Cast In Fury (24 page)

“But—”

“And what you saw today is not what I saw. Not what the Leontines saw.”

She said, “It’s the marks again, isn’t it? The ones on my skin.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he twisted one hand suddenly in the air. Since every mage of Kaylin’s acquaintance worked differently—some in big ways and some in small—it didn’t surprise her. But he nodded after a moment and began to walk farther into the wreckage. He touched nothing that he wasn’t stepping on, and he made an effort to step on very little.

“Here,” he said at last. She half recognized the room from the layout of the floor. It was the baby’s room. She felt a twinge of unease, then, but said nothing.

He gestured again, and ran his fingers through his beard. The beard adopted black marks which he didn’t seem to notice.

They waited. And waited. And waited.

Kaylin finally said, “I don’t think this is the right spot—” She stopped. Because the black mess on the floor was not simply the charred remains of rug and broken wood. She hadn’t seen it clearly at first because any symbol she had ever seen had emerged from thin air, as if it were a butterfly pulling itself out of a cocoon.

This…was different.

Strands of soot slowly began to rise from the floor, taking shape as they twisted upward in a billowing spire. She had thought it black, but black was a color her eyes could understand, and this suggested the absence of color. Nor did it take a form, a sigil she could clearly recognize or remember—it swayed as it rose, and it seemed to Kaylin that it tried and discarded many shapes, before any single shape was fully formed.

Moving, amorphous, it was fascinating. And it was hard to look at, hard to look away from. It could devour the attention. It could, she thought, devour more.

“So,” Sanabalis said quietly. She tore her gaze away from the growing sigil—to look at the Dragon Lord. His gaze was upon her, and only her, as if her reaction contained all the information his spell sought.

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I imagine you don’t.” He turned to Severn. “What did you see?”

Severn shrugged, but it was a brief, terse movement, shorn of his usual grace. “Kaylin?”

“Shadow,” she told him. “It’s not…it’s not a sigil. Not the way they usually form. It’s—it won’t stick to a single shape, a set of lines. But…”

“You’ve seen it before.”

“How do you know?”

“You recognized it.” It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was also true.

“Sanabalis,” Kaylin said again. “I don’t understand. Why did the shadows appear here?”

“At the height of day?”

She nodded, then shook her head. “No—at all.”

“It is the source of the magic you saw,” he replied evenly. “And it explains much.”

“Not to me.”

“No, but you are not aware of the history of the Leontines.”

“And you are.”

He nodded. “Come. We must speak with the castelord.”

“And what are we going to tell him?”

“We are going to tell him to exhume a corpse. I believe that was what you intended.”

She nodded. “Sanabalis—”

“I will tolerate only so many questions today, Kaylin. I am weary. The telling was taxing, and the spell, more so.”

“It wasn’t a normal spell.”

“Astute.”

“Could anyone else have cast it?”

“Perhaps. Among the Barrani, and the Dragon Court. But it is an old spell, and it is not much in favor at the moment.”

She hesitated again, and he marked it; he was watching her like—like a Hawk. “The stories the Leontines tell—”

“Yes?”

“Well. One of Marcus’s wives has red fur.”

Sanabalis raised a brow. “A bold marriage. I am surprised that the Elders allowed it.”

“They allowed it because—”

“Because they live in a city in which the old tales and the old laws are not valued. Pardon the interruption.”

“He had to promise that he would kill any sons she bore him.”

“Yes.”

“But she’s only had daughters.”

“Then he is singularly blessed. And their fur?”

“Not red.”

“Good.” He began to walk away from the ruins.

“What if she’d had sons?”

“They would be killed.”

“But they’re
babies.
”

“Yes. But the Leontine you met, Kaylin, was one such child. I am certain of it. You saw the shadows,” he added.

“Sanabalis, you can’t be
serious.
You don’t expect me to believe that you can know—by the color of the
mother’s fur,
that a baby is somehow evil!”

“Very well. I can’t expect that.” He stepped into streets that were now deserted. “But in this case, what you believe is not my concern.” He turned to look over his shoulder, and his eyes were a dark shade of orange. “Please,” he said, in a tone of voice that took all cordiality out of the word, “tell me that it is not my concern.”

“It’s not your concern.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then the lower membranes of his eyes went up, hiding some of the fire of his gaze. “I believe I will also visit with Sergeant Kassan’s Pridlea.”

“You can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“You’re male.”

He raised a pale brow. “And the significance of this?”

“Men aren’t allowed in—”

“I am allowed to enter the domicile of any Pridlea that offers its hospitality.”

She thought about the Leontine mob in the streets, captivated by the sound of his voice. “Maybe.”

“We will visit,” he said. “But we must speak first with the First Son.” He looked at the sky. “And I believe you have less than two hours before Mr. Rennick is awake.”

The truth of the matter was simple: Marcus had
never
shown this kind of awestruck respect to a Dragon. Seven years she’d dogged Ironjaw’s steps, and admittedly for most of those seven there was a comforting lack of Dragons—but still. He’d been actively
hostile
to Tiamaris.

How was she expected to
know
the Dragons were somehow venerated by the
rest
of the Leontines? But clearly, they were. Although the mere presence of Sanabalis didn’t invoke the same silent wonder that his words had, it invoked almost obsequious manners from males who were used to knocking each other over in the streets. This made the trip to the coliseum seem a lot shorter than it had the first time she’d made it.

And the guards who had gotten into a fight with Severn to establish a pecking order? Suspiciously absent. Sanabalis walked, with gravity and in silence, down the steps to where Adar was standing in just as grave a silence, his arms by his sides.

She glanced at him, and then looked at the cages. Marcus was still on the wrong damn side of a closed set of bars. He was watching Sanabalis, and his expression was unreadable.

Sanabalis made his way to Adar; Kaylin veered off as they reached flat ground.

“Kitling,” Marcus said, his voice a weary growl. “Why is Lord Sanabalis here?”

Something about his voice…“Marcus, did you know what would happen if he came here?”

“He’s Eldest,” Marcus replied after a long pause. He glanced over her shoulder briefly, but she had his attention.

“What are they doing?”

“Bowing,” he replied drily. “You probably have about ten minutes before actual conversation starts. Why is he here?”

“We had a small problem,” she began.

“If he’s here, it couldn’t have been that small. Did you file an incident report?”

“With Mallory? I’d burn in the hells first.”

“Kaylin. He is your commanding officer.”

“He’s
acting
Sergeant.”

“And therefore deserves the respect due his rank.”

“He wants more than the respect due his rank.”

Marcus closed his eyes and ran his hands over them. She could almost hear him counting to ten, which would have been worse if he’d been on the same side of the cage as she was.

“Why is Sanabalis here? You can use small words if it helps.”

“We had a small problem in the Quarter.”

“And this caused the intervention of the Dragon Court.”

“He’s not technically here as a member of the Dragon Court.”

“It doesn’t matter why he came. He is what he is. The why, however, is of interest. To me.”

“There was magery in the Quarter.”

She saw the hair on his face stand on end. She saw his eyes shade into red. “Continue.”

She wondered, idly, how long the cage could hold him if he didn’t want to
be
in the cage, and decided not to press her luck. “A Leontine used magic. He tried to kill Severn and me.”

“He didn’t try very hard.”

Kaylin grimaced. The implied threat was a familiar one and she lifted her throat, exposing it to the claws that were flexing just out of reach.

“I thought—” she said.

“You didn’t think.”

“I
thought
that
if
we examined the traces of magic around the area in which it was used, we could find the signature of the mage.”

“You knew who the mage was.”

“Yes, but—”

“Kaylin, please, tell me Sanabalis is not here to exhume a body.”

She knelt by the cage and pressed her face as far as it would fit between the bars. “Marcus, we know magic must have been used on your friend—on the Leontine you killed. I wanted to prove that the source of that magic was the same as the magic used in an attempt to kill us. It makes sense. It’s
what you taught me to do.
”

His eyes lost some of the red, but by no means all. “I asked you,” he said, “to stay out of it.”

“Marcus—they were going to try you and find you guilty of murder. I don’t know what Leontine penalties for murder are, but you’re
not
guilty. Not of that. I’m a
Hawk.
You’re an innocent man. You can’t ask that of me. Ever.

“I don’t know why you’re staying behind these bars. I don’t know why you didn’t speak up. But Kayala, the rest of your wives—”

“It is
because
of my wives that I did
not
speak.” The snarl in his voice had so much edge Kaylin was half-surprised she wasn’t bleeding. “Tell me,” he said when his voice was under his control again. “What did Sanabalis do when he entered the Quarter?”

“Nothing until his carriage got stuck in foot traffic.”

“And when it did?”

“He…he got out and…he spoke. In a Dragon voice, but not in Dragon. I think…he was telling the crowd a story. But I didn’t understand his words,” she added. “Severn couldn’t place the language either.”

He looked at her. The red receded further, but gold didn’t take its place, not entirely; there was a gray to the eyes that she had glimpsed once or twice before. She didn’t understand what it meant.

Anger was easy.

“You don’t understand, kitling.”

“No, I don’t.”

“They will kill Sarabe. They will kill Sarabe and her sister. They will kill any Leontines who had the misfortune to be born with the taint. Sarabe is
my
wife. If you had for once in your life obeyed me, I would die. But Kayala is canny.

“I cannot surrender my wife to the Elders. I cannot surrender her to the First Son. I will die anyway, but now, so will she.”

“Marcus—”

“And so will the child,” he said.

“No.”

“Kaylin—”

“No. I promised his mother that I would protect him. I invoked that right.”

“You invoked?”

“The right of the Pridlea.”

“Kaylin, you are not her wife.”

“No—but I birthed him. I licked his lids clean of birth fluid. I held him. If it weren’t for me—” She swallowed, remembered the salty tang, the texture of fine hair against her tongue. “By Leontine custom, I
am
one of his mothers. And I won’t let anyone kill him. Marcus, he’s a
baby.
”

“Even if it were in my hands,” he said, “I do not think I could grant what you would demand.”

“It’s in your hands.”

“No, Kaylin, it’s not. It is now, in its entirety, in the hands of Lord Sanabalis.”

“He won’t kill a baby.”

Marcus was silent.

“Marcus, I won’t
let
him kill a baby.”

“It is a caste matter.”

“Not if it’s in his hands, it’s not.”

At that, large brows rose slightly, and then Marcus chuckled. It was bitter, but there was genuine amusement in it. “You don’t understand what he did,” Marcus said. “You don’t understand
why
he did it.”

“You mean the story?”

“I mean the story.”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters, Kaylin. Ask him.”

“I will. He means to visit the Pridlea after we finish here.”

“Ah.”

She hesitated and then said, “The baby is there, Marcus.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“When whoever it was…attacked us…he burned his house down. We escaped—but we had nowhere else to go.”

“We?”

“I took Marai there,” she told him. “It seemed like the sanest place she could be.”

“You…took…Marai…” He growled. “You had best hope that they keep me in this cage, kitling.”

“Yes, sir.” She rose from her crouch. “Marcus—you don’t believe—”

“What I believe is not at issue here,” he replied.

Kaylin nodded, squared her shoulders and turned toward Sanabalis and Adar. She took a step, and Severn was by her side in that instant.

“Be careful, Kaylin,” he whispered. But he didn’t touch her and he didn’t stand in her way.

“Lord Sanabalis,” she said, tendering him a very respectful bow.

He turned his head in her direction, and one of his silver brows rose. She’d managed to surprise him by being careful. She had also, judging from the sudden shift in his expression, made him suspicious.

She was truly tired of being careful in this particular way. Being careful seemed to mean—be something other than yourself. It was hard to do that for Mallory, but the alternative—losing the Hawk—was worse. Just.

It was harder to do that with Sanabalis.

But again, the possible alternative was worse.

She wondered if everyone who was polite and deferential and well mannered had to struggle so hard to be all those things, or if it came naturally to them. If it did, she envied them.