Michelle Sagara – Cast In Courtlight (страница 3)

She said nothing, as it seemed safest. It usually was, and she frequently failed to remember this until after her mouth had engaged. “I don’t understand why you even think it’s necessary,” she said at last, when his silence grew a little too weighty.

He raised a pale brow. His eyes, Aerian to the core, were shading to blue, which was never a good sign.

“The Hawks don’t employ mages,” she said woodenly. “You are not a mage.” “Then why—”

He lifted a hand. “I have always considered patience a virtue when dealing with the Hawks,” he told her, “but I find that, as usual, you tax precious resources.

“Therefore, I will be blunt. You are a Hawk, but you are also—as you well know—blessed or cursed with magical ability. You can’t control it well enough—you don’t understand what it is, or what it can do. It is the opinion of experts that the power itself can be wielded in a manner similar to the way that mages channel their power.”

Which experts?

“Do not even think of asking, Kaylin.” He knew her far too well.

“It’s Festival,” she snapped. “We’re up to our armpits in work—if we’re lucky. We’ve just gotten the tally of so-called diplomats and Important Visitors—” she managed to wedge a powerful sneer into each syllable of the last two words “—and we’re undermanned, as usual.

“I don’t have time for this right now.”

“I will agree that the timing is not the most opportune,” the Hawklord said in a tone that implied the exact opposite. “But as the timing is not of our choosing, we have little choice.

“I understand what you’re attempting to do, Kaylin,” he added, his voice smoothing to velvet. “And I will now insist that you cease this. It is unworthy of you. You can insult and infuriate every mage who crosses the threshold on my behalf, if it pleases you. But they will not stop coming. Do you understand?”

She didn’t.

He raised a hand to his brow. As gestures went, it was human, and even if it hadn’t been, it was transparent. “The Emperor himself has taken an interest in your education.”

They were not the words she expected to hear. They were also the last words she wanted to hear. Unfortunately, lifting her hands to stop her ears wasn’t an option.

“How much does he—”

“He is the Emperor. It is to the Emperor that the Lords of Law are beholden. How much do you think he knows?”

The words too damn much flitted about, but she tried to ignore them.

“You fought a Dragon,” he added quietly. “You fought the only Dragon who has ever survived being outcaste among his kin. The battle was felt all the way to the palace. Some diplomacy was necessary—you can thank Tiamaris for his intercession—and there was, perhaps, a surfeit of actual facts offered. But enough was said. The Emperor knows that you bear the marks.”

Her eyes fell to her sleeves automatically; they always did when anyone spoke of the strange writing that ran the length of her arms and her thighs. They had been symbols to be hidden when she had been a child on the edge of adulthood; she knew them now as words. Or names. But whose words and whose names were still mostly mystery—and in Kaylin’s universe, it was vital that they stay that way. She was used to them, in any case; the new ones bothered her more.

“He is,” the Hawklord continued, “also aware that you bear a Barrani mark.”

“Everyone is,” she said.

“Were it not for Tiamaris, he would not be inclined to … give you the benefit of the doubt. He has shown some forbearance in this. But he has made clear that you present a danger if you cannot be trained. And it seems that you intend to demonstrate your intractability in the worst possible way. For you,” he added, as if it were necessary. “I will send for another member of the Imperial Order of Mages.”

She was stony silence defined.

“If you happen to offend him before the week is out, you will be suspended from active duty. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

She was aware that he had just won someone the office betting pool, but could not for the life of her remember who. Just as well. She waited for a few minutes, but he had turned from her, and was now studying the opaque surface of the room’s long mirror. The fact that it was opaque made it clear that whatever he was looking at was keyed to his eyes alone.

She started toward the door.

“One other thing, Kaylin.”

“Sir?”

“If you are late for any more of these lessons, it will come out of your pay.” “Yes, sir.”

Kaylin and punctuality lived on separate continents. Another happy source of petty betting in the office. She looked at his profile; he hadn’t bothered to look in her direction.

But something about his expression was stiff and wrong. She watched the lines around his mouth deepen until his face looked like engraved stone, but less friendly. Whatever it was he was looking at was something he didn’t like—and at Festival time, Kaylin could honestly say she had no interest whatsoever in knowing what it was.

She chose the better part of valor and left. Quickly.

Tain, his black hair flowing in a healthy trail down his back, was at the center of the crowded office when Kaylin made it back down the stairs. As he was the only Barrani in attendance, it answered a question, albeit not a pressing one.

He smiled as she slid silently through the open arch and along the nearest wall. Even without breathing, it was impossible for her to sneak up on a Barrani Hawk; she knew. She’d been trying for seven years.

“Kaylin,” he said, looking up. His eyes were that shade of bottomless green that made jewelry superfluous. It meant, on the other hand, that he was happy. Or as happy as any Barrani ever got when they weren’t killing someone or winning some invisible-to-human-eyes political struggle.

If Leontines were incapable of acting, Barrani were their opposite; they were incapable of not acting. Immortal, stunningly beautiful, and ultimately cool, they had a quiet love of showmanship. It had taken her years to understand that, as well.

They were, however, plenty capable of being smug, which Tain was now demonstrating to the office staff; he had coins in his hand.

Had she won, she probably wouldn’t. But there was no such thing as a friendly bet among the Barrani, and no one—not even the men and women who were nominally his equals in rank—wanted to be in the wrong kind of debt to a Barrani.

Still, it didn’t stop them from betting. She prided herself on being the person who had introduced the office to this pastime; it was one of the few that she’d enjoyed in her childhood. Then again, anyone who grew up in the wrong part of town—the huge neighborhood known colloquially as the fiefs in the right parts of town—enjoyed gambling. There wasn’t much else about the life to enjoy.

Certainly not its brevity.

She shrugged and made her way to Tain. “You won?”

“It looks that way.” His teeth were chipped; they made his smile look almost natural. They also made him obvious to anyone who hadn’t known the Barrani for months. They looked so much alike, it was hard for humans—or mere humans, as the Barrani often called them—to tell them apart. Much malicious humor could be had in mistaken identity—all of it at a cost to the person making the mistake.

His smile cooled slightly as his gaze glanced off her cheek. There, in thin blue lines that could be called spidery, was the mark of Lord Nightshade—the Barrani outcaste Lord who ruled the fief that Kaylin had grown up in. The mark meant something to the Barrani, and none of it was good.

If she were honest, it meant something to her. But she couldn’t quite say what, and she was content to let the memory lie. Not that she had much choice; Lord Nightshade was not of a mind to remove the mark, and short of that, the only way to effect such a removal also involved the removal of her head. Which, according to Marcus, she’d barely miss anyway, given how much she used it.

In ones and twos the dozen or so Barrani—well, fourteen, if she were paying close attention—that were also privileged to call themselves Hawks had been brought by either Tain or Teela to look at the mark.

In one or two cases, it was a good damn thing Teela was there; they were almost unrestrained once the shock had worn off, and the restraint they did have was all external.

Kaylin had gotten used to this.

And the Barrani, in turn, had grown accustomed to the sight of the offending mark. But they didn’t like it. They didn’t like what it meant.

Kaylin understood that the word they muttered under their breaths was something that loosely translated into consort. Very loosely. And with a lot more vehemence.

Pointing out that marking a human in this fashion was against both Barrani caste law and Imperial Law had met with as much disdain as Kaylin ever showed the Barrani.

“Fieflord, remember? Nightshade? Not exactly the biggest upholder of Imperial law?”

But she didn’t take offense. It was hard to; they were Barrani. A Barrani who wasn’t arrogant was also not breathing. And in a strange way, it was a comfort; they were enraged for her.

Of course, there was a tad more possessiveness in that anger than she’d have ideally liked, but beggars couldn’t be choosy.