Cast in Deception by Michelle Sagara
“I see you have already begun to review the material the Court has gathered for you.”
She nodded. “I know it won’t mean much, but thank you for this.”
“I expect you to memorize its contents before the Consort arrives at your domicile.”
Kaylin nodded. “I have every intention,” she said, in High Barrani, “of doing exactly that. What else do you think I should know?”
His eyes did round, then, although he brought the brief hint of actual surprise back into line in a heartbeat. “The correct form of address.”
“Kaylin is a Lord of the High Court; surely her position there takes precedence.”
Diarmat ignored Bellusdeo. Kaylin was very, very fond of the gold Dragon, but understood that ignoring her—for anyone—wasn’t smart. “The Consort,” she said quickly, and in the same High Barrani, “seems to favor informality from me. I can address her as you would address her in the same circumstance, but she would immediately assume that I was doing it because I’d been ordered to do it. And your orders would then supersede her comfort.”
He raised one brow this time. “Very good. I would otherwise assume that your lack of respect was merely ignorance, not choice.”
Kaylin swallowed, because she was ignorant: she simply didn’t know. She resented being judged for her ignorance; she always had. But she wasn’t thirteen anymore. She couldn’t assume that he was saying she was stupid. At thirteen, she couldn’t separate the two.
And if she was a Hawk, she had to do better. She glanced once at Bellusdeo, who shrugged, her eyes orange. “I would appreciate it,” she said—trying to sound as if “appreciate” did not equal “would rather walk over hot coals in bare feet”—“if you would teach me the difference. I know how to address the Imperial Court, and I know how to address the Lords of Law; I know how to respond to sergeants and I know how to respond to members of the human Caste Court.” Luckily, he didn’t call her on the last one, although it wasn’t technically a lie. Her natural distaste for men of power made her instinctive reaction twofold: one, to hide, and two, to treat them as if they weren’t as special as they thought power made them.
“I’ve spoken with the Consort on many occasions. I have only once caused great offense, and no amount of respect for her position would have changed that.”
“Do you regret it?”
“I really regret that she was angry at me,” Kaylin replied, falling into Elantran as she considered the question. As Bellusdeo cleared her throat, she immediately switched to High Barrani again. “But there is no choice I could have made that would have altered that anger. We fundamentally disagreed about a course of action. I could—and can—understand her point of view; I do not condemn the choice she would have made. But I could not make it.”
“And do you not feel that perhaps you are walking into the same trap, now?”
Did she? Kaylin started to say no, and stopped. Swallowed. “If I am, it will amount to the same difficulty,” she replied, choosing her words with care. “She will be angry with me because we fundamentally disagree about the choices we feel compelled to make. I can assure you that whether I call her Consort, Lady, or nothing at all will not be what gives offense.”
He exhaled smoke. “The Arkon will be present.”
Kaylin nodded; he had already said as much, and looked about as pleased with the Arkon as he was with Kaylin.
“I ask you—I do not command it—that you not take advantage of his sentimentality and overindulgence.”
She blinked. He was glaring at Bellusdeo. Still glaring, he began to answer Kaylin’s earlier question. Apparently there were High Barrani words the Hawks had not been taught, probably because the rank and file were never, ever going to meet the High Lord and the Lady. Or possibly because the teachers—mortals all—didn’t know.
He came up with a long word, or a series of words, that Kaylin had literally never heard, not even when she was at the High Court.
Oh, do try that, Ynpharion said, interrupting her concentration.
I’m kind of busy right now. With a Dragon. Do you think you could come back and be condescending later?
I could, he agreed. Ynpharion could always be condescending. But the Consort wishes me to relay information to you. Of course. There was no way that Ynpharion would ever voluntarily contact her just to chat. Lord Candallar has left his fief; he intends to meet with mortals.
How do you know this?
I merely repeat what I am told. If you wish to force the information from me, feel free to try, but should it be information that the Consort does not wish me to share, she will ensure that I remain silent.
Kaylin wondered what the effect on Ynpharion would be.
I would, of course, attempt to support the Consort. And yes, Lord Kaylin, should the attempt be made in earnest, it is likely to damage me greatly, if not destroy me. The choice, of course, is yours.
The annoying thing about Ynpharion was that he would respect her more if she didn’t care at all about his health or well-being. It was what he expected of the powerful. It was what she should have been as far as he was concerned, if she had his name. But she also knew that the Consort would be disappointed in her, that the Consort made her own moves knowing full well that in the event that Ynpharion was a loathsome toad—
Thank you.
—Kaylin wouldn’t think he deserved torture or death just because he failed to answer a question. She’d’ve been dead about a hundred times over if there was any justice in that.
Does she have any idea of when Candallar left?
He has just left.
Kaylin almost shrieked with frustration, and unfortunately, if Diarmat was stiff as a stone slab, he was very, very observant. His eyes were always orange when Kaylin was in his presence, but this didn’t offend her; she doubted they were any different in anyone else’s.
“Private Neya? You have something to add?”
“...There’s some chance that the terms you are using predate the wars. They would be considered archaic in the modern High Court.” This was not exactly what Ynpharion had said, but Kaylin could easily infer it from his sneering tone. “If I were to use the term, one of two things would happen. Either the Consort would know that I was being coached by outsiders—and quite probably Dragons, if we’re frank—or she would assume that I was being sarcastic; that I was using an elevated, archaic term as a criticism of her current stature.”
For the first time in her life that she could recall, Lord Diarmat looked baffled. Stiffly, although he spoke that way most of the time, he said, “It is a title that indicates great respect.”
“It possibly indicated great respect centuries ago,” she said, almost apologetically.
“And Barrani Lords now consider signifiers of grave respect to be...sarcastic? Insulting?”
“Barrani Lords can, if they desire it, consider anything insulting. Had the Consort desired it, she could consider my invitation to dinner to be insulting. Insults with the Barrani are a game, a sport.”
He stared at her, and then glanced at Bellusdeo, who shrugged.
“I do not have extensive experience with Barrani Lords. Teela, while a Lord of the High Court, is a category unto herself. I understand games, however.” The last implied heavily that Diarmat didn’t. She exhaled smoke.
“In future, any such invitations are to be made only after consultation with the Dragon Court.”
Bellusdeo’s eyes darkened.
Kaylin wanted to put a head-shaped dent into the nearest piece of wood, that being a very pristine tabletop. The familiar, however, had had enough. He squawked up a storm, and both Dragons fell silent.
“Very well. I, too, have things to which I must attend. I will expect you next week.”
“To report?”
He clearly wanted to say yes, but instead said, “The Arkon will tender a full report to the Eter
* * *
Bellusdeo and Kaylin took a detour to the Royal library after the much shorter-than-expected lesson. Kaylin said nothing; she’d expected the detour. She was no longer thinking of Evanton and the elemental water; instead, she was thinking of the East Warrens, of Candallar and of the mortals he might be meeting on this side of the Ablayne. Mortals did venture into the fiefs to cause misery that was entirely illegal in the city proper. And that was perhaps unfair. But Nightshade’s visitors went to him, not the other way around.
This implied that whoever was meeting with Candallar did not wish to enter the fiefs. And possibly could not afford to be seen doing so. It also implied that the mortal was the person with the actual power.
The library door was open; clearly, the Arkon had also expected the social detour. He was even waiting by the desk that the librarians otherwise occupied when the public part of the library—less direly guarded, but no less jealously—was open.
His eyes were orange, his arms were folded, and the look he gave Bellusdeo was uncharacteristically harsh.
“I’m sorry, Lannagaros,” Bellusdeo said, although she seemed a bit surprised.
“I am perfectly willing to lie—”
“‘Lie’ is a harsh word.”
“It is the correct word in this particular case. I am willing, however, to intercede in a less than entirely honest fashion with any other member of the Dragon Court, the Emperor included. Do not expect that I will do so when speaking with Lord Diarmat.”
“You did.” She folded her arms, her lips lifting at the corners. Her eyes were now gold.
“I did, yes. I will never do so again.”
“Might I ask why the aversion with that particular Dragon?”
“You may.” He glanced at Kaylin. “The amount of trouble you can accidentally wander into is astonishing—and I have centuries of observed hotheaded stupidity against which to compare it. I would appreciate it if you left Bellusdeo out.”
“I, however, would not. And Lannagaros? She lives with me.” Bellusdeo’s smile was feline, but with more exposed teeth.
“You live with her. And yes, I am old enough that I will not ask the impossible. Kaylin is transparent; if she attempted to be covert, I am certain the result would be failure.”
“But possibly entertaining?”
“Possibly.” His tone said never. “Lord Diarmat is, in some ways, like Kaylin.”
Both Kaylin and Bellusdeo sputtered. The familiar squawked, obviously highly amused.
“In what way are they alike?” the golden Dragon demanded.
“They have an appalling lack of finesse when it comes to complex matters. Neither of them are particularly skilled at prevarication. If Kaylin’s superiors deem it wise to leave her out of missions which require diplomacy, so, too, do Lord Diarmat’s. In Lord Diarmat’s case, however, his inefficiency is entirely his own desire. He considers prevarication, even with cause, to diminish the actual value of truth, as if there exists a single thing that could be called truth.
“He is highly honorable. He expects that we will be the same. And while we are not, of course, his equal in this regard, we respect him.”
“We?”
“The rest of the Dragon Court, excluding perhaps yourself.”
“He is a humorless, judgmental, condescending—”
“Yes, he is that, as well. But he is not without value to the Court or to the Emperor. I understand why the two of you do not get along. I accept that. But I will not and cannot treat him or think of him as you do, and I find it painful to be caught out in a lie when confronted by him.”
This seemed to almost shock Bellusdeo.
“I am older and wiser than I was when we both lived in the Aerie. I think, in my youth, I was much more like Diarmat.”
“You were not.”
“I was. But I was more indulgent than Diarmat. I was not less condescending. You were hatchlings—you and your sisters. What I expected from infants was not what I expected from adults. Lord Diarmat considers you a peer, not a child.
“And having said that, Lord Bellusdeo, I did as you indirectly asked. I will attend Kaylin’s dinner with the Consort. I assume you will likewise be in attendance.”
“I should say no, and leave you stranded in that room.”
The Arkon’s eyes had shifted, slowly, to their usual gold when in Bellusdeo’s presence. “But you won’t. And I would not find it a horror, regardless. I understand what the war cost both of our people, and I hope never to encounter that loss again. She was a child during the last war, but the Consorts have always been somewhat different than the rest of their kin.” He bowed to her. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”
Bellusdeo exhaled. “You have not disappointed me,” she said, her voice much quieter than usual.
“Diarmat would die in your defense.”
“Yes, but it wouldn’t be in my defense. It would be in defense of what I represent, and in the end, that has little to do with who I actually am.”
The Arkon acknowledged the truth of this with a nod. “But you have hardly given him a chance to know you at your best. I believe the private is the only person who has truly seen it. The private and your Ascendant.”
“No, Maggaron’s seen me at my absolute worst.”
“He has also seen you at your worst, yes. But that is entirely because you trust him. I believe your dinner was three days hence? I will be there.”
“Is the Emperor going to drop by as well?”
“No, most certainly not. Lord Diarmat is willing to countenance my presence; the Emperor’s presence in the face of one of the Barrani rulers would be considered a security problem.”
And they definitely did not want that. Kaylin could imagine it now. It took her mind, briefly, off the question of Candallar, of Teela, and of her cohort. Why did everything always have to be so complicated?
* * *
The palace mirror that Kaylin knew she could safely use happened to be in Lord Sanabalis’s public rooms, or at least the rooms in which he met visitors to the palace. Bellusdeo was less sanguine about Lord Sanabalis than the Arkon, but when Kaylin explained the need for the mirror, agreed to a second detour.
Lord Sanabalis had apparently gotten wind of this—somehow—and happened to be in the rooms. His eyes were mostly gold, but his expression was also mostly suspicious. “Private Neya. Lord Bellusdeo.” He bowed to the Dragon. “How may I help you?”
“You can let us use your mirror. I need to get ahold of someone thirty minutes ago.”
“The mirror will not allow that in its current state.”
“Very funny.”
Sanabalis went to the large cupboard that housed the mirror; it was not on display on the desk. “The mirror network within the palace is secure.”
“Is it safe?” she asked, remembering other occasions when the answer to that was a distinctive, definitive no.
“Yes. Or it has been. If it malfunctions only when you choose to make use of it, well...”
Bellusdeo chuckled. “I agree, we ask you to take a risk, Lord Sanabalis.”
“It is a risk that will be overlooked given the general fuss being made about other risks.” The emphasis on the last two words were aimed directly at Kaylin. She didn’t mind; she just needed the mirror.
* * *
“Helen?”
“Kaylin,” her house replied. As the image in the mirror coalesced, she was looking at a very bare, empty room. It was the room in which Helen allowed mirror connections; she still refused to trust them anywhere else. “Is something wrong?” The Avatar of the house remained out of the picture; it was like talking to air.
But Kaylin was used to this. Helen’s voice could be in any room of the house simultaneously; her Avatar could not. Or not easily. Kaylin was fuzzy on the actual magic involved, and considered it
“I need to speak to Teela. If Teela’s not there, I need to speak to Tain. If neither of them is there, I need to speak to Mandoran.”
“Teela is, I believe, in transit. Let me just ask the boys.” Both of the boys, as she called them, could contact Teela the way Kaylin herself could contact Nightshade or Ynpharion. Teela didn’t have to answer, but she’d be aware.
“Mandoran wishes to know why you want her—he says,” Helen added, almost apologetically, “that she’s ‘in a mood.’”
Ugh. “Tell him I’m sorry, but the mood’s probably going to get uglier before it gets better. I’ve received word that Candallar is leaving—or has left—his fief, and he’s apparently heading toward a meeting with a mortal, or possibly mortals.”
“Mandoran wants to know what you expect Teela to do about it.”
“Did Teela ask that, or is he just being a coward?”
“I believe the latter, dear. Oh, never mind. Annarion just told her.”
“And?”
“Annarion says she says she will intercept. She has Tain. If—I’m terribly sorry, dear, but I am just repeating what I was told—she sees you there, she will break your left leg.”
“She really is in a mood.”
“Mandoran feels vindicated, dear.” Of course he did. “Annarion apologizes for his interference—but given Teela’s reaction, he feels that it was nonetheless necessary. Will you be coming home?”
“Yes—I want to make one quick stop before I do.”
“I don’t think Teela was joking, dear.”
“She said ‘if she sees me,’ right?”
Bellusdeo leaned into the mirror. “I will bring her home. She will not go anywhere near the East Warrens, which is where I assume Teela is heading. And if the boys know, don’t repeat it until we’re home. We may be late,” she continued, glancing at Kaylin’s mutinous expression, “but if we’re late it will be because we have stopped by Evanton’s. The Keeper requested Kaylin’s intervention with the wild water.”
“Oh?”
“It’s about the Hallionne.”
“Oh. I suppose you would like me not to mention this to the boys?”