“You’ll uphold my laws.”
“You’re the fief lord. You want to make little old ladies the queens of the street, it’s your go.”
He raised a brow. Kaylin bit her lip to stop from laughing out loud.
“If we have resolved the current issues,” Tiamaris said, after a long pause which pretty much said I will work with the materials at hand, “there is some work to be done. If you would all leave the building, your first assignment, Morse, is to escort Private Neya and Corporal Handred to the Ablayne.”
Morse nodded.
“We cleared the streets of obvious danger on the way here,” he continued. “There may be more subtle difficulties that can only be apprehended at street level. Watch for those. You’ve had experience with some of the forms shadow can take. Report anything unusual that you find.”
“Where?”
“Pardon?”
“Where do you want this report?”
“Ah. Take it to my residence. The Tower at which you first found Kaylin.”
Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and then she nodded crisply. It wasn’t quite a fief nod; there was more than just grudging respect in it.
The destruction of the White Towers, however, had to wait, because when they exited the building, taking care to avoid the entire section of a wall that was no longer stone in any way, they came face-to-face with a small delegation of three, standing in otherwise completely deserted streets.
None of them were the Emperor. Kaylin would have known Sanabalis anywhere; she recognized Diarmat. She didn’t recognize the third immediately, although he was also a Dragon. Severn helpfully whispered the name Emmerian. They did not approach Tiamaris; they waited. Tiamaris nodded in greeting, but it was a stiff greeting, and it was silent.
Kaylin walked to one side of the former Hawk; Severn walked to the other. Tara stayed a few feet from the end of the White Tower’s path, watching them all with open curiosity; Morse stayed with her. Which was fair. In a fight between one Dragon and three, any nonimmortals were going to be delicate window dressing at best.
“Lord Tiamaris.” It was Sanabalis who spoke first, which was probably for the best; his eyes were a shade of bronze that looked gold in comparison to the eyes of the other two. Or Tiamaris, for that matter; his were orange.
“Lord Sanabalis.”
“The fief is yours?”
“It is mine.” The edge in the last word could slice skin. It did not, however, make a dent in Dragons. Sanabalis seemed entirely unruffled by Tiamaris’s response.
“And do you disavow our castelord?”
A brief pause. “No,” Tiamaris said at last. “But he does not rule here.”
“Hoard Law applies,” Sanabalis said carefully. “Within the boundaries of the fief. He understands the necessity of a stable, strong Lord at this time, and if you accept the rules of the Caste, he will not be forced to declare you…Outcaste.” When Tiamaris said nothing, Sanabalis’s brows drew together in a familiar expression of mild irritation. “There is precedence, Tiamaris,” he said, dispensing with the formality of title. “The Arkon’s hoard is the Library, and it exists entirely within the Emperor’s domain.”
“The Arkon has always been an exception.”
“There has never been a Dragon fief lord, to our knowledge. You can make, of yourself, a second exception. Or you can fly to war. It will be a brief flight, and it is a fight that we cannot afford.” He paused again, and then—to Kaylin’s surprise, given the gravity of the situation, lifted his fingers and pinched the very human bridge of his nose. “You considered this, of course, before you challenged the Tower Lord.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Kaylin said quickly.
“He did not challenge the Tower Lord.” Sanabalis did not stop pinching the bridge of his nose.
“There sort of wasn’t one. And sort of was. It’s complicated.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” It was his classroom voice. She didn’t bridle, because Tiamaris didn’t, and because Emmerian and Diarmat had that seconds-away-from-killing posture. But she noted that the tone of his voice had brought their eyes from near red to an unpleasant shade of orange.
“Illien is still in the Tower.”
Sanabalis’s brows rose. “Alive?”
“In as much as he can be. He’s not entirely undead. He’s not what the Barrani would call alive.”
“I would hear more of this, but not at this present time. Tiamaris, your decision?”
“I will attend the Emperor,” Tiamaris replied carefully. “But I will not surrender the fief to anyone living while I draw breath. Not to shadow, not to the Outcaste, and not to our Lord.”
Emmerian and Diarmat exchanged a brief glance, and the color of their eyes dimmed to a safe bronze. They didn’t speak.
“You have found your hoard,” Sanabalis said, almost gently. “Many older than you have yet to do so. Tread carefully, Tiamaris. Wisdom can only be gained if you are alive to benefit from experience.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a statement. “I will return to the Emperor with your decision. He will convene Court, and he will summon you. Do not fail to accept the summons, or we will meet again under less-fortunate circumstances.” He surprised Kaylin, then: he bowed.
Tiamaris bowed in return, and then he turned to where Tara and Morse were standing. He nodded in their direction, and Tara very timidly began to walk toward the four Dragons who stood in the open street.
Sanabalis raised a brow, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Tara; Diarmat and Emmerian failed to notice her presence at all.
“This,” Tiamaris said, taking her hand and pulling her gently toward Sanabalis, “is Tara.”
“Tara. I am called Sanabalis, or Lord Sanabalis when at Court. You are?”
“Tara,” she replied. “I am—”
“The avatar,” Tiamaris told the Dragons, “of the fief’s Tower.”
“It is a pity,” Sanabalis said at last, “that the Arkon chooses not to travel. I think he would very much like to meet you.”
“We will meet,” Tara said quietly—and with utter certainty. “When it is darker, and the times are less stable, we will meet.” She bowed to Sanabalis.
Tiamaris nodded instead. “And now, if you will forgive us, Lord Sanabalis, we have much to do to make the fief a more appropriate home for both the Tower and the fief lord. I will send Private Neya and Corporal Handred to their respective homes.” But he looked, for a moment, at his teacher, and his eyes were now golden. “I have chosen a hoard,” he said, his voice so soft it was almost hard to catch the words.
Sanabalis’s smile was not without sadness, but it was genuine. “I know. I know, Tiamaris.” He turned to Kaylin. “For your sake, Private Neya, I sincerely hope you remembered to activate the Arkon’s memory crystal. If not for your sake, then for the sake of every Tha’alani serving the Emperor at this crucial time.”
EPILOGUE
Two weeks later, when Kaylin entered the office, Caitlin met her by the guards. They were used to this, and tried not to look resentful at being treated like the more traditional architecture they were, in theory, watching. “Dear,” she said quietly, lowering her voice without quite tailing off into a suspicious whisper, “there’s someone waiting for you in the office.”
This was not, admittedly, as unusual as it would have been a couple of years back, but still. “Who?”
“I’m not sure.”
Which meant not Sanabalis. He had put all lessons in abeyance for two weeks, and advised her to enjoy the partial freedom while it lasted; the Dragon Court would be in session for most of those weeks, and he was likely to exit it—when he did—in a “less than charitable humor.” She had been counting days with a certain amount of dread.
She had also taken a route home that was about fifteen minutes longer than her normal route, and she had lingered by the bridge—the Barren bridge—near the Ablayne, watching the skies for some sight of the Dragon that now lived in the fief. Rumor, of course, had spread—proba
bly the minute Tiamaris’s wings had—and as usual, it drew neighbors of all stripes, some literal, together in their need to share opinions, dread, and fascination.
Kaylin felt no need to share, and no dread. But if Tiamaris flew the skies of his fief, he flew them when she wasn’t there to see him. She shook herself, smiled at Caitlin, and followed her into the office.
Morse was seated—for a value of seat which meant sprawled—in a chair directly in front of Marcus’s desk. His paperwork, which was growing again, was the only thing between them, and Morse looked about as comfortable in the Hawks’ office as a scrawny, bedraggled cat might look when surrounded by feral dogs.
“Morse?”
Morse shed the chair, grimaced, and said, “When they told me you kept unpredictable hours, I should have gone home.”
“Been here long?”
“Long enough.” She cast a side-glance at Marcus, who looked up.
“Good to see you could join us today,” he said, in a flat voice. “I have a message for you.” It had been set to one side of his desk, and was in no danger of being lost in the rest of the paperwork, which was too damn bad.
“Looks official.”
“It is. Apparently, on my time, you’re required to run an errand.”
“What kind of errand?”
“Message delivery.”
Kaylin looked at Morse. “Is your visit related to this message?”
“How the hell should I know? He told me to wait. I waited. I waited,” she added, “a long damn time.”
“Why are you here, anyway?” Kaylin asked, hoping to avoid a discussion about the hours she kept, at least while Marcus was pretending not to listen.
“You’re not the only overpaid messenger-boy on the streets today.”
“You have a message for me?”
“Yeah. An invitation to visit.”
Kaylin almost laughed. Morse could deliver hideous death threats with perfect precision; apparently invitations were harder on her dignity. “Tiamaris sent you?”
“Lord Tiamaris sent me, yes. There’s some occasion today. He’d like your company.”
“What occasion?” Kaylin asked her.
“If you’d care to read your other message,” Marcus put in, “you’d know. No, don’t read it here. Your mouth moves over the words and I am trying to pin down this week’s rounds.” He paused, and then added, “Good work, Private. If you fail to embarrass us today, I’ll consider your—” he stretched and picked up a small sheaf of papers “—hundred and eighth request for consideration for promotion. Visit the quartermaster on the way out.”
“Why?”
“Read the damn message first. At your own desk.”
“It’s not a dress,” Kaylin told the quartermaster, when she turned in her chit. “It’s just dress uniform. I’ve never destroyed those.”
His expression hovered between glare and cringe, without choosing. “You’ve had almost no reason to wear one.”
She shrugged. It was true. “If there’s a dust up at the Imperial Palace, they’re going to be looking at something more than our books. Look, I’ve already got good reasons to behave perfectly. I won’t destroy anything this time.” Not that any other time had been her fault. She didn’t bother to point this out, since the quartermaster didn’t care. She took the pile he handed her, hit the change rooms, changed, and met a very tense Morse.
“It’s this place,” she said. “I don’t like it. Too damn open, for one. Too much Law, for another. You ready? I gotta get out before I start something.”
Kaylin was ready. Severn met her when they exited the front doors.
“Don’t tell me,” she said, as he fell into step beside her. “You’ve been requested as escort, as well.”
“What gave me away?”
“You’re shiny.”
He laughed. “So are you, more or less.”
“I’m not,” Morse snapped. “And if I am, it’s sweat.”
Kaylin laughed. As they walked, she said, “How’s Tiamaris?”
“Fief or Lord?”
“Lord, I guess. I can’t quite think of a fief as Tiamaris, yet.”
“It’ll come. I have no trouble with it. Staring into Dragon’s jaws generally has that effect on me.” She chuckled slightly as she said it. “He’s crazy.”
“Good crazy?”
Morse shrugged. “Crazy crazy. We run the fiefs at night. Hit the ferals. He goes Dragon half the time. Sometimes he likes to rip them in two with his bare hands. I’m not kidding about that,” she added. “It’s pretty damn impressive, even in the dark.”
“He doesn’t like things eating his people,” Kaylin said.
“Unless it’s him.”
“He’s been eating people?”
“One or two stupid ones. Trust me, it was no damn loss.” Morse, characteristically, spit to the side.
“Where?”
“You’ll like this part. He shut down the brothel district.”
“Shut it down?”
“Yeah. Left the buildings standing. Said they’d be useful.”
“The people?”
“The people he cared to, he ‘relocated.’ There were some he didn’t care for.”
Kaylin was silent for a couple of blocks. “What’s he going to do for money?”
“Beats me. And he’s going to need a crapload of it soon. He’s decided,” she added, eyes rolling, “that we need a ‘proper’ market. Whatever the hell that means. We lost a lot of people,” she added, voice dropping, “by the borders, but also in the center of the fief. We’re still finding corpses. Some of them even resemble humans. He’s pulled some of the live ones in to help with his ‘reconstruction.’”
“What…else does he think he needs?”
“Apparently, more guards. You know what he has me doing?”
Kaylin was curious.
“Babysitting carpenters.”
“He what?”
“No shit. I meet ’em at the bridge with four or five of my own people, and we form up around them, take them to the new market—which is a big damn circle in the ground right now—and then we set up posts and we make sure they’re safe. We’ve got another group that watches their supplies. He’s with that group,” she added.
“Tiamaris?”
“Yeah. Him and the Lady.” The way she said the last word made Kaylin raise a brow. “She’s scary, that one.”
“What—the avatar?”
“Whatever you call her. She’s just damn scary. We call her the Lady.”
“What’s so scary about her?”
“She has eyes fuckin’ everywhere. She hears every damn word we say.”
“Does she act on it?”
“She asks us what it means,” Morse said with a grimace. “She’s not the brightest star in the sky. But she goes where he goes most days. He’s demolished some of the structures on the borders,” she added. “They were infested—that’s the word she used. We’re rebuilding those next.”
“He’s not going to get carpenters down that far.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Not from across the river. He says we’ve got some. Or the Lady did. Doesn’t matter.” She paused as they reached the bridge across the Ablayne. “He doesn’t much care for the bridge, either. It’s too flimsy.”
“This is flimsy?”
“Ask him. I just work here.” She started to walk, and stopped at the midpoint, looking down into the waters. “It’s different. It’s not what I know.”
“Better?”
“Who knows.” She shoved hands into pockets that Kaylin hadn’t seen until that moment. “I spent years making sure people were afraid of me. I’m supposed to spend years making sure they’re not.”
“But—”
“He wants respect, not fear.”
“People are going to fear him.”
“Yeah. But he’s okay with that—he figures it’s part of the territory, being a Dragon and all. Come on. We’re already late.”
When Kaylin caug
ht sight of the Tower for the first time since she’d left it, she stopped walking. Morse made half a block before she noticed she’d lost her, and turned and came back. “You haven’t seen it yet.”
“It’s…certainly different.”
Morse shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t like it.”
Which made Kaylin laugh. It was still a Tower, or rather, a Tower still rose—but nothing about that Tower and the one she had first encountered were the same. Not the stone, which seemed so white it was almost blinding; not the shape, not the height. There was something that looked like gold across both its roof and its midsection, and a flag was flapping at the height of a pole on top of that roof.
“Does it take up more space on the ground?” she asked Morse, when she at last looked away.
“Not much. But the inside is a lot bigger.”
“The gates?”
“He took them down.”
“He what?”
“He took them down. Or the Lady did. They’re gone.”
“What about the weeds?”
“Those are gone, too. Look, trust me—only the drunk, the young, or the very, very stupid are going to touch or damage anything on the Tower grounds.”
“So…no gates. Guards?”
Morse snorted. “We’re better put to use watching carpenters and their supplies, apparently.” She added, “Not that he needs us. We’re there to stop people from doing something so stupid he has to kill them, as far as I can tell.”
Kaylin shook her head. “But it’s good work?”
“It’s boring work. Except for the feral runs. But…I can live with the boring. I thought—” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. You asking me if I’m happy?”
Kaylin shrugged. “Not really.”
“Good. You may have forgotten, but happy is not one of my strong suits.” She walked ahead for half a block, and then slowed enough that Kaylin and Severn could catch up without running. Turning the corner, they came to the Tower.
Morse was right. There was no gate. No fences. No guardhouse. There was a garden—if you could call it that—but it was an odd tangle of plants that did not look to Kaylin’s admittedly ignorant eye like flowers or the usual things you found on the lawns of the powerful and the mighty.
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