Cast in Flight by Michelle Sagara
“They are not going to harm you in your own home. It would be a disgraceful breach of etiquette.”
“And impossible, because you’re my home.”
“I am talking about their behavior, not my own—but yes, if it somehow came to that, they would not be able to harm you. There is nothing you could do that would necessitate that.”
So Kaylin now invited the two Dragons to sit in the parlor. It had changed both size and shape. Helen frequently adjusted spaces as she deemed necessary. Kaylin wondered what people without Helen did, but she knew. They didn’t have the bloody Emperor as an informal guest.
Helen, however, rescued Kaylin by taking on the duties of a servant. She didn’t instruct Kaylin in the pouring of tea or the offering of drinks or anything else; she did that all herself. Kaylin should have appreciated it more, but the menial and necessary tasks would have given her something to do other than feeling awkward and incompetent.
She was rescued by the arrival, minutes later, of the Hawklord. In theory, Helen was to answer the door and lead the new guests in; in practice, Kaylin leapt to her feet, grateful to leave the awkward, silent room. When she was almost at the door, Bellusdeo drifted down the stairs. She stopped, her eyes shifting into the color of Dragon surprise.
“Is that you, Kaylin?”
Kaylin said, “Answering the door now. Are you sure Moran isn’t coming?”
“I’m absolutely positive. Is that dress new? I’ve never seen it before.”
“And I wish that had continued.”
“It’s very striking, and it suits you.”
“It doesn’t suit me at all—”
“Kaylin, dear. The door,” Helen’s disembodied voice said. To Bellusdeo, she added, “Kaylin is nervous because she is not accustomed to guests.”
“I have guests living with me all the time,” Kaylin pointed out, as she reached the closed front doors.
“Yes and no, dear. They are technically guests, but you treat them very much as if they were family. Siblings. You are not used to guests.”
Bellusdeo, however, said, “Let me entertain the Dragons while you greet the new arrival.” She didn’t look nervous. At all. Kaylin was too grateful to feel resentful.
* * *
The Hawklord was waiting at the door. He was not dressed as the Hawklord; he was entirely more colorful, although not as colorful as Moran’s ceremonial garb had been. He wasn’t wearing a dress, but the vest that overlay the long, belled sleeves of an emerald green shirt ended a good six inches below his knees. The vest itself was a mixture of purple and blues, with gold stitching, gold trim and white interlaced ribbons.
Only his boots looked normal, for a value of normal that involved the Emperor, the Arkon and the Hawklord at the same table.
Lord Grammayre smiled as he no doubt correctly read her expression. “Kaylin.”
“Lord Grammayre.” She remembered to bow. It was not as stiff a bow as the one she’d offered the Dragons. If she wasn’t at home with the Hawklord, she was vastly more comfortable in his presence. He’d seen her at her absolute worst, and had found it in himself to make the beginnings of a home for her.
She’d had to do the rest, but the rest hadn’t seemed so hard given the alternative: a life spent in Barren. This man wasn’t Caitlin—but he wasn’t the Emperor, either. And neither of the men were Barren. Neither of them ever would be.
“May I compliment you on your appearance?” Lord Grammayre asked.
“If you absolutely insist.”
Helen cleared her invisible throat.
“...I mean, thank you. Do you recognize the dress?”
“I was about to ask.” The Hawklord smiled. “It suits you.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It would if you didn’t look so uncomfortable in it. It is very simple,” he added. “The Aerians do not value simplicity in their formal dress, but there is much to be said for it.”
“My normal clothing is simple, too.”
“Ah. Yes. But perhaps not suited to entertaining.”
* * *
Severn came last.
When the door opened—and yes, Kaylin had all but leapt out of her seat in her eagerness to take advantage of any excuse to be out of that room—she was so happy to see him she could have cried.
Severn, however, froze in place. His mouth was half-open, as if he’d been about to say hello and forgotten what the word meant. He did, after a few seconds, remember to blink. She was confused for that same few seconds, and then looked down at the white dress. She looked up again.
Severn was dressed more formally, but human male formal was just a fancier, more expensive version of normal.
“If you bow,” she told him, “I’ll kill you, I swear.”
His smile was, at least, familiar. “I didn’t expect that dress.”
“Helen made me.”
“I did not make her, as she said, do anything. She is an adult. She makes her own choices,” Helen added.
“You’ll notice Severn’s not wearing a dress.” Kaylin held out both of her hands; Severn hesitated before placing his on top of them. “We could trade.”
“I don’t think the dress would fit me.”
“Betting?”
“Not while the Emperor is a dinner guest, no.” His smile deepened. “I’ll take that bet when he’s gone, though.”
“It’s irrelevant,” Helen told them both, “because Severn’s clothing would not fit. In any way. Your guests,” she added, “are waiting.”
* * *
Bellusdeo was holding court when Severn and Kaylin made their way to the parlor. The Hawklord glanced in their direction, but it was brief and appeared to contain more amusement than censure. Severn made his bow to the Emperor; it was not up to Diarmat’s standards, but then again, his whole demeanor had been so much more graceful than Kaylin’s, it probably didn’t matter.
He didn’t appear to be uncomfortable in this roomful of people, two of whom could destroy his life just by lifting a pen. Or a voice.
Kaylin, relieved of the need for idle conversation, watched the Dragons. The Arkon’s eyes were gold, pure gold. He was speaking with Bellusdeo, and her eyes, tinged lightly orange, rested in a relaxed, and even affectionate, expression. The Emperor might as well have been Kaylin.
And that was an odd thought. The Emperor was arguably the most important man in the Empire—but he was just as uncomfortable, felt just as out of place, as Kaylin did.
As if he could hear the thought that not even she was stupid enough to put into words, he raised a dark brow in her direction. His hair had been oiled and pulled back off his face; it fell down his back in a series of intricate knots that did not scream “informal” to Kaylin.
But he had no Imperial Palace Guards with him, and for that, she was profoundly grateful.
“Dinner,” Helen came in to announce, “is served. If you would follow me?”
Chapter 13
The parlor was not the only room in the house that had undergone transformation; the dining room had also been changed. Although the shape and size of the room was roughly the same as it had been at breakfast this very distant morning, the ceilings had sprouted a few feet of height, and the windows had grown to match them. They’d also gained both width and stained glass. The table, however, had shrunk, and the chairs had been replaced; they were darker, heavier, and flawless.
Helen did not tell people where to sit, and that was slightly awkward, because both Kaylin and Bellusdeo attempted to take the seat farthest from the Emperor. They would have collided had it not been for Severn, who slid a hand to Kaylin’s elbow.
She felt a little shock of warmth as his palm touched her skin. He guided her to a chair and pulled it out for her. What she really wanted was to sit Teela-style—with the chair
The top rail of these chairs, however, would have been too much of a stretch. She sat. Severn sat beside her. Bellusdeo sat opposite the Emperor, but this table was short enough that she wasn’t halfway across the room. The Arkon sat to one side of the golden Dragon. The Hawklord sat between the Arkon and the Emperor.
As a dinner, it felt a lot like an awkward council of war.
“Lord Grammayre,” the Emperor said. “It has been some small while since you have graced my presence in person.”
“I was surprised to hear that you were kind enough to join Kaylin for dinner. I have been, as you must imagine, embroiled in racial difficulties. I would never otherwise forgo the pleasure of your company.” The Hawklord said this with a completely straight face. Kaylin thought he sounded sincere. It wasn’t the first time she’d had questions about his sanity—he’d taken her on, after all—but it was close.
Bellusdeo’s eyes were orange-tinged gold, but they were as gold as they ever got when she was in the presence of the Emperor. Kaylin prayed—in that nonspecific way that people did who weren’t religious—that they’d remain that way.
The Arkon snorted smoke. “We are then to turn dinner into a political discussion?”
“Hush, Lannagaros,” Bellusdeo said. “For some of us, politics is polite dinner conversation.”
Although the Arkon grimaced, his eyes remained pure gold. He frowned—deeply—at Bellusdeo, who surprised Kaylin by laughing. She considered approaching the Arkon’s disapproval the same way, and decided against it; if Bellusdeo ever misread the situation, the fire that resulted wouldn’t turn her to ash.
But she felt herself relaxing as she watched the two Dragons, and she reminded herself that the Arkon was family to Bellusdeo, inasmuch as Dragons ever claimed any.
“And you’re involving yourself in the politics of the realm now, are you?” the Arkon said.
Bellusdeo’s smile was almost feline. “Only so far as the politics affect my home.”
“Meaning?”
“Sergeant dar Carafel is living with us, as I imagine you know.”
The Emperor said, “I did mention it. He was, however, deeply involved in the study of something long dead; it may have escaped his hearing.”
“I’m surprised you’d interrupt him when his concentration was that intense.”
“Had I not, we would not have arrived for dinner within a week of its actual time.”
Bellusdeo chuckled.
The Emperor’s eyes, Kaylin noted, were the darkest shade of orange in the dining room—but they lightened at her obvious amusement.
“He has always been like that. I was told he was like that when he emerged from the egg. Did they ever tell you about his shell?”
The Arkon actually flushed, which in a man of his apparent age was almost shocking. “Bellusdeo, please. I was a hatchling; it is not relevant now.”
“No. I was not privileged to speak with those who had known him from birth. What did they say?”
“He very carefully collected all the pieces he could find of his own shell, and put them into a tidy pile. He also bit anyone who came near them—and that would include the clutch workers. They were all,” she added, to the non-Dragons in the room, “significantly larger than he was.”
“I see now,” the Arkon said, “why my presence was deemed necessary.”
Kaylin almost laughed at his expression. But she understood, watching, that it was necessary. Bellusdeo was mocking him—but she was mocking him the way she mocked Maggaron. There was no edge in it, just affection and the expectation that she would be forgiven.
“It seems you have remained true to yourself,” the Emperor said gravely.
“And you?” Bellusdeo asked, surprising everyone at the table. “Have you?”
The Emperor stiffened; his eyes became more orange. The line of his lips thinned. His hands didn’t become fists, but they rested on the table, stiff as boards.
The Arkon reached out and placed one hand over Bellusdeo’s. “That is perhaps not a question for the dinner table.” His voice was gentle; a brief eddy of pain marred, but did not eradicate, his affectionate expression.
“And am I to speak only of trivialities and things that do not concern me?” she demanded. Her eyes were more orange, too.
“No,” Kaylin said. “We can talk about Caste Court exemptions instead. Because at the moment, those do concern you.”
“I am not—”
“You’re the one standing guard in the infirmary.”
Bellusdeo bit back a reply, and nodded. She was, to Kaylin’s surprise, spoiling for a fight. But she wasn’t four. She reined in her temper, biting back words. Kaylin was going to be grateful if the evening ended without any of the Dragons resorting to their native tongue. “Yes, you’re right. And Lord Grammayre is no doubt being polite in his interest about the Arkon’s early years.”
The Emperor was more than willing to leave the subject behind, even if the one he was retreating to was tangled and political. He did glance thoughtfully at Kaylin before transferring his pointed gaze to the man who was commanding officer of all of the Hawks, ground or sky.
“You have always disliked Caste Court exemptions, Lord Grammayre.”
Every Hawk—no, every person who worked in the Halls of Law—hated Caste Court exemptions. Admittedly, it was the Barrani who made the most use of them; it was life-threatening to be involved in any investigation that pointed at Barrani criminals, which was most of the reason the force had Barrani Hawks to begin with.
Before the Hawklord could reply, the Emperor said, “As I am here informally, the general rules that govern behavior in the audience chambers need not apply here. You may address me as ‘Majesty.’”
It was Severn who choked on his soup, which surprised her. I find the Draconic idea of informality...ridiculous.
So did Kaylin, for what that was worth. Given that the Emperor had all the power, she didn’t labor under any misconceptions.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. As you are aware, some difficulty has arisen in regards to a member of the Hawks who serve the Imperial Law.”
“I am exceedingly aware, yes. My secretaries and their undersecretaries dread even activating their mirrors at the start of their shift. It appears—and I have failed to ascertain the truth of this—that they have taken to referring to the Caste Court collectively as ‘the harpies.’”
The Hawklord choked on his soup, just as Severn had. Kaylin took comfort from the fact that she hadn’t. Maybe Diarmat’s forbidding, ridiculous, humiliating lessons had some value, after all.
“My apologies, Your Majesty. I was not expecting that.”
“You feel it is inaccurate?”
“I feel it is unfortunate.” He smiled as he said it. “I will not vouch for accuracy but feel compelled to point out that my secretary refers to these particular communications in a way entirely inappropriate for repetition at the dining table.”
“Then we are in accord. They will no doubt note your attendance at this dinner.”
“They will. Moran dar Carafel is currently in residence. But they have no recourse to forbid it.”
“I take it, from your private’s expression, that you wish us—ah, apologies, me—to remand this case to your jurisdiction. You will, of course, have grounds for this request.”
“I do.”
“You understand that the Caste Court will demand your flight feathers—if not your entire wings—should I condescend to do this.”
“They are demanding my wings now. But they are inconvenienced in this demand by Imperial Law. Even were I to be considered a traitor to my flight and my race, they would have to have grounds on which to make that accusation. If they did, they could of course try me and have me executed.”
“If you agreed to be tried by the Caste Court, yes.”
“I do not think I could perform my duties as an outcaste.” And Kaylin remembered that the outcastes lost their wings. “There is some possibility that charges will be forthcoming,” Lord Grammayre continued.
“So I’ve been told.”
Kaylin, however, had not, and she almost pushed herself out of her chair and across the table in angry outrage.
Helen’s hand—Helen’s physical hand—clamped down on her right shoulder. “The next course,” she said, “will be served now.”
* * *
Over the next two courses—none of which were the main meal, and all of which were distinctly unappetizing because they were too fancy—Grammayre and the Emperor danced around the question of the remand. The Emperor made no commitment, and the Hawklord was wise enough not to demand one.
“I had word that Moran dar Carafel has donned the ceremonial raiment of her position.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. As of this morning. She came to the Halls in almost complete regalia.” He deliberately avoided looking at Kaylin. “I do not know if you have seen the Records capture that arrived yesterday afternoon.”
“In theory, I have not. The Caste Court has demanded its embargo.”
The Hawklord didn’t seem to be surprised that the Emperor had, theoretically, chosen to respect any part of this demand. Kaylin, however, was.
“Theoretically, then, a human male is involved. He is currently in the holding cells for attempted assault—magical in nature—of Hawks.”
“Actual assault of a resident of Elani,” Kaylin helpfully added.
“I fail to see how an assault of that nature could be under the rubric of caste exemption,” the Emperor said. His eyes, which had been orange, now shaded into a more familiar orange gold. The Emperor’s eyes were never pure gold, in Kaylin’s experience.
“Oddly enough, Your Majesty, so did I. I have,” he added, “examined extant Caste Court Records—where they are available—and the man in question is definitively human; he is not outcaste Aerian.”
“They couldn’t make that claim of outcaste Aerians,” Kaylin interrupted, thinking with a pang of Lillias and the blessing she had procured for Moran, a gift Kaylin had still not given to the Aerian sergeant.