Cast In Flight. Michelle Sagara

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СКАЧАТЬ blurred a bit—and a mascot, not an actual full-fledged private, the Hawks and the Swords had, between them, managed to capture a Barrani criminal. He was wanted for a number of petty crimes, mostly involving drugs and prostitution. He had been taken to the holding cells, and he had been restrained; Barrani had been sent to guard him because mortal guards wouldn’t cut it.

      He had died.

      Restrained as he was, he could have put up a struggle against mortal guards, excepting only Leontines, and since there was only one of those and he was a sergeant, he was definitively not on guard duty. He’d had no chance at all against Barrani.

      It had caused the ugliest rift in the Hawks Kaylin had, until that point, seen. She’d seen impressive rivalries for things ranging from chairs, desks and pencil acquisition—but those rivalries had been, at base, friendly. The death of the Barrani prisoner—the helpless Barrani prisoner—had changed that. It had driven a wedge of fury, contempt, and not a little fear, between the Barrani Hawks and their mortal counterparts; it had made race an issue even if, in theory, they were all equal when serving the Imperial Law.

      Not everyone was upset about the death—but enough were. Enough had been.

      Petty Barrani criminals weren’t Aerians. Kaylin held her breath, reaching for her wrist. She’d already removed the bracer. She didn’t look to the Hawklord for orders. She didn’t look to Moran. She particularly avoided looking at Teela and Tain. She was certain they hadn’t killed the Aerians. And she was certain the Hawklord already knew who had. After the death of the Barrani, Records captures became mandatory for each of the holding cells that were in use.

      “Private,” the Hawklord said.

      Kaylin ignored him. She knelt across from Moran and her infirmary assistant. One Aerian was dead. Just...dead. His throat had been cut, and he’d been stabbed in the chest, close to, if not through, his Aerian heart.

      She placed her hands on the forehead of the second Aerian. He was—barely—alive. Everything was on Records. Everything. And that didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if the Hawks didn’t know she could heal. It wasn’t as if the Hawklord didn’t. The Emperor was aware of her abilities. Were they legal? No. But she could figure that out later.

      She sent the healing power of the marks on her skin out, into the wound. Someone had slashed his throat as well, but not deeply enough. They hadn’t taken the time to stab him through the heart, possibly because they didn’t have that time. It was the only thing she was grateful for. She heard Moran barking orders and felt a twinge of sympathy for the private on the receiving end. Belatedly, she hoped that private wasn’t actually her.

      The familiar was crooning, a wordless sound that almost managed to be musical, if music was slightly flat and occasionally squawky. She listened as she felt the wound begin to close.

      “Enough, Kaylin,” Moran said quietly.

      “He’s lost a lot of blood,” she answered, without opening her eyes.

      “We’re aware of that. He’ll survive on his own now.”

      “I can—”

      “You’ll be flat on your back for at least three days, according to Teela. You’ve done enough.”

      “But—”

      “Hawklord’s orders,” Moran added.

      * * *

      Kaylin was grateful that she was only a private by the end of that grueling day. The office was in an uproar—but Hawks in uproar generally gave very strong meaning to the words deafening silence. There were always exceptions, but for the most part, Marcus was in low-growl mode all day. It wasn’t considered wise to interrupt that or, more precisely, to draw his attention when he was in that mood.

      Because she was only a private, she had no idea who had murdered one of the two prisoners and almost killed the other. The Records of cell captures weren’t considered of relevance to privates. Or corporals. Or possibly even sergeants. They were above Kaylin’s pay grade, and for the long, long hours of that day, she wanted them to stay that way enough that she could ignore the insistent who would do this that rattled around her head. Someone had just thrown away his career, and quite possibly his freedom, in order to ensure that the assassins never had the opportunity to talk.

      Bellusdeo remained in the infirmary—on the inside, near Moran. Teela and Tain took up positions on the outside of the infirmary door, by command of their very growly sergeant. The surviving prisoner had not regained consciousness by the end of the day.

      Kaylin and Severn weren’t in the office for most of that day, though. They were out patrolling Elani Street. It was the first time in a long time that Kaylin appreciated petty fraud. She didn’t even grimace when she caught sight of Margot on the way to Evanton’s storefront.

      * * *

      “I don’t mean to be offensive,” Grethan said a moment after he opened the door, “but you look awful.”

      “It’s been that kind of day. Is Evanton in?”

      “He is. I don’t think he was expecting you, if that’s any comfort.”

      “Some,” Kaylin admitted. She frowned. “I look awful, or we look awful?”

      “Severn kind of looks the same as he always does. You look—”

      “Awful. Just me.”

      Severn shrugged, fief shrug. “I didn’t say it,” he pointed out when she glared at him. “I haven’t been a Hawk for nearly as long as you have. Before I joined the Hawks, I was a Wolf. We don’t have an office the way the Hawks or the Swords do. We don’t serve the same function. A death in the holding cells might be one of our assignments.”

      “It would never be a Wolf assignment.”

      “No?”

      “They don’t call in the Wolves if they can actually put the criminal in question in holding cells.” She exhaled. “Sorry. You’re right. But—it brings up all the old stuff. It reminds people of the last time. It’s just—” She shook her head. “I don’t want it to be an Aerian. I don’t want it to be anyone in the Halls.”

      He was kind enough not to point out that the Hawklord probably already knew who the killer had been. Her ignorance at this point was irrelevant; it was pointless to cling to it. She knew it, and hated the whine that underlay her thoughts. But the hells with it. She’d let her ignorance go when she was good and ready. Or, more likely, when the Hawklord was.

      She headed toward the kitchen, in serious need of cookies. Severn followed. Evanton was seated at the table, his apron a bit grimy, his expression a match for Kaylin’s. They eyed each other warily. Since it was Evanton’s shop, his bad moods took precedence over hers when all things were equal. Other than that, they shared.

      “I have had two visitors today,” Evanton said, going first. “Both Aerian, oddly enough.”

      “We had three, but they came together in a single group,” she countered.

      Evanton pushed the cookie tin in her general direction. “Both of the Aerians were from the Upper Reaches; they were representatives of castelords, or the Aerian equivalent. They felt it necessary to actually threaten me.”

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