Cast in Flight by Michelle Sagara
Kaylin frowned.
“Told you,” Mandoran said as he turned to Kaylin. “He’s been fighting a constant succession war since the death of his father. It shouldn’t take more than another decade or two of your time before those challenges wither. Teela assumed you understood this.”
“And that has nothing to do with our current predicament.” Teela sent Mandoran a death glare; it didn’t faze him at all. “You do not know your father. Of your wings, you know only that they are of great import to the Aerian people—but not how or why.”
Moran nodded, shaking herself out of the web of memory that Teela’s words had evoked. “What was I saying? The praevolo. I believe, although again, it’s conjecture, that our ancestors did not suddenly find themselves in possession of a miracle baby. Birth is not quite the word used, but there’s no analogy that I can easily think of in Elantran. Maybe blessing?”
Kaylin stiffened, but said nothing.
“And it’s clear, given the stories, that the praevolo of that time could both fly—soar is the word that is used to refer to him—and fight. His prowess in both was considered proof of the benevolence and love of our gods.”
“And their existence, no doubt.”
Moran nodded. “I’m not terribly religious.”
“You’re a Hawk, which requires an entirely different kind of stupid,” Mandoran said.
“Mandoran,” Helen chided, as if she were his mother.
“Am I offending anyone?”
“In all probability, no,” Helen replied. “But you are offending me.”
Mandoran went still.
“Hazielle, my first tenant, was quietly and devoutly religious. Kaylin, my current tenant, is devoted to the Hawks. You are a guest here, and greater leeway is given to guests—but you will not insult them.”
“I insult Kaylin all the time!”
“He does,” Kaylin said, partly in his defense. Mandoran didn’t appear to hear her. He was staring at Helen, and Helen—or Helen’s Avatar—returned that stare with emphasis.
“Fine,” Mandoran eventually said. His voice was all sulkiness, except for the bits that were humiliation. Kaylin wasn’t certain this was smart, but even if it was her house, she wasn’t Helen.
“No, dear,” Helen said gently. “But that’s why you can be my tenant. I could never live with another presence that was too similar to me.”
Mandoran’s snort was rude, but wordless. Teela pointedly turned her attention back to Moran. “You think that the praevolo was magically created?”
“I think the power of the praevolo must have been, yes. We know that a flight’s worth of Aerians of both genders went into seclusion. They prayed,” she added with a hint of self-consciousness. “Those that were unworthy faced the wrath of the gods.”
“They died?”
Moran nodded. “They did not approach the gods with the proper humility and respect,” she added. “Believe that I heard this particular story frequently. I couldn’t make sense of it until I joined the Hawks. I had no idea how many gods crowded each other for space in Elantra until then.” Her gaze darted to Bellusdeo and away. “I didn’t entirely understand how dangerous the Shadows could be in a global sense until very recently, either.
“Be that as it may, I believe it was an investiture of power. And it worked.”
“But the power isn’t conferred that way now?” Kaylin asked.
Moran shook her head. “But it’s only the flights of the Upper Reach—or the offspring of those flights—that are born with the wings. It’s not a constant; there isn’t always a praevolo. We went three generations without one. But the birth of one—of me, in this case—implies that their power will be needed.”
“Has this proved historically true for the Aerians?” It was Bellusdeo who asked—of course it would be. If the genesis of Moran’s damaged wings was related in any way to Shadow, it would suddenly become hugely relevant to the golden Dragon. She had lost a world to those Shadows, and she had the memory of immortals. She did not forget for one second.
“I am not permitted to speak of that.”
“You aren’t permitted to speak of this, either, if I had to guess.”
Moran flashed a wry grin. “Technically, there is nothing in this discussion that circumvents the proscriptions. But...yes. Yes, they’ve been relevant. I’m aware that the relevance could be entirely in the hands of historians; historians weight everything with their own particular set of observations and meanings. And even if it was forbidden, and my discussion were to be discovered, the hands of the Caste Court are tied. I cannot be made outcaste.”
Kaylin had assumed, until this moment, that this was because she was special, that her unique gift granted her immunity to the judgments of the Caste Court. But memories of Lillias, and of Clint’s lecture, now blended together with Moran’s information.
“They can’t cut off your wings.”
Moran stiffened. “My wings,” she told Kaylin, “are not immune to damage, as you’ve seen for yourself. They could quite possibly cut off my wings, if they had enough power and the will to do so.”
Kaylin felt cold in the brief silence that followed. “The Caste Court doesn’t cut off wings.”
“No.”
“They remove them.”
“Yes.”
“Magically.”
“Yes.”
Kaylin’s Leontine response was loud and heartfelt. And long.
* * *
She wanted to ask if the wings could be put back. If they’d been magically taken off, why couldn’t they be magically returned? She wanted to ask how the wings were magically removed. How did that work? Could the Caste Court magically remove arms or legs, too? Or were wings like arms and legs? Once they were removed, did they rot?
Bellusdeo, however, had other ideas—and they weren’t bad or wrong; they just weren’t where Kaylin’s head was mired. Kaylin therefore surrendered curiosity and pulled herself back into the discussion at hand.
“Were all such emergencies of, or related to, Shadow?” Bellusdeo asked.
“You mean the ones I’m not supposed to talk about?” Moran replied.
“Their relative secrecy is less of a concern, I admit.”
The sergeant grinned. “I confess, Lord Bellusdeo, that you are not like any other Dragon I’ve ever met. I can’t give you a definitive answer, and not because of secrecy. I honestly don’t know.”
“But they believe—or you believe—that it is involved now?”
“I am not, sadly, in the councils of the Caste Court. If I am not outcaste, I am—what is your word?”
“Pariah?” Mandoran helpfully supplied.
“Yes. I am a relative pariah. Speaking to me will not immediately target an Aerian for Court censure—but befriending me would draw much more attention than the rank and file really want. And don’t make that face, Private.”
“What face?”
“The one which implies you’re about to storm off to the Halls and shout at the closest Aerians.”
“I won’t,” Kaylin told her, thinking of Clint. And Lillias.
“They have families. They have flights. They have, in many cases, children. Their concerns are very correctly with the people for whom they’re responsible. I am never going to be one of them.” Her voice softening, she said, “And I’m happier that way. I don’t want to be the reason their lives are destroyed. They don’t owe me that.”
“And you don’t owe them anything?” It was Teela who asked.
Moran’s smile was grimmer. “I’m a Hawk,” she said. “There’s that, if nothing else.”
To Kaylin, being a Hawk was not supposed to be a—a consolation prize. It was more, it was much more, than that. The tabard, the ranks, the laws, were supposed to be the thing that cut across the racial differe
“I’m proud to be a Hawk,” Moran told Kaylin, as if Kaylin had been shouting out loud. “I wasn’t very good at it, at first. As you might imagine, I didn’t relish authority. I didn’t trust people in power. I didn’t trust the people of my own rank—and the Aerians were colder than even the Barrani. But I was determined to show them all. To prove to the doubters that I could, and would, do the work. The same work.” She shook her head. “It’s hard. The Hawks don’t understand what my life has been like.”
“Have you ever explained it?” Teela asked.
Moran look horrified at the idea. “And become an object of scorn or pity?”
“It would have the advantage of being based on facts. As far as I can tell, you were already an object of scorn.”
“Perhaps. But not pity. Never pity. Do you know what would have happened to the Aerian Hawks if they knew the truth?”
Kaylin said, “Maybe you should let them decide whether or not it’s worth the risk.” But Clint—and she adored Clint—had made clear that to interfere in Moran’s business courted a fate worse than death. And maybe the rest of the Aerians would feel, did feel, the same way.
If Kaylin were Moran, and in Moran’s position, and that was what she could expect, Kaylin would be damned if she exposed herself to the hope of more. She understood why Moran had remained silent, then. If life was crap, you could accept it. There was no point having a temper tantrum, and in the wrong streets of the city, a tantrum would just hasten your death. You learned to accept what you couldn’t change, and you accepted it quickly.
Justice, fairness, kindness—you could rail against the lack of those things in your life. Kaylin knew, because she’d done it. And then, she’d set about trying to survive that life, because justice, fairness and kindness were simply not on the menu anywhere she could afford to eat. Figuratively speaking.
She knew that hope was worse, somehow. If you had hope that things would change, you stood on the edge of a precipice. You stood on the edge of an abyssal chasm. And if hope was betrayed, you ended up worse off than when you’d started.
Yes, she understood.
But she also understood that without hope, without that taking of chances, nothing changed. Nothing could change. It was something she hadn’t known when she’d first stepped foot across the Ablayne. It was something she had grown to understand with time.
“You’re being arrogant again, kitling,” Teela said.
Kaylin blinked. “Me? Arrogant?”
“Yes—in the most well-meaning way possible, but the end result is probably the same. You haven’t lived Moran’s life, she’s not asking for your advice, and you’re presuming that you can offer advice that would fundamentally improve her life.” Teela’s eyes were now blue green. “I personally prefer well-meaning, but would just as soon avoid condescension.”
“I never give you advice.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s just that I want—” To help. Kaylin bit back the rest of the words. Maybe Teela was right. But she didn’t feel powerful enough, significant enough, to be arrogant. To be condescending. Awkward, flushing, Kaylin turned to face Moran. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Teela thinks I have an obsession with Aerians.” It took her another minute to fully meet Moran’s gaze.
Moran, however, didn’t look offended. Gently, she said, “I’m like the corporal in one regard. I prefer well-meaning. And, Kaylin? The Aerians have taken you under wing—and that phrase has a different meaning for my people. They’ve been kind to you. They’ve offered you acceptance, understanding and tolerance. You have no reason to resent them.”
“I can’t resent them on your behalf?”
“I don’t resent them,” Moran replied. “And I don’t expect them to be perfect. You’re already upset at them, and they’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Shouldn’t they have to do something right?”
“Not according to Imperial Law, no.” When Kaylin failed to reply, she continued, “I don’t know what your life in the fiefs was like. I’ve never asked. You don’t know what my life in the Aerie was like. You’ve never asked. You assumed it was like the rest of the Aerian lives. The truth is harder, of course—but I often think we all have harsh, hidden truths. I would never have starved. I was not moved to theft or thuggery simply to keep myself fed or warm.
“I did whatever the Caste Court told me to do. I obeyed them. I tried—for years, I tried—to be what they wanted. There was only one thing left in my life that I loved, and I knew what would happen to it if I rebelled. And if I endured every insult, every beating, every ugly half-truth, in order to preserve the things I loved, how can I judge the rest of the Aerians for doing the same damn thing?
“How can I tell them what they should be doing instead? How can I tell them to put their lives outside the Halls at risk when I didn’t have the courage to do that myself?”
Kaylin was silent.
“You understand?”
And she did. It was why she still had trouble dealing harshly with beggars and street thieves. She’d been there, she’d done that, she’d been desperate. Were they breaking the law? Yes. On this side of the bridge they were.
She bowed her head a moment, found her voice and lifted it again. “Can we go back to the praevolo, or would you rather we not talk about it at all?”
“Let’s compromise. Once we leave the dinner table, you never ask me about it again.”
“Deal.”
Moran then turned to Lord Nightshade. “I don’t know how you came by your information, but I’d like to hear what your informant had to say. I consider my own sources to be highly dubious at this point.”
* * *
“Some centuries ago, I met an Aerian,” Nightshade began. “He was dar Carafel, a young man with magnificent wings and a strong dislike for politics. He had had some conflict with his flight, and when that conflict became dangerous, he fled. It was not possible to hide his wings—he was not a mage. Nor had he lived a life in which anonymity was essential. His father was a man of considerable power and considerable expectations.
“A child had recently been born to the flight, and that child possessed pale, flecked wings.”
Moran was silent.
“It was, of course, a cause for celebration—but not for the young man. Not for his father. The balance of power had shifted with that single birth. The newborn infant’s father gained instant respect and instant political support. The child was an infant, but the wings were significant, as I’m certain you are aware. The father of the Aerian with whom I spoke grew increasingly bitter as the praevolo aged. He grew to resent his son for the lack of those wings. I offered the Aerian shelter, and he chose, in the end, to remain within my castle.” He glanced at Kaylin.
Kaylin said, “The statuary.”
“Yes. What I know of the Illumen praevolo, I know from him. It is perhaps textured with his envy and his yearning; to him, the praevolo was both exalted and chosen. That child would have a life of luxury, a life of respect, a life of power.”
Moran’s face was about as expressive as stone, which, in a way, was expressive enough.
“The praevolo is born when there is a threat to the flights.”
“Was there one?” Moran asked.
“I do not know. If there was, it was never large enough to be made public.”
“What was his name?”
There was a long pause. “Karis.”
Moran’s eyes widened slightly.
“We spoke of the praevolo, and the significance of the praevolo. It was not theoretical, to him. He did not, however, understand all of the specifics. There were items that were associated with the praevolo; they had the weight of the Emp
Moran nodded slowly.
“You do not possess them?”
“I was a child. I was an illegitimate child. Nothing of the praevolo’s was given to me.” She hesitated.
He marked it.
“Nothing of significance.”
He nodded, then. “Your legitimacy has been questioned.”
“Yes. Constantly.”
“And you were not given the opportunity to prove your legitimacy.”
“Oh, I was,” was her bitter reply. “But never, ever publicly. The Caste Court did not know of my existence until I was almost seven. They were deeply suspicious of me, of my mother, when I finally came to their attention, and they tested me. Thoroughly.” She looked down at her hands. “I wish I had had a chance to speak with your Aerian. I would have told him what life as praevolo was actually like.”
Nightshade’s smile was slender, but genuine. “He grew less unhappy with the passage of time.” He rose; he hadn’t eaten much. He bowed to the table, and to his brother. “It is late, and I am expected at the castle. It was an honor to meet you.”
Chapter 6
Breakfast, the meal that Kaylin was never allowed to skip, was waiting. Moran had already come down from her room, and was speaking quietly to Annarion, of all people, when Kaylin entered the dining room.
“Where’s Mandoran?”
“He should be here shortly.” It was Helen’s disembodied voice that answered. “There was a minor accident in the training room this morning; I have been making adjustments.”
“Did it hurt him or you?”
“We are both quite fine,” Helen replied, which wasn’t much of an answer. But Kaylin had come to recognize that tone of voice. It was the only answer she was going to get.
Kaylin started to sit, but Helen interrupted her.
“Teela’s coming to the door. Tain is with her. Shall I let them in?”
“Yes, please.”
Helen appeared at the door to the dining room less than five minutes later, slightly in front of Teela and Tain. “Mandoran asks me to tell you that you will have to leave without him. He should be able to accompany you on the morrow.”