Cast in Flight by Michelle Sagara
“And you.” Moran turned to Kaylin. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it right now.”
“I’m not—”
“I mean it. I’m getting a headache looking at you, and I have already had enough headache for one damn day. If you don’t want to be busted back down to mascot, cut it the hells out.”
Kaylin blinked.
The world shifted. When she dared a glance at her left shoulder, the familiar—in his small and squawky form—was perched there looking very much like an owl that had caught all the mice. All.
She stared at him. He met her gaze, his opal eyes wide—and small, and contained. In spite of herself, she shuddered. He leaned forward and bit her ear.
* * *
One Dragon rose from the floor of the giant cave, and it was clear he had control of his movements.
“Eternal Emperor,” Moran said.
“Sergeant dar Carafel.”
“I cannot allow the fight to take place here.” The respect due an absolute monarch wasn’t entirely absent, but it was close.
“No, of course not. Release the members of my court to me, and we will carry the fight to them.”
“A word of advice?”
“Very, very cautiously and respectfully offered?”
“Your Majesty.” She bent her head; it was as much a bow as she would offer. “He does not intend her death.”
“You think he will not harm her?”
“I think he does not intend to harm her,” was the quiet reply. “But if I understand what I’ve heard here, he has caused her far more harm without that intention than anything else she has faced. She will kill him if she can.”
“Of course. She is a Dragon.”
* * *
“We’re going to have to talk,” Kaylin told her familiar. “I mean it. We’re going to have to have a long talk.”
He squawked, which was very disheartening.
“You are going to have to have it at home,” Moran said firmly.
“But I—”
“You are shaking as if the temperature is cold enough to freeze water. And it’s not cold.”
“I don’t—”
“I mean it. You are going home, or you are going back to the Halls of Law, where you will be strapped to a bed until you recover.” She folded her arms.
Kaylin felt, oddly, like weeping. “But, Moran—the flight, the Dragons, the—”
Moran lifted her face to the skies. “Corporal!”
Clint came down.
Kaylin cursed in Leontine under her breath; Aerian hearing was very much like human hearing. Moran, however, was standing beside her, an arm still wrapped around her shoulders. “You know we’re not on duty, r-right?”
“You think that’s going to make a difference?” Moran grimaced; it was very slight. When Clint was close enough to hear her without the need to raise her voice sergeant-style, she said, “Take Kaylin back to the Halls of Law and deposit her in the infirmary.”
Kaylin’s jaw dropped. “We don’t even have an infirmary anymore!” But the truth was, she was shuddering. She was cold. She was exhausted.
Clint didn’t argue. He glanced at Kaylin and shook his head. “Praevolo—”
“And if you call me that again today, I’ll break your right arm. Don’t test me,” she added. “I have a meeting with the Caste Court—or as much of it as we can find—and I’m in a foul mood.”
Chapter 30
Clint was silent for half the flight from the Aerie. Although Moran had told him to take her straight to the infirmary, he stopped, flying to his own home first. There, he borrowed blankets, his wife hovering in a silence weighted with questions. She didn’t ask anything out loud, but clearly Kaylin wasn’t the only one who intended to have a long and involved conversation later.
She did, however, wrap Kaylin in a blanket designed for Aerians, and her expression was much gentler as she did so. “It’s good to see you. You should visit more often.”
“I have no doubt—at all—that she will,” was Clint’s reply. It was very, very neutral in tone, which earned him a glare from his wife. He removed Kaylin as quickly as he possibly could, but his wife was not going to be rushed.
* * *
“I like her.”
Clint raised a brow. His eyes were the Aerian version of gray that implied calm. Kaylin thought of the way Clint had fallen to one knee in front of Moran the last time she’d entered the Halls of Law. There was very little that Moran could command that he wouldn’t do. It was a disturbing thought.
Kaylin, for instance, would obey any order the Emperor gave, especially if she was standing in the vicinity of, say, his figurative jaws or his literal breath. But it wasn’t because she revered him. It was because he could reduce her to her component parts without blinking an eye.
Kaylin would obey any order Marcus gave her, because that was her job. It wasn’t her life. At one point, she wouldn’t have been able to separate the two—but Clint was a Hawk, and Clint was an Aerian, and Moran had become, in the course of a single significant day, his life.
If Moran—no, if the praevolo—gave Clint an order, he would obey it. If Moran told Clint to do something that broke the law, Kaylin wasn’t certain it would matter to Clint.
And that, she told herself uneasily, is not my problem. It’s none of my business. But...they were all Hawks. Their personal lives were part of their work, because their personal lives were part of who they were, and they brought that to work.
In Moran’s absence, Clint became more himself. On the other hand, he did deposit her in the temporary infirmary. He didn’t strap her to a bed, because the meeting room only had two, and they were narrow emergency cots; he did tell her to sit in one of the many chairs. He then stood by the door.
“She didn’t tell you to stay here.”
“No.”
“I’m not injured.”
Clint said nothing.
Kaylin cursed. In Aerian. He said more nothing, but folded his arms.
* * *
Moran came to the infirmary what felt like days later. Clint implied heavily that her whining had made it feel like days for him as well, although it had been a paltry four hours.
Moran was wearing the colorful dress that the praevolo wore during ceremonial occasions. She was also wearing the Hawks’ tabard. She had been wearing it when she had first arrived at the Aerie.
Moran frowned, but it was a familiar frown. An infirmary frown.
“What,” Kaylin asked, “did the outcaste want?”
“Power, I think.” She frowned. “The outcaste did approach the Arcanist claiming to be praevolo. The Arcanist was justifiably suspicious—but my own wings had not yet become public knowledge. He claimed parentage—illegitimate—of the dar Carafel clan; he chose an Aerian who had died decades in the past as his father. Two Aerians accompanied him; they confirmed that he had lived in the Southern Reach, but not in the higher peaks.
“He did not wish to publicly make that claim, not immediately; he flattered the Arcanist, implying that he had far too much to learn about the duties of the praevolo. Instead, he set about proving that he had the abilities expected of him.
“The Arcanist has some influence with the Caste Court. In time, he arranged to have the outcaste take the most dire of our tests: he donned the bracelet. Because he lacked the wings, the ceremony was conducted in privacy, but most of the Caste Court was in attendance. I believe he hoped that the pretender would fail; he had begun to have doubts.”
Kaylin already knew that it had not destroyed him. “How convenient for him.”
Moran grimaced. “He was thus provisionally believed. But he did not have the wings.”
“I don’t understand why—if he could make himself look like an Aerian—he didn’t. Why couldn’
Moran shook her head. “I don’t know. I told you that I had worn that bracelet once. It was a test. But the bracelet didn’t destroy me, either. There had never been two praevolo before, and I had the wings. The Caste Court was split.
“But the Arcanist began to question things, and as time passed, he became less certain of the outcaste. He knew that the outcaste was attempting to harness the power of the praevolo, but that power was not—and is still not—well understood. Not even by me.” Her smile was rueful.
“When I was injured, when I could not fly, it was ‘proof’ that I was a fraud. The outcaste—and his supporters—pushed heavily for my death. But the Arcanist’s worries were gaining traction among the Caste Court, and it was the Arcanist who pushed for the Oracle. It was also the Arcanist who talked the Caste Court into allowing the three items out of the Aerie. It was the outcaste who created the enchanted statue given to Margot, and the outcaste who created the enchantment worn by the human who visited her.”
“Did the Arcanist expect that they would end up with you?”
“He hoped, at that point. Or so he says.” Her smile was sardonic. “They did end up with me. I did wear the bracelet. And I flew. At that point, the outcaste was pressured into taking a more active role. He suspected the Arcanist of treason—there’s not another word for it—at this point, and he once again proved that he was praevolo by denying the Arcanist flight.
“And then an appointment was made—with the Arcanist, who was always under observation—and we arrived.”
“What did the outcaste want?”
“I think he wanted to understand how the praevolo harnessed and controlled Shadow.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t feel like Shadow, to me—but it wouldn’t, would it? And according to the Arcanist, he did learn. He learned enough that my control of the Aerie and its skies could not control him. And it makes sense. He lives—according to the Imperial Court—in the heart of Ravellon. He can command the Shadows that move and think and speak, but he cannot use them the way the praevolo use their own power.” She stopped speaking and stared at a pristine tabletop. “What do you think I should do with the people who believed that the outcaste was the praevolo?”
Kaylin shrugged, a fief shrug. “If they’ll serve you?”
“At all.”
At the moment, Kaylin didn’t really care. She tried to see the world from the eyes of the grounded, misled Aerians, and couldn’t. Kaylin was certain that the would-be assassins that characterized Moran’s first few days with Helen would be found among the Aerians Moran had grounded.
They were just following orders.
Kaylin had once followed orders that were very, very similar. She wanted to believe it was different. She could argue that she had been a child at the time. But she’d followed orders because she was afraid of what would happen—to her—if she failed. She hadn’t obeyed Barren because she worshipped him; she hadn’t obeyed him because he was almost a deity. She’d obeyed him because he had hurt her, and would hurt her again if she failed.
She wanted these Aerians punished. She wanted them punished for doing what she had done. And why? Because it meant Moran had all the power? That Moran was no longer going to be their victim or their target?
“You’re thinking,” Moran said.
“Teela says I think very loudly.”
“She’s right. You do. I’ve gotten used to Helen explaining what you’re thinking,” she added.
“You could just ask me.”
“I have, once or twice. Helen’s answers make more sense.”
Kaylin exhaled. “I was thinking about my answer to your question.”
“And?”
“I don’t trust my own answer. I want you to take their wings. And I hate the idea of it. I want you to throw them out. I want them to suffer for trying to kill you. For killing your mother or your grandmother. For removing Lillias’s wings. For treating you so badly when you should have been treated well. I want them to pay.”
“So...you see my problem.”
Kaylin nodded. “I guess that’s why I’m not Emperor.”
“You’re not telling me to do it.”
“It’s not my decision.”
“And if I said I’d leave it in your hands because I owe you so much?”
“I’d say it was a terrible way of showing gratitude.”
Moran’s smile was looser, more natural. Her wings, however, were still larger than life. “Then I won’t. I don’t feel that it’s a decision I can make. But I don’t feel that I have any choice.”
“If they choose to leave the Aerie, will they be outcaste?”
“Yes. But...not in the normal way. I don’t think so many people have been made outcaste at once in our history. In theory, murderers are still Aerians. In theory, so are thieves and petty criminals. We have our own way of dealing with crime.”
“Lillias—”
“Yes. People are people, no matter how lowborn or highborn they are. Some will be exemplary. Some...won’t. The same is true of humans, of Leontines, of Barrani. Maybe it’s less true of Dragons. Lillias did not deserve what happened to her. In all possible ways, it was a gross miscarriage of justice; it was a gross abuse of power.
“But I can’t give back what was taken.”
Kaylin’s shoulders sagged, because she realized that was what she’d been hoping for. In the midst of Dragons and Arcanists and outcastes and Shadow, she had wanted Lillias to get her wings back.
“I can reinstate her name. I can return that to her family. I can tell people the truth, over and over again, until they understand what Lillias sacrificed for my sake. And I will. But I can’t give her back her wings.”
“Why? If they could be taken—”
“They were destroyed, Kaylin. And the praevolo isn’t a maker. If you cut off a man’s leg, you can’t just grow him another one while he waits.”
“But...you could give her back flight?”
Moran glanced at Clint. He met her gaze, his own clear. “No.”
“But you gave me—”
“While she is physically with me in the Southern Reach, she could fly. I could keep you in the air while I touched you; I could stop you from being dashed against the rocks. But her wings are gone, and I have no way of returning them. Being outcaste was not meant to be reversible.”
“Could she—could she go home?”
Clint and Moran exchanged another glance, and this time, Clint exhaled. But the look he gave Moran was less tinged with awe; it was normal. For Clint. “Kitling, when someone is made outcaste, they lose their family. They lose their flight. They are a shame, a stain. If Lillias is exonerated, she will no longer be that shame. But her family turned their wings to her. Her family cast her out, just as the flights did.”
“But they were wrong—”
“Yes. And now they know it. Guilt is not a comfortable home. Lillias has made a life for herself. It is not her old life.”
“Can’t you at least let Lillias decide that?”
Moran bowed her head. “Yes. But sometimes the burden of decision isn’t a kindness.”
“Are we going home?” Kaylin asked.
“For tonight, yes. We are going back to Helen.”
“You aren’t going to stay.”
“For tonight I will.” Moran’s smile was weary. Whatever power or authority she had assumed in the Aeries had deserted her; she looked as tired as Kaylin felt. “But yes, as you suspect, I can no longer make my home with you and Helen.” She sounded as if she regretted it.
“Your wing is better,” Kaylin said, as they headed toward the door.
Moran flexed it, but said nothing. Neither did Clint.
* * *
Helen was waiting for them. Moran had insisted on walking, although flight
Moran pulled ahead and approached Helen, who stood in the door frame. Helen opened her arms, and the Aerian sergeant walked into them, dropping her forehead into the space made of collarbone and shoulder and neck. Helen held her for a long, silent moment, and then pulled her into the house; Kaylin trailed behind.
“No, dear,” Helen said—to Moran, although Moran hadn’t spoken. “I don’t think there is any reason to retire from the Hawks.”
“You don’t know the Caste Court.”
“Well, no. I am not certain that I want to, either, if we are being honest.” Helen was always honest. “Given the actions of the Caste Court, however, I think it is safe to disappoint them.”
“Again.”
“I do not believe they are disappointed now. It is conjecture, of course, but if I had to choose a word, I would hazard terrified.”
Moran laughed. “I want a bath.” To Kaylin, she added, “You can join me if you want.”
* * *
Helen’s voice remained with them, but the rest of her went off to help Mandoran. Again.
Moran relaxed into the hot water, tilting her head back against a convenient stone ledge.
Helen appeared in the room—without actually opening doors or walking—standing to one side of the outcroppings that had formed around the hot springs’ water. She looked at Kaylin’s familiar with some concern, and spoke to him.
Kaylin couldn’t understand a word of it. Neither could Moran. The familiar could; he lifted his head, opening a single eye as if Helen’s questions were both wearying and boring.
Helen’s voice grew louder, and the room seemed to lose some of its perpetual sunshine.
Kaylin poked the familiar. “You’d better answer her questions.”
Squawk. Followed in turn by even more squawking. Almost all of it beside Kaylin’s ear.
Helen looked at Kaylin, and at Moran. “You are certain that’s what you saw?” she finally asked the younger Hawk.