Cast in Ruin (19 page)

“In those cases where the criminals were deemed exceptionally dangerous, or in those cases where the criminals escaped the Courts, they were to be hunted and retrieved. He therefore created the third—and the smallest—body of the Halls: the Wolves. The Wolves also served the Halls as investigators of a particular type.”

Diarmat didn’t appear to be pleased. On the other hand, he wasn’t breathing fire. “Why do you suppose the Eternal Emperor went to these extremes? Surely any breach of his orders constituted justification for the annihilation of those who showed such disrespect?”

Kaylin exhaled. Heavily. “That wasn’t covered in class,” she finally replied. “The fact that the Emperor saw fit to do so was enough. Our teachers aren’t paid to second-guess the Emperor.”

For the first time ever, Lord Diarmat cracked a smile. It was remarkably chilly, and just as remarkably brief. “Very good, Private. I will now ask you to answer that question, regardless. Your teachers, past and present, will not be held accountable for your response.”

“We’re part of his hoard.”

Diarmat raised a brow. Remembering just how contemptuous he’d been when she’d dared to use the word
hoard
on their first lesson, Kaylin stiffened. “Continue.”

Bastard. “I don’t understand hoard law well.”

“An understatement, but an acceptable demonstration of your awareness of your limitations.”

“Because I don’t understand hoard law well, I may be misinterpreting. I don’t understand how a hoard is defined, or how it’s chosen. I know that there’s something special about the choosing or gaining of a hoard, and I know it’s pretty much permanent. Dragons don’t have more than one, and they don’t walk away from it; they’re carried away in pieces, if at all.” She grimaced and slid back into High Barrani, momentarily loathing it. “Because I don’t understand how it’s chosen, I cannot speculate more on that. But the Emperor’s hoard is complicated and it is vast.

“The mortals in the Empire are part of it. He preserves them, as he can, because of that. In my opinion.”

“Very well.” Diarmat rose. “Your answer is crude and short, but I will accept it for the moment. Tell me, if mortals are part of his hoard, how can he destroy you so easily if you displease him?”

Beats me.
Kaylin stopped herself from shrugging. Again. “Just because we’re part of his hoard doesn’t mean we decide how we’re valued and how we’re either kept or tossed away.”

“Elucidate.”

She almost surrendered. Almost. Still speaking in less formal language, and trying to choose her words with care, she continued. “It’s like—say we’re apples.”

“Apples.”

She nodded. “You can generally tell when an apple is bruised just by looking at it. But that takes time. Even if you have that time, you can’t tell which apples are rotten at the core until you cut them. The apples that are rotten aren’t useful in any way. Those can be discarded. But if you want apples, you can’t discard
all
of them because some of them might be rotten. Or have worms. We don’t live for all that long. Our time, from birth to death, might pass without ever crossing the Emperor’s path.

“But in our view, the life from birth to death is long. We’ll see things the Emperor won’t have the opportunity to see. We don’t make all the decisions, but we’re part of the process. Maybe he guards mortals the same way he’d pick apples.”

Diarmat said nothing, but his eyes were once again bronze. Kaylin took this as a good sign, and continued. “Some of the mortals in the Empire find favor in the Emperor’s eyes. The Imperial Playwright, for instance. There are also positions for poets and various artists—sculptors, painters. There’s a position for a Mage Emeritus, as well.” She knew that the list was longer, and that Severn would probably be able to name each and every such position. “Even if the mortal’s life is brief, things can be created which last—and they come out of the mortal condition. There’s no way to know, at birth, which mortals will have those talents. There’s no indication, or no clear indication, by which to judge babies. We’re therefore all theoretically valuable because that potential exists.”

“Indeed. It is possible your reputation as a student is not entirely deserved. Very well. I have heard that your duties in the fief of Tiamaris are both onerous and necessary. I am therefore satisfied for this evening. I expect you to be on time two nights hence. I will have a few more questions, but at that time I will also begin to explain suitable methods of Imperial Address for those in your social position.”

Shock kept Kaylin suitably silent until she reached the main hall. She had no escort to direct her through those halls. The Palace Guard didn’t stop or question her, and she made it to the entrance without incident. The man who habitually greeted guests stopped her before she could escape.

“Private Neya,” he said in his clipped and well-enunciated speech, “Lord Sanabalis has requested a moment of your time.”

“Should I follow you?” she asked in Elantran. “I know the way.”

“He will be waiting in his function rooms, if you wish to proceed there directly.”

Sanabalis was waiting, as promised. Food, however, was also waiting, and it was infinitely more welcome than a dour Dragon Lord. She handed over the letter, which he received without comment, and took the chair he indicated—the one closest to said food—and began to eat. She was aware, as only an evening with Diarmat could make clear, just how lucky she was to spend time with a Dragon who didn’t demand formality.

“You appear to have survived your second etiquette lesson.”

“There wasn’t much etiquette involved,” she replied around a mouthful of soft bread. “But Lord Diarmat’s eyes stayed pretty much in the bronze range for most of it.”

“What was discussed?”

“The founding of Imperial Law and the Halls of Law.”

“I see. Did he ask about the subject of your investigation at all?”

“No. He said he’d heard it was necessary.”

“Good. You are never to bring it up. If he asks, you are to answer both truthfully
and
minimally. Is that understood?” She nodded.

“You are not, however, to withhold information from me.”

“Yes, Sanabalis.”

“I had no chance to speak with Corporal Handred. The difficulty along the border was notably less…intense. It was not, however, absent, and it has slowed the accumulation of language significantly. Did you discover any information of note in the fiefs?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure what it means, yet.”

“I am far too weary for games of caution; given your evening with Lord Diarmat, I am deeply surprised that
you
are not equally weary.” In case his meaning wasn’t clear, he added, “Tell me. If I am required to wait until you
are
certain, I might, in the parlance of the mortals, lose my temper.”

She cleared her throat, looked for water, and drank some of it. It didn’t really help. Wine might have, but that hadn’t been supplied with the snack. “Red says the corpses only look human. I think he’s blunted his scalpels. He’s going to request any information on nonmortal autopsies to bring back to the fief when he returns.” Seeing the color of Sanabalis’s eyes, she added, “I’m answering as fast as I can, Sanabalis.

“In our first foray into the streets for information, we heard something we haven’t been able to confirm.”

“And that?”

“She was alive. At least one of the seven women was alive when she arrived in the streets of the fief.”

“If you were unable to confirm this rumor, how did you come by this information?”

“There was an eyewitness. Two.”

“And they are credible?”

“No. It’s the fiefs. But they’ve got no reason to lie about this. Given it’s the fiefs, their best bet is to shut up, and stay quiet.”

“Did you bribe them?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t consider the bribe sufficient reason to lie?”

She did, but there were factors that made the lie very risky. “It wasn’t enough money to take that kind of risk. Tara can’t—and couldn’t—find this woman in the streets; she
can
find almost anyone else if she puts her mind to it. People are nervous about the Norannir; people are nervous about the Dragon. But…they seem to really like the Lady. We’ve put out word that this is being done on
her
behalf, and we’re waiting to see if any other word is delivered to the Tower.”

“Very well. Speak to the Arkon before you leave.”

It was too damn bad the windows here were invulnerable, because Kaylin considered falling to her death from them would be marginally less painful. The door wards to the Library were fully active, and Sanabalis didn’t bother to touch them; he left that to Kaylin. Her left arm was numb when the doors rolled open, but at least this time she didn’t have to push them.

The Arkon, however, wasn’t snorting fire in one of the distant rooms of his huge collection; nor was he consulting the hidden, liquid mirror at the very heart of the Imperial Palace. He was sitting behind the front desk—itself longer than the largest of the offices in the Halls of Law. He looked up as they entered, and waved. It wasn’t a greeting; the doors rolled close behind their backs. They didn’t close quietly.

Kaylin wondered if Dragon eyes in the Palace were ever going to be gold again. The Arkon’s were bronze, and it seemed, at a safe distant, that they were also bloodshot, something she would have bet against being possible. “Private,” the Arkon said, lifting his wizened face. She’d heard the word
cockroach
said in a friendlier tone, but as his hostility couldn’t hold a candle to Diarmat’s, she didn’t mind.

“Private Neya has a brief report to tend before she leaves the Palace,” Sanabalis said in quiet High Barrani.

The Arkon nodded. He set aside the small stack of cards he’d been writing on and rose.

“The corpses of the seven identical women don’t appear to be human. Or at least two of them; the coroner hasn’t finished his examinations of the rest.”

“I am aware of that,” was the frosty reply. “I received an unusual request from the Records in the Halls of Law, and I have yet to decide how to answer it.” Given his tone, one of the answers might be total destruction of said Records. Kaylin, no fool, didn’t ask what the request was; she could guess.

“Two witnesses in the fiefs claimed to have seen the woman whose image we captured in the crystal,” Kaylin said, moving right along. “They saw her before she died.”

The Arkon said nothing. It was a loud, brittle nothing and Kaylin wanted to be home and under her bed before it shattered.

“Did they hear her speak?”

“Yes, but she wasn’t speaking a language they understood. They thought she was drunk,” she added. “Because she seemed to be unsteady. She fell into the well, and by the time she was retrieved, she was dead. We’re attempting to find out if any of the other six were sighted, moving—or speaking—before their deaths. But…”

“Yes, Private?”

“The Tower thinks there is some small possibility that the arrival of the women occurred during the Shadowstorms that appeared in the fief before Tiamaris took the Tower. Tara’s memory of what occurred before Tiamaris became the Tower’s Lord isn’t clear or precise, so we’ve been collating what she does know.”

“You think it’s likely that
seven
storms appeared beyond the borders during Barren’s reign?”

Kaylin nodded.

“They are unlikely to occur again. Very well, Private. Thank you for your information; you may leave now. If any other corpses appear, you are to notify me
immediately.
I do not care about the hour; I do not even care if the Court itself is in session. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Arkon.” Still in one piece—and not notably deafened—Kaylin retreated.

Marcus hadn’t given explicit orders to report for debriefing. Kaylin was grateful. She went straight home. She even considered flagging down a carriage to get there faster, but she was short on funds, and the streets, at this time, were short on carriages. They were also short on open stalls and most pedestrian traffic. It was quiet and peaceful, and she’d been lacking both in the last few days. Days? Weeks. Maybe months.

She therefore walked slowly toward home, trading moments of peace for moments of sleep, something she rarely did. Her usual anxiety didn’t catch up with her until she’d unlocked her own door and stood in its frame, looking toward her mirror. Only when she saw its flat, reflective surface did she relax. There’d been no emergencies. The midwives hadn’t called her. Marrin hadn’t mirrored, which meant all was well in the Foundling Hall.

She made her way to her bed, crawled beneath it, and fished out the crate that still held the egg. Unwrapping it with care, she placed it on her pillow. She was awake enough to undress and fold her clothing; she was awake enough to wash herself—quickly, because the water was cold—and towel herself dry.

Then she slipped into bed, wrapped herself carefully around the egg, and listened, pressing her ear gently against its shell. It felt warm. She smiled because it felt warm, and slowly drifted off, wondering what would hatch from it, if anything ever would.

CHAPTER 13

Severn woke her in the morning. Morning, given the previous evening, wasn’t as much of an enemy as it usually was, and she woke to the aroma of food. Severn was cooking. He was also whistling something, and even whistling on-key. He stood where sunlight could reach him, and sun was streaming in through the open windows; his shadow was long.

“Teela dropped by,” he said without turning. “She tried to wake you up.”

Kaylin had no memory of that at all. “Are you sure?”

“I stopped her from upending the bed, if that helps.”

Kaylin laughed. “Was Tain with her?”

“No—but she had a message from Evanton she wanted to pass on.”

“Evanton?”

“Apparently.”

“He couldn’t mirror?”

“Apparently not.” He turned then; he was grinning. “Physical objects don’t travel well through mirrors.”

“Of course not—that would be useful. What did she bring?”

“It’s on the counter.”

Curiosity was a better incentive than work; Kaylin slid out of bed and slid into clothing. While she dressed, Severn said, “She seemed a bit surprised by the egg.”

“Surprised how?”

“She wanted me to explain biology to you.” He was smiling broadly. It wasn’t genuine.

“What did she say?”

“She
did
say that. But she touched the egg, Kaylin.”

“And?”

“It turned red.”

“Red.”

He nodded. “Red, orange, gold; it looked like a small, contained fire.”

“Did it—did it burn her?”

“Got it in one. It didn’t burn you, though—and you were in direct contact with it the entire time. She’s not happy,” he added.

“What did she say?”

“Oh, some Leontine, some Aerian, some Elantran. Strictly non-Barrani for about two minutes.”

Kaylin examined the egg; it looked the same as it always did in the morning. She placed it back in its crate, wrapped it with care, and shoved it back under the bed. “Does she know what it is?”

“No. She wants you to get rid of it, though.”

“Big surprise. What did she bring?”

Severn reached across the counter and lifted something: it was a sheath.

“How the hells did he know?” Kaylin asked as she crossed the room to take it from his hands.

“He’s Evanton. If I had to bet, Teela probably told him.”

She lifted the sword that she had taken from Maggaron, and took the opportunity to examine it closely. The blade was still much shorter than it had been the first time she’d seen it, but aside from that one huge shift in shape and form, it was solid. It was a clean, gleaming steel that held a perfect edge when inspected with the naked eye. Runes, however, had been carved in the flat of the blade on both sides.

“I’m glad Teela left,” Kaylin murmured as she swung the short sword experimentally in the air a few times. She could fight with long knives, but long knives and short swords weren’t the same species of weapon, and her sword training, given that she’d started it so late, was minimal.

“She wasn’t.”

“She’s a core part of the Exchequer investigation. Marcus is enough on edge about that he’ll rip out her throat for the usual minor infractions.”

Severn shrugged because it was true.

Kaylin picked up the sheath sent by Evanton. It was wrapped in what felt like leather, except at both lip and tip; those were steel of some sort. There were no words on the leather, and no engraving on the steel; nothing set the scabbard apart from any other utilitarian scabbard she’d ever seen. It suited her.

It did not, unfortunately, seem to suit the
sword.
Kaylin had sheathed many weapons in her life; she’d never before had the privilege of fighting with said weapon when she tried.

“Kaylin!” Severn shouted. “The sword’s glowing!”

The sword wasn’t. The runes were. Severn could be forgiven for skipping the details. He could also be forgiven for jumping as far out of the way as her small apartment allowed before he hit the wall. The sword swung her arm. It hit her chair. It cut her table. It separated parts of the mangy rug she used to absorb the sound of creaking floorboards. She hoped like hells that it hadn’t actually split the floor.

She wasn’t weak; she spent at least three days of any given week drilling and lifting weights. That probably saved some of her furniture, because she began to fight the sword for control of its direction. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the damn thing had started to speak, but it didn’t. Instead, it started to change shape, which was
so
not what she wanted.

Cursing in Leontine, and wishing she had the bulk that usually came with the language, she grabbed the hilt with her other hand and tried very, very hard to keep it still enough to put it
in
the sheath.

It took twenty minutes and some very cautious help from Severn before she managed to slide the weapon home. Only when she’d managed it did it suddenly cease to struggle.

“I want words with Evanton,” she said. She’d managed to bite her lip because one of the directions the sword had swung had connected her knuckles with the underside of her chin. Because she was in her apartment and no one, in theory, cleaned it but her, she didn’t spit the blood out.

“They’re going to have to wait,” Severn replied. “So is breakfast.”

They weren’t late. They weren’t late by a very small margin and a very fast run. Kaylin’s new scabbard hung off her waist by a thick and serviceable belt; she tried not to stare at it with either annoyance or suspicion when she walked between the guards that led into the Halls.

They went on a quick flyby of the office; Marcus was shouting at the mirror, which was a good sign for Marcus and a bad sign for whomever it was he was speaking to. She would have cleared the office after sign-in, but Caitlin caught up with her.

“Lord Sanabalis is waiting in the carriage.”

“What carriage?”

“The Imperial Carriage. Red is with him.”

Figured. “Where’s Teela?”

“The Barrani are in the Tower with the Hawklord.”

At least something was going right this morning. Kaylin tried to be grateful. “Tell Marcus Lord Diarmat’s not screaming for my head, yet.”

“That’s good to hear, dear. Marcus is screaming for his coroner back. Do you think Red will be finished sometime today?”

“Not according to Red. Sorry, Caitlin.”

Caitlin winced. “It’s fine, dear. Lord Sanabalis delivered a personal letter from the Arkon. Red’s duties in the fiefs are to be treated as emergency work.”

“Do they come before or after the investigation into the Exchequer?”

“I believe the Arkon considers them more important. The Emperor, however, has failed to mention them at all. Try to remember to eat lunch,” she added, giving Kaylin a push to ward the doors.

Sanabalis was waiting. He was waiting attached to eyes that were a pale copper. Red was utterly silent; he didn’t see a lot of Sanabalis, but he wasn’t stupid; he knew the color of the Dragon’s eyes meant Bad Mood. Kaylin, who had seen them tint orange more often than she liked, wasn’t as worried, but the carriage ride was tense and silent.

Also? The scabbard was making her legs itch. She wondered if this was the real reason Maggaron had looked so shocked when she’d asked him about a sheath for the sword. She’d have to ask him, if she had the chance.

They didn’t take the carriage all the way to the Tower; Sanabalis rapped three times on the roof as they approached the Ablayne, and a bridge that was, once again, congested. They got out, Red carrying a larger bag than he had the previous day, and began to make their way across the bridge on foot. Since a wagon was also making that crossing, and the bridge was lamentably narrow, it took ten minutes.

Sanabalis was snorting smoke by the time they hit cobbles again.

Kaylin waited until the air was clear to speak to him. “Are you heading out to the interior border?”

He failed to hear her. Given Dragon hearing, she didn’t ask again.

Morse was waiting for them when they reached the Tower. So was Tara; she’d been in the gardens, and it showed; she wore heavy gardening gloves, an apron that was more brown and green than the off-white it had been at some point, and a kerchief to keep her hair out of her eyes. Her eyes, however, were almost entirely obsidian when she approached. Given the color of Sanabalis’s eyes, this was not a comfort.

Kaylin hugged her anyway.

“My Lord is not happy,” Tara told her as she returned the hug. Someone could have said the same thing about either a husband or an injured puppy, in the same tone of voice.

“Neither is Sanabalis. And my Sergeant is practically spitting fur.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Because Red is here, and we need him in the Halls. Among other things. Sorry,” she added. “None of that is your fault. I have no idea, on the other hand, what’s irritating Sanabalis. Um, how is the border?”

“The Norannir guard the border at the moment. It is…stable…but the storms have been heavy.”

“The borders keep the storms contained, don’t they?”

Tara nodded gravely. “They have, in the past. But I cannot recall another time since my awakening when the storms on our borders have been so fierce, and so consistent.” She looked up at Sanabalis, who stood to Kaylin’s left and a few yards behind. “You will remain in the Tower today?”

“If it is acceptable to Lord Tiamaris.”

Tara said nothing. Instead, she removed her gloves and handed them to Morse, who seemed to be expecting them. “He is waiting,” Tara told them. “Red?”

Red detached himself from Sanabalis—and safety—and approached. “Lady.”

“Why do you hate the name Reginald so much?”

If there’d been a nearby wall, Kaylin would have hit it. With her head.

“Is this an inappropriate question?” Tara asked her when Red failed to answer.

“Ye-es.” Kaylin all but hissed.

“Why?”

“Because almost no one
knows
that that’s the name he was given at birth, Tara. He wouldn’t be called Red if he wanted them to know it.”

“Oh.” She turned to Red, who’d remained silent, and said, “Please accept my apologies. I am trying to listen less deliberately, now.”

His brows rose.

“She
is
the Tower,” Kaylin told him. She didn’t bother to whisper, because Tara was almost impossible to offend. “You’re standing on part of her. When you do that, she can pretty much read your mind. Think of the entire Tower, and the ground it stands on, as if they were Tha’alani stalks.”

Clearly, he visualized what Kaylin had just said, and the information didn’t exactly comfort him. “There are some parts of my mind it is not safe, by Imperial Dictate, to read,” Red told Tara. Tara blinked.

“But Imperial Dictate has no meaning in the fief.”

“Lord Tiamaris remains a member of the Dragon Court.”

“He does.”

“Imperial Dictate governs some part of his actions. I can’t—clearly—stop you from retrieving information, but before you speak of any of it, speak with Lord Tiamaris first. He knows the Emperor’s mind and the Emperor’s will better than any one in the Empire who isn’t a Dragon. It’s important that you understand what is, and what is not, public knowledge.” Kaylin caught the coroner’s arm as the doors rolled open, and she all but dragged him from the steps. She didn’t really want to have to explain the concept of public knowledge to Tara, because in Tara’s world, the only important secrets revolved around her duties to keep the fief free of Shadow, and she’d probably spend the better part of an hour—if Red was lucky—attempting to figure out why
he
equated the two. Explaining that he didn’t would take time; Kaylin knew this from personal experience.

Tara trailed after them, and Sanabalis and Severn pulled up the rear. Severn said something to Morse and Morse snorted; she waited outside.

Tiamaris was in the morgue. His eyes were a shade darker than Sanabalis’s, and if Kaylin had to guess, for about the same reason.

“It is,” Tara said quietly.

Both of the Dragons glanced at Tara, but reserved the brunt of their obvious glares for—who else?—Kaylin. Kaylin who had no idea what the actual
cause
of their unhappiness was, and had been relying, in silence, on base intuition.

“Red,” Tiamaris said, prying the glare from Kaylin’s face and adjusting his expression to one that was more neutral and vastly more respectful.

Red
bowed.
Kaylin was torn between shock and envy, because the bow wasn’t awkward, didn’t seem forced, and was likely to be one of the many, many things she would have to learn to do
perfectly
if she didn’t want to be Diarmat’s next meal. Which, she grimaced, Tara might take as literal fear.

“Oh, no,” Tara said, on cue. “I know the Dragons don’t actually
eat
mortals.”

Red walked to one of the empty slabs and opened his bag; he took out the long, cloth roll in which he kept scalpels, tweezers, pliers, and gods only knew what else. Kaylin frowned. Red had been silent in the carriage, which she expected given Sanabalis’s mood. But he’d been remarkably subdued when Tara had pretty much announced the most hated word in his past vocabulary, and he’d bowed to Tiamaris.

“Red,” she said, clearing her throat.

He continued to lay out scalpels, and he also drew a small mirror from the depths of his bag, which he laid beside them. “Private?”

“Did you get the Records information you were looking for?”

“Yes.” It was a curt, cool word. That tone of voice would usually have muted any further conversation, because Red, like Caitlin, had ways of making a person suffer when they’d annoyed him. It muted Kaylin for entirely different reasons, and it made his deep bow suspicious in exactly the wrong way.

But she no longer had the desire to pester Red while he worked; she had, instead, the much stronger desire to grab Severn’s arm and drag him into the streets of the fief, where they could do the work they were, in theory, meant to do while they were here. It was always a bonus when you could hide cowardice behind the facade of responsibility.

She chanced a look at Sanabalis; to her relief, he didn’t immediately return it. Red, however, had most of his attention, and Red moved very,
very
cautiously toward one of the bodies that he hadn’t yet touched. His scalpel hand was, to Kaylin’s genuine surprise, shaking—and he hadn’t even picked up a scalpel, yet.