard, while nesting in the arms of a Dragon.

“Have you never wondered?”

“A hundred times,” she said bitterly. “A thousand. Sometimes in one day.”

Tiamaris frowned stiffly. “I can see that Lord Grammayre had his hands full, if he chose to attempt to teach you.”

“I don’t need history lessons. They won’t keep me alive.” The words were a familiar refrain in her life; they certainly weren’t original.

“Spoken like a ground Hawk,” Tiamaris replied.

She shrugged again. Although he wore no armor, his chest was hard. “I believe,” he said quietly, “that I will let Lord Grammayre deal with this.”

“No,” she said, tired now. “I think I know what you’re asking.”

“Oh?”

“You’re asking me if I’ve ever wondered why the Lords of Law don’t just close the fieflords down permanently.”

“Indeed.”

“Hell, we’ve all wondered that.”

“There is a reason. I think you begin to see some of it. The fiefs are the oldest part of the city. They are, with the exception of ruins to the West and East of Elantra, the oldest part of the Empire; they have stood since the coming of the castes.

“I … spent time in the fiefs, studying the old writings, the old magics. I was not alone, but over half of the mages sent with me did not survive. The old magics are alive, if their architects are not. There are some places in the fiefs that could not easily be conquered without destroying half of the city, if they could be conquered at all. They almost all bear certain … markings.”

Her head hurt, and she didn’t want to think. But she made the effort. “The tattoo,” she said faintly.

“Yes. It is the only living thing I—or any one of us—has seen that speaks of the Old Ones. It is why you have always been of interest.”

“Have I?”

He said nothing, then.

In the dark of the fief’s streets, shadows moved. They were pale white, a blur of motion that hunched three feet above the ground. Severn cursed.

Kaylin was still dressed in the finery of Nightshade, but she wore her daggers again; she hadn’t bothered to change, because there was no privacy, and she wasn’t up to stripping in front of everyone. Severn had taken her clothing. “What?” she asked. Too sharply.

“It’s the ferals,” he said.

She really cursed. She had always been able to outcurse Severn.

In the moonlight—the bright moon—she could see that Severn was right: the ferals had come out to play. And if the Hawks weren’t bloody careful, some poor child would come out in the morning—to play—and would discover what the ferals had left behind.

She’d done it herself, once or twice. Whole nightmares remained of those experiences.

“Severn?”

He was already unlooping the long chain. “There’s only two,” he said softly. Nothing in his voice hinted of fear. Nothing in his posture did either. She wondered if he had changed so much that he felt none.

She hadn’t.

Tiamaris set her down. “Don’t move,” he told her grimly. Her hand had already clutched a throwing knife; it was out of her belt, and the moonlight glinted along one of its two edges. But her hand was weak, and she knew she didn’t have the strength to throw true. Wondered if this was the fieflord’s way of getting rid of her.

Her eyes were already acclimatized to the moonlight. She could see the four-legged lope of the creatures that dominated the fief streets at night. They were not numerous; they didn’t have to be. If you were lucky, you could weather the stretch of a night and never see one.

Unlucky? Well, you only had to see them once.

She hadn’t seen them as a child. But later?

Later, Severn by her side, she had. She was caught by the memory; she could see Severn now, and Severn as he was. The seven years made a difference. The weapon that he wielded made a bigger one.

Hand on dagger, she stood between Tiamaris and Severn, and she waited. The quiet growl of the hunting feral almost made her hair stand on end; it certainly made her skin a lot less smooth; goose bumps did that.

The ferals weren’t as stupid as dogs. They weren’t as lazy as cats. They weren’t, as far as anyone could tell, really animals at all. But what they were wasn’t clear. Besides deadly. She felt the tension shore her up. Found her footing on the uneven ground, and held it.

The last time she had faced ferals, she had stood in Tiamaris’s position, and between her and Severn, a child had cowered. Lost child. Stupid child. But still living.

She didn’t like the analogy that memory made of the situation.

Severn waited, his chain a moving wall. He wasn’t even breathing heavily. He spoke her name once, and she responded with a short grunt. It was enough.

The ferals leaped.

They leaped in concert, their jaws wide and silent. The moonlight seemed to cast no shadow beneath their moving bodies, but then again, it was dark enough that shadows were everywhere. Severn’s chain shortened suddenly as he drew it in, and then it lengthened as he let it go.

Feral growl became a howl of pain; a severed paw flew past Kaylin’s ear.

Tiamaris had no like weapon; he waited.

The feral that had leaped at him landed feet away, and it bristled. Tiamaris opened his mouth and roared.

That, Kaylin thought, wincing, would wake the entire damn fief. But she watched as the feral froze, and then watched, in astonishment, as it yelped and turned tail. Like a dog. Had she really been afraid of these creatures?

The one facing Severn lost another paw, and then lost half its face. It toppled.

“Kaylin?”

She shook her head.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Where there are two, there are likely to be more.”

But Tiamaris said, softly, “Not tonight.” He picked Kaylin up again, and he began to move.

They crossed the bridge over the Ablayne in the moonlight. The Halls of Law loomed in the distance, like shad-owlords. “Kaylin,” Tiamaris said quietly, “the Hawklord will be waiting.”

“All right,” she said, into his chest. “But I’d better be getting overtime for this.”

If Kaylin slept—and she did—the Halls of Law never did. The crew changed; the guards changed. The offices that were a conduit between one labyrinth of bureaucracy and another, however, were empty. She was grateful for that. Severn had cleaned the blade of his weapon, and he’d looped it round his waist again. But he didn’t leave.

The guards at the interior door were Aerian. Clint wasn’t one of them, but she recognized the older men. They were a bit stuffier than Clint, but she liked them anyway.

“Holder,” she said.

He raised a brow. “You went on a raid dressed like that?”

“I wasn’t on a raid.”

“Oh, even better. Look at your cheek. It’s—” he frowned.

“It’s stopped bleeding,” she offered, but she had grown quiet herself. In the fiefs, it had seemed disturbing to bear a mark—but it had also seemed natural in a fashion that now entirely escaped her. Holder’s dark eyes narrowed. “Hawklord’s waiting for you,” he said at last, lowering his weapon. “And you’d better have one helluva good explanation for him.”

She nodded and went through the doors. Or rather, Tiamaris did, carrying her. Severn trailed behind.

When they reached the main office, she was surprised to find Marcus still on duty. He was not, however, surprised to see her, which made Kaylin look up at Tiamaris with unguarded suspicion.

“I sent word,” he said quietly. “I made use of one of the mirrors in the castle.”

“But the mirrors in the castle can’t possibly be keyed to—” She saw his look and shut up, fast.

“You got her out,” Marcus said, his words a growl. He was tired. Tired Leontine was better than angry Leontine—but only by a whisker. His were bobbing.

“In a manner of speaking,” Tiamaris replied coldly.

Whatever existed between the sergeant and the Dragon was always, Kaylin thought, going to be an issue. But this time, Marcus let him pass without comment.

Severn stopped, though. “I’m not going up,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“I’ll be a while,” she replied, without much hope. “Go home.”

He met her gaze and held it. And she remembered that she’d never really been able to tell Severn what to do. Oh, she’d always given him orders—but he’d chosen which ones he wanted to follow, and ignored the rest. She would have said as much, but he was angry. Tense with it, waiting to spring.

“Kaylin,” Marcus said.

She shored herself up so she could look over Tiamaris’s shoulder.

The Sergeant snorted. “You shouldn’t be in the fiefs. Tell the old bastard I said so.”

“Yes, sir.”

The tower passed beneath her. It was interesting to see it from this perspective; interesting and a tad humiliating. “I can walk,” she muttered.

“You will have to, soon enough,” Tiamaris replied. He climbed the stairs without pause until he reached the doors that were, as always, guarded. Here he paused and set Kaylin on her feet.

She recognized neither of the two Aerians, and this was unusual. But one, grim-faced, nodded to Tiamaris. “The Lord of Hawks is waiting,” he said quietly. “He bids you enter.”

Tiamaris nodded.

Kaylin stared at them both for a moment, and then she moved past the guards and placed her palm on the door’s seal, grimacing. Great way to end a very long day.

But the Hawklord must have been waiting, because the door rolled open, untouched. Startled, she watched before she remembered that two strangers were staring at her. Then she squared her shoulders and entered the room. Lord Grammayre was indeed waiting, but not in the room’s center; he stood, instead, in front of a long, oval mirror on the east side of the rounded wall. Their eyes met in reflection; his were cool.

Bad, then. There were days when she could actually make him smile. Days when she could make him laugh, although his laughter was brief and grudged. There were also days when she could make him raise his voice in frustration. All of these, she valued.

None of these would happen tonight.

“Lord Grammayre,” she said, bending stiffly at the waist before she fell to one knee. She had to place a hand on the ground to keep her balance; in all, it was a pretty poor display.

Tiamaris, in theory a Hawk, did not bend or kneel. He offered the Hawklord a nod that would pass as polite between equals. “Lord Grammayre,” he said quietly.

“Tiamaris. You almost lost her.”

Tiamaris said nothing.

“Kaylin. Rise.”

She rose. She hated formality in this tower more than she hated almost anything—because formality meant distance, and distance was the thing he placed between them when something bad was about to happen. Usually to her.

“Kaylin, I wish to ask you what happened in Castle Nightshade.”

She nodded.

“You will come to the center of the circle before you answer, and you will stand there until I have finished.”

She grimaced, but that was all the resistance she offered.

Tiamaris surprised her. “Give her leave to sit,” he said quietly. “If she is forced to stand, I don’t think she’ll make it through the interview.”

“She is a Hawk,” the Hawklord replied coldly. A warning.

“She is a human,” the Dragon replied.

The Hawklord’s pale brows rose slightly, and he glanced at Kaylin. After a moment, his wings flicked; it was the Aerian equivalent of a shrug.

She made her way to the brass circle embedded in stone; she knew what it was for. “Don’t cast until I’m in it,” she whispered.

If he heard her, he didn’t show it. But he did wait.

He approached her, and stopped. His feet grazed the circle as he reached out to touch her cheek. “This is a Barrani mark,” he said.

She said nothing.

“Nightshade.” The word sounded a lot like swearing. But colder. “Why?”

“He thought it would protect me.”

“I doubt that, Kaylin,” the Hawklord replied. “I doubt that very much. Tiamaris, can it be removed?”

“Not easily,” Tiamaris replied. “And not at all without the permission of the Lord who made the mark. Not from a human.”

Kaylin heard the distinct that you don’t want dead that he didn’t say.

“The likelihood of that permission?”

“In my opinion? None whatsoever.”

“As I thought.”

“I can probably cover it up,” she offered. She’d become good at that over the years; black eyes and red welts never made the office staff feel secure.

Tiamaris shook his head. “Grammayre, have you taught her so little?”

“I have taught her,” the Hawklord replied, distinct edge in the words, “what she is willing to retain.” To Kaylin, he added, “The mark can be hidden from mortal sight. The Aerians might not recognize it. Most of the humans won’t. But the Leontines will smell it, and the Barrani? You could cut off your cheek and they would still know. Don’t,” he added, as if it were necessary, “try.”

He lowered his hand, but did not leave her; instead he reached down and lifted the arm that was bound by the bracer. He looked at it, and then he touched it carefully, and in sequence, his fingers dancing over the gems as hers had done.

It didn’t open; it was a different sequence. He frowned. Stepped out of the circle. She reached out without thinking and grabbed both his hands; she was that tired. His brows rose a fraction; she felt the rebuke in the expression, and she forced her hands to let go.

But as he stepped outside the circle, his expression softened slightly, allowing a trace of weariness to show. “I trust you to tell me the truth as you perceive it,” he said quietly. “But I do not trust the Lord of Nightshade. The spell is not a punishment.”

He lifted his hands, and his wings rose with them, until they were at their full span. Like this, she found the Hawklord beautiful in a way that she seldom found anything beautiful. And he knew it. Had always known it. This was as much mercy as he was willing to offer. It shouldn’t have made a difference, but it did.

He began to question her, and staring at his wings, at the particular length of his flight feathers, she answered him.

She told him of the Long Halls. She told him of the forest. And then, haltingly, she told him of the room beyond the trees. The circle that surrounded her turned a distinct shade of gold each time she finished speaking.

But when she spoke of the pillar of blue flame, he lifted a hand.

“Kaylin,” he said softly, “are you certain?”

She nodded.

“Tiamaris?”

“She has seen what none of the surviving Imperial mages has seen,” the Dragon said quietly, his flawless Barrani tinged with caution. “I am intrigued by her words, but I do not doubt them.”

“Why?”

“You know well why. She bears those marks.”

The Hawklord nodded grimly. “But what do they signify? Why does she bear them?”

“That has always been the question, Grammayre. The answer is of concern to the Emperor.”

“I know. Kaylin—show me your arms.”

She lifted them; they shook.

Tiamaris walked over to the circle’s edge, but he did not cross it. He did, however, frown. “I wish to see visual records,” he said, distant, his eyes a pale gold.

The Hawklord frowned in turn; he gestured at the mirror and spoke three words in quick succession; the mirror began to glow. Kaylin really hated mirrors.

The surface of this one shimmered and shifted; when it cleared, she was looking at her arms writ large; the Hawklord wasn’t short, and it was his mirror. Tiamaris looked at the mirror for some time, and then looked down at her arms. “They’ve changed,” he said softly.

The Hawklord frowned. He came to stand by the side of the Dragon, and he, too, examined the symbols that covered Kaylin’s inner arm from wrist to elbow. “It’s subtle,” he said at last, “but you are correct.” He looked at Kaylin, his eyes clear, almost gray. Magic.

“Aside from the mark of the outcaste, I see no difference in her,” he said at last.

“Remove the bracer, Grammayre, and look again.”

The Hawklord hesitated. Then he shook his head. “Not yet,” he said quietly. “Kaylin, you have done well. Go home.” He paused, and then added, “Do not remove the containment until I give you orders.”