Cast in Flight by Michelle Sagara
“This may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t actually see magic of this type every day.”
“Great. You realize I pay taxes?”
“Yes. About half of what you probably owe.” At Margot’s expression, Kaylin grinned. It was like a smile. Almost. “I checked.”
“My taxes are none of your business!”
“Technically, evasion is our business, as you put it. And I’m not the one who brought the subject up.” She caught the strand, wrapped her hand in it, and pulled hard. This time, it snapped. She was left with a slightly flailing black strand. Margot was left with less Shadow, but pulling one thread hadn’t unraveled the whole. Kaylin grimaced, glared Margot into silence, and worked on the rest.
“We’ll want the Records capture of the meeting,” she told Margot cheerfully.
“And I want to be the Empress,” Margot snapped. “These are confidential Records.”
“I’m certain you think they are. But we’ll have the Records, or we’ll have a long, long interview with you in which we try to reconstruct what actually happened.” She turned to the man.
He had lowered his weapon and was staring at Kaylin. She asked the familiar to lower his wing, and he did; without the translucent mask, she could see the man’s expression. He was pale, a color somewhere between gray and green. His eyes were a bit too wide, and he appeared to be sweating, something she hadn’t expected.
“What do you mean, Shadow?”
Shadow meant many things in Elantra. Not a single one of them was good. There were stories about Shadow, and death by same, and in this case, the outrageous stories had something most rumors lacked: they were true. Or rather, they were all possible. And clearly, whatever he’d been told about the power he was exerting, none of it had involved Shadow.
He lowered the blade, kneeling to set it on the floor in front of Severn’s feet before he rose again, lifting his hands, palm out, to show that he was unarmed. Technically, this was true. She tapped the familiar’s leg, and he raised his wing again, sighing—loudly—in her ear.
“Is it the same?” she asked him.
He squawked—twice.
“Is it dangerous to me?”
Squawk.
She cursed. “Is it likely to kill him?”
Squawk.
She cursed in Leontine. “Fine. Is he actually human?”
Squawk.
“We do not get paid nearly enough for this,” she told Severn.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Trying to pull the Shadow off him.”
“Your familiar just said—”
“If we’re going to take him in—”
“I’ll go with you,” the man said. “I’ll cooperate.” She couldn’t see his face clearly. Only his eyes were visible when the familiar’s wings were high—and they were too white in the ink of his skin. “I was hired—” He stopped speaking. He started to choke.
Kaylin leapt forward, but she was too slow; the familiar pushed off her shoulder. Before she could catch him or stop him, he exhaled. Silver, sparkling steam escaped his open mouth in a familiar, multi-colored cloud. “No!” she shouted.
He squawked.
The man drew breath to scream—and scream he did. She couldn’t see what was hurting him. She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary at all with her own eyes. She reached down, opened the collar of his shirt, popping buttons in her haste to give him room to breathe, although she wasn’t certain it mattered.
But he did breathe. His glassy, wide eyes slowly narrowed. They remained open, but moving. His arms and his legs shuddered, his chest rose. He started to speak, stopped and began to choke again.
Kaylin pulled him up, grabbing his jacket to do so. The familiar circled him, hovering for a moment before he nodded and returned to Kaylin’s shoulders. They watched as the man continued to choke; Severn got behind him and aimed several blows at his back, between his shoulder blades. The man began to cough, and Kaylin instinctively moved out of the way as he spit out something dark and wet.
Something visible and familiar.
Margot hissed an exclamation.
The man was too busy regaining breath to do the same, but his eyes once again widened as a small, dark, opalescent pool began to eat its way through Margot’s most expensive rug. This Shadow was clearly visible to everyone who didn’t have a familiar.
Severn yanked the man to his feet.
* * *
Margot was incensed by the time she saw the Hawks to the door. “You couldn’t have done that at the Halls?” she demanded.
“He wouldn’t have survived the trip there,” Kaylin countered.
“And that’s my problem how? Do you know how much that rug cost?”
It hadn’t started out as a promising day. It wasn’t promising now—in many ways it had become infinitely more complicated. But Margot was furious, and that had to count for something; it was the bright silver lining on a very dark cloud.
Kaylin had done nothing wrong. Nothing petty. There was no guilt associated with this; there’d been no passive aggression at all. She took a moment to enjoy the feeling, because the rest of the day was going to be a nightmare.
“We’ll want a Records capture of that, as well,” she told the seer. She said it very quietly, on the other hand.
Margot, once she had stepped into the street—and was therefore in public—was far more composed than she had been one invective-filled sentence ago. “I am always happy,” she said with a smile that dripped venom, “to offer aid, where appropriate, to the Halls of Law. Give my regards to the Hawklord.”
Kaylin nodded. The only thing she had done before forcing the stranger to stand was rifle his pockets. She now carried the feather, the bracelet and the collar. Given their significance, she wanted them somewhere where magic couldn’t instantly incinerate them or destroy them—and at the moment, she was it. The familiar could protect them if they were on her person.
Severn said nothing; he secured the prisoner, who was ashen and shaking, all former poise and confidence gone with the ball of Shadow he’d thrown up.
* * *
Word had clearly arrived at the Halls by the time Kaylin reached them. Clint and Tanner were on the door, but they weren’t the only ones; there were four Swords, four Barrani Hawks, and a small handful of Aerians who were patrolling so tightly above the front doors it was difficult for them not to hit each other.
This did not make their newest prisoner much happier. He looked miserable enough that Kaylin quietly explained the Halls procedures where Shadow might be involved. Which did not make him any less terrified.
Teela and Tain were there. “Honestly, kitling,” Teela said. “Can you not leave the Halls on a regular patrol without tripping over something deadly?”
Since it was a rhetorical question, Kaylin didn’t answer.
“Mandoran is highly displeased,” the Barrani Hawk added.
Of course he was. “Tell him to get stuffed.”
Tain smiled. It didn’t change the very blue shade of his eyes. “We’re here to take your prisoner off your hands.”
Kaylin nodded. She was fairly certain that the man—whoever he was—was no longer contaminated. If something killed him here, it wouldn’t be Shadow. Given the death of the Aerian would-be assassin in the holding cells, she wasn’t certain it mattered.
The Barrani knew. It was to the Barrani that the man was turned over. He had not regained either color or bravado since they’d left Elani, and it was very, very hard not to feel sorry for him. She thought of Moran, which dimmed the pity to manageable levels. There was no way his visit to Margot wasn’t related to Moran. But he was human. Mortal. He could be prosecuted in the normal courts. Whoever was pulling rank in the Aerian Caste Court, his wings would be clipped now.
* * *
Margot did transmit the Records capture to the Halls of Law. Kaylin was surprised; she’d expected more of a political tussle. Actually, she’d expected Margot to erase those Records and apologize when the official command made its way by courier to her shop. But if Margot was a fraud, she was a fraud on the right side of the law, by a tiny fraction; she probably couldn’t plausibly deny obstruction.
Kaylin was still surprised she hadn’t tried.
Margot didn’t deserve to die. She told herself that as she entered the building. Margot might deserve to have her nose or her jaw broken by a particularly fortuitous punch—but she didn’t deserve death.
* * *
Marcus was not in a good mood. His new desk had been delivered, and some of the sediment on the surface of the previous desk had been moved to the surface of the current one, but the move had not yet been completed. Marcus was not, therefore, sitting behind his desk—and the piles of paperwork that had grown so much in the past few months they could kill someone simply by falling on them.
Kaylin wondered if sergeants were ever in good moods. They probably took humor or joy as a sign of personal weakness and stamped both out without mercy.
“The Hawklord,” the sergeant said, “wishes to speak to you.”
“When?”
“Fifteen minutes ago.”
“Marcus—”
The Leontine growled. “You’ve brought a man who was, in theory, in the thrall of Shadow into my office.” Technically this was inaccurate, but now was not the time to argue technicalities. “On a routine patrol. I have a would-be assassin in the infirmary. I have—” he glanced at a pile of new-looking papers on his desk “—no less than four missives from a Caste Court demanding immediate inaction. I would appreciate it if you could find less trouble for the foreseeable future. Go talk to the Hawklord.”
* * *
The Hawklord was, as Marcus had stressed, waiting. The doors weren’t open, which meant Kaylin entered the meeting with a numb hand, courtesy of the door ward.
As was customary, he was standing when the doors opened. He wasn’t in the center of the room, though. He was in front of his mirror. The mirror wasn’t reflective—it was active. “Have you watched this?” he asked, without looking at her.
“If you mean Margot’s transmission, no. I saw part of it while I was in her shop. I didn’t see the rest. I’m still surprised she sent the damn thing.” She was very, very aware of the items she now carried on her person, but failed to mention them.
She wanted Moran to see them first.
“I do. Were you aware that Oracles could be forced?”
“No. Have you asked the Oracular Halls?”
“An inquiry has been sent. Sergeant Kassan is not best pleased with your ability to find trouble,” he added. “He is, however, impressed.”
And not in a good way. Kaylin said nothing for a long moment. “Is the Aerian Caste Court attempting to somehow claim this is part of the embargo?”
“They would have a very difficult time, given the race of the man in question.”
Which wasn’t a no. Kaylin stifled a yawn. “I think it’s highly likely that the Emperor will laugh in their faces if they make that attempt.”
“I am pleased to see that you now know the Emperor so well you can predict his reaction.” The Hawklord’s gaze made winter seem balmy.
Kaylin gave up. “The sergeant said you wanted to see me.”
“Yes. You will no doubt be happy to hear that there is a small possibility the entire case will no longer be remanded to the Caste Courts.”
She was. She was very surprised, but she was pleased. Small possibilities had defined her life. “What’s the catch?” she asked, as reality caught up with the brief moment of triumph.
“The acceptance—or rejection—of exemption status depends almost entirely on you. As of your arrival this morning, it was solely dependent on you, but your claims—of Shadow nets—could not be corroborated. There are two messages that relate to that. The death of the Aerian in the holding cell was caused by an Aerian who is no longer with the Halls of Law. He has been remanded to the Aerian Caste Court.”
“Where he’ll no doubt be celebrated and rewarded for murder.” She would have clawed the words back if that had been possible. If the Hawklord’s expression hadn’t been so forbidding, Kaylin would have asked him which Aerian.
“Where he will no doubt fall ill of an unspecified sickness and expire,” the Hawklord corrected, eyes narrowed.
“But that’s—”
“Yes. It is a rough application of justice.”
“Why would they want to kill someone who followed their orders?”
“Because the order was, technically, illegal.”
“Not if they’re exempt it wasn’t.”
“Private, the Caste Courts may well be the cesspit of power and politicking you believe them to be—but the Aerians have laws. They are not Imperial Laws, but there is a reasonable overlap. If I ordered you to go to the holding cells and kill our newest prisoner, what am I guilty of?”
“Conspiring to commit murder.”
“And if you obeyed, what would you be guilty of?”
“Murder.”
“Why, exactly, do you expect the Aerian Caste Court to be different?”
“Because they’re trying to assassinate Moran. Which is illegal.”
“Do not allow sentiment to cloud your vision. You’re a Hawk.”
Kaylin exhaled. The small dragon began nibbling at loose strands of her hair while she thought. “They’ll kill him because he knows he was commanded to commit murder.”
“Indeed. If they are otherwise principled, his family will not suffer.” He lifted a hand. “Were he to stand trial in the Aerian Caste Court, they would. If he perishes of ‘illness,’ they will not. And you have diverted me. This morning’s assassination attempt,” he continued, as if he expected these attempts to become part of the Halls’ daily activities, “relied upon you as eyewitness. There was no Records capture. There was no proof. The Caste Court could deride your report. They have already begun to do so.”
“What did Margot actually send to the Halls?”
“Proof,” he replied, “that Shadow is involved. The Records capture does include your response to what you perceived when you looked through your familiar’s wing—but that is entirely dependent on your reliability. What you did toward the end, however, was included in Records. The prisoner clearly ejected a small patch of Shadow. Margot was kind enough to offer to send the rug on which that small patch landed. I have already arranged to have it retrieved; it should be in the Halls momentarily.”
He turned. His eyes were a pale blue. “I will ask that you avoid all of the Aerians currently sworn to the Hawks until the situation is resolved.”
Kaylin blinked. “You can’t think they’d hurt me.”
“I cannot command it,” he continued. “You will continue to see and interact with Sergeant Carafel. I cannot prevent that, but I trust the sergeant. If you die in her presence, it will be because she has died.”
“But if there’s proof—”
“Yes. You are not Aerian. You are, essentially, proof. If you are dead—” the familiar squawked loudly at this “—we will not be able to fight to have this remanded to the Halls of Law. Shadow is, in the Imperial view, enough of a threat that it supersedes all other claims. But this one Records capture serves to underline your claims. Not one of us could see what you saw this morning.”
“I think Mandoran could.”
The Hawklord frowned. “Mandoran? One of Teela’s cousins?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Is the corpo
“Yes. I’m not sure he’d make a good Hawk,” Kaylin added. “And I’m not sure he’d make a great witness.” There was a difference between ability and presentation. She had no doubt that Mandoran would—without the familiar nagging him—see something out of the ordinary. She was also certain that his ability to convey this information without impatience or cheek was very, very shaky.
“I do not believe Mandoran would be considered an entirely reliable witness.”
Kaylin nodded, slightly relieved. But the weight of the earlier request bore down on her, adding a gloom that the Halls weren’t supposed to have. “You can’t,” she said, “believe that the Hawks would hurt me. Maybe other Aerians—but I’ve known the Aerian Hawks for almost half my life.”
“It only takes one,” the Hawklord replied. “Do I think it would be done easily? No. Without personal cost? No. But the Hawks who work here have families. They have children in the Southern Reach. They have flights there. None but Moran are dar Carafel, but dar Carafel rules the Caste Court. Dar Carafel rules the Southern Reach.
“It may be that the Hawks will defy dar Carafel. But even that will cost them, Kaylin. I would just as soon not put the pressure of temptation in their way. At the moment, two members of the Caste Court—neither dar Carafel—have heard of the Records capture.”
“That was fast.”
“Indeed. They are now claiming that Margot is using deliberate deception—at your urging. They are claiming that the Records capture is fraudulent.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time Margot’s been accused of fraud. It’s impossible to make it stick.”
“The Halls are not inclined to throw their resources into making that charge stick. The Aerian Caste Court will certainly bring more of their resources to bear in this particular instance. I have discussed the situation with Moran—or rather, I’ve discussed this morning’s attempt with her. I believe she will soon be taking a leave of absence.”
“But she—”
“Not for her own good, no. For the Hawks. If it is known that she is taking a leave of absence, there will be other demands made of her. But the Aerians who are under pressure will find some of that pressure relieved.”