Cast In Courtlight. Michelle Sagara

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СКАЧАТЬ the same time. Kaylin had a word for people who could spend money on magical clothing, but it wasn’t one she wanted to use where said person might actually hear it, given how synonymous money and power actually were in this city.

      Red. “Arcanum,” she said in a tone that was usually reserved for the more colorful words she knew.

      “Lord Evarrim,” Severn added. “He’s persistent.”

      “He’s not alone.”

      “I’d noticed.”

      There were four guards with him, but they were dressed in a less obvious fashion. Where less obvious was armor that glinted beneath translucent surcoats. They wore their hair beneath wide bands, but they wore it Barrani style; capes that fell well past their shoulders. They were, of course, of a height, and they walked in perfect unison.

      “You feel like jogging?” Severn asked, without moving.

      “Not much.”

      He shrugged. “You’ve got thirty seconds.” His words sunk in. “I’m not leaving you here.” “They’re not interested in me.”

      Her turn to shrug. “They’re not interested in the Dragon Emperor either, and these are pretty damn crowded streets. I’ll take my chances.”

      “Then let’s keep walking, shall we? The Halls are only four blocks away.”

      Four long blocks. Kaylin nodded. Whatever animosity there was between them had turned sideways and vanished. They had time to squabble later. For now, they both wore the Hawk, and if Kaylin’s had seen better days, she was still proud of it. It was one of the very few things in her life that she’d worked to earn, and consequently one of the very few things she accorded real respect.

      At block two, Lord Evarrim seemed to notice that Kaylin was walking toward him. Kaylin was underimpressed with the quality of his acting; it was good, of course, but it was cheap. Lord Nightshade would never have stooped to pretense.

      Then again, he owned any street he walked in, so pretense was kind of superfluous.

      “Private,” he said, nodding to Kaylin as if she were just barely worthy of notice. “Corporal.” The rank still rankled. Kaylin came from the Leontine school of acting, but struggled not to let it show anyway.

      “Lord Evarrim,” Severn said, bowing. He hadn’t bothered to sheathe his dagger, and Lord Evarrim hadn’t bothered to notice the weapon. His guards were slightly more critical, but as swords were considered more of a public menace than daggers—and gods alone knew why—they didn’t draw weapons in the open streets.

      They didn’t have to.

      Severn did not come from the Leontine school of acting; he appeared to be both polite and deferential. It was a Barrani trick—the more polite and deferential you looked, the less of either you actually felt.

      This, Lord Evarrim did notice.

      “I hope the Festival season is uneventful,” Lord Evarrim continued after a minute pause. “And I hope it finds you in good health.”

      “And you, Lord Evarrim.”

      “You are, I believe, new to the ranks of the Hawks,” the Barrani Lord said. He looked bored, but his eyes were a clear green—a dark green that held hints of blue.

      Severn nodded.

      “But the private is not. Private Neya.” Blue now, definitely blue. What the Barrani could keep from their faces, they couldn’t keep from their eyes; like Dragons, like Aerians, like Leontines, the color of their eyes told a story. In this case, it was a chilly one.

      “Lord Evarrim,” she said, striving to match Severn’s tone.

      “I believe you keep company with a member of the High Court.”

      “I keep the company of Hawks,” Kaylin said carefully. Not that it’s any of your business.

      “Good. See that you continue to do so.” Blue was not Kaylin’s favorite color. He lifted a hand and Severn took a step forward. Four Barrani guards did likewise; the street, where they were standing, became a lot more crowded.

      “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Kaylin said softly.

      Severn stepped on her foot.

      Lord Evarrim’s smile did not reach his eyes, but his eyes darkened. “The mark is no protection here, little one. Remember that. No Barrani Lord is required to heed the mark of an outcaste.”

      “And no outcaste,” Severn replied before she could speak, “is required to heed the law of the Dragon Emperor.”

      There was a silence; it followed and engulfed the Hawk’s words.

      “We will speak later,” Lord Evarrim said at last. “After the Festival.” He turned and walked away, and red swirled around his feet like blood.

      They picked up the pace. “What was that about?” Severn asked her when he was certain the Barrani Lord had passed beyond hearing.

      Kaylin, less certain, took her time answering. “I think it was a … threat.”

      “Got that,” Severn said. “Why?”

      She shrugged. Any answer that made sense wasn’t one she liked. She wondered what Teela was doing. It was better than wondering what was being done to her. But at least she no longer felt tired.

      The guards at the front doors were Swords. She recognized them, but she didn’t stop to talk; they were slightly officious men and she was clearly underdressed.

      She passed beneath the vaulted ceilings of the Aerie; it was almost empty. One lone Aerian flew across the cavernous space, his gray wings unfolding beneath colored glass. Severn tapped her shoulder gently, and she remembered that she was late.

      She made it to the doors, and through them, at her usual speed—a dead run, with a small pause between two Hawks that she did know. They were almost smirking.

      “Tanner,” she said to the taller of the two, both humans, “how much trouble am I in?”

      He laughed. “It depends.”

      “On what?”

      “On how much Iron Jaw fancies entertaining an Imperial mage. For an hour.” She cringed.

      Iron Jaw, as Marcus was affectionately called—depending on your definition of affectionate—was indeed speaking with a man who wore the robes of the Imperial Magi. They were gray with blue edges, a hood, and an unseemly amount of gold embroidery that faded under dim light.

      The fact that the mage wasn’t shouting was a hopeful sign; the fact that Marcus wasn’t puffed out like an angry cat was better. His arms were folded in front of his chest, and he’d chosen to abandon his chair, but that might have been because the paperwork would have hidden him otherwise.

      She could hope.

      Severn peeled off just before she reached the office, СКАЧАТЬ