The small dragon warbled at Kattea, leaning down until their noses touched. He then exhaled. Kaylin had no time to move, no time to eject him, no time to shove her hand between the girl’s face and the small dragon’s breath. She tried, anyway.
Kattea, however, did not seem to be harmed by the silver mist she inhaled. Kaylin watched in shock—in anger—as scintillating particles of color blanketed in gray disappeared into the girl’s mouth and nose; she watched in horror as they emerged, slowly, in the very normal brown of her eyes.
She turned to Kaylin, and her eyes widened; the fear left her face because there was no room for anything but wonder. She spun and stared at Helen, her eyes widening farther. Whatever she saw when she looked at Helen delighted her, and Helen returned her smile.
She turned, last, to Gilbert, who waited, his knuckles white where his hands gripped the bars of a door that was no longer locked. Her smile reasserted itself, but it was wider, brighter.
She walked toward the cell door and struggled to open it. Kaylin moved forward, but Helen lifted an arm and Kaylin froze. “You want what’s best for Kattea.”
“Kattea’s a child.”
“You were a child when you made the decision to flee to Barren.”
“It’s not the same, Helen.”
“No, it is not. Kattea’s death might well have been yours, but her life from the moment of its prevention has not. You think to prevent her from making a mistake, and that is commendable. But Kattea is not you, and her life, not yours. In this, she has the right to choose. She is not a babe-in-arms. She is not a child who can barely walk, and stumbles constantly. She is not, you will say, adult. But she understands what is happening.
“Respect her choice.”
Kaylin swallowed the rest of the words. Kattea was walking into the unknown, yes—but she saw a home, a family of a kind, in the multiple veils of the darkness that were Gilbert. There was no certainty that she’d survive—but there was no certainty that she wouldn’t, either.
“Gilbert,” she said.
Gilbert’s third eye—the middle one—rose to meet Kaylin’s; the other two were focused on Kattea as if nothing else in the universe existed.
“You’d better keep her safe. You’d better keep her happy.”
Gilbert smiled. “That is a threat, yes?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
Kattea had finally managed to pull the door open. Gilbert released the bars; he could not cross the threshold.
“No,” Helen said quietly. “He can’t. In truth, it is not quite safe for him to be here at all. He can only be here because—”
“Because Kattea is,” Gilbert said. “And because I promised.” He knelt, in form and shape very much the man Kaylin had first met. He opened his arms.
Kattea ran into them.
Kaylin had watched Gilbert carry Kattea as if she were weightless—and she probably was, to Gilbert. He lifted her now as if she were precious. “Thank you, Helen. Thank you, Chosen. I do not think you will see us again.”
“Where—where will you go?” Kaylin asked.
Gilbert smiled. “Home, I think.”
She would have asked him where home was, but the Shadows he cast grew thicker, darker; they rose above his shoulders like the arch of wings, and like wings they snapped open; when they folded, they folded gently around Kattea, until Kattea could no longer be seen.
She could be heard: she was giggling. “That tickles, Gilbert.”
“Apologies.” It was the last thing he said before he dissipated, taking Kattea with him.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from CAST IN FLAME by Michelle Sagara.
“The impressively detailed setting and the book’s spirited heroine are sure to charm romance readers, as well as fantasy fans who like some mystery with their magic.”
—Publishers Weekly on Cast in Secret
Looking for more incredible stories in the Chronicles of Elantra series from New York Times bestselling author Michelle Sagara? Collect the complete series today:
Cast in Moonlight (novella)
Cast in Shadow
Cast in Courtlight
Cast in Secret
Cast in Fury
Cast in Silence
Cast in Chaos
Cast in Ruin
Cast in Peril
Cast in Sorrow
Cast in Flame
“A fast-paced police procedural, deadly magics, five very different races and a wickedly dry sense of humor—well, it doesn’t get any better than this.”
—Bestselling author Tanya Huff on The Chronicles of Elantra
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Cast in Flame
by Michelle Sagara
Chapter One
On the second day after her return to Elantra, the city she policed as a groundhawk, Private Kaylin Neya fell out of bed, daggers in hands, knees bent. After one confused moment, she sheathed her daggers, took a brief look around the otherwise empty royal guest chambers that served as her temporary home, and let loose a volley of Leontine curses.
The small, translucent winged lizard that habitually slept above her head squawked in protest; she’d swept him out of the way without a second thought. He hovered in front of her face as she cursed; she didn’t, at the moment, have anything left over for groveling apologies.
Leontine wasn’t the usual language heard in the halls of the Imperial Palace. Nor was it generally heard in the function rooms, and when it was, it wasn’t the particular phrasing she now indulged in. On the other hand, the thunderous sounds that had driven her from sleep pretty much guaranteed that no one who’d care could possibly hear her words. Kaylin could scream until she was blue in the face, with the same results. Anyone in the palace halls could, at the moment.
Dragons were having a discussion.
When she’d first heard Dragons converse in their native tongue, she’d thought of earthquakes or tidal waves. Distinguishing individual voices had been less important than covering both her ears in the vague hope she’d preserve some of her hearing. A couple of weeks in the palace with Bellusdeo for a companion had changed that. She could pick out three loud—painfully loud—voices in the crash of distant thunder: Diarmat’s, Bellusdeo’s and...the Emperor’s. While she generally enjoyed the arguments between Bellusdeo and Diarmat, she had zero desire to ever interrupt—or witness—any argument which also contained the Emperor. Even mention of the Emperor was probably career-limiting.
It was dark, but the storm of sound in progress didn’t seem like it would die down any time soon, and sleep was pretty much impossible—at least for Kaylin. The rest of the Dragon Court was probably in hiding, but Immortals didn’t need anything as petty as sleep.
The minute—the second—she had the time to find a new place, she was so out of here.
The small dragon landed on her shoulders. She’d named him Hope, but felt self-conscious actually calling him that, and she hadn’t had time to come up with a name that suited him better. He yawned, folded himself across her shoulders like a badly formed shawl, and closed his eyes. Clearly, Dragon shouting didn’t bother him in the slightest.
Then again, he probably understood what they were saying.
* * *
The palace was never dark. Individual rooms had lighting that responded to the needs of the guests who occupied them, but the halls—the grand, wide, towering halls—were always fully lit. The Imperial Palace Guard also adorned those halls, standing like statues in a stiff,
grim silence that suited their pretension.
They didn’t stop Kaylin as she walked past them, heading to one of the only places that she was certain was somewhat soundproof. They knew her on sight, and if they’d had no issues treating her as one step up from a convicted felon in the past, she was now roommate to the Empire’s only female Dragon. The Emperor didn’t want anyone to piss Bellusdeo off.
Anyone, Kaylin thought glumly, but the Emperor himself. Dragons had never been famously good at sharing.
* * *
When she reached the tall and forbidding doors of the Imperial Library, she had second thoughts. It wasn’t that the Imperial Library was home in all but name to the Arkon, the oldest member of the Dragon Court. It wasn’t that the doors were closed; they were almost always closed. It wasn’t even his extreme dislike of being interrupted.
It was the door ward that straddled them.
She’d woken to the sounds of angry Dragon, which pretty much defined Bad Day. Having to place her palm against this particular ward took Bad Day and made it worse. At the best of times, Kaylin’s allergy to magic made door wards uncomfortable—but this ward could raise so much noise it might just interrupt the Dragons. One of whom was the Emperor.
There was no other way to open them. Kaylin briefly considered knocking. With her head. Before she could—and it was late enough, or early enough, that she might have—the doors surprised her by gliding open. No one stood between them.
At this hour, the library desk—the publicly accessible library desk—was unmanned. The display cases and the rows upon rows of standing files were shadowed. The robed clerks who kept the library spotless were conspicuous by their absence—but that was no surprise. No one sane visited the library at this hour.
As the doors rolled closed at her back, the sound of Dragon anger diminished.
The Arkon made his way toward her from the back of the large room, which surprised Kaylin; she’d expected to find him holed up in one of the many, many rooms that comprised his personal collection—none of which the public was invited to peruse.
“Thank you for opening the doors,” she told him.
“I felt it best to avoid interrupting the ongoing discussion. No one involved in it is likely to be amused by the sudden need to attend to intruders.”
“I live here, at the moment.”
“Indeed. I imagine the only person present who might find a disaster of your making remotely convenient is Lord Diarmat.”
“Who doesn’t deserve it.”
“You give him too little credit.”
“Do I?”
The Arkon’s smile was lined. It was also sharp. “Perhaps I will beg the Emperor’s indulgence.”
In theory, this sounded good. Given the way the day had started, it couldn’t be. “How?”
“I might ask permission to teach you the rudiments of our language.” His smile deepened as her eyes rounded and her brows rose.
“I’ll go deaf!”
“Yes. Follow me, please. You interrupted me,” he added.
“I don’t know how you can work with that ruckus going on in the background.”
“It is difficult. I do not have the concentration I once possessed in my youth.”
“So, what are they arguing about exactly?”
“Bellusdeo’s status at court, at the moment; the argument has touched on many subjects.” The Arkon’s eyes were a steady shade of orange, which wasn’t a good sign, in a Dragon.
“What about her status? She’s a Dragon, so she’s technically a Lord of the Court.”
“That is true only in mortal terms. She is not—as Diarmat has been at pains to point out—a Lord of this Court. She has not offered the Emperor an oath of fealty; nor has she agreed—in a binding fashion—to abide by the laws he hands down.”
“She spends most of her free time with me,” Kaylin replied. “I’m a groundhawk. She probably knows the law better than anyone who isn’t.”
“You misunderstand. Humans are not, of course, required to take such a binding oath—I believe they would not survive it. Bellusdeo has not been required to do so. Lord Diarmat correctly points out that she therefore poses a risk to the Court.” He stopped at a smooth, flat wall. It was unadorned; Kaylin suspected it was actually a door.
The Arkon barked a sharp, harsh word and proved her suspicion correct; a part of the wall simply faded from sight. What lay on the other side of it was a disaster. It made Kaylin’s desk at its worst look pristine and tidy. Hells, it made Marcus’s desk look well-organized, which Kaylin would have bet was impossible.
The Arkon noted her hesitation. “Is there a difficulty?”
“Just how important is all the paper—that is paper, isn’t it?”
“Parchment. Some paper. There is also stone and a few shards of smooth glass. I trust that you will disturb nothing while you are here.”
“How?”
He raised a brow; his eyes didn’t get any more orange, which was a small mercy.
“There’s stuff all over the floor. There’s stuff all over the chairs. I probably can’t put a foot down without stepping on something.”
“Then do not, as you put it, put a foot down.” He gestured.
The hair on Kaylin’s arms and the back of her neck rose in instant protest.
“Do not,” he said, in a more severe tone of voice, “make me regret my foolish and sentimental decision to take pity on you and provide you some form of refuge.”
Folding her arms across her chest, she walked into the room; her feet touched nothing. Neither did the Arkon’s.
“Not to be suspicious or anything,” she began.
“You do not think me capable of either sentiment or pity?”
“Not much, no. Not for me.”
His smile deepened. “As you point out, Private, Bellusdeo did spend most of her free time in your presence. You have not, however, been in the city for the past month and a half. She has therefore had no anchor. No friends, if you prefer. In the last two weeks of your absence, she has spent a greater portion of her time in the fief of Tiamaris, speaking with the refugees there. When she chooses to enter the fief, she is met by one of the Norannir.”
“That would be Maggaron.”
“The Emperor does not consider Maggaron to be a suitable guard in the fiefs; Lord Tiamaris, however, is. She has accepted—with poor grace—the Emperor’s wishes in this regard.”
“What happened?”
“She has taken to flying in the restricted air-space above the fief of Tiamaris.”
“It’s not Imperial land.”
“No. She has pointed this out—at length. You might have recognized one or two of the words she used, if you were paying attention. She has, however, come close to the borders of the fief once too often for the Emperor’s comfort.”
“The Norannir live on the borders.”
“Indeed. She has taken pains to point this out, as well.”
“He’s going to isolate her! The Norannir are the only other friends she has in this city!”
The Arkon’s smile was softer, and infinitely more pained. “They are not her friends, Kaylin. They were once her subjects. She is not merely a Dragon to them; she is akin to a living god. Bellusdeo has her vanity. She has her pride. But she, like any Dragon, understands her role in their lives. She does not go to them for their sake, but her own. They remind her of who she once was.
“There is altogether too much in the Palace that reminds her of what she now is.”
Kaylin’s arms tightened. “And what, exactly, is that?”
“A displaced person. She is very much the equivalent of the Norannir. You think of her as a Lord of the Court, and you have some rudimentary understanding of the political power that title might give her. She lives in the Palace, and not in
the mean streets of the fiefs that border Ravellon. She has food, should she desire it, and clothing; she has money. But the Norannir have more freedom than Bellusdeo now does.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why not say this to the Emperor?”
“Do you think I have not?” His eyes shaded to a color that was more copper than orange. Kaylin couldn’t remember what it meant, she’d seen it so rarely. In fact, she’d seen it only once: in Bellusdeo’s eyes. “I have told the Emperor that Bellusdeo cannot live in a cage. He does not intend to cage her—but regardless, he does. She is too valuable to risk. We have already seen how close to disaster we came.”
“Arkon—” Kaylin froze, and only in part because the muted draconic voices had risen in volume. “Please tell me this argument has nothing to do with my moving out.”
“You are not, that I recall, fond of unnecessary dishonesty.” He took a seat. It was the only seat in the room that seemed to have enough exposed surface to sit on. “If Bellusdeo can be said to have one friend in the Empire, it is you. She found your absence far more difficult than either she—or you—had imagined she would.”
“She said this?”
“Of course not.” He winced; it took Kaylin a couple of seconds to realize it wasn’t because of anything she’d said. Unlike her, he could understand every word that was being said. Or shouted. “You have made it clear to Bellusdeo that life in the Imperial Palace does not suit you.”
“Not in those exact words, no.”
“Refrain from repeating the exact phrasing.”
Because Kaylin loved her job on most days, she did.
“You intend to find another domicile?”
“Yes. As soon as I can.” When he lifted a brow, she thought of the job she loved—none of which included pandering to annoyed Dragons. On the other hand, survival often did. “Look, there are people who would kill to live in the Palace. I’m certain of it. But they’re the people the Hawklord goes out of his way to prevent me from meeting. Everything in my Palace rooms—everything—costs more than the clothing on my back. I feel like I should bathe before I step foot through the door.
“I can’t leave or enter without an inquisition. I have to deal with Imperial Guards on a daily basis for no other reason than that I live here.”
Cast in Honor (The Chronicles of Elantra) Page 47