Michelle Sagara - Cast In Flight

In the middle of the crowded Darrow Lane road, this caused even more panic, which was probably why Dragons were technically forbidden to speak their mother tongue in public places. But the roar, unlike the explosion, continued for enough time that people could identify its source and get the hells away from it.

Kaylin then looked for the rest of her companions.

Mandoran was untouched; Tain wasn’t in immediate sight. Teela was. In her left hand, she carried a naked, runed blade; it was glowing brightly. Something about the metal of that blade reminded Kaylin of Severn’s weapon chain, which could combat magic if wielded properly.

“Mandoran,” Bellusdeo said, “you’ve been picking up Elantran at an astonishing rate. You’ve perhaps heard some of their colloquial phrases?”

“Far, far too many. Why?”

“I’m wondering if you’ve encountered this one: ‘it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.’”

Mandoran looked at Bellusdeo, his perfect brow rippling in minor confusion. “I don’t think either of our peoples are much given to begging for anything. Why do you ask?”

Bellusdeo roared again. The first roar had pretty much cleared the street around them for a good ten yards, although it had also panicked horses. Her smile was almost feline. She didn’t bother to shed her ruined clothing; there was no salvaging it. She dropped to her hands and knees and began to shed her human appearance, as well.

Kaylin found the transformation between two solid shapes disturbing; she always did. Flesh wasn’t supposed to be liquid; it wasn’t supposed to twist and expand, changing in both color and texture. Bellusdeo grew golden scales, the largest of which could have served as a very good shield had it been detached; she gained both height and length. And wings.

* * *

“Kitling?” Teela shouted, not bothering to glance back.

“We’re good,” Kaylin replied.

“Moran?”

“I’m fine. The road isn’t,” the sergeant added, looking down at the blistered, cracked and shattered stones at their feet. “If you let go of me, will I still be safe?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not Teela’s going to do something with that sword other than pose.”

Mandoran laughed. He was the only one who did. “She’s going to have to move fast,” he said.

“Mandoran, don’t—”

“I won’t hurt your precious citizens. Well, not all of them, at any rate.”

Bellusdeo spoke in a lower and fuller voice that was nevertheless distinctly her own. “I’ll leave the corporals in charge of apprehending the would-be assassins. Sergeant?”

Moran looked at the golden Dragon. And she was a golden Dragon now—a very large, very imposing one with jaws that were the size of Kaylin.

“I assume you haven’t ridden bareback Dragon before,” Bellusdeo said to the sergeant.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“A last time, too,” Kaylin muttered. She was still holding on to Moran.

Bellusdeo’s orange eyes paused over her worried expression—which was clearly reflected in them. “Magic?”

Kaylin nodded. “I don’t think they’ve finished yet.”

“Then get on—and don’t let go of Moran until you’re seated.”

Mounting a Dragon wasn’t exactly a no-handed operation, but Kaylin kept this to herself. She understood exactly why she was going to try her best to obey the command: if it weren’t for Kaylin’s alert and bristling familiar, Moran would be dead. Kaylin would probably be dead as well, if it had come to that.

“Has anyone ever tried to assassinate you before?” Bellusdeo asked the Aerian.

To Kaylin’s surprise, Moran answered, “Yes.”

“Often?”

“No. And before you continue the interrogation,” she added, struggling her way into a seated position between spinal ridges along the Dragon’s back, “never with magic.”

“I thought the damn Caste Court wanted you back,” Kaylin said, trying not to sound as outraged as she felt.

“Some of them do. Some, clearly, don’t.”

“And both factions are going to cause boatloads of trouble at the office.”

“Yes. I did warn you.”

Kaylin snorted. As Bellusdeo pushed off the ground and lifted her wings against the pull of gravity, Kaylin shouted, “You’ve got nothing on Bellusdeo!”

“Don’t,” the Dragon rumbled in response, “make me drop you. You might deserve it, but the sergeant doesn’t.”

* * *

The streets directly in front of the main entrance to the Halls of Law were crowded; they often were. Bellusdeo could have landed in them anyway—the approaching shadow of a very large Dragon was more efficient at clearing the streets than a full squad of mounted Swords. She chose instead to land in the stable yards, which had the advantage of fewer civilians. There were more horses, and the horses weren’t thrilled, but that would quickly become someone else’s problem.

Kaylin slid off Bellusdeo’s back; Moran followed. She was a lot shakier on her legs than Kaylin, but then again, she’d never ridden on something the size of a Dragon before. Or possibly on anything else, either.

The small dragon, flopped across Kaylin’s shoulder, lifted his head and squawked.

“We’re good to go,” Kaylin said.

Bellusdeo was reassuming her mortal shape. Given her lack of clothing, she instead donned Dragon armor, scales becoming plates that girded the whole of her body. Kaylin knew this included a helm, but Bellusdeo wasn’t fond of helms. Her hair was a glorious spill down her back; it matched and softened the rest of the armor.

“The Emperor is going to kill me,” Kaylin told the Dragon glumly.

“He wouldn’t dare,” Bellusdeo said with a quirky smile. “This one wasn’t aimed at me.”

Before Moran could speak, Kaylin turned to her and said, “Don’t even think it.”

“Think what?”

“Helen is the safest place for you to live in Elantra. You’re not moving out. There’s a reason the Emperor is willing to let Bellusdeo live with us.”

“I hadn’t even considered it,” Moran replied. When she saw Kaylin’s expression, she added, “It’s the truth. I’m busy considering who might feel desperate enough to kill me today. And why.”

“How many candidates are there?” Bellusdeo asked as they headed into the building.

“More than one.” The sergeant’s eyes were a steady, darkening blue. “I’d ask you not to mention this,” she added, “but given our method of arrival—and escape—it’s impossible to keep it secret.”

“From who?” Kaylin demanded.

“Lord Grammayre.” She closed her eyes. “And the rest of the Aerians.”

“The rest of the Aerians are Hawks, Moran. There’s only one way to take this.”

Moran’s expression made her look older and frailer. “The rest of the Aerians are people, kitling.” She almost never used the Barrani-coined diminutive. “They have lives outside of the Halls of Law, and most of those lives take place in the Aerie. It’s not as simple as you’d like it to be.”

“No, of course not,” Kaylin replied. “Nothing ever is.”

* * *

The first argument occurred within the Halls, rather than outside the main doors. Kaylin didn’t want to let Moran go to the infirmary on her own. Moran pointed out—correctly—that Kaylin’s job depended on a different sergeant, and he was probably orange-eyed and long-clawed by this point.

“He needed a new desk anyway,” Kaylin replied. “I don’t expect mages to show up in the infirmary to kill you. But it doesn’t take a mage.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You could, before. But you can’t even use one of your wings.” Those wings were not just for flight; they could be used to devastating effect in close physical combat. Although Kaylin had never seen Moran fight that way, she had seen Clint at work. It wasn’t pretty. “Let me heal it, Moran.”