Cast in Flight by Michelle Sagara
“You are afraid to fail. That is both understandable and admirable. Fear, however, motivates many. In your case, you have something to lose; you do everything you can to avoid the shadow of that loss. It is the same with the Caste Courts of the various races, saving perhaps the Leontines and the Tha’alani. They have something to lose: position, life. If they enrage me enough that I take action against them, the ire of their compatriots, the peoples of their race, might well be enough to destroy them.
“They do not wish this. They must act with care. If you are seen to act carelessly, without even the minimum of courtly respect, they will challenge me. Or resent you. Possibly both. They will believe they can escape such challenge unscathed because you do.
“I cannot allow that. I am cognizant of your role in the protection of my city and my Empire. I am grateful for it. But the instability you might introduce by being, as you so quaintly put it, ‘yourself,’ is just as much of a danger; it is just quieter and more subtle.
“In the words of Lord Diarmat, you are dangerously self-indulgent and lazy when it comes to things outside the purview of the Hawks. You do not understand that proper behavior is a job. That it is learned the way you once learned the laws, or Barrani, or Aerian. You believe you are despised because of your mean birth and your life in the streets of the fiefs. Perhaps that is even comforting to you—I do not myself understand the comfort to be taken from that belief.”
These were more words than she had had from the Emperor in her life. They weren’t, sadly, the ones she had daydreamed of hearing. Maybe they were the ones she deserved.
Her silence seemed to goad him, which wasn’t at this point her intent. Mostly her intent involved shrinking so much she was barely visible above the table line, and crawling away. She wanted to defend herself. But she looked at Severn, her partner, her onetime protector, and she realized that he’d learned. He’d learned all of this stuff. He was older, true. But he’d never been as prickly, as self-conscious, as she’d been.
I was, he told her gently, and privately. I was just as concerned. But the five years does make a difference. Whatever you fear now, it will change in five years. Trust me.
But the Eternal Emperor hadn’t finished yet. “If, for some reason, I chose to be so indulgent—and you have value to my Hawks, and to the Empire itself—consider the changes wrought in your own life. You would be perceived—by men and women of power from all races—as a favorite. As a person who has the Emperor’s ear. As a person who could tell the Emperor—or ask the Emperor for—anything.
“They would seek you out. They would seek to make use of you; to make you a pawn in the games that they play in the interracial courts. If I am to follow my own Laws, I could not simply destroy them in my irritation.”
“I would have,” Bellusdeo said quietly.
“Yes. But your Empire was not your hoard,” was the Emperor’s equally quiet reply. “You value the Chosen. That has been clear since you first returned to our world. Do you not see the danger to her?”
It was clear from the golden Dragon’s expression that she did. But it was clear as well that almost everything the Emperor had said had surprised her. She was watching him closely now, her expression one of concentration. Or confusion. The confusion was slow to clear; it hadn’t by the time the Emperor started to speak again.
“If you were so approached, how would you handle that approach?” His smile was knife thin. Sharp. “You are, of course, yourself, as you perceive it. You would handle it with outrage, and possibly insult.” He glanced at Bellusdeo as if for confirmation. Her lips compressed and then, after a pause, she nodded. “And thus you would offend men and women of power. You have friends in high places, Private Neya. You have the Consort and the High Lord of the Barrani; you have Ybelline of the Tha’alani. I do not think you have made many friends among the Leontines, but perhaps I am less cognizant of their role in your life.”
Kaylin thought of Marcus, but said nothing.
“Those connections might be embarrassed. They might not. They have clearly chosen to accept your behavior in the past. But it is simple to maintain a friendship that is irrelevant to your responsibilities, and their friendship, for you, a mortal woman who serves as a Hawk, is irrelevant.
“It will not remain so if you are given free rein at court. You believe that the Dragon Court seeks to preserve your life; you believe that that is the reason you have been assiduously kept from the royal presence. And it is. But not solely for the reasons you believe. You will be even more of a target than you have been in the past if you cannot learn to behave.”
The familiar, who had been indolently listening in, squawked loudly.
“I do believe you have the capacity to protect her from most assassination attempts,” the Emperor replied—with far more gravity. “But the power of the familiar is, legend would have us believe, directly proportional to the will and the power of the master.” His tone made clear what he thought of at least one of those things, but then again, so had his whole monologue.
“You have no friends in the Reaches,” he continued. “Moran dar Carafel, should she survive the public claim she has now made, would be one—and you have a Dragon as escort while she is on duty because of that. The Aerian Caste Court is almost in a political frenzy. I imagine that there will be a shuffling of positions when it is clear that the pawn they used to entangle the Elani merchant was, in fact, human. You are certain he was not also outcaste?”
Moran went white.
So did the Hawklord.
The Emperor effected not to notice—or perhaps he just didn’t. Most things that could threaten Aerians weren’t going to be much of a danger to a Dragon.
“You’ve seen—pardon me, Your Majesty, you haven’t seen—the Records capture Margot sent to the Halls of Law. At no point during the conversation in capture did the man’s eyes change color—and his eyes were brown.”
“That could be the effect of glamor or enchantment.”
Kaylin bit down on her first words—which was hard, because she was annoyed. She was also uncomfortably too aware of herself, because of everything else that had been said. She felt, as she sometimes did, like a total, complete failure.
Think. Just think. “You believe the Aerian Caste Court will put that forward as an explanation?”
His eyes shaded, for the first time, toward a much more prominent gold as he inclined his head. “It has already begun.”
Lord Grammayre’s eyes were what Kaylin privately referred to as Barrani blue. “Has it?”
“Indeed.”
“The Records transmission was embargoed.”
“Indeed.” The Emperor sounded bored, but he smiled. “Private Neya is on Records as having a strong sensitivity to magic and its use. We do not doubt you,” he added, his voice softer than it had been all evening. “We fully believe the man who spoke with the Elani merchant was human, as you do.
“But the Elani merchant was not, in our opinion, meant to survive her encounter.”
Kaylin didn’t even regret saving Margot’s life.
“She did, thanks to the intervention of the Hawks.” He turned now to Lord Grammayre. “I will block the remand to the Caste Court in this instance.” His smile was slender, sharper, but it still conveyed amusement. Kaylin decided that amusing the Emperor was career-threatening, because she probably wouldn’t survive it. “I will also point out that, although no formal complaint has been made, rumors abound that an item of great import to the Aerians has been stolen.”
Kaylin blinked. It took her about five seconds to understand what that item was, and then she was simply outraged.
Moran, however, although she was pale, was resolute. “It was not stolen,” she said, although the Emperor hadn’t actually named the item. “It belongs to me, while I live. That is the law of the Aerians. I am not dead; it is my right to bear it.” She
“Yes, praevolo, it is,” the Emperor replied. “I am conversant with the laws of the Aerians. It appears they are less conversant with Imperial Law. Grammayre,” he added. “You will find your information leak. But spread your net widely; it is likely, in my opinion, that the Aerian Hawks will not act against Moran dar Carafel at this point. She has declared herself.
“As has been proven, however, mortals are more than willing to accept the offer of coin for very unwise actions.” He finally turned to Bellusdeo, who had remained mostly silent—and golden-eyed, which was almost shocking—during the Emperor’s part of this discussion. “My apologies, Lord Bellusdeo. This is not what I envisaged when I requested the honor of a private, informal dinner.”
She smiled. She smiled in a way that did not expose fangs. If Kaylin’s eyes could change color, they’d have shifted all the way to whatever meant surprise in the race she’d otherwise have to be.
“It is not what I envisaged, either. But I find myself enjoying it far more than I have any encounter in the throne room. It has been both surprising and informative, and I have much to think about. No,” she added, her voice softening. “My kingdom was not my hoard. I have never felt that calling, that certainty of desire. But you have—and you have not let that desire or that calling madden you, as it historically has so many of our kin.
“Kaylin would be safe; she has Helen, she has me. She has, for at least a few years, Mandoran and Annarion. But she cannot live in isolation; being a Hawk is both what she does and who she is. If you would like, Your Majesty, I would be very much honored to dine with you again.”
The Emperor’s eyes shifted into a deep brown, the color of Dragon surprise. Kaylin had never seen it in him—as if his role as ruler had destroyed all ability to feel such an emotion. Or perhaps that was just her interpretation. She was a Hawk. She understood that the Hawks had hierarchy. Lord Grammayre did not stammer or curse, the way the rest of the rank and file could. He was their leader—and it wasn’t a nominal leadership.
Marcus cursed like a groundhawk, and frequently tore chunks out of his desk—he said it prevented him from tearing them out of his idiots. But he was sergeant, and when he gave orders, you obeyed them. Even if you weren’t a Hawk. Leontines of his size and weight made an instant impression on everyone mortal who had less in the way of fur and fangs.
It had never occurred to her that the people who ruled her working life were just like she was; that they could feel doubt or hesitation, that they did not know everything they needed to know, that they could—and probably did—make mistakes.
They gave orders, and she more or less followed them.
She needed that. She needed someone to make those decisions. She wasn’t without freedom of choice; she made decisions of her own when she was in the streets or in a situation that none of the rulebooks covered. Marcus expected her to, as he put it, use her head as something other than a pathetic battering ram.
But the big decisions, or rather, the long-term decisions, weren’t in her hands. All the big decisions about city-threatening events had been neatly tied into the visceral need to survive. There was thought in them, but it wasn’t the kind of thought that led to political entanglements.
She tried to imagine what her life would be like if she woke up tomorrow and she was the Hawklord. Or worse, the Emperor. She couldn’t do it. Everything in her rebelled. She didn’t want to be corporal so she could order the privates around. She wanted to be corporal because it meant she was valued and acknowledged by the people in her life who mattered.
She didn’t actually want to order people around at all. Because to do that, she would have to be responsible for them. It was a humbling, uncomfortable thought. What had the Emperor said? She was lazy? She cringed.
“Kaylin?” Bellusdeo said, in the tone that implied this was not the first time.
Kaylin blinked. “Sorry,” she said, her cheeks flushing. “I was thinking.”
“And I am certain,” the Arkon added—before anyone else could, but there probably would have been some competition, “that we do not wish to interrupt you when you are making an effort you seldom make. It is often difficult to think and talk simultaneously.” His eyes were, as they had been for most of the dinner, pure Dragon gold.
“What did I miss?” she asked, surrendering.
“Lord Bellusdeo—”
“Bellusdeo, please,” the gold Dragon said, correcting him without irritation.
“Bellusdeo, then—it seems improper, when we are in mixed company, but I am an old man—has asked when we might next convene. For an informal dinner.”
“We’re due to return to Diarmat in two days, if he’s sufficiently recovered. So anytime after that, assuming I survive it.”
The Arkon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lord Diarmat will not reduce you to your component parts. He may be a bit out of sorts, but he is recovering. He will, however, break at least one of your arms if you so much as hint at an offer to finish the healing process for him; I do not recommend it.”
“Drinks,” Helen said, as she entered the room, “will be served now. I have taken the liberty of procuring refreshments more suitable to Dragons, if any of our guests would care for a beverage.”
Kaylin privately wondered who—or what—Helen had slaughtered.
“Lord Diarmat,” the Emperor said, “is that rarity: a completely loyal man. He has never found his hoard,” he added softly, “and it is to be hoped that when he does, it does not conflict with me and mine—but until then, he pursues his duty logically and with a very particular...passion. You do not feel he values you. He understands your value to me, and to my Empire. In time, he will come to appreciate you.”
“She won’t live that long,” Bellusdeo said. Kaylin wasn’t the only person who found Lord Diarmat pompous and overbearing.
The Dragon Emperor rose. It wasn’t his house, but it didn’t matter; when he rose, everyone followed suit. “Praevolo,” he said, bowing to Moran. In Aerian, he added, “You have returned to the skies which birthed you.” It was a stilted phrase; Kaylin suspected that it was ceremonial. It certainly didn’t sound natural, given Moran’s injuries.
Moran, however, understood and accepted it.
The Emperor then left the table, following Helen’s Avatar.
Moran and Lord Grammayre remained. “As host,” the Hawklord said in his mildest voice, “it is your responsibility to precede your guests.”
Was it? Kaylin couldn’t remember, and wondered if this was an Aerian custom, or a custom she’d never had to learn until now.
“You understand,” the Hawklord said, while Kaylin hovered close to Moran, “that the political situation will become ugly and heated.” It wasn’t a question.
Moran lowered her head and drew her wings in toward her body. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“I am not, Moran. I am not sorry at all. You are aware of the possible costs. All of the possible costs. I will join the Emperor now. I believe you have something you wish to ask of Kaylin.”
And Kaylin remembered Lillias, the outcaste Aerian, and the blessing that Evanton had created at her request. She would have to remember to ask Evanton how Lillias had paid for it—even if Evanton wasn’t inclined to answer.
“I want you to take me to speak with Evanton. Give the bletsian back to him. Tell him to give it to Lillias—she can give it to me herself.”
* * *
The only small hitch in the dinner entertainment was the arrival of an unexpected guest. He wasn’t there for Kaylin, but it didn’t matter. When Helen materialized in the parlor, she had everyone’s attention. It was her expression; her lips were a compressed line.
“Lord Nightshade,” she told Kaylin, “is at the gates.”
This predictably caused a
“He’s here to visit his brother,” Kaylin said quickly, leaping out of her chair.
“Ah. His brother would be Annarion?” the Arkon asked. He rose, as well.
“Lannagaros.” Bellusdeo’s use of the name implied either a request or a criticism.
“I feel the need to stretch my legs. Dinner was excellent, but I am not young anymore.”
Kaylin almost snorted. She managed to cough instead. The Arkon was old, it was true. But old Dragons were generally strong Dragons. Age didn’t diminish the immortals. Anyone who’d survived to be old was generally more powerful, not less.
“Kaylin,” Bellusdeo then said, “Lannagaros would like to accompany you. He is clearly concerned for your safety.” The golden Dragon obviously didn’t believe this. Fair enough. Neither did Kaylin. “If you wish, I will join you.”
Kaylin shook her head. “It’s not me he wants to see.”
“Is his visit entirely coincidental?” the Emperor asked; his eyes were orange.
“Likely. He comes here all the time to visit Annarion. And then they argue. Loudly. It’s almost like they’re Dragons.”
The Hawklord winced.
Bellusdeo, however, chuckled—which meant the Emperor was under some pressure not to find the offhand comment offensive.
“I feel,” Bellusdeo added, “that that is somehow a challenge.” She turned to the Emperor, smiling. “Shall we?”
Kaylin fled the room before he could answer. It was, again, poor manners. Manners were difficult.
* * *
“I feel,” the Arkon said, “that in spite of everything, the evening was a success. It was not a success in the particular way one might hope—but the addition of the Aerians added something necessary to the interaction.” He wasn’t smiling, but his voice implied that he might. “The appearance of Nightshade, however, will possibly add complications.”
Nightshade was nothing but complication. “He’s only here to see his brother.”