The Chronicles of Elantra Bundle

by Michelle Sagara

I loathe magic.

  Then you loathe yourself, Kaylin.

  Something Severn had also said. She took the paper he offered, wondering where it had come from.

  “I will see you soon,” he told her quietly.

  “I don’t—”

  “You will be back.” It wasn’t an order, and it wasn’t a request. It was a simple statement of fact.

  And she couldn’t deny it.

  She didn’t hurry out, but she didn’t linger; he escorted her to the portal that was, as far as she could tell, her only exit. She had once seen him jump through a mirror, but the Castle was his.

  When she reached the portal, she hesitated, and only partly because she disliked throwing up on principle. “Did he come back to you?”

  Lord Nightshade raised a perfect brow. His smile was cool, but genuine. “Yes, Kaylin. Briefly.”

  “When?”

  “Recently.” More than that, he would not say; she knew it. Wanted to press, anyway, and would have had he not been standing so close.

  “Why?”

  “Because the deaf—the mortal deaf—have a desire to be understood, and I understood him. I still do.” He paused and then said, “He does not desire love, for that, we are not capable of giving, and he understands this, now. But he desires a place that is his. He wants to belong.”

  “To what?”

  “To the dream of the Tha’alaan, Kaylin. And that was a poor question. You could answer it yourself.”

  “I wanted to see what you would say.”

  He raised a brow again, but this time, his lips turned down in a slight grimace, and she found herself changing the subject.

  “Did he ask for your help?”

  Lord Nightshade said nothing.

  “Did he bring the child with him?”

  “No.”

  “And if he had—”

  “There are some things, Kaylin, that should never be put into words. I have killed children in my time, and I have seen them killed. But…you will find him, I think. Whether or not you will find him in time remains to be seen.”

  She paused for ten minutes outside of the castle walls, mostly because she wanted her stomach to stop heaving. The portal’s method of swallowing her and spitting her out—in either direction—was fast becoming something she planned on fixing. Where fixing involved large hammers and a small army of people intent on destruction.

  It was night, of course, and the moons were high; the air was still humid, and the humidity clung to the heat of the earlier day. Leaving at night was not the wisest of choices, but staying—staying seemed less wise. Had seemed less wise.

  It had been a long day. A tiring day.

  And the image that returned to her at its end made her blush slightly. Two bodies rolling in a fountain, surrounded by splashing children and nonchalant parents. And was that so bad? She had always dreaded a world without privacy. Had always hidden small weaknesses and small imperfections of which she was ashamed.

  But it had never occurred to her that a world without privacy might just accept those flaws in the same way she accepted rain; might not only overlook them, but embrace them. And in that world, why would love be hidden when nothing else could be? If nothing could be hidden, there could be no lies, and no need for lying.

  It was a world that should have been alien to Nightshade, and perhaps it still was; perhaps that was why the boy had interested him at all. Or perhaps they were both outcasts—still alive, but unable to connect with their own people.

  She drew her dagger as she headed down the wide path from the castle and into the nighttime fief. Listened carefully for the familiar and unwelcome howl of hunting Ferals, and thought better of her desire for home.

  And a shadow moved in the moonlight, a single shadow. She shouldn’t have recognized it in the darkness, but she did. Something about the way Severn moved would always be familiar.

  “How long have you been waiting here?” she asked as she approached him.

  He answered with his characteristic shrug. “Long enough.”

  “It’s not safe—”

  “It’s always been safer in packs,” he replied. “It’s always been safer not to be alone.”

  She looked at him for a moment. “Aren’t we, though?”

  “Alone?”

  She nodded.

  “Sometimes, yes,” he replied softly, understanding the whole of her question. “We aren’t the Tha’alani. We’ll never have that perfect understanding, either of ourselves or of each other.”

  “I think I want it.”

  “You wouldn’t, if it were offered to you now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there are things you—and I—have done, Kaylin, that the Tha’alaan could not accept. We’ve learned to, or we’ve tried. What they see in the deaf is there. But this is the only way we can live, because we’re not Tha’alani.”

  But I can speak to you.

  He startled, and then turned to face her.

  And you can call my name.

  “Yes.”

  She wanted to say more. But she held it back, because in the end, there were some things she didn’t even know how to put into words, and without the words to contain them, she wasn’t even sure she understood them herself.

  “Did you get what you came for?”

  She nodded. Reached into her shirt and withdrew the folded paper. “A name.”

  “May I?”

  “I doubt you’ll be able to read it in this light.” But she handed it to him anyway.

  “Probably not. But we’ll go where there is light.”

  “And not where we can sleep?”

  “You won’t,” he replied. He was, of course, right. She was tired, but not so tired that she could leave this until tomorrow.

  Because time was an issue. Nightshade had said so.

  Marcus, to their great surprise, was still at the office. He was absently retracing old furrows his claws had put in the hardwood surface of his antique desk. Well, that was what the merchant carpenter had called this particular desk—antique sounded a lot better than cast-off or used. To some people. To Kaylin, given the desk, it was one and the same, and she’d been perfectly willing to insult the smug little man in order to get the price down. Which was why, of course, Marcus had taken her. Marcus seemed to need new desks a lot, and the Quartermaster didn’t dock his pay.

  Among the Leontines, the women were usually the ones who bartered. Men were either above that sort of petty squabble—which Kaylin doubted—or prone to take offense and kill the squabbler. Which was, as everyone in the office knew, technically illegal, if tempting.

  The sergeant looked up when they entered, although given Leontine hearing, he’d heard them a good ways off. “You’re back,” he said, and gestured to the two chairs that just happened to be placed facing him, in front of the intimidating piles of paper that always adorned his desk.

  Kaylin slumped into one chair; Severn took a seat more fluidly and gracefully. He did, however, hand Marcus the piece of paper he had taken from Kaylin’s shaking hands.

  “What’s this?”

  “The name of a man who has connections with the fieflords,” Severn replied.

  “And it came from?”

  Severn shrugged.

  Kaylin said quietly, “Lord Nightshade.”

  “You were sent to visit Evanton this afternoon. Whatever it was you found missing there, it must have involved a misplaced…person.”

  Apparently news of their visit to Missing Persons had, as it often did, traveled.

  “While technically I would appreciate a report, practically, I won’t actually read it unless it involves a kidnapping or a murder. And Evanton doesn’t have children.”

  Kaylin hesitated and Marcus growled, but without much fang in it. Clearly, it had been a long day at the office. “It must have something to do with children, Kaylin—you never head to Missing Persons unless it does. You whine about records access otherwise. Pretend I’m not stupid. It’s a career-advanci
ng move.

  “You returned and managed to weasel your way around the idiot in charge of records—” idiot was about as kind a term as Marcus ever dredged up for the man “—and came up with nothing.

  “However, there is currently in that division a Tha’alani who is seconded to the Imperial service. I believe you were seen speaking with him, Kaylin. More than that—someone said that you allowed him to actually touch your face.”

  “We all have to grow up sometime,” she said, adding a growl to the words that she hoped made them sound like Marcus. He recognized her mockery, but said, “You sound like a drowning kitling.”

  She gave up, although gods knew he’d said worse things about her attempts to use Leontine. Swearing, of course, came naturally—but it was hard to get that wrong in any tongue.

  “I took the liberty—at some personal expense—of reviewing your inquiries into Records,” he added. “The fact that you’re here strongly implies that you didn’t find what you were looking for.”

  “Nothing’s ever that easy in this damn place,” she muttered. Damn, she was tired.

  “Kaylin, where did you go afterward? Straight to Nightshade?”

  “No.”

  Marcus nodded, as if he already knew the answer and was hoping to catch her out in a lie. Given his mood, Kaylin didn’t want to become a desk substitute for those claws, and as far as lies went, she was only slightly better than Marcus at telling them.

  “And where did your investigation take you?”

  “Actually,” she said quietly, “it wasn’t part of the investigation. It was a—I was—we were paying a social call.”

  Bushy Leontine brows rose a fraction, although if you weren’t familiar with the furrows of that furry, huge face, you might not have noticed. “Social call. During work hours.”

  The bastard was going to dock her pay.

  And she was going to let him. There were entire days where being awake was overrated. And then there were days that were worse.

  “And the visit to Nightshade?”

  “It was…part of my investigation.” Not, technically, untrue. She hadn’t said it was official.

  “Ah. And why?”

  “Evanton, as you’re well aware, is a purveyor of fine—”

  “Junk, and the occasional genuine enchantment, yes.”

  “This involves a genuine enchantment. Something in his care has gone missing.”

  He growled. “And what would that be?”

  “A box. A reliquary, I think. He’s had it so long he doesn’t know what’s in it, but he was worried anyway.”

  Leontines didn’t really appreciate magic much more than Kaylin did, were in fact the only race she knew well enough to know hated it more.

  “We discovered that more than one child is possibly missing,” she said with care, “and that their disappearance, or the way the information was conveyed, ties in with magic.”

  “With elemental magic, hmm?”

  She flinched. Thought for a moment. “Sanabalis—”

  “Lord Sanabalis.”

  “Lord Sanabalis came to see you.”

  “Yes. He found your lesson somewhat unusual, given his own duties at this time.”

  “But I—”

  “You asked him an entirely coincidental question about the nature of water. Unfortunately, Dragons don’t actually believe in coincidence.”

  “They don’t?” she asked, momentarily sidetracked.

  Marcus wasn’t having any of it.

  “Not at all.”

  “Does this mean I’m off the hook for lessons while he—”

  “Almost exactly the opposite, you lucky girl.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He barked a command that only Caitlin could actually reproduce, and the lights flared up, giving the office a ghostly look, to add to the almost haunting silence left in the wake of absent gossips. Speaking of which…“Severn?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did Jadine actually dump Lorenzo, or did she—”

  The loud bark sent the question ducking for cover.

  “You are going to be the death of me,” Marcus growled. “After I kill you.”

  “Justifiable homicide,” Severn said with a smile.

  She gave them both a sour look.

  Marcus then turned his attention to the paper Severn had so quietly handed him. He unfolded it, looked at the name, and winced.

  “You recognize it?” Kaylin asked.

  “What have I told you about asking the obvious?”

  “Don’t. It wastes air.”

  “Good.”

  “But do you—”

  “Don’t breathe, Kaylin.”

  “The name?” Severn asked quietly. “It was dark, and I could not easily read what was written. Lord Nightshade has a fine hand.”

  “Donalan Idis.”

  Severn became completely still. His expression didn’t change; he did not reach for his daggers or the chain he wore at his waist. His eyes, however, did not leave Leontine eyes; his gaze did not falter.

  “How by two moons did you come to be mixed up in this?”

  “You sent us to—”

  “Fine. Blame a tired, old sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Less cheerfully, and a lot less smugly.”

  “Yes, Marcus.”

  “Good. You may, if you wish, enlighten Kaylin, Corporal. But if Idis is involved—” He paused. “Nightshade has a fine hand?”

  “The name, of course, was provided by Nightshade, sir.”

  “I…see. And what does he want in return? His kind don’t last long if they’re seen to cooperate with the Halls of Law.”

  “I imagine that he could cooperate with the Emperor himself should he so choose, and none could unseat him.”

  “I see. What information did he request of us in return for this, Kaylin?”

  She shook her head. “Not much.”

  “Fine. I want a full report of yesterday’s—”

  “Today, sir?”

  “Not unless you’re an oracle.” He flicked a claw toward the wall. “It’s very late.”

  Which was, of course, why the mirrors were covered.

  “Your wives are going to feed you to their litters one day, sir.” It was a Leontine phrase.

  Marcus laughed. If Leontine laughter could be rueful, this was. “My wives have each other and they say the household runs more smoothly when I’m not in it. Now get out.”

  “Sir.”

  “Report. Full report. In the morning. On my desk.”

  As if he’d notice it. Kaylin nodded briskly anyway.

  “By way of Caitlin,” he added when she had almost cleared the office.

  Her curse and his subsequent laugh were the only two sounds she could hear.

  “Donalan Idis was a member of the Arcanum.”

  “In good standing?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not a phrase the Arcanum actually uses, to my knowledge.”

  They were wending their slow way down a nighttime street that did not have the fear of Ferals to mark it. It was almost unworldly to Kaylin, and she felt out of place in it, as if she were walking in dream. Childhood dream, dream of safety, Severn by her side.

  “How do you know him?”

  “The Wolves know all of the members of the Arcanum,” he replied, his tone remote. “As well as all names of the Imperial Order of Mages, and their apprentices.”

  “And this one?”

  “He is slightly more familiar to the Wolves,” Severn replied, “for his early work with the Inquisitorial Services.”

  “The what?”

  “Torturers.”

  She would have blanched. Didn’t. “But they don’t use—”

  “This was before the Tha’alani…offered to work within the Imperial Service. I believe that some were drafted into Emperor’s service prior to the compact made by the Tha’alani and the Dragon Emperor, but it was a dismal failure.”

  “How many years ago was th
is, Severn?”

  “Well before your time or mine,” he replied. “But I would guess maybe thirty.”

  “So he’s old.”

  “He’s human, and he is not young. But old is probably not the right word.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, Kaylin, he is still alive.”

  She thought about what he had said for a few minutes. “Do you think he had a hand in the attempt to draft the Tha’alani?”

  Severn was silent for a full minute. “If I were to guess, yes. I can attempt to confirm it tomorrow.”

  “Through the Wolves.”

  “Not officially. But yes.”

  The departments in the Hall—all three—had different duties, and of course, each one felt theirs was the most important, so there was a bit more than just friendly rivalry, especially after Festival season, during which the Wolves had what the harried Swords and Hawks called “their bloody vacation.”

  The Swords kept the peace, if there was much peace to be kept—and they were probably at their busiest during the Festival season. The Hawks were left to pick up the pieces when peace did not ensue: they investigated murders, thefts, missing persons and other breaches of the law. It wasn’t uncommon for the Swords and the Hawks to work together when the city was in chaos, and Festival described that more or less neatly.

  But the Wolves…were a special investigative branch of the law; they kept to themselves. They were called in when everything else had failed—where everything else meant things like arresting a suspect or a known criminal. Especially if the attempted arrest had involved injury or death.

  Severn had been a Wolf.

  “Severn?”

  “What?”

  “Can you find something else out for me?”

  “Possibly. What?”

  “How did they choose the Tha’alani they attempted to draft?”

  “My guess? The ones that weren’t ash. The Emperor doesn’t take kindly to any refusal of a direct command.”

  “But they—”

  “It was a disaster, yes. But it drove the Tha’alani to come up with a compromise. And that compromise has worked for decades.”

  “What happened to them? The ones that were pressed into service?”

  “Kaylin—”

  “No—you seem to know a lot about the Tha’alani. What happened to the ones who—failed?”