Cast in Flight by Michelle Sagara
“You’re certain she knew this.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Kaylin exhaled. “Because seven years ago, I would have done the same damn thing. Margot owes me nothing. In theory, it’s my job to protect her from people like her customer. Law’s great on theory, but it’s not perfect in practice. We do our best. She could justify what she was doing until the cows came home.”
“I don’t understand why you use that phrase,” Mandoran said—in Elantran. “I mean, have you ever owned a cow?”
“A cow wouldn’t have survived half a day in the fiefs.”
“And has anyone you’ve ever met owned cows?”
“No.”
“So why ‘cows come home’?”
“Can you ask Teela that? I mean, privately?”
“I did. She doesn’t know, either.”
“Now is not the time,” Kaylin began. Margot’s voice started up again, demanding silence from her audience. Figured. Margot’s interruption couldn’t have cut off Mandoran instead. Of course not.
“I didn’t tell him everything I saw. You’ve clearly had some experience with Oracles. You know that nothing I saw was literal. Most of it won’t make any sense without enough context—and I don’t have the context. You do.” She cleared her throat, looking—to Kaylin’s surprise—nervous.
“So I’ll tell you what I managed not to tell him. When I said I saw you in the city streets, I lied. I saw you in the air.”
Kaylin started to ask a question and stopped. This wasn’t a live communication. Margot had recorded it and sent it on to Helen.
“You had wings. You were flying. If I weren’t so familiar with you, I would have assumed you were one of the Aerians. You’re not. So it’s possible none of the Aerians in the vision were actual Aerians, either. Or the Dragon. Whatever I said had some meaning to my visitor.
“I’m not about to chase down context for you. But I owe you for saving my life—and my life’s worth a lot to me. I’m not about to give up my livelihood because you don’t like it. I’m not about to give up my ability to live as I choose. But I owe you.” She smiled. It was feline. “Tell you what. If you ever feel the need to have your fortune told, I’ll do it for free.
“And before you ask: your wings were pale and speckled, too.”
* * *
Dinner was not quiet, but the topic of conversation was not Moran, Margot, or the leave of absence Kaylin had been requested to take. Although these were foremost in Kaylin’s mind, they carried little weight when compared to dinner guests. Or rather, to a particular dinner guest.
Tomorrow night, the Emperor was coming for dinner. As long as there were no unexpected emergencies—and given the nature of emergencies, they were very seldom expected—they were about to play host to the Eternal Emperor, in his civilian disguise.
As disguises went, it was pretty crappy. He exuded arrogance and power. But he divested himself of the Palace Guard, which Kaylin appreciated. They set her teeth on edge.
“You aren’t planning on dressing like that tomorrow night, are you?” Mandoran demanded, when he realized Kaylin wasn’t clear on the gravity of the situation. Kaylin exhaled. Absent assassination attempts and Shadow magic, the Emperor was the current emergency in the eyes of her household.
“Not exactly like this, no. But it’s supposed to be informal. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me in my normal clothing before.”
“If you’re talking about the night of fire and death, that doesn’t count. You were on duty.”
“I wasn’t, but I happen to think the clothing we all wore on the night of ‘fire and death,’ as you call it, is worth more respect.”
Annarion cleared his throat. Loudly. When Kaylin glanced at him, he said, “We’re trying to get him to shut up. It’s working about as well as it usually does. He doesn’t speak for the rest of us. The Emperor is intelligent. He knows what you’re like. I don’t think inappropriate clothing—your version—is going to be an issue. Mandoran and I will remain in the training room for the duration of the meal. Teela promises to avoid the dinner if at all possible, as well.”
Helen appeared to be taking notes.
“What are you going to wear?” Kaylin asked Bellusdeo.
“Clothing.”
The familiar squawked.
“I intend to be perfectly civil,” the gold Dragon snapped at the small translucent one.
Kaylin thought about the prior interactions between Bellusdeo and the Emperor and winced. “Keep in mind that the rest of us need our hearing.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t converse in your native tongue while he’s here. The rest of us don’t understand Dragon, and don’t have the vocal cords for it.”
“And if he starts?”
“Are you a hatchling?” Mandoran cut in, with some scorn.
Bellusdeo flushed. Fair enough. He started it didn’t work so well for the young foundlings who tried it, either.
“Pretend he’s the monarch of a neighboring country. You were, I hear, queen of your own country for more than a few years. I don’t imagine your diplomacy involved shouting and swearing.”
“It involved armies and death.”
Mandoran shrugged. “Fine. But the armies and death weren’t the first line of action. Just...pretend this is the first meeting.”
Bellusdeo snorted smoke. Nothing on the table, however, burned. “You’re certain you want to stay in the training room?”
“I don’t,” Mandoran replied. “But I’m being overruled and outvoted at the moment. My head’s a very noisy place.”
“Ah. And I thought it was mostly an empty one.”
Mandoran grinned, acknowledging a scored point. Kaylin wondered what the current tally on either side stood at, because she was certain the Barrani was keeping score. Then again, the Dragon probably was, as well. Ancient wars that had had a profound direct effect on the two people involved tended to bring an edge to every single interaction.
On the other hand, that didn’t seem to be as much of a problem for Annarion.
“They can read each other’s thoughts,” Helen said, having obviously read Kaylin’s. “This does not make them the same person.”
“You can say that again.”
* * *
Only when dinner was finished did Kaylin directly approach Moran. Moran had, as she usually did, absented herself from the Draco-Barrani hostilities. She had absented herself from the discussion of the Emperor as a dinner guest—although it was clearer, in that case, that she had thoughts. She didn’t volunteer to avoid their guest, though.
Kaylin wanted to, but Helen forbade it. It was, after all, Kaylin’s home, and she had responsibilities as hostess to her invited guests. Given the way the various Hawks had walked through her life—and her apartment—with little notice and frequently no invitation, Kaylin didn’t really understand the fuss of hospitality. She figured anyone who had a key was allowed to drop by when they felt like it.
Clearly, this wasn’t the Helen-accepted version of good manners.
“I’m tired,” Moran said, pulling Kaylin out of her petty confusion. “Can this wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Fine. But come back to my room. I find the ceilings here oppressive.”
“I could make them taller,” Helen’s disembodied voice offered.
“Much taller, and Kaylin would find them oppressive,” Moran answered, slightly amused. “And it’s Kaylin’s home.”
* * *
When the sergeant was ensconced in the heated pool of water Moran called a bath, Kaylin pulled off her shoes, rolled up her pant legs, and dipped her toes in. The water wasn’t steaming; it was warm. “I have a couple of things I wanted to ask you about.” She opened the flap of the small po
Moran stiffened, but she couldn’t hold on to physical tension as efficiently when she was soaking in very warm water. “Please don’t tell me, Private, that you’re in possession of evidence.”
“Technically, no. Did you recognize the items he passed under Margot’s face?”
Moran was silent. It didn’t last. “Don’t give me cause to regret accepting your hospitality.”
“I’m trying not to. But someone is trying to kill you. And frankly, someone’s trying to kill me.”
“Because I accepted the hospitality.”
“Doesn’t matter why. I don’t want you dead. I didn’t realize just how important Helen was in that regard. She’ll let you leave if you want to leave; this isn’t a prison, and she doesn’t treat guests like prisoners.”
“But she has a prison for intruders?”
Kaylin shrugged. “If she doesn’t have holding cells, she can make them up as needed. You’re not an intruder, and you’re not a prisoner. She’ll let you leave if you want. I might cling to your legs, begging, pleading and whining.”
Moran chuckled. “I love these rooms,” she said, half-wistful. “And I am more comfortable with Helen than I have been with anyone for a very long time.”
“Helen doesn’t want you to leave if you don’t want to go. She’s not angry with you. She doesn’t blame you for anything that anyone’s trying to do to me. Are you coming to dinner tomorrow night?”
Moran blinked. “Are you changing the subject?”
“Not really. If it weren’t my house, I wouldn’t be there for dinner, either. I suggested it, but Helen flat-out refused.”
“It’s not very hospitable, dear,” Helen’s disembodied voice said. “But Kaylin is right. You are not to blame for the actions of others. And I think you need the type of peace that I can offer. I’m not a Hawk. I’m not a ruler. I can’t control the events that occur beyond my grounds. But I take some small pride in creating a space in which you can feel at home.”
“Do you think I should discuss things with Kaylin?”
“You discuss things with her all the time.”
Kaylin stifled a grin. Moran was still not quite accustomed to how literal Helen could be.
“I remember when you first walked into the infirmary. You looked at it as if it were a torture chamber, with better beds.”
Kaylin reddened, but laughed. “I thought it was.”
“I know. I tried not to take offense, as I recall.”
“You didn’t try very hard.”
Moran grinned. “Prickly, defensive teens are difficult at the best of times.”
Kaylin snorted. “You were just mad because I didn’t acknowledge the infirmary as yours.”
“And you learned better.”
“I really did.” She rose. “I liked the infirmary better than the morgue, if that’s any help. I didn’t really understand the purpose of the morgue.”
“I didn’t, either. But we don’t bury our dead.”
“No?”
“No. Our traditional burial customs would probably not meet with your approval—but being bound to earth is one of our worst fears. No one wants to be interred beneath it.” She leaned her head back against solid, wet rock, exposing her throat. “Yes, I recognized the items. Or I recognized two of them.”
“Which ones?”
“The flight feather, in a general sense. It’s Aerian.”
“And specifically?”
“The bracelet.”
“What do you think the collar was about?”
“I dread the possible answer to that question. If you mean was it something I wore or would be forced to wear? I don’t think so. At this point, though, I wouldn’t put anything past dar Carafel.”
“Whoever sent that guy to Margot clearly felt the collar was significant.”
“Does he know why?”
“I doubt it. I can’t imagine he doesn’t know who hired him, though.” She hesitated. “I think they’ll bring in the Tha’alani.”
Moran was as grim as Kaylin. The Tha’alani could, if they made physical contact with a person’s skin using the stalks on their forehead, read thoughts. They could rifle through them as if they were drawers. There wasn’t a secret you could keep if they came calling.
But they hated to do it.
Most crimes could and would be easily solved with consistent use of the Tha’alani. And most of the Tha’alani would be slightly insane if they were used that way. The Emperor did occasionally demand their services—he was the boss, after all. The Tha’alani had agreed because he was also a Dragon, and he could breathe them out of house and home if he felt like it. But if he considered their obedience necessary—and Kaylin privately hated him for it—he also knew it was costly, not only for the Tha’alani in question, but for the entire race.
They didn’t naturally keep secrets from each other. Only a few of them could.
“It’s a good thing he was human, then.”
“I’d be more interested in knowing what this morning’s assassins knew. You know that Grammayre is going to fight the remand, right?”
Moran sagged. Kaylin almost kicked herself. She didn’t understand Moran, and probably never would—but she respected her. “This case should be ours,” she added, trying to keep defensiveness out of her voice. “You’re ours.” She shook herself. “The bracelet?”
“It’s largely ceremonial. It has a place of honor among the artifacts of the pilgrims, as they’re sometimes called.”
“The ones who first arrived here?”
Moran nodded. “It was apparently worn by the praevolo. The first one. It’s worn by the praevolo when they come of age.”
“...But that would be you.”
Moran nodded.
“Was it offered to you?”
Moran lifted her head. Her eyes were a very dark blue. “Yes. The first time, it was offered as a bribe. I was forcibly adopted into the dar Carafel line at that time. I was a child. I donned it before the Caste Court. But then it was refused on my behalf—by my mother. So it was returned to their keeping.”
“And the second?”
“After my grandmother’s death. I would not wear it. I was told that if I had been wearing it, my grandmother would have lived—and I hated them for saying it. Hated myself for the guilt I felt anyway. If it weren’t for me, my grandmother would be alive. She’d be living in the Outer Reaches, but she was happy there. She died because someone wanted me dead.” She closed her eyes.
Kaylin was surprised when the Aerian woman continued. “It does funny things to you, to know that the cost of being loved is death. I hated the Upper Reaches. I hated everyone who lived in them.”
“What does the bracelet do?”
“I don’t know. I only know that it belonged to the first person to bear these wings. In theory, it’s a mark of honor.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“Oh, I believe it’s considered a mark of honor—but I think it does more than that, and I’m not sure what that is. I wouldn’t trust the dar Carafel, though.”
“Meaning?”
“They could have had a replica made, with their own specific magical spin. I keep thinking of Margot; she was being physically controlled by her visitor. What if they had altered the bracelet, or enchanted it, to do the same thing?”
“Why are you so certain it’s the Aerians who were responsible for what happened to Margot?”
“You trust my people,” Moran said, voice softening. “But you trust them because you’ve only seen those who became Hawks. I love my job, and I’m good at it. It took me years to win a place for myself among the Aerian Hawks, but the rest of you accepted
“Now I’ve lost the Aerians. Again. I don’t know if I’ll ever get them back.”
Kaylin clamped her jaw shut to stop words from escaping. The small dragon warbled what she assumed was approval. Sighing, she reached into her pouch and pulled out the bracelet.
Moran’s jaw would have hit the water—and sunk—if it hadn’t been attached. Her eyes shaded into purple, which was Aerian surprise, before returning to a familiar blue.
Kaylin looked guilty because she was.
“What are you doing with that?” The words were uttered in outraged sergeant, which was actually a very soft, very quiet, very well-enunciated voice.
“I thought it might be important.”
“It’s evidence,” the sergeant snapped. “You are never going to make corporal at this rate. Never. The only possible way you could do it is if Sergeant Kassan is angry enough that he wants to promote you so he has a rank he can bust you back down to.”
This was harsh, but probably true.
“No one asked.” Kaylin flushed. How long had it been since she’d even tried to make that excuse fly? “Look—I thought it was possibly important to the Aerians. Whoever sent the man to Margot clearly thought these three items—feather, collar, bracelet—were relevant to you. They wanted information about you. And the stupid Caste Court exemption would mean that—” She struggled for a moment, then said, “I thought they were yours.
“And if I took them in as evidence, they’d be in lock-up for all of five minutes. Then the Caste Court would drop a collective screeching flock on the Hawklord’s head, and he’d be forced to hand them over. Either that, or one of the Aerian Hawks—a different one—would lose his job.”
Margot exhaled, and her eyes lost a bit of blue, as if she was remembering that she was off-duty here. “You’re right about the latter.”
“If you don’t want any of them, I’ll turn them in.” She hesitated.
Moran stared at the bracelet—only the bracelet. “It’s not mine,” she finally said. “The praevolo wears it—but when the praevolo dies, it comes back to the flights. It’s preserved. If there were some way to choose the praevolo, it might be different. But there isn’t. Or there hasn’t been.”