Michelle Sagara - Cast in Silence

Honestly, the day could hardly get any worse.

“Sanabalis—”

He raised a hand. “A report, however, is not entirely necessary. I was making an attempt to be humorous,” he added gravely. “But your presence, and the length of your visit, was noted.

“As,” he added, in a softer tone, “was the state of your clothing when you left the premises—carrying your boots.”

“They were wet.”

“And, apparently, muddy.” His eyes were a clear gold, which was made brighter when he lowered his inner membranes. “Kaylin, what happened? It is seldom that someone the Keeper apparently considers safe enough to allow into his domain emerges in that condition. I was personally asked by the Emperor, in case you think this is idle curiosity, to inquire.”

Which was his way of saying she couldn’t weasel out of an answer.

“The elements are, apparently, upset,” she finally said. “Which is where the water and the mud came from. The wind helped,” she added. “For a value of help that made me look like a sodden cat.”

He became very still, and she wished—not for the first time—that she had locks on her mouth, and that someone who had more wisdom kept the keys. “Sanabalis, please. I am not supposed to talk about this.”

“I highly doubt,” the Dragon Lord replied, “that Evanton expects you to keep silent in the face of Imperial dictate.”

“You clearly don’t know Evanton.” She glanced at the table, and then at the Dragon sitting behind it. “You should,” she told him, surrendering. “I think you’d get along just fine. If you didn’t kill each other on sight on a bad day.” She rose. “The elemental garden wasn’t much of a garden; it was a storm, but worse.

“But Evanton said—and I do not argue with him when he’s in a mood—that the elements do this when they’re trying to communicate.”

Sanabalis raised a brow. She actually liked that expression on most days. Today was not one of them. “You’re not going to like it,” she told him, in a quieter voice.

“I’d guessed that.”

“And I was going to tell you.”

The brow rose farther; it hadn’t actually come down.

“Well, before other things came up.”

“I’m sure they were vitally important,” he said, in a very dry tone. Since he could breathe fire, that type of dry usually showed up when he was just on the edge of annoyance. She’d never, thank the gods, seen him angry.

“Something is happening somewhere close by.” She hesitated again. “The elements were trying to write a—a word. Evanton showed me what it was. I couldn’t see a damn thing in the storm. I could barely see my own feet.”

“You recognized the word.” It wasn’t a question.

“I didn’t—” She glanced at the slightly copper tint to his eyes. “It’s not as simple as that. I didn’t recognize it because I’d seen it before, if that’s what you mean. I— It felt familiar.”

“Was it in a living language?”

He was such a smart old bastard. “No.”

“Was it similar, in style, to the marks on your arms?”

“Not—” she glanced at her sleeves “—not exactly.”

“Kaylin, do not force me to strangle you.”

“I’m trying to answer the question—”

“You are trying to answer the question without actually saying all of what you know. If you are going to do that, learn from your Corporal. It is actively painful to watch you flail, and the attempt is—I assume unintentionally—insulting. Because you are young and demonstrably ignorant, I am exercising patience, but my patience, while vast, does have limits.”

She tried not to grind her teeth. “It’s not a rune I recognize. I don’t think it’s written on me, but I admit I haven’t actually looked at the back of my neck in records recently. But it felt familiar anyway.” He said nothing. He didn’t move a muscle. Not even the corner of his mouth twitched.

“It felt like…Ravellon.”

Sometimes, he pretended to be old. It was only very, very rarely that he actually looked it. He did, now.

“The Keeper was aware of this?”

“No. And he looked about as happy at the mention of the word as you do now.”

The Dragon Lord rose. “I believe,” he told her quietly, “that we have now concluded the lessons for the day. I believe that I understand why you were so distracted.”

He didn’t. She had no intention of enlightening him.

“I will have to speak with your Sergeant, and with the Hawklord, before I leave. You will not speak to anyone else about this without Imperial permission.”

“The Hawklord?”

“I have just said that I will speak with the Hawklord.” He walked to the door, opened it, and then turned back, his robes swirling like liquid at his feet. “But I believe you should check your duty roster carefully in the next few days.”

“Sanabalis—”

“And it is just possible that I may be able to barter for a delay in your etiquette lessons, although the time is coming when they will be sorely needed.”

The lesson had ended early.

It was too much to hope that this meant an hour and a half of downtime, but Kaylin sat, slightly slumped in one of the heavy but uncomfortable chairs by the table, staring at an unlit candle anyway. One of the advantages of this particular set of classes was that she got paid for attending them. Well, that and she got to live. She folded her elbows across the table and stared at her blurry reflection.

Ravellon.

She had never really thought much about what lay at the heart of the fiefs. Growing up in Nightshade, there had been Nightshade and the rest of the world, and only one part of the world had captured her thought and attention: the city across the bridge. Of course, in her daydreams, she’d been somehow rich and pretty and free from fear or insecurity because she knew she belonged on the right side of the river boundary.

That kind of transformation had, no surprise, failed to happen. But the transformation that had happened, over seven long years, had the advantage of being—until yesterday—real.

Idiot. Think.

What, in the heart of the fiefs, could upset the elements? She knew what upset the Dragons, of course: the only living Outcaste Dragon Lord. Kaylin had faced him twice; the first time, he had retreated; the second time? He had broken her arm. She hadn’t seen what had happened after she’d fallen.

But if he were dead, she thought the word Ravellon would have no power to disturb Sanabalis. Given how often Kaylin had tried—admittedly when she’d reached the edge of screaming frustration, and was trying very hard not to pick up one of the heavy-duty chairs and crush the damn candle that would not light—the fact that he was disturbed was contagious. It unsettled her.

She stared at the candle.

When the door opened at her back, she straightened her shoulders slightly, but didn’t lift her head off her hands to see who was standing in it. If they wanted her, they’d let her know.

Marcus growled, and she vacated her chair so quickly it was a wonder her feet didn’t leave the ground. “Sanabalis left—” she began. He growled again, and she shut up, quickly.

“What have you been doing this time?”

“Not lighting a candle?” And pushing her luck. His eyes were almost the same orange Sanabalis’s had been, although Kaylin was certain it wasn’t because of anything she’d done. Yet.

“Kitling.”

She grimaced. “Evanton told me something when we dropped by his place yesterday.”

“And you told Sanabalis.” No honorific for him from Marcus today. Apparently bad moods spread like plagues.

“You know the Emperor has Evanton’s shop under constant surveillance,” she continued, in her own defense. “Someone probably reported it to the Emperor, or the Imperial Service, and the Emperor told Sanabalis to ask me.” Seeing his expression she added, “I’m not an idiot. I am not standing between Evanton and the Emperor. What the Emperor wants, he gets.” Besides which, technically, the Emperor paid her.