Michelle Sagara - Cast In Fury

“Getting yourself thrown into a Caste jail while vultures rule the Hawks is not what is best for me. And it doesn’t make me happy either.”

Graylin hissed.

Kaylin lifted a hand, palm up, in immediate surrender. “I’m sorry,” she told them all quietly. “I don’t know where that came from.”

Kayala batted the side of Kaylin’s head. It hurt. It did not, however, send her flying, which told Kaylin it was meant affectionately. “You are like us, when you worry,” she said. “We understand.”

“He always notices the strangers,” Sarabe continued, her voice so soft it was hard to hear. “He always notices the outcasts or the misfits. He speaks unkindly, but while he bares fangs and exposes claws, he stands between us and those who mean us harm. Many of his brothers think he is—what is the word, Kayala?”

“I don’t think Kaylin needs to hear the word,” Kayala replied sharply. Which probably meant it was, in Kaylin’s line of work, a useful word. She held her peace, however.

“They think he is weak,” Sarabe continued, choosing a less colorful, and entirely Elantran, substitute. “Because he doesn’t fight unless he needs to. But if he is cornered, he can kill. We’ve seen it, and we know.”

“If you’re cornered, you can all kill.”

“Yes, but Marcus doesn’t choose to hunt for sport. He is gentle.”

Tell that to the Quartermaster, Kaylin thought, remembering the carved surfaces of far too many desks.

“Let me continue, then. My sister and I were allowed to live. We were allowed to grow, and we were allowed to request the rites of majority. All of this was considered safe, for us, although many of the more conservative Leontines resented it. They made our lives harder,” she added, baring fangs.

“Sarabe,” Graylin told her, “if you begin to catalogue all wrongs done you, we will be here all night, with Kaylin no wiser.”

Sarabe smacked Graylin, who rolled with the blow. “He is much kinder than his wives.

“But … we were allowed to live normal lives because it was understood that we would never progress beyond the Pridlea, we would have no Pridlea, and no husbands of our own.”

“But …”

“Yes. I have my Pridlea. But it was understood that I would not, when I was born.”

“How did that happen?”

“Kaylin,” Kayala said. “Ask her another time.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it is a good question,” Sarabe said, reassuring her, but also following Kayala’s unspoken command. “And I will answer it—briefly—because it’s relevant.” She dared a glance at Kayala, whose lips had thinned, making her teeth much more prominent. The first time she’d seen this, Kaylin had been terrified; now it was just so much bickering. The Leontines could deal damage, yes, but they were also built to take more of it.

Kayala however considered what had been said, and nodded briskly.

“Marcus took me in when my father died.” She smiled.

“His Pridlea was very, very different from my mother’s—it was a bit shocking, at first. But … it wasn’t so fearful. My parents always worried for us. They always watched over us, they always looked at the future with uncertainty. I’m sure it aged them both.

“Marcus did worry about me, but not in the same way. After three days, he treated me like—”

“Like one of his wives,” Graylin said, with a rare smile.

“Which means,” Reesa added, “that he did what she said, more or less, when she said it. I don’t think he noticed it himself, but the rest of us did. There was a bit of a fuss maybe three months in,” she added, the smile growing sharper. “Some people felt that Marcus’s interest in Sarabe was—what is your word? Obscene?”

“I don’t think that’s the right word,” Kaylin replied.

“Actually, Kaylin, it is the right word,” Kayala told her. “They thought it was twisted, and wrong. A small group of the older Leontines—by which I mean those who conform to the Elders, because some of them were young enough to damn well know better—came to see us.”

Kaylin thought about this for a couple of minutes. “Wait, they came to see you here?”

“Yes.”

“And they were all women?”

“Ah, you understand. No, in fact. None of them were women.”

“But you wouldn’t even let Severn in—”

“Not with his genitalia intact, no.”

Kaylin blushed, and Graylin frowned. “Why are you doing that?” she asked softly.

“Well—it’s—”

“You’ve said much, much ruder things at our table.”

“No I haven’t!” Kayala retorted.

“Yes, you have. You’ve said—”

“Graylin.” Kayala lifted a hand. “Very often, when one curses in a different tongue, it doesn’t feel or sound the same as cursing in one’s own. And Kaylin’s colorful phrases all mean the same thing. She’s tired, hungry or angry. And this is why it’s hard to tell you anything. There are always interruptions.”

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