Michelle Sagara - Cast In Flight

“Moran’s mother did not immediately reveal the child. She was poor, even by the standards of the flights. She was considered fine-feathered, strong, healthy—but she was of no good flight. She bore a child, hidden, with only her own mother in attendance. But the child was Illumen praevolo.”

Kaylin opened her mouth to ask the obvious question, but before the words could fall out, Evanton reached out and placed a hand over hers. He shook his head, his expression implying that an interruption wouldn’t just break the flow of words—it would dam it entirely.

Lillias spoke the words as if they were almost a prayer. Given Lillias’s constant hesitance, Kaylin filed the words Illumen praevolo away for later use.

“Had she gone to the Upper Reach immediately, it is likely the child would have been removed from her and passed off as the legitimate issue of a more suitable man—and that is why she did not do so. She kept the child hidden until the child could no longer be hidden.

“And so, the flights came, at the whispered rumor that a praevolo had been born. Before you make that face, understand that humans are not the only sellers of dreams and fraud. The rumor was not given credence until it grew; such rumors are always with us in the absence of a praevolo.

“She was underfed, undereducated, undertrained. Were it not for her markings, her wings—so unlike her mother’s—she would have been considered mediocre at best. But she was, indeed, praevolo. They could not deny it and did not try. They offered the mother respect, praised her for keeping the child alive and hidden. They bade her to continue to do so, flew her to new quarters vastly larger and better appointed, and left to make their report.

“The castelord was enraged at what he considered the waste of it. A child who might have been a boon if born to the Upper Reaches was now a weakness. Had she been just another—what is your word? Bastard?”

At Kaylin’s stiff nod, she continued, “She would have been insignificant. But the castelord felt that she had illegitimately taken hold of the equivalent of an artifact, something to which she should not have been born, and of which she could never be worthy. The Caste Court decided, at that time, that her death was regrettable, but necessary. If she perished, the wings would return again, and this time, they would be watching, they would be alert. They would not make the same mistake.”

Kaylin hadn’t touched her tea; if she were drinking it, she’d’ve choked.

“It was the Caste Court’s decision to make.”

Kaylin hated the laws of exemption with a blinding passion at this moment, because Lillias was talking about the perfectly legal murder of a child. She managed to contain every visceral Leontine phrase that tried to tear itself out of her mouth. “Moran’s still alive,” she said. “Did they decide to wait and see?”

“No. An attempt was made. Three attempts were made, actually. Two involved poison. Neither poison was successful. It was assumed that the poisoner was incompetent, or deliberately treacherous. As it happened, they were neither. They poisoned the food. The child ate the food. The poison failed to take effect, and the child did not die. Her mother, however, did.

“History was then studied, but our historical records are not like your Records. The castelord could find histories of the deaths of the praevolo, but not one had fallen to disease or poison. Not one died in childhood of the things that might otherwise take the young.

“And so it was decided that she would have to die in a different fashion—history did record other deaths; the praevolo were not immortal or invulnerable. Moran’s grandmother died in the third attempt. Moran had servants, of course, but they did not serve her, and they were ordered to other duties that day. The child was alone with her grandmother.

“Not all of the servants who absented themselves intended to turn a blind eye. One traveled some distance up, to find someone who would listen—and care. The orders were quiet but absolute—they were not meant to leak down to the people beneath the Upper Reach, as there was some concern that the decision would not be popular.

“Someone intervened. Not in time to save the grandmother, but in time to save Moran.”

“But wouldn’t they just try again?”

“They would, yes. They would have. But Moran’s wings were then made public. She was flown—no, Kaylin, she flew—through the entirety of the Aeries; through every crag, every valley, to every peak of the Southern Reach. She wept and she raged and she soared until flight was the only thing she felt, the only thing that mattered. And we saw her. Upper Reaches to Outer, we saw her. We knew that she was Illumen praevolo. Every one of us.

“They could not kill her then.”

“But they’re trying to do it now?”

“She cannot fly,” Lillias said, as if that explained everything.

“She can’t fly yet.” And this was going to get them both nowhere. “What do the wings mean? What exactly is the Illumen praevolo?” Kaylin demanded.

“The wings mean nothing,” Lillias replied, ignoring the second question. “Because Moran dar Carafel will allow them to mean nothing. In the past, that was acceptable, but only barely. But now, it is much less so. As I said, she cannot be made outcaste. She can be summoned to the Aerie, but because she is an Imperial Hawk, she can disobey. The laws of exemption require her permission to be invoked if she is at the center of the controversy.”

For one moment, Kaylin saw the bright gleam of a way out. It guttered. If the laws had been invoked, if Clint believed they had been accepted, it meant Moran had accepted them, too.

Lillias shook her head. “She has not chosen to heed the summons.”

“She probably can’t, if she can’t fly. Yet.”

“She was capable of flight before. She has never heeded the summons. The castelord responsible for the death of her mother is dead. The Caste Court is comprised of different men, different women. Until she was injured, she lived in the Upper Reaches, but she spoke with no one. She has never forgiven the Aerie for her mother’s death.”

“Or her grandmother’s?”

Lillias said nothing.

“Why do you want to help her?”

“Is that what you think I am doing?” the old woman replied. Before Kaylin could answer, the woman closed blue eyes. “Do you believe in her?” she asked softly.

It wasn’t the question Kaylin had been expecting. Then again, she wasn’t certain that she’d expected any of the conversation Evanton had forced on both of them.

“How can I not believe in her?” Kaylin replied, although it took time. “I’m a Hawk. She’s a Hawk. She got her injury fighting something that was powerful enough to take down Dragons. Plural. She got that injury doing her duty—doing what the Aerians could do that the rest of us, wingless, couldn’t.”

“And her duty to her own people?”

Kaylin struggled with this for longer. The Aerians had murdered her mother and her grandmother. She owed them nothing. There were racial tensions among Hawks. But there were personal tensions, as well. They were all people. And they were all people who’d decided, despite race or even because of it, to serve the Imperial Law that protected those who didn’t have a lot of money or power. Were they perfect? Hells no. But they were trying. It was more than the fieflord of Nightshade had ever done. It was more than any fieflord, with the exception of Tiamaris, had ever been rumored to do.

Kaylin felt no particular attachment to her own race. She had daydreams of being born to a different one—Aerian, usually. She hadn’t ever considered what she owed the human race. Then again, she hadn’t really considered what she owed anyone who wasn’t a Hawk.