Michelle Sagara - Cast In Shadow

“It’s bad,” she said quietly. Really, really bad. But she didn’t share easily. “There were two deaths. Two boys.”

His expression didn’t change. He’d schooled it about as well as she now schooled hers. “When?”

“Three days apart.”

Tiamaris’s brows rose. “Three days?”

She nodded quietly.

“Kaylin—I’m not sure how aware you were of what happened the last time … you were a child.”

“I was aware of it,” she whispered. “Because I was a child in the fiefs.”

“There were exactly thirteen deaths a year for almost three years. We could time them by moon phase,” Tiamaris added. “The Dark moon. At no time in the previous incident did the deaths occur at such short intervals.”

She nodded almost blankly.

“Where did the new deaths take place?” Severn’s voice was harsh.

“Nightshade,” she said bitterly, shaking herself. “The fieflord must have been in a good mood. We didn’t lose anyone while we were investigating the deaths.”

Severn whistled.

“Timing or no, it was the same,” she added hollowly. “As last time. The examiner’s reports were also in crystal.”

“And the Hawks’ mages?”

She nodded. “Their reports are there as well. Or rather, their précis on the findings. It’s all bullshit.”

“What kind of bullshit?”

“The unintelligible kind. You take magic exams in the Wolves?”

He shrugged. “Take them, or pass them?”

In spite of herself, she laughed. “Me, too.” And then she forced her lips down, thinning them. Remembering Severn’s last act.

He knew, too. He looked at her, his gaze steady. “Elia—Kaylin,” he corrected himself, “it wasn’t—”

But she lifted a hand. She didn’t want to hear it.

Severn took a step closer, and her hand fell to a dagger. He ignored it. Her hand tightened.

Rescue came from an unexpected quarter.

“If you’re both ready,” Tiamaris said, glancing at the very high windows in the change rooms, “we’re late.”

“For what?”

“There are only so many hours of daylight, and not even I want to be in the fiefs at night.”

The Halls of Law receded slowly.

Tiamaris was tall; his stride, long. Kaylin had to scamper to keep up, and she hated that.

She might have been taller had she not hit her meager growth spurts in the winters. That had been in the fiefs, and food had been scarce. Now that food wasn’t? She hadn’t gained an inch. She was never going to be tall. And Tiamaris? He’d probably never gone hungry in his life.

No, be fair. She had no idea what a Dragon’s life was like. She only knew her own. And she knew that Severn, damn him, had no problem matching the dragon step for step. Severn? He’d gone hungry as well. Bone hungry, thin, gaunt with it. They’d weathered those seasons together.

She was veering dangerously close to the land of what-if, and she gave herself a harsh, mental slap. She’d bandaged her hand, but she clenched it nervously, looking at Severn’s back. He’d grabbed the crystal. He’d tried to save her the pain. Why?

She could almost imagine that he’d really changed. Had emerged from the fiefs, become something different. She hated the thought. And why? Hadn’t she? Wasn’t that exactly what she’d done?

Glancing up, she saw the flag of the Hawks on its tower height, and she stopped a moment, hoping to hear its heavy canvas flap in the wind. But she was earthbound. Funny, how it was the unreachable things that had always provided her anchor.

No, she thought, almost free of the shadows cast by the Towers. She hadn’t changed anything but her name. And now she was going back home.

Because she served the Hawklord, and the Hawklord commanded it.

The richest of the merchants liked to nest in the shadows of the Halls; they lined the streets, their expensive windows adorned by equally expensive dress guards and clientele. There were jewelers here—and what good, she thought bitterly, did they do? You couldn’t eat the damn things they produced, and they didn’t stop you from freezing to death in the winter—and clothiers, a fancy word for tailor. There were swordsmiths, fletchers, herbalists and the occasional maker of books. When she’d first heard of those, she’d snuck in with a pocketful of change to see what betting odds were being offered, and on who. Oh, that had kept the company in laughs for a week.

What was absent were brothels, which lined the richer parts of the fiefs. Here, in the lee of the Halls, there were no girls on window duty, beckoning the drunk and the young, idle rich; she’d found the lack hard to get used to.

She had known some of the girls who worked in the brothels, but not well; they were keen-eyed and sharp, and they often recruited the unwary. Not that Kaylin had ever been lovely enough to be in danger of that particular fate.

But she didn’t pity them. Not those girls. There were others, on darker streets, where windows were forbidden because they hinted at freedom. She’d seen them as well. Seen what was left.

Not all of the buildings that stood around the triangular formation of the Halls of Law were stores; the guilds made their homes here as well. And not all of the guilds were adverse to the presence of the Hawks. Kaylin frequented the weavers’ guild, and the midwives’ guild, almost as a matter of course. But she stayed away from the merchant guild, because it reeked of money and power, and she recognized that from a mile away. She thought that many of the men who had purchased membership in the merchant’s guild also purchased other services in the fiefs, but it was something that wasn’t talked about. Much.

And when she’d first arrived? Well, she hadn’t talked much either.

“Kaylin?” Tiamaris touched her arm and she jumped, turning on him. His brow rose, breaking the sudden panic.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped.

“You really haven’t changed much, have you?” Severn said, eyes lidded. She couldn’t read his expression, but the scorn in his voice was unmistakable.

Takes one to know one was not a retort she could be proud of, so she didn’t make it. Near thing, damn him.

“What is it?” She kept the irritation out of her voice by dint of will.

“You’ve slowed.”

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“They forbid that, in the Wolves.”

In spite of herself, she smiled. Severn had always made her smile. Always, until he hadn’t. He saw the change in her expression, and he fell silent.

They walked.

The streets opened up; horses were the mainstay of the merchants and the farmers who traveled up Nestor street. Nestor followed the river that split the city, crossing the widest of its many bridges. It was home to many lesser guilds, to lesser merchants and to the one or two charitable buildings that she thought worth the effort. The foundling halls, for one. She frequented those as well, but was more careful about it. Today she didn’t even acknowledge it with a glance. Because Severn was with her.

Foot traffic stayed to either side of the road, and merchants were not above taking advantage of this. Her stomach growled as she passed an open baker’s stall.

Severn laughed. “Not much at all,” he said, shaking his head.

They were eating as they crossed the bridge over the Ablayne River; Kaylin stopped to look at the waters that ran beneath it. She wanted to turn back. Hawklord, she thought, as if he were a god who might actually listen, I’ll go. I’ll go back to the fiefs. Just give me any other partner Even Marcus.

Severn stopped beside her, and that was answer enough. She drew away, dropping crumbs into the water. Something would eat them; she didn’t much care what.