Cast in Flight by Michelle Sagara
Clint was there. He was not alone. He wasn’t wearing the Hawks’ tabard, either—but none of the dozen or so Aerians who were standing beside and behind him were. His expression was forbidding.
Moran said, curtly, “I don’t need an escort.”
Clint said nothing just as curtly, which was a neat trick. Clint, however, had always been of the strong-and-silent variety. The oldest of the Aerians present stepped forward and lifted his wings in a kind of salute. “It is not an escort,” he said. “It is an honor guard.”
“I really don’t need an honor guard. You’re all Hawks. You’re all on duty.”
“We are on leave,” he replied. “And we will provide the escort you are due. We have not been what we should have been in all the years you have worked in the Halls of Law. That is our shame. We have failed you.
“We are done with failure, praevolo. We will be the honor guard your position demands. And it is not, perhaps, merely as an honor guard that we will be necessary. You have faced assassination several times. You will not face it alone again.”
Moran’s expression was pure sergeant: unfriendly, forbidding and ill pleased.
Teela, however, said to her, “The Hawklord did not demand you remain. You threatened to stand down, if I recall. They are not different, in that regard. They are not on active duty at the moment; they have taken a leave to do what they feel needs to be done. They are acknowledging previous failures in the only good way they can: by refusing to continue to fail.
“I am not, of course, praevolo. I am not Aerian. But were I, I would accept what they offer.”
“And if another attempt—or worse—is planned?”
“I do not think the Arcanist has any inkling that you will attend that meeting in person,” Teela replied.
Moran’s wings flicked as she surrendered. She did it gracelessly, in Kaylin’s opinion; she certainly didn’t actively improve the morale. But it was clear she didn’t have to. What the Aerian Hawks wanted from her they now had: permission to do better. Permission to offer her the honor that had been conspicuously—Kaylin had not realized how conspicuously until very recently—absent.
There was a lightness to their eyes, an odd majesty to the line of their wings, a clarity to their expressions, that she’d rarely seen. And it came to her, watching them, that the last occasion had been during the defense of the High Halls, in which Aerians had died.
She understood Moran’s reluctance then. And she understood that the reluctance was wrong. Moran had claimed the robes, the bracelet and the flight of the praevolo, and maybe there were responsibilities that came with the claim, one of which was to accept that men and women would be willing to fight and die for her—and that some of them probably would. Die.
People didn’t flock to the Chosen the way they flocked to the praevolo. Kaylin had, in her childhood, daydreamed of receiving the kind of attention Moran was now receiving—and she was reminded, again, that she’d been an idiot. Daydreams weren’t reality. Daydreams could never be reality.
Only when she was a child had she believed that the two could become one. She clambered up on the Dragon’s back with Severn’s aid, frowning.
“Bellusdeo?”
“Yes?” The Dragon’s voice shook the ground.
“Have you gotten bigger?”
“I am not sure that is ever a politic question,” Teela pointed out.
“Why?”
“Never mind, kitling.”
“What? Am I saying something rude?”
“No,” Bellusdeo answered. “It’s not rude. I wouldn’t advise that you ask that of any of the Barrani—or most mortals over a certain age—that you meet. For some reason I do not understand, they frequently take it poorly.”
“And you don’t.”
“No. But for Dragons, size is power.”
“The outcaste,” Teela said in a cooler voice, “is very unlikely to be present.”
Bellusdeo did not reply.
* * *
A Dragon and a dozen out-of-uniform Aerians rose from the carriage yard into the open skies. Beneath her feet, Kaylin could see the people in the streets below as they looked up, and up again; several pointed. Not all of the people were aware of what was going on above their heads, but that was understandable; when Kaylin wasn’t on duty, she sometimes forgot to look at anything higher than her shoes.
“Are we ready for this?” she asked Teela, shouting to be heard.
“I am.”
“You’re enjoying it.”
“I’m not bored.”
“Boredom is underrated,” Tain told her. “I’ve only come to realize it in the last year. I could do with another two decades of quiet before I found it boring.”
“I don’t like the quiet,” Teela replied. “I can be quiet when I’m dead.”
“Which is going to be sooner rather than later at the rate Kaylin’s been going.”
This was hugely unfair. This situation had nothing to do with Kaylin. Not directly. Why is it always my fault? she asked Severn.
She could feel his amusement, his affection. It isn’t, of course.
Then why do they always blame me?
It’s like the conversation after dinner the night the Emperor visited. You’re safe to tease, and it gives them something in common. All of your friends in the office have always teased you.
Caitlin doesn’t.
No, but she’s more like a substitute mother. Imagine what Teela would be like if she didn’t.
Teela as a mother filled Kaylin with instant dread. You win. She fell silent as the Aerie came into view.
* * *
From the ground, the Southern Reach looked like a lot of fancy cliff side. Up close—and Kaylin had been a visitor on a handful of occasions, most in her early years at the outskirts of the Hawks—it was more complicated. There were caves, and the caves were natural; she wasn’t certain how they’d come to exist, but didn’t question it. She didn’t really question why there was ground beneath her feet when she patrolled, either.
But the caves had been worked, the way rough stone was; some of the working had been magical in nature. She could see the muted colors of faded sigils. The Reach was divided into social tiers by both centrality and height. The more important your flight, the higher up the cliff face you lived, the single exceptions being the outlying caves, which were almost entirely natural.
Those had been Moran’s early home.
The rooms that Helen had provided for Moran had been very much like that early home. Kaylin imagined what Clint’s reaction to seeing them would be, and snickered. If he now considered Moran praevolo, he’d probably find them insulting or inappropriate.
Or maybe not. Maybe he’d understand that it was where Moran felt most at home. She hadn’t really had a home for a long time.
To no one’s surprise—or at least not to Kaylin’s—the Aerian they were to meet had either residential or meeting rooms at the peak of the Southern Reach. At this height, winged guards patrolled the skies; two of them, armed, headed out to intercept Bellusdeo. When they drew close enough, Kaylin could see that their eyes were Barrani blue—and no surprise there, either. Aerians against a Dragon had about as much chance as an untrained human against a Barrani or Leontine.
These guards were trained, however. They flew maneuvers that were tight, they kept a respectful distance, and they stayed in their patrolling formation.
It did take a bit of time to find an appropriate place for Bellusdeo to land. Bellusdeo wasn’t fussed, but the Aerian guards were. Kaylin could almost see the argument the golden Dragon was having on the inside of her head, but she came down on the side of don’t cause unnecessary difficulty with the Imperial Court. It was probably why they were friends. Bellusdeo had as much difficulty with the restrictions of political life as Kaylin did.
The landing space was, to Kaylin’s surprise, well accoutred; it was not a level or two down, as she’d expected.
Severn found this amusing. How many Dragons are likely to pay a personal visit to the Aerie?
Oh. She could imagine the Emperor’s reaction. The Emperor had no difficulty whatsoever with the restrictions of Imperial political life. He’d probably take offense, and in general, offending the Emperor was otherwise known as suicide.
She was less impressed by the obvious magical protections, and the small dragon, so much a part of her that she could—and did—forget that he was there when he wasn’t actively biting her hair, rose up on his haunches. She thought of his scarf-like posture as his bored Barrani posture. When he sat up, it wasn’t generally a good sign.
But she didn’t need him to sit up to realize that if the Emperor was accorded the respect due his rank and station, he was also accorded the respect due his power. There was so much magic in this giant room that Kaylin was surprised there was any space for anything normal. Like, say, stone.
Moran came in at the same time as Bellusdeo. She landed very, very lightly on her feet, her injured wings spread as if to imply she didn’t require ground. With her came the twelve Hawks.
Greeting them were Aerians Kaylin privately dismissed as the equivalent of Palace Guards. They were, to a man, blue-eyed, but their attention was split evenly between the golden Dragon—now human-sized and encased in scale armor—and the praevolo. Whatever had happened to change the way the Hawks saw Moran hadn’t made it this far up into the rarified atmosphere.
The two groups—Hawks out of uniform and Palace Guards, by any other name—sized each other up with about the same amount of friendliness their grounded counterparts usually displayed.
None.
But there was no attack and no exchange of insults; each group was aware that bad behavior on their part would reflect poorly on the people they served.
Teela hadn’t bothered to ditch her tabard; neither had Tain. Severn was in Hawk gear, as was Kaylin. Moran was praevolo; Bellusdeo, Dragon.
Into this room walked an Aerian. He had chosen to enter on the ground, which was unusual; Kaylin wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one. He did have wings; they were high and stiff, his eyes, blue.
The small dragon squawked. Loudly.
Bellusdeo, frowning, looked back at the familiar.
The Aerian who had entered the room looked at the familiar as well, his eyes narrowing, his expression betraying actual surprise. His face was about as warm as the stone floors, and about as animated, otherwise.
The small dragon lifted a wing, almost casually, and laid it against Kaylin’s face—without smacking her first.
But the Arcanist lifted a hand as well, and Kaylin threw herself to the side and ducked as the air just above her shoulder burst into blue flame.
* * *
As the start to a delicate interaction, it wasn’t promising. Kaylin had her hand around the familiar before a second bolt of blue fire was launched, not that it was likely to protect the familiar.
For his part, the familiar roared. Although he was not otherwise in the large form he sometimes adopted, his voice suited it; it was like listening to Dragon rage, up close and personal.
Bellusdeo moved, as well.
Teela, however, raised a brow and lifted only a hand. Kaylin’s arms, which were already tingling as if slapped, went numb—as if a sharp, impossible pain spike had passed through them.
Severn’s weapon chain was already spinning. The Aerie had very, very large rooms and very, very high ceilings—it was the ideal space for its use.
The only person who didn’t move a muscle was Moran. She met the gaze of the Aerian who was clearly the Arcanist with folded arms.
“I suggest you contain yourself,” she told him, her voice the kind of loud a sergeant’s can get—all volume, no screech. “If you accidentally injure Lord Bellusdeo, the Aerie will be worth less than ash to the Eternal Emperor. The room itself is impressive,” she added. “But it’s not nearly enough to contain an angry Emperor.”
“I don’t think it’s the Emperor he’s afraid of,” Bellusdeo added. She sounded so subdued, Kaylin was instantly on her guard. Or more on her guard.
The Aerian’s eyes had narrowed into blue slits.
“The familiar,” Kaylin told him sharply, “is mine. If you try to harm him again, I’ll let him breathe on you.”
“And you can stop him from doing so?”
She looked at him as if she thought he was an idiot. Mostly because she did. “Yes. He’s eaten dinner with the Emperor. The Emperor, incidentally, didn’t panic and attempt to reduce him to blue ash.”
“That was not the purpose of that spell.”
“Don’t bother. The particulars don’t matter. If you have some issue with his presence in the Aerie, we can meet on the ground. You’ve clearly spent some time there recently.”
The familiar squawked.
“Do not attempt to harm the Chosen or her familiar,” Bellusdeo said, letting a rumble enter her voice. “I will consider it a hostile—and illegal—act, and will be forced to respond. In kind.”
* * *
The second time the familiar lifted his wing, no one moved—not even Kaylin. Severn’s weapon chain was readied, and his back was, broadly speaking, pointed toward the wall. In the Aerie, this would make a difference. No one wanted to fight while retreating here—retreat in the wrong direction and, unless you had wings yourself, the resultant fall would kill you.
The Arcanist had thus far failed to introduce himself. He didn’t correct this oversight now. His wings rose enough that Kaylin thought he might take flight, a distinct possibility in this cavern. He held his ground.
Kaylin looked at him. She had expected—or even hoped—that she would see Shadow in him or around him; that the familiar’s wings would indicate instant villainy. This didn’t happen.
She’d assumed that he’d tried to take out the familiar to protect himself. If the familiar were dead or gone, his wings would reveal nothing. She was, or had been, wrong. The Arcanist had no prior experience with the familiar or his abilities—why would he assume that he could somehow show Kaylin something that shouldn’t be seen?
Seen through the familiar’s wing, the Aerian looked exactly the same as he did when viewed the normal way. And if he had nothing to fear from the familiar, why had he launched that magical attack?
What he said next surprised her. “How can you carry that thing on your shoulder?” He’d recovered enough of what Kaylin assumed was his usual poise to convey disgust with a smattering of outrage.
Kaylin didn’t dignify the question with a reply. Instead, she looked at the rest of the room, bristling as it was with occupants. The small dragon didn’t generally lift a wing to cover her eyes unless he wanted her to see something. Since it clearly wasn’t the Arcanist, her gaze moved on.
It came to rest on one of the Aerian guards. The small dragon crooned in her ear. The man looked Aerian, even seen through the translucent mask. His wings were gray, but not black and not speckled; he was almost as tall as Teela, but that wasn’t unusual for Aerians. She wasn’t certain what had caught her eye, but something had, and as she stared intently at him, his lips curved in a smile. It was faintly mocking.
And she realized what it was, then: his eyes were the orange-gold of cautious Dragons.
* * *
To Kaylin’s shock, he turned toward the Arcanist and breathed. Fire cut a swathe through the guards that stood between the Arcanist and the Dragon. She didn’t even wonder which Dragon he was—there was only one he could be.
But the fire didn’t reach the Arcanist; it killed two Aerians, but failed to kill the other four, because it was met, halted, by a similar fire that pushed it back. Bellusdeo had breathed, as we
Teela had moved into position between the Dragon and the Arcanist; Kaylin’s skin almost screamed in protest as the Barrani Hawk used magic. In her role as a Hawk, she almost never did; magic was confined to small, practical and nonthreatening things, like lighting a very dark room.
This was not that magic.
“It’s not an illusion,” Kaylin shouted. Every word that the Arkon had spoken about outcastes returned to her as she looked at the Dragon-eyed Aerian. For one panicked half second, the rest of the Aerian guards were frozen. When they moved, however, they didn’t move to defend the Arcanist they were, in theory, protecting. They moved into a defensive position around the outcaste, making it clear who their leader actually was.
The Arcanist shouted something in Aerian—Kaylin barely caught the gist of it. The Aerian Hawks, however, were hearing their mother tongue, harshly and quickly spoken, and they responded to what they heard. They didn’t treat the Arcanist’s words as commands. Even if they were of a mind to do so—and Kaylin highly doubted any of them were—they had their priorities.
They’d come to the Aerie as honor guards for the praevolo, the real one. In a firefight of this nature, it was around that praevolo that the Hawks grouped. This left Kaylin and Severn on their own for the brief moment of time it took Bellusdeo to shed all semblance of her human form. When she roared her rage—with fire—it came from the full throat of a very large, very angry gold Dragon.
The outcaste roared back. His eyes were orange now; they were not the bloodred that spoke of an almost killing frenzy. Whatever the Arkon thought the outcaste wanted—or had wanted—from Bellusdeo, what he would get if he dropped his guard here was death. To give Bellusdeo credit, if it were at all possible, it would be a short, brutal one.