Michelle Sagara - Cast in Peril

“Did you eat anything before you came here?”

“Yes.”

Bellusdeo lifted a lovely golden brow but said nothing. Not that words actually had to be spoken around Caitlin, who pursed her lips.

“Lord Sanabalis is waiting for you.”

“Of course he is.”

* * *

Bellusdeo didn’t actually join her for magic lessons; as a member of the Dragon Court—albeit on a technicality—she didn’t require them. She did, however, go to Elantran language lessons in the East Room for the duration; the Imperial Palace had ordered two linguists to work with her during that time. What the linguists made of Bellusdeo, Kaylin didn’t know; she was just grateful for the few moments in which Bellusdeo was someone else’s problem.

“I admit I’m surprised to see you on time, Private,” Sanabalis said as she cringed her way through contact with the room’s door ward and entered.

“Oh?”

“Given the time at which you left your dwelling last evening, I assumed you would be at least an hour late.”

Kaylin sat and folded her arms across her chest. “You’re having my apartment watched at two in the morning?”

Sanabalis didn’t answer the question. Instead he said, “How is Bellusdeo adapting to life in the City?”

“She hasn’t changed much since I spoke to you about it two days ago.”

“And have you reconsidered the Emperor’s offer to house you in a more suitable location?”

Sadly, she had. On offer was a much, much larger apartment. It was, however, farther from the office, and Kaylin still held on to the faint hope that Bellusdeo would get tired of living in a run-down, single-room apartment with no privacy and choose to move out on her own.

So far, Dragon stubbornness was running neck and neck with human stubbornness. It seemed unfair that only the human was suffering. If they had a larger dwelling, Kaylin could have an entire room to herself, and they would have room for Bellusdeo’s Ascendant, a Norannir who would only barely fit through Kaylin’s current door—if he crouched. Maggaron could keep an eye on Bellusdeo, and Kaylin might actually have a day—at work—in which she didn’t have the Dragon as her constant companion. As it was, that Ascendant, Maggaron, had been exiled to the Tower in the fief of Tiamaris, and he was very, very glum about the separation.

What she said, however, was “No. We’re doing fine.” Kaylin’s biggest fear was that she would move, lose her small—but affordable—apartment, and have nowhere else to go when Bellusdeo finally decided to move out. Severn had suggested that she pay her rent while staying in the Imperial building, but it galled Kaylin to spend that much money on something she wasn’t even using.

She glared at her nemesis, the candle.

Sanabalis folded his hands on the table’s surface; it had been newly oiled and waxed, and the Dragon’s reflection stared back up at him. “Your etiquette lesson is tonight.”

“I know.”

“You seem to have survived the previous lessons.”

“Yes. So did Diarmat and Bellusdeo.”

Sanabalis winced, but he chuckled, as well. “I believe Lord Diarmat is on the edge of repenting his decision to teach you; he may well ask the Arkon to undertake that duty instead.”

“But he won’t fall over that edge until we’ve suffered at least as much as he has?”

“Ah, no. I believe he would be more than willing to continue to teach you, but he feels that Bellusdeo is an impediment to your effective absorption of necessary knowledge.” Sanabalis nodded at the candle. “Begin.”

* * *

The entire department heard her shriek.

Only half of them left their desks to see what had caused it—or at least only half of them were visible when Kaylin threw the door open and tried to run through them into the office. She was bouncing.

“Teela! Tain! I did it!”

“Whatever you did, kitling,” Teela replied, “you broke the silence spell that usually protects us from your cursing during class.” She glanced pointedly at the warded door. “What do you think you did?”

Kaylin spun and pointed.

The candle’s wick was actually burning. She’d been staring at it every class for what felt like years—but couldn’t have been more than a couple of months in objective time—and had even cut it in half in a foul mood. Not once in all those months had the damn thing done what it was supposed to do.

But today?

Today she’d almost felt the warmth of fire; she’d grasped and visualized its name. It had taken the better part of an hour to accomplish that much, because it was a large name and parts of it kept sliding out of her grip. It didn’t matter; this was the first class she’d had with Sanabalis that hadn’t ended in total, frustrating failure.

Lord Sanabalis rose, and Kaylin hesitated, losing a little of her bounce. “You didn’t do it, did you? It was me?”

“It was you, Private Neya. And because you’ve succeeded—once—I will consider today’s lesson complete. If you will accompany me?”

“Pardon?”

“I believe Lord Grammayre and Sergeant Kassan would like a few words with you. They did want to speak with you earlier, but I felt the matter could wait until after your lesson.”

Yes, because Lord Sanabalis was a Dragon and Lord Grammayre and Sergeant Kassan were only the men responsible for signing off on her pay chit.

* * *

Lord Grammayre and Marcus were waiting in the Hawklord’s Tower. Kaylin, torn between panic at the length of time they’d been made to wait and worry about the topic of discussion, went up the stairs at a brisk clip, as if rushing to her doom. Dragon knowledge of the effective chain of command in the Halls of Law was pretty simple: the Dragon Court’s desires took precedence over everything. It was hard to get that wrong. Their knowledge of the finer details, on the other hand—and in particular Kaylin’s place in the food chain as a private—left a lot to be desired, especially since their pay and their rank weren’t ever going to be at risk. She tried not to resent this as Sanabalis, curse him, practically crawled.

The Tower doors were open, which was a small mercy. Kaylin approached them, the sound of her steps on stone drawing two pairs of distinctive eyes—Leontine and Aerian. Marcus’s facial fur was standing on end, and his eyes were orange. The Hawklord’s wings were slightly extended, and his eyes were a gray-blue. Had she been a flower, she’d’ve instantly wilted under that much dry heat. Angry Leontine Sergeant, angry Aerian Commander in Chief, slightly bored Dragon, and panicked human—you could practically call it a racial congress, with humans in their usual position.

Marcus was in such a bad mood that he didn’t even mention how late she was; he wasn’t in a bad enough mood not to growl when she hesitated in the doorway. She crossed the threshold quickly and offered Lord Grammayre a salute. It was as perfect as she could make it—and if two weeks under the Draconic Lord Diarmat had given her nothing else, it had certainly improved the quality of necessary gestures of respect, not that she was required to salute a member of the Dragon Court.

Lord Sanabalis, as a member of said court, wasn’t required to offer a salute to anyone in the Halls of Law. Kaylin wasn’t certain what formal gestures of respect he offered the Eternal Emperor, because thankfully she’d never seen the Eternal Emperor—at least not yet. She’d seen the rest of the Dragons interact with each other, and while they were polite and formal when nothing important was being discussed, they didn’t spend all day bowing, saluting, or speaking full titles. She now even knew what their full titles were.

“At ease, Private.” If an order could be guaranteed to make her feel less at ease, she didn’t want to hear it. The Hawklord’s tone of voice had enough edge to draw blood. She nodded stiffly and dropped her arms to her sides.