Cast in Flight by Michelle Sagara
“We needed that netting. We knew the risks. Those spells took Dragons out of the sky. But Dragons are a larger target than Aerians. And there are a lot more of us. Did I love the injury? No. Of course not.
“But I got it doing something that needed to be done. Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t have been doing. I’m a Hawk. I’m a sergeant. I know my own job.”
Kaylin lowered her head, although she did keep walking. After a silent block had passed, she said, “Sorry. I mean it. I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“...For how long?”
Moran’s laugh was both genuine and frustrated. “About that long, I’d imagine.”
“You don’t believe him.”
“I don’t, but not in the way you mean. I have a lot to think about, and I don’t want to test his words just yet.”
* * *
Moran headed to her room the minute she entered the house; she said hello to Helen, but avoided everyone else.
Everyone else was in the dining room, except for Annarion.
“Nightshade’s here?”
“Yes, dear,” Helen said. She was standing in the doorway, or rather, just to one side of it.
“You don’t like him?” Mandoran asked.
“She doesn’t trust him,” Kaylin countered. “I think she’d be willing to like him if he wasn’t causing so much obvious pain.”
“Annarion’s causing his share of pain,” Mandoran replied, brooding. “You know, I used to envy him. I used to envy his relationship with his oldest brother.” He sat half-sprawled across the table, his elbows propping up what little of him remained upright.
“Less envy now?”
“My father,” Mandoran replied, shifting into the High Barrani he so rarely spoke, “could cause pain simply by opening his eyes. We—the children who were chosen to go to the West March—were supposed to be the best, the strongest, the brightest. My father, however, did not entirely believe that the investment of power would be successful.
“He therefore chose to sacrifice—his words—his weakest, most disappointing son. That would be me. They died when I was gone, victims of the war. Different victims than we were. My brothers had no love for me—and I had three, Lord Kaylin. It was rare, among the Barrani line, to have four sons.”
“Daughters?”
“One. Adopted. I believe our father had hopes that she could be trained to withstand the tests the Consort must take, survive and pass. He was an ambitious man.”
Kaylin frowned. “But if you hated him—”
“—then why do I hate Dragons?”
“Something like that.”
“Because they destroyed my home. I was like any other angry Barrani child; I daydreamed of returning to the father who had dismissed me and forcing him to acknowledge me. Probably,” he added, sliding back into Elantran, “by killing him. I was not happy to be thrown away. But I found family in the others. I found companionship such as I had never known. I found people who wanted to trust as much as I did, even if they’d been told that it was foolish, stupid, weak.
“We didn’t give each other our True Names by accident—but we didn’t do it trivially, either. We’d all been told the same stories about the cost of it. I loved them. I still love them.
“Annarion was different. I think Annarion was the best and the brightest of his line. He said his brother had volunteered to come in his stead—because the risk to the line was too high if the experiment failed. You can’t imagine how I envied him.”
“Obviously their father didn’t agree.”
“Annarion refused. He refused because he was concerned and he was afraid—for his line—of the cost of Nightshade’s loss. He won that argument, but it wasn’t a short one, and Nightshade was not happy. And of course, you know what happened.”
Kaylin nodded.
“Annarion didn’t lie. He was afraid for his line. He thought—he believed—that Nightshade could govern and lead it, should their father fall. He never imagined that Nightshade would become outcaste—he never had nightmares about it, either. His confidence in his brother was absolute and unshakeable.”
Kaylin winced. She wasn’t sure if she winced on Annarion’s behalf, or on Nightshade’s. She could almost feel the anger of the younger; could certainly feel the guilt and the pain of the older. “Does family always work this way?” she asked.
“Not mine. And from the sounds of it, not most of ours.” Mandoran exhaled. “Teela loved her mother, and...I think we all would have liked her mother. But her father had her mother killed, and you know how that turned out. It’s easy to love someone completely for a handful of years—even mortal years. It’s not easy to continue that with the passage of centuries. It’s just not.”
“But you and your cohort have.”
“It’s the Name, Kaylin. We can see each other’s thoughts, feel each other’s feelings, trade information so naturally we forget it’s necessary to speak at all. We’re not one person, but we’re like one entity. Except Teela. No, don’t make that face—Teela is part of us. But she’s changed in ways we haven’t. And she can hide herself, guard herself, keep herself out of our heart.
“Sedarias accepts it the most easily, but Sedarias was the oldest of us, and her family was highly, highly political. Not all of us feel the same way. We don’t think Teela’s happy.”
“You think she would be if she relaxed?”
“Yes.” Mandoran exhaled. “And no. Annarion isn’t happy. He’s been unhappy since his reunion with the brother he loved and revered.”
“If it makes you feel any better, Nightshade’s pretty miserable, as well.”
“I thought it would,” Mandoran conceded. “But actually, it doesn’t. At all. I mean—if Nightshade had changed so much that he’d given up on Annarion, that he’d stopped caring about him at all, sure. But it’s pretty clear to everyone except Annarion that he never did. That he does, in fact, love his brother—that he’s never stopped. Sedarias believes that the reason Nightshade is outcaste is that he wouldn’t give up on Annarion, and he pushed the wrong people in the wrong way far too often. What do you think?”
“I think she’s probably right.”
“So, on the one hand, Annarion, who was homesick for centuries. On the other, Nightshade, who surrendered the rest of his life and position in order to find a way to return his brother home. You were that way.” Mandoran glanced at the mark on her cheek. “We can’t prevent Annarion’s pain. But we don’t want to destroy Nightshade, either. Well, most of us don’t. So mostly, it just sucks. It’s like—there’s all this warmth and family love and it’s causing nothing but pain. It’s a waste.”
A very loud Barrani voice broke the quiet. Mandoran slumped against the table, turning his face to the side. “That’s Annarion.”
“I know. I’m heading to bed.”
“You won’t be able to sleep.”
“That’s just shouting. Helen can keep that level of noise out of my room.”
“That level, yes. But they’re just starting.”
Kaylin nodded. “And I might as well get whatever sleep I can before nothing can drown it out. Who knows? I might be lucky. The midwives’ guild might have an emergency.”
Chapter 20
Kaylin did not consider this the height of luck four hours later, and cursed herself for her thoughtless, offhand comment. It was fine to complain after the fact. It was fine to complain if you did the work. But somewhere, some woman was struggling simply to survive the birth of her child—and Kaylin had made a joke about it.
“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” Kaylin demanded of her home.
“I woke you as soon as I had evaluated the message, dear,” Helen said.
Kaylin dressed in a rush of panic. “Where do I need to be?”
&
Helen keyed the mirror to life; its center filled, without fanfare or visual effects, with a very familiar face, its lines structured around an equally familiar expression. Marya was the head of the midwives guild, the über den mother. She had a temper that was constantly being challenged by the stupidity and the unfairness of the universe, although she claimed to be far mellower now than she had been in her youth. Kaylin was grateful she had never met Marya in that youth.
“Where,” she demanded, before Marya could open her mouth, “do I need to be?”
Marya said, “Keira is there. It’s not—” Her lips thinned. It wasn’t going well. Of course it wasn’t. They didn’t call Kaylin for normal births. They didn’t call her for difficult births often, either. But catastrophic ones? Yes. “It’s near Highpost.”
Highpost. Kaylin closed her eyes. “How long ago did Keira mirror in?”
Silence.
Kaylin wheeled, turning on Helen in a kind of helpless rage that almost demanded it be passed on or shared. “How long ago did the message arrive?”
Helen was unflappable. “Less than half an hour ago.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“Dear, I did.”
Kaylin was tying her bootlaces. The familiar was slumped across her shoulders, indifferent to the panic and the fear and the desperation that were fighting for control of her mind. She wasn’t going to make it. She wasn’t going to make it in time.
Teela had never understood this particular panic, although she’d seen it a few times; she’d been at Kaylin’s apartment when the mirror had started its blaring appeal for attention. The midwives were not the Hawks; Kaylin’s survival did not depend on them in any way. They didn’t pay her; her work for the guild was strictly voluntary.
The women who were in the midst of a delivery that the midwives thought was likely to kill them were strangers to Kaylin. She didn’t know them. She owed them no loyalty. She owed them, in Teela’s opinion, nothing. She could understand the mortal need to be of use—although this stretched the definition of the word understand, in Kaylin’s opinion. She couldn’t understand the panic. She couldn’t understand the dread weight of guilt that accompanied the thought of too late.
That had been an early argument. If Teela still didn’t precisely understand it, that didn’t matter; she knew what it meant to Kaylin.
Kaylin opened the door with so much force it would have bounced against the nearest wall had it been a normal door, a normal wall. Because it was part of Helen, this didn’t happen. She made a beeline for the front door, stopped, and rolled up her sleeve. The bracer was clipped around her wrist like a dead weight. It wasn’t—but it was going to be worse than dead weight tonight. She pressed the studded gems across the bracer’s length, and when it clicked open, she removed it and tossed it over her shoulder.
“Are you certain you should be doing that?”
She had her hand on the door handle; she had the door open a few inches. Turning only her head, she looked up the stairs to see Moran. She was not dressed for the office—which, in the past few days, meant very colorful clothing—but she was also not yet dressed for bed. She looked like her normal self: Hawk sergeant, undisputed ruler of the infirmary.
“I have to,” she said. “I’ll explain later.”
“You don’t need to explain later. Helen told me what’s happening.”
“Good. I’ll be back when I’m back.”
“Wait.”
Kaylin wanted to shriek in agonized frustration. She waited instead, but it was very, very hard.
“I’ll take you there.”
“What?”
“I’ll fly.”
A different panic struggled for expression and attention, but failed to gain enough of a foothold that it formed an actual thought. “You can’t.”
“According to Evanton—and you—I can. I’ll take you. That’s not a request.”
The desire to argue came and went, streaming past before Kaylin could catch it. “Fine. But hurry.”
* * *
While night air pushed hair out of her eyes, Kaylin’s second thoughts asserted themselves. Moran was larger than Kaylin, but not by a significant amount, and even Clint had complained about Kaylin’s weight when he was forced to carry it while flying, admittedly in a sort of good-humored way.
Moran was mortal. Moran was Aerian. Kaylin was living with a Dragon, and while it was technically illegal for Dragons to assume their scaled, racial form without Imperial consent, Kaylin was fairly certain Bellusdeo would be forgiven if she happened to break that law. Her weight was entirely insignificant to a Dragon of Bellusdeo’s size, and Bellusdeo had the grace, maneuverability and speed of the much-smaller Aerians while she was on wing.
Bellusdeo had been the target of assassins in the past—but Bellusdeo was harder to kill than any of Kaylin’s other friends, and she included the Barrani in that number. Moran was staying with Kaylin because it was safest. No assassins could reach her while Helen stood guard.
And Kaylin had allowed Moran to risk everything by flying her to Highpost, in the desperate hope she could arrive in time. She hadn’t stopped to think. She hadn’t assessed the risk. She hadn’t made the smart decision—wake up the Dragon—because she was still, on some gut level, used to working solo.
And if anything happened to Moran because of her own panic and her own inability to think on the spot...she couldn’t finish the sentence, even internally.
Moran, however, seemed to have none of the fears that Kaylin did. And she didn’t seem to feel Kaylin’s weight at all. She flew like an arrow, but on a straighter trajectory, and her expression was a sergeant’s expression. She understood what the job was and she understood how to get it done; nothing else mattered at the moment.
The familiar was no longer slumped across Kaylin’s shoulder; he was seated, tail curled around Kaylin’s throat for balance. He chittered like an angry bird but wasn’t glaring at Kaylin while he did so; he didn’t appear to be glaring at Moran, either.
“Do you know any useful words?” she asked the familiar; her voice was not loud in the rush of wind that followed Moran’s flight.
He squawked.
Kaylin scanned the skies, but it was night, and late. The moon was not full, and the skies were cloudy enough that they flew by the pattern of streetlamps below their bodies. The darkness wouldn’t have been a problem for the Dragon, either.
Please, please, please, Kaylin prayed. If we get there in time, if Moran stays safe, I promise I will think before I rush into anything else. Please.
* * *
Moran knew the city. She knew it well. She didn’t ask for directions because she didn’t need them. That was good, because the directions Kaylin would have given involved feet on the ground and the layout of streets. Running, she didn’t have the option of ignoring the buildings in the way of the straightest path, although she’d leapt yards in haste any number of times in her career.
What would have taken at least half an hour at a brisk pace—Kaylin couldn’t sprint for half an hour, no matter how much training she put in—took vastly less time by air. But she couldn’t translate what her feet knew instinctively into the bird’s-eye equivalent. She was grateful that she didn’t need to. She would have had to give Bellusdeo directions.
Moran dropped her in front of the right house; it was a narrow, cramped space, a door with walls that extended to either side to encompass other doors, which
Kaylin opened the door; it wasn’t locked. “Keira!” she shouted up the stairs. She didn’t bother to remove her boots; she did make certain Moran entered the cramped hall. The ceilings were low here—but low here was still better than the ceilings of her old apartment had been before the apartment had been reduced to rubble and splinters.
“Upstairs—thank god you’re here.”
Relief caused Kaylin’s shoulders to slump; the breath left her in a rush. But she caught it again and sprinted up the stairs, because “on time” was only barely a guarantee, and it could change at any minute. “I got a ride,” she said.
“Fine. Hurry.”
“The ride’s the best doctor the Halls of Law has.”
“Good. Tell your doctor that the father has passed out and I think he hit his head on something on the way down. She can see to him. We need you.”
* * *
The father had indeed hit something, as Keira had said, on the way down, and he wasn’t particularly lucid when he woke to the grim face of an Aerian sergeant; he thought the wings were hallucinations. Moran, however, didn’t look the angel that many religions seemed to favor; she was far too grim-faced for that. She was also annoyed. She considered the mother’s condition to be an act of fate, given relatively healthy pregnancy; she considered the father’s condition to be wilful stupidity.
Self-inflicted wounds were severely frowned upon in the Halls of Law, and the biggest frowns given were generally from the woman who had to deal with them. It made Kaylin, who was exhausted, want to cry sentimental tears.
The mother had lost a lot of blood; Kaylin had arrived only barely in time to save her. The loss of blood had caused trouble for the baby as well, and in all, the bed more resembled the aftermath of a bloody slaughter than it did a place of rest. Keira moved the mother when Kaylin said it was safe to do so. She was a good decade older than Kaylin, which, to Marya’s eye, was young, but she was brisk and no-nonsense about anything she could actually affect.