Kaylin, thinking of the High Halls and the High Court, nodded quietly.
“To your people we most resemble animals.”
“No—”
“Kaylin.”
“To some of them,” Kaylin finished lamely.
“In our oldest stories, Kaylin, we were animals.”
“But—”
“Does Marcus accept these constant interruptions?”
“More or less.”
“Ah. Well then, it’s a good thing I’m not a member of the Hawks.”
“Yes, Kayala.”
“Don’t play meek, it doesn’t suit you. In our oldest stories, as I was saying, we were animals. We were like the Wolves and the Hawks from which you take your name. And in our oldest stories, one of the Ancients found us, and he gave us his words, and lifted us unto two legs, and bade us speak, and dress and hunt like men.” She used the Leontine word.
Kaylin nodded. It seemed safest.
“But the Ancients were capricious, and they fought—as we all do—among themselves, and when another came to us, offering gifts, we were too young to understand the cost. We welcomed him, and we welcomed his word and his touch, as we had welcomed his brother’s.
“And this Ancient gave the gift of magic.” She lifted a hand as Kaylin’s mouth opened and waited until it snapped shut. “Good girl. We were beguiled by the change. But the change was visual, and the magic was accompanied by a wildness that we could not control. Those who were changed often reverted to the shape of an animal, but their power was tremendous, and they desired what animals desire.
“It nearly destroyed us. The Ancient who had given us life and intelligence returned, and saw what had happened. He purified those who could be purified. And he told us that the magic, in us, was dark and chaotic, that it could not reside in a mortal vessel without changing the vessel beyond recognition. He told us the signs, and he warned us that we would fail as a race if we did not guard against those who still bore the taint.”
“But I don’t understand. How can magic be evil? A sword isn’t evil. It’s just another tool.”
“Yes, it is. But in whose hand?” She turned to look at Marai. Turned away. “You have seen the Ferals.”
Kaylin nodded.
“You understand, as we do, that they are not truly alive.”
She nodded again.
“Where they come from,” Kayala continued, “is a mystery to you. But to my kind, it is known. They come from the shadows and the darkness and the chaos. They come to destroy life. And from those shadows and that chaos, power comes to the tainted. They hear the old voices, and they desire the old power.”
Kaylin was very, very quiet. She looked down at the sleeping infant in her arms for a long moment, seeing no trace of hunting Ferals in his sleeping features. At last she said, “Those are just stories.”
“Perhaps. But in our stories, and in the stories the Elders learn, there is more. The ability to change form, as if one’s body were simple clothing, is dangerous.”
Kaylin remembered the vast cavern beneath the High Halls, and the creatures it contained, their bodies fluid nightmares. She shuddered a moment, and then nodded.
“Magic was not meant for my kind. I do not know if it was meant for yours, but your people are not my problem. It is almost certain that Marai’s guardian was tainted. How strongly, we cannot yet say,” Kayala said.
Kaylin nodded again. “I need to talk to a few people,” she told Kayala.
Marai looked up.
“Will you keep her safe?”
“Yes.”
“And her son?”
“Yes, Kaylin. For now, the Pridlea will watch them both.” She held out her arms, and after a long hesitation, Kaylin gave her the baby. “I admit that sleeping like this doesn’t make him look dangerous. Or not more dangerous than any of our other children.”
Severn was waiting when she left the house, if lounging against the side of a home in the dead of night could be called waiting. “You left the child?”
“Kayala promised she wouldn’t kill him without warning me first.”
She could sense the lift of his brow, but the sudden onset of night hid it from view, and by the time her eyes had acclimatized fully to the light of the twin moons, his expression was neutral. He began to walk and she fell into step beside him, just as if they were patrolling together.
“We go home?”
She nodded. “But I want to bring a mage to the Quarter to look at the house. And I want the body of the Leontine Marcus has been accused of murdering exhumed for the same purpose.”
“Good luck with that. We can’t compel the Leontines to cooperate.”
“Yes, we can. The attack was made against us. We didn’t come here as Hawks, we came here off duty. If we’re involved it’s a case for the Imperial Courts, not the damn Caste Courts.”
“Careful, Kaylin.”
“Trying to be. I know which mage I’m asking.”
“Good luck with that, as well.” The way he said the words was different, but she couldn’t see his expression; he was watching the streets like their mutual namesake.
“Why?”
“All requisitions for mages seconded for our investigations go through Mallory now. Given the regard in which he holds the Hawk, he would likely accede to your request—but what reason are you going to give him for our presence in the Leontine Quarter in the first place?”
Her colorful Leontine phrases would have shriveled the ears off any Leontine who happened to be awake and listening.
The morning, when it came, was barely a pink glow in the sky. On a normal day, she would have classified it as night, and gone back to sleep. Her body was sore and her muscles ached. She was certain she had a new collection of bruises, and the scratches she’d received from Marai weren’t exactly paper cuts.
But there weren’t going to be any normal mornings until Marcus was back in the office. She dragged herself out of bed. Severn was waiting.
“Don’t you ever knock?”
“I tried. Six times.”
“Oh.” She grimaced. “More than that would probably wake up the crazy lady down the hall.”
“That was my thought.”
“Don’t you ever get tired?”
“I’m tired now,” he replied.
“Sleepy, then.”
He shrugged. “Yes. I brought breakfast. We’re required to check in at the office before we head to the Palace.”
He watched her sort through her clothing. The regulation pants—the last set she had—had a very large hole in the thigh.
“Wear something else,” he said with a short sigh. “I’ll speak with the Quartermaster when we arrive. You have maybe twenty minutes to dress and eat. And please, do them in that order.”
The Quartermaster, Kaylin thought, must love Severn. Either that or the Wolves had blackmail information hidden away somewhere. He took the pants that Severn handed him. They were neatly folded, but not even the folds could disguise the great, jagged tears from the previous night’s work.
He glanced at them and looked at Severn. His lips thinned slightly. “Take a walk on the wrong side of town?”
“The right side of the river.”
The Quartermaster nodded. He lifted a hand to forestall the usual whining and excuse-making—not that Severn would have done much of either—and turned to the door at his back. Opening it, he disappeared for less than five minutes, as if he had expected to replace at least this much gear. He handed Severn a neatly folded pile, and then went back to his records.
Severn took it and walked away.
“He looked like he expected that,” Kaylin said.
“I imagine he did. Let’s just report quickly and go.”
She nodded. The guards at the door were men she only vaguely recognized, which caused her to grind her teeth. Given the acoustics in this utterly silent hall, she stopped after a very short time. She did not add obscenities to the silence, but that was harder.
The d
uty board was unoccupied when they approached it; the office was not. But the office, like the inner hall, was abnormally silent. She looked around the room once, and saw Mallory watching her.
“I’m happy to see you’re capable of punctuality,” he said. He said it quietly but, given the lack of any other noise, it carried a fair distance. “Perhaps the previous Sergeant didn’t give you enough incentive.”
“The Imperial Palace is all the incentive I need,” she told him curtly.
“A good thing, then. We don’t want anything to reflect poorly on the Hawks.”
Sixteen different rejoinders rushed up to meet the closed wall of her teeth. They stayed on the right side of her mouth.
“I will see you when you deliver your report on the day’s duties. Dismissed.”
The carriage wheels, heavy Imperial work, probably added ruts to stone. Kaylin stared out the window in perfect silence.
“Kaylin.”
The buildings went past; the people went past. Some stopped to stare at the carriage as it drove by. She might have been one of them, once.
“You did well, there.”
“Did I? I wanted to hit him.”
“You didn’t.”
“No. And I’m trying hard not to regret it. I hate what he’s done to the Hawks,” she said. “I hate it.” She struggled to keep the whine out of her words.
“I think very few appreciate his presence.”
“No. And none of them have hit him.”
“Not to my knowledge. Are we going to the Palace?”
She nodded. “I need to speak to someone there.”
“Good. A mage?”
“The only one I seem to have trouble offending.”
Lord Sanabalis of the Dragon Court was waiting for them when they stepped out of a carriage surrounded by more livery than passengers. “I received your message,” he said, nodding slightly to Severn.
Kaylin snapped a glance at Severn, and he shrugged.
“It was suitably vague,” the Dragon added. “You are here to attend Mr. Rennick?”
“When he’s ready to receive us.” Severn’s reply was tendered in perfect High Barrani.
“I see. It may be some time yet. Will you take refreshments with me?”
“If it will not keep you from your duties.”
Sanabalis bowed. “My duties at the moment are similar to yours. Therefore, while we wait Mr. Rennick’s pleasure, we might make use of the time.”
If they started another round of polite phrases, Kaylin thought she’d scream. Sanabalis glanced at her, and his lips turned up in a smile that, on another face, would look suspiciously like a smirk. On his, she wasn’t certain.
“Follow me,” Sanabalis told them both.
He led them through the long, tall halls of a palace that seemed like a very opulent maze. Kaylin remembered the floors and the height of the ceilings from previous visits, but the geography of the building failed to imprint itself in her memories. Then again, with the exception of Richard Rennick’s chambers, she had never come to the same set of rooms twice, and privately thought she could visit every day for a year, and never see the entire Palace.
But at last he paused in front of a set of forbiddingly perfect doors. They had no door wards, and by this lack, Kaylin assumed they were rooms used by important visitors. Still, if there were no obvious wards, she felt a tingle at the base of her neck that shouted magic. Since magic was, sadly, not that uncommon, she ignored it and crossed the threshold in Sanabalis’s shadow. It wasn’t that much of a shadow; the lights in the sconces were so high above the damn ground the Palace staff probably included a few Aerians whose sole duty it was to clean them. The room itself boasted ceilings that were not—quite—as tall as the outer halls. The windows that adorned the far wall were impressive; colored, beveled glass suggested the sun’s rise, the sun’s height and the sun’s fall.
Beyond those panes, she could see the green of grass, and the flower beds that were no less a work of art than the windows themselves—and beyond those, beyond the gates, the only other building in the city that was, by Imperial dictate, allowed so much height: The Halls of Law.
“A reminder,” Sanabalis said softly, discerning what had caught her attention. “If it is needed. Come. You look…underslept.”
“I ate,” she said. There was no point in lying about sleep.
“I haven’t. Humor me.”
She took the chair he pointed to and sat in it almost gratefully. It was soft enough to sleep in, but given the curved wood and arms that housed burgundy cushions, she was pretty sure it was almost impossible to move. Wood of a certain type, she had discovered, was bloody heavy.
“I believe you visited the Leontine Quarter last evening after you finished your official duties.” He indicated a plate of sandwiches, and a pitcher of orange juice. He did not, however, touch either himself.
“I really did eat, Sanabalis.”
“Humor me,” he repeated. “It is, after all, free.”
“Good point. Severn told you this?”
“Ah. No. But some information has crept into the Palace by less official routes. Corporal Handred did, however, imply that you had work for me.”
“Ye-es.”
“I’m retired.”
“You teach me,” she countered.
“A foible of age. And a desire not to offend the Imperial Mages more than strictly necessary. I am not terribly easy to offend,” he added. “It takes both diligent research and effort, and you are famously lazy when it comes to either of these things.”
“I don’t try to offend.”
“You don’t try hard enough not to offend. And I would quibble with the truth of your statement.”
“Unless I’m offended first.”
“They started it?”
She winced. “Something like that.”
“And they are old enough to know better. As are you.”
She ate for a few minutes in silence.
“Since I am retired, I cannot be employed.”
“But the Hawks pay you to teach me!”
“That is a matter for the Imperial Order of Mages to decide. I am, however, open to things that amuse or challenge me. This means,” he said, lifting a hand before she could speak, “that I’m willing to hear your offer.”
“Offer?”
“If you have a job for a mage, there is generally a question of compensation which naturally arises.”
“Sanabalis—”
“And which you could not, of course, afford in other circumstances. We have a few hours before Mr. Rennick is sentient.”
“And you’re going to spend them playing word games.”
“It amuses me,” Sanabalis said with a lazy smile. It was a genuine smile; he was amused. “I have little else that does at the moment, although on occasion Mr. Rennick does provide distraction. I admit that I miss our lessons.”
She started to tell him she didn’t, and stopped. It wasn’t entirely true.
“Kaylin may have other lessons to occupy her time in the foreseeable future,” Severn said. He had, of course, taken sandwiches and orange juice, and he had eaten the one and drunk the other as slowly as Sanabalis talked.
“Oh?”
“Sergeant Mallory feels her academic record speaks poorly of the Hawks, and he has instructed her to retake those courses she failed. She will be suspended with pay until she passes them, or until her teachers give up.”
“I see.” He drew his hands up into a steeple in front of his beard.
“I believe that the expense of training her in other disciplines—yours, for instance—will not be seen as worthwhile until she proves herself adept at regular classroom work.”
“The lessons she receives from me are not optional.”
“No. I don’t believe that Sergeant Mallory is apprised of all of the particulars of Kaylin’s situation.”
“Which implies his tenure is not intended to be indefinite.”
“That’s the hope,” Kaylin in
terjected. “We need you to help.”
“Ah. And how might I help?”
“In the Leontine Quarter last night, we met a mage.”
He frowned. “Continue.”
“He used a crapload of magic and burned down a house. He wanted us to be in it,” she added.
“You weren’t.”
“We were.”
“And you have not taken this to the Halls of Law.”
“Um, no.”
“I’m sure your reasons for this oversight are fascinating. You wish me to track this mage?”
“Not exactly.”
“You wish to ascertain whether or not he’s an Arcanist?”
“Oh, he’s not.”
“He is not a member of the Imperial Order.”
“No.”
“And you are certain of both these facts?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Why?”
“He was Leontine.”
She wasn’t certain what she expected him to say or do, but his expression shifted in a second into something as open and welcoming as the Imperial Prisons.
And if she could let a little thing like that stop her, she would never have become a Hawk. She gave him time to answer, and when it became clear he wasn’t going to, she continued.
“He used fire. Not a summoning—it was mage fire. That much magic has got to leave a signature.”
“A signature is only relevant if it will tell us anything we do not already know.”
“In and of itself, yes. But…the man that Marcus killed—the man he’s accused of murdering, if the Leontines even have a word for it—was possibly enspelled. We need to visit both the burned-out house and the corpse of the murdered Leontine, and look for signatures. If the signatures match, we know who did it.”
“And if there is no signature?”
She deflated slightly. “Marcus is not a murderer, or half the office would be names on headstones by now. He killed his friend in self-defense. I’m certain of it.”
“There are many ways to motivate a man to kill,” Sanabalis said evenly. “Magic is probably the least reliable, and it is certainly not the most commonly used.”
“If Marcus trusted him, he was worth that trust. It had to be something.”
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