Cast In Flight
But this trouble was only a mundane knife fight, and the Hawks had come out on top, although they’d pulled in a couple of Swords; it was the Swords who required medical attention, and they received it with their usual stiff upper lips. The Hawks, Kaylin reflected, cursed more. And in better languages.
They were late heading home, and by the time Moran was ready to leave, Teela and Tain had returned. They were waiting, lounging really, outside the infirmary doors. The infirmary was strictly for mortals, as far as the Barrani on the force were concerned. Moran contested this from time to time, but the Barrani, accustomed to kin who were just as likely to kill them as come to their aid, weren’t bothered by the sergeant’s demeanor.
Moran’s lips tightened as she caught sight of the Barrani, but she said nothing. She locked the office with the touch of a palm and a three-word command, and headed out of the building.
The guards had changed shifts, and happened to be human, not Aerian, which made passage between them less awkward. And it was going to be awkward, because Mandoran’s question still cut her when Kaylin returned to it.
She wanted to help Moran.
Was she willing to risk Clint losing his wings, if she made a mistake?
Was she willing to risk Lord Grammayre losing his?
* * *
Helen was waiting for them at the door, and as Kaylin stepped into the front foyer, she felt her jaw unclench. There had been no further problems on the way home. No invisible assassins, for one. Helen gently draped an arm around Kaylin’s shoulder, taking care not to crush the familiar, who lifted a lazy eyelid to look at her before he shut it again.
“Why is he so exhausted?” Helen asked.
“Who knows? All he’s done today is complain and sit on people’s shoulders.” Except for saving Moran’s life. Kaylin glanced apologetically at the familiar, who failed to notice.
The small dragon squawked without opening his eyes.
“You visited the Keeper?” Helen asked Kaylin.
Moran stiffened. “I’m going to take a bath,” she told Helen. “I’m not sure I’ll be down for dinner.”
“That’s fine, dear. I’ll have food sent up if you aren’t.” She watched Moran mount the large staircase, but waited until she had disappeared before speaking again. “She’s worried about you,” she told Kaylin.
“I’m beginning to understand why people hate worry so much,” Kaylin replied. “You guys eating here?”
Teela glanced at Tain, who shrugged. “Looks like a yes. We’re going out drinking after, if you want to come.”
“Maybe.”
The Barrani exchanged another glance.
“I’m going to get changed for dinner,” Bellusdeo told them all. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t leave without me.” Her eyes were close to gold as she met Teela’s. Teela’s were closer to blue.
Unable to ditch her Barrani guests, Kaylin looked to Severn, who raised a brow. But he did nod, and headed toward the dining room, which had become the equivalent of an informal parlor. There was a lot of room, it had chairs and it was always well lit. The Hawks used it the way they used the benches in the mess hall; the parlor was almost intimidating in its formality by comparison.
Kaylin hung back.
“She knows what you’re doing,” Mandoran said cheerfully.
“Great. Can you tell her that I enjoy being worried about as much as she does?”
“Yes,” Teela said, before Mandoran could reply, “and when you’ve got centuries of experience under your belt, I’ll stop.”
Which, of course, meant never, because Kaylin wasn’t immortal and was, in all likelihood, never going to see one century.
She kept seeing Clint without wings. It was his wings she had loved first. Everything else had followed, as wings—and what they meant to Kaylin—made way for the person to whom they were attached.
And yes, that probably meant Teela was right. The Aerians were people, just like any other people; the fact that they had one physical characteristic that was at the heart of Kaylin’s many, many daydreams and longings was Kaylin’s problem, not theirs. They didn’t owe her her dreams. They didn’t have to live up to them.
To Helen, she said, “Can I use the mirror?”
“Now, dear?”
Sarcasm came and went. Kaylin managed to keep it to herself, but Helen, who could read the thoughts of almost anyone who entered the house, heard it all. Helen, like Tara, didn’t mind hearing it all.
“Why is now bad?”
“Lord Nightshade is still speaking with his brother.”
“And?”
“I still don’t trust him. It requires a diversion of attention in order to properly contain the intrusion of the mirror network.”
“I honestly don’t think he’s going to do anything damaging or stupid—at least not to you.”
“No. But Annarion is at his least stable when his brother is visiting, and it takes some effort to contain the possible danger of his instability, as well.”
Kaylin exhaled, nodding glumly.
* * *
Moran did not come down to dinner. Bellusdeo and Maggaron did, the former dressed in something other than her armor. Kaylin was certain she’d be hearing about the armor sometime in the morning, and tried not to think about it too much.
The entire dining table fell silent when Annarion joined them, because Annarion brought his brother. Both he and Nightshade were blue-eyed, and it wasn’t the resting state of caution and natural superstition; it was dark.
Annarion bowed very formally and very correctly; Mandoran snorted. Loudly. While both Teela and Tain had stiffened into the type of formality that signaled the possibility of upcoming death, Mandoran lounged. He nodded at Nightshade as if the fieflord were mortal.
Helen set a place for the unexpected guest without being asked. But Helen, like Teela and Tain, had an air that was distinctly more martial. The dining room became, with the insertion of Nightshade, a small battlefield. On the other hand, the cutlery didn’t turn into daggers or swords.
Nightshade’s seat was not beside Annarion; nor was it beside Kaylin. It was between Bellusdeo and Teela. A dark, perfect brow rose as he glanced at Helen; his lips folded into something too sardonic to be a smile. An acknowledgment, perhaps. Her suspicion did not offend him.
No, Kaylin thought with some surprise. The only thing in the room that appeared to do that was the younger brother he had come to visit.
Chapter 5
The table was silent for a good five minutes. This was almost miraculous for a house that contained Kaylin and Mandoran. Kaylin was willing to swallow words; she was too ill at ease to speak without thinking, and her thoughts were so tied up in the Aerian problem she didn’t have any left over to waste on not offending Barrani.
You will not offend me. No one but Kaylin could hear Nightshade’s voice, a reminder—probably deliberate—that they were bound by his True Name. She started, flushed and met his gaze. His eyes were much greener, but given his seating, not green.
You have this thing about dignity and proper respect. All of you do, except Mandoran, Kaylin replied.
I was long considered overly tolerant among my own kin.
How many of those that believed this are still alive?
His eyes widened. She’d surprised him. And amused him; the two expressions chased across his face, easing the lines of tension slightly. A few. At least one of them is at this table now.
He could only mean Teela. Kaylin’s gaze swiveled toward her, and veered at the last minute. Too late. This amused Nightshade, as well. It had never been Kaylin’s life’s ambition to amuse Lord Nightshade.
“I hear,” he said gravely, “that you had an eventful morning.”
She nodded, glaring at Mandoran. Mandoran shrugged his lazy, bored shrug. It was too long, too indolent, and too graceful to properly be the fief shrug that he was trying to copy. “Annarion was worried.”
“Don’t try to shift blame,” Bellusdeo said. “You were bored.”
“Well, I was until the street cracked,” Mandoran replied with an unrepentant grin. “Pursuit was interesting, as well. Everything else has been a letdown.”
Nightshade glanced at his brother, who was glaring at Mandoran silently, but not, Kaylin was certain, wordlessly.
“Annarion said only that there had been an attack, a possible assassination attempt. Did he not refer to Lord Bellusdeo?”
Mandoran snorted. “No. I’d understand it if someone tried to kill her.”
Maggaron was destroying cutlery in the sudden tension of his grip. His very large grip. No one spoke.
Interesting. Who was the target? Nightshade asked Kaylin.
She really hated Mandoran at the moment.
And that is interesting. You lie even when no one else can hear you.
Someone can always hear me, she shot back.
I have been somewhat occupied of late. Your Helen does not trust me at all. She is willing to tolerate me, but only for Annarion’s sake. She does, however, bear obvious fondness for him. I am therefore guarding myself on two fronts, and even this conversation is likely to annoy her immensely.
He was probably right.
I cannot hear your thoughts when you are in your home.
You can hear them now.
Yes, and that is unexpected. I am not certain why she allowed my words to reach you. Perhaps she hoped that it would make the rest of the discussion less awkward.
What discussion?
He chuckled, although his face was perfectly composed. You did not answer my question.
Not mine to answer. She thought of Moran—just a brief flicker of awareness of how little Moran wanted to be the subject of any discussion. And of course, that stray thought was enough.
But she hadn’t expected the stillness that spread out from Lord Nightshade. She’d thought him still and composed when he sat; she’d thought him still and composed during the opening salvos of what promised to be a less-than-comfortable dinner. He was frozen now, for one long minute that threatened to spiral out of control, taking what little sound and light there was entirely out of the room.
“What,” Nightshade said, “are you doing housing the lllumen praevolo? Have you lost your mind?”
* * *
Kaylin wondered, briefly, why he’d asked the question out loud.
“I thought it best,” Helen replied. “I am somewhat occupied at the moment, and I did not feel that dinner conversation would become difficult. I apologize for my lapse in supervision.”
Kaylin realized two things then. First: Nightshade would no longer be able to speak with her through the bond of True Name; Helen had killed that avenue of private discussion. Second, and more troubling, that Helen had allowed it to begin with. Kaylin didn’t believe that the lapse, as she called it, was accidental. Nor did she think that Helen truly believed that the conversation would not be difficult, given the way she clearly felt about Nightshade.
Her house had lied to her. What she couldn’t understand was why—and just in case Helen was listening in, she made it clear that she didn’t need to understand why right this very second. Later would do, if they all survived the meal.
“What did you say?” she asked Nightshade.
“I asked if you had taken leave of your senses.”
“Before that.”
“Illumen praevolo?”
They were the exact words Lillias had spoken. Lillias had been fragile, nervous, afraid. Nightshade was none of those things. “Yes, that. What does it mean?”
“It means nothing to humans,” he replied. His eyes were a glittering blue, hard as sapphires as they absorbed the room’s light. “It means much to Aerians. Was it the Illumen praevolo who survived the assassination attempt?”
“Yes.”
“They do not belong here.”
“Thanks, but it’s my house. My castle. I get to decide that.”
“Did you know, before you offered shelter?”
Kaylin was irritated. “What do you think?”
“I think you were ignorant.”
“Good. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, tell me why you think she doesn’t belong here.”
“She?”
Damn.
“How did you even come to meet her? I suppose I should not be surprised; you are certainly acquainted with the Lady and with Lord Bellusdeo.”
“She’s not like the Lady,” was Kaylin’s flat and certain reply. “And she’s not like Bellusdeo, either.”
“No. She is not, but she occupies a central, singular place for the Aerians, as the Consort does for the Barrani, or Lord Bellusdeo for the Dragons. It should not surprise me,” he said again, “but it does.”
“Do you know what her role is?”
“We will trade information, perhaps. How did you encounter her?”
There was a beat of silence before Kaylin exhaled. “She works in the Halls of Law.”
His eyes shifted from blue to a very surprised gold, a color she very seldom saw in Barrani. “You must be mistaken.”
“I think I know the Halls of Law, and I think I know a sergeant when I see one. She works in the Halls.”
“A...sergeant.” He closed his eyes; when he opened them again, they had reclaimed the color blue. It was a lighter shade than Teela’s. So was midnight sky. “No wonder they tried to kill her. This has happened before?”
“Not while she’s been a sergeant.” Kaylin set her cutlery down and folded her arms, tilting her chair back on two legs. She wasn’t hungry, and while that didn’t usually stop her from eating, she wanted to concentrate.
“Never?”
“Not that I know of, no. But I’d say ‘never’ covers it.”
“Ah. And before that?”
“It’s not in Records.” She stonewalled. He couldn’t read her mind now. He couldn’t see her thoughts. “Why would you expect that this wouldn’t be the first attempt?”
He smiled. “Because she is living here, Kaylin. Perhaps you do not understand why this is a crime in the minds of the Aerians.”
“Some of the Aerians.”
“As you say. Why does she not dwell with her kin? Why does she choose menial employ? She is Illumen praevolo.”
“And I’m the Chosen,” Kaylin shot back. “But I need to eat.”
“The Chosen does not mean to humans what your Aerian will mean to the Aerians. Perhaps it should.”
“It certainly should,” Bellusdeo interrupted. “She is not treated with nearly the respect her burden is due.”
Kaylin lifted a hand in Bellusdeo’s direction, and the Dragon fell silent. She probably wasn’t happy about it, but Kaylin didn’t check; she was watching Nightshade as if he were the only person in the room.
“Do your Aerians not speak of it?” Nightshade asked her.
“No. And I can’t ask them.”
“And she does not explain?”
“No. She thinks it’s not safe for me to know.”
He smiled; it was winter, but beautiful. “And so you come to me.”
“I didn’t—” She exhaled and regrouped. “Yes. Yes, I’m asking you.”
“Has it occurred to you that your companion may be correct? No, don’t answer. You will say yes, but mean no. It is vexing. If you wish to know how I come by this information...” he began.
“I know how.”
“Ah. I forget. Yes, you probably do. The praevolo is not a position like the Consort within the Barrani. To become Consort, there are tests. Tests of the Tower. Tests of the Lake. Failure does not always mean death, but the closer one comes to success, the higher the possibility of death becomes. We are not, like humans, a people to whom children come quickly or easily; the risk of death can be a strong deterrent.
“But it is the line’s risk to take. Your friend did not have the distinction of determination or choice. She was born to it. It has been an essential part of her nature since that birth.”
Kaylin nodded, trying not to be impatient. Or not to be obviously impatient, at any rate. “I understand that part. I don’t understand why it’s significant. I don’t understand what it means.”
“As I have said, to humans, it means nothing.”
“She’s not a human, and she’s living here.”
“How much do you feel you have a right to know?” he asked, almost gently. It was gentleness from Nightshade that she didn’t trust. His violence, his arrogance, his intimidation were things that were obvious threats. “If she does not wish you to know, and it is her secret, her life, how much do those wishes count to you?”
There was a disgusted snort—a sergeant’s sound—from the doorway; everyone looked up. Moran stood in the frame, arms folded, eyes a blue that almost matched Teela’s in shade. “Lord Nightshade, I presume.”
He raised dark brows.
“You were the Barrani who marked Private Neya?”
Kaylin almost stood; Annarion’s expression had drifted from mild interest into disgust and anger and disappointment.
“It is not one of my many titles,” came the cool reply. He was staring at her, at the rise of her wings, or her one wing, at the bindings that kept the other more or less safe and in place. “Is it you?”
“Don’t ask questions when you already know the answer.”
“Among my kin, it would be considered polite.”
“We’re not among your kin here.” She glanced at Annarion. “We’re in Kaylin’s home. And Kaylin has never entirely grasped the intricacies of manners.” She entered the dining room as a place—with a stool—magically appeared for her at the table. It was beside Kaylin, and required some minor shuffling.
“I asked you,” Moran told the private, “to stay out of this.” She didn’t sound enraged. She sounded disappointed, which was worse.
“They tried to kill you.”
“Believe that I’m aware of that.”
“I’d like them to never try again.”
“And I’d like to have normal, healthy wings and a living mother,” Moran said with a shrug. “We don’t always get what we want, especially when it comes to the big things.” She glanced at Nightshade. “You were about to explain to the table what the praevolo is.”
“But you are now here; your knowledge has precedence.”
Moran shrugged again. The gaze she leveled at Nightshade was about as warm and friendly as Teela’s. “My view is colored. If you’ve heard about the Illumen praevolo, you didn’t hear about it from the Caste Court or the Upper Reaches; you heard about it from the rank and file. I’d like to know what they think.”
“You’ve never asked?”
“No. It’s not something that is ever discussed in the Halls. By any Aerian.”
“Very well, if you have no objections.”
“My objections have rarely counted for so little.” She shot Kaylin a glance, and Kaylin flushed the color of guilt. There was so much awkward tension in the room, it might as well have been a fractious office meeting with the Lords.
“This is not the world to which the Aerians were born.”
“No.”
“It is the world they reached, in an era long past, through a stretch of endless sky, the etande, as it was called.”
Moran was staring at the side of his face, her brows slightly furrowed.
“They had their reasons for leaving their home.”
“The World Devourer?” Kaylin asked.
“No, nothing so immediately deadly. You are aware that the Aerians’ flight is...improbable? They are, in build and general density, almost human. The activities that do not depend in any way on flight are not hampered by physical strength or build. Their wings, were they attached to the body of similarly weighted avian, could not achieve flight.”
Kaylin frowned. No, she hadn’t been aware of that, and she wasn’t in a great hurry to claim her ignorance.
“They are not magical creatures. In an absence of any magic, they will not cease to exist. They will, however, cease to fly.”
Moran was really staring at the side of his face now, but the midnight of her blue eyes had drifted into an early shade of clear night sky while she listened.
“So...their world ran out of magic?” Kaylin asked.
“Yes.”
“And our world is more magic-rich?”
“Yes. Understand that in a world without magic, door wards and streetlights would not function. In order to utilize magical energies, there must be some sort of conduit—in most cases, training. But not in all.”
“And the Illumen—”
“Yes, the importance of the praevolo in this escape was critical. It was the duty of the anointed to find a different world; the Aerian ancestors entered the etande without a compass.
“The praevolo is said to have preserved the power of flight for the people, and the praevolo followed a trail that only they could see; it led to this world. It is here they arrived—a world of Dragons, Barrani, humans, Leontines.
“And here, too, there was Shadow.”
“Too?”
“I believe—although I am not certain, as the legends were somewhat garbled—”
“That it was Shadow that drove the Aerians from their first home,” Moran said quietly. “At least that is most of our tale. The Shadows deprived our wings of flight.”
“You are skeptical?” Nightshade asked her.
“Yes, actually. The Shadows seem a thing of magic, to me. But it’s possible that, to destroy Shadow, the ancestors found some way to destroy magic. I don’t think they understood what the cost would be, and I think that the Shadows did wane in that world. But the people could not survive—not as they had.”
“Ah. And so, indirectly, the necessities of war with Shadow did cause the death of flight.”
Moran nodded.
“So the praevolo was born during that time?” Kaylin asked.
“It’s complicated,” Moran finally replied. “Understand that we have legends and tales; we’re not Dragons. We don’t have ancient Records to which we can refer. I’m not sure that born is the right word.” She hesitated. “It’s the word that’s been used. In theory, the praevolo is born to the Aerian people at a time of great need or great conflict. But I believe, even in the tales that are handed down, that the first praevolo was born then.”
“You don’t think born is the right word?”
“I was born. I wasn’t created. There was no cabal of ancient, powerful mages standing beside my mother as she conceived me; there were none in the birthing rooms where I was born.” Her smile was wan. “When I first encountered Records in the Halls, I searched them. And I went outside of the Halls, searching. I wanted information.”
“Were you not told anything about your wings?”
“I was told a great deal,” Moran replied. “I heard times beyond count that I was unworthy of the gift I had been given. I was told constantly about humility, chief among the characteristics I was to develop to be worthy.”
“Yes, of course, dear,” Helen said, although no one had spoken. She carried a drink—a hot drink, in a very mundane mug—to Moran, and set it in front of her, where lazy swirls of steam rose.
“I asked, in the beginning, what I was to be worthy of.”
Kaylin leaned forward, hurting for the child that Moran had been, and hoping it didn’t show. No one wanted pity, and Moran was not that child now.
“I was told that to prove my worth, I was to respect the authority of the Caste Court. They were wise and learned and of course, deserved their positions by consequence of birth. I was a bastard, illegitimate, and my father refused to step forward to claim kinship with me. I still don’t know who he is,” she added, staring at the rising steam as if reading some fortune in it. “I doubt I’ll ever know.”
“Would it make a difference?” Teela surprised Kaylin by asking. “Before you reply, I feel it necessary to point out that I killed mine—and I spent centuries building enough of a power base that I could survive doing so. He murdered my mother.”
Moran took her time digesting this information; it wasn’t information the Barrani who worked in the Halls would ever think to share. Her wry grin, and eyes that were now drifting into a more normal Aerian gray, cut years off her apparent age. The grin dimmed. “It’s possible that my father murdered my mother. I don’t know. He certainly did nothing to protect her, and he did nothing to protect me, either.
“But for all I know, my father might have been a younger son—no, less, a younger cousin, part of an Upper Reach flight in name only. He might have had no power.”