Michelle Sagara - Cast In Courtlight

She frowned.

“Names have power, Kaylin.” “I … know.”

“Good. It is not to light candles that I have come—and yes, I am aware of what you did with the last one—although candles are a focal exercise that even the most junior of mages must master.”

“Why?”

“Because it shows us that they are in control of their power, and not the inverse. And for most, it is a struggle. You would be an object of envy for many of the students that pass through our doors.”

“I don’t want to pass through your doors.”

“No. And I think it best for the Order that you never do. I will be honest with you, because it is something you understand. We—none of us who know—are certain you can be taught. Do you understand this? We do not know what you are capable of yet. It is to test your capabilities that we have been sent.”

“Why didn’t they just—”

“Say so? It may have escaped your notice, but the Imperial Order of Mages is not accustomed to explaining themselves to a young, undereducated girl.”

“You are.”

“I have less to lose,” he replied quietly. “And I am aware, as perhaps they were not, of how much you have to lose, should we fail. Or rather, should you fail.”

This caught her attention and dragged it round in a death grip.

“Yes,” he continued in that serene voice. “Should you fail, you will be called up before the Dragon Emperor. The fact that you are, without question, loyal to the Hawks has caused the Emperor—twice—to stay his hand. I cannot think of a person for whom he has stayed his hand three times. If you cannot be trained, if you cannot learn to abide these classroom chores, these boring hours spent staring at an unlit candle wick, you will be removed from the ranks of the Hawks.”

“Will I still be alive?”

Sanabalis did not answer the question.

“Can I ask a different question?”

“You are free to ask anything.”

“Who else has he stayed his hand with twice?”

Sanabalis’s frosted brows drew closer together. “Pardon?”

“You said you couldn’t think of a person to whom he’d granted clemency three times. That implies that you can think of a person to whom he’s granted it twice. I mean, besides me.”

At that, the Dragon laughed. The sound almost deafened her, and she was glad she was in the West Room; nothing escaped its doors. “You are an odd woman, Kaylin Neya. But I think I will answer your question, since it is close to my heart.” She didn’t ask him which heart; she understood it was metaphor.

“Lord Tiamaris of the Dragon Court.”

Her jaw almost dropped; it probably would have if it hadn’t been attached to the rest of her face. Tiamaris, honorary Hawk, was so … prim and proper it was hard to imagine he could ever do anything to offend his Lord.

“Lord Tiamaris was the last student I chose to accept,” he added. “At my age, students are seldom sent to me.”

“Why?”

“I am the Court of last resort, Kaylin. If I judge a mage to be unteachable, or unstable, no one else will take him.” “Because he’s dead?” Again, the Dragon was silent.

“In your case,” Sanabalis continued smoothly, after the momentary silence, “you could have offended a full quarter of the Magi before you reached me. But because of the unusual nature of your talents, that was not considered a viable option.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a candle.

She wilted visibly.

“This is like, very like, Barrani,” he told her as he set the candle on a thin base and placed it exactly between them. “If you fail to learn it, you lose the Hawks.”

“And my life.”

“I am not convinced that they are not one and the same. I will take you,” he added quietly. “If you are wearing your bracer, you may remove it.”

Kaylin froze. Well, everything about her did but her eyes; they flicked nervously down to her wrist. Which was just wrist. The artifact, golden and jeweled, that could somehow dampen all of her magical abilities? Not there. She had a good idea where it actually was, too. “I’m not wearing it.”

A pale brow rose. “I believe the Emperor’s orders in that regard were quite clear.”

She swallowed. Being in trouble was something that she lived with; she always was. Getting the Hawklord into Imperial trouble was something she would almost die to avoid.

And Sanabalis was good; he didn’t even make the threat. She would have to watch herself around him, inasmuch as that was possible.

“I had to take it off,” she told him, swallowing. “Last night.” It wasn’t technically true, but it would have to do.

“Ah. The midwives?” His eyes were gold; one brow was slightly above the other, but he chose to accept her words at face value.

“They called me in. I can’t do anything when I’m wearing that bracer. I certainly can’t deliver a baby that’s—”

He lifted his hands. “I am squeamish by nature, I would prefer you leave the feminine nature of your nocturnal activities unspoken.”

She wanted to ask him to define squeamish, but thought better of it.

“Where is it now?”

“At home.”

“Whose home?”

She cursed. “Is there anything about me you didn’t ‘investigate’”

“No.”

And sighed, a deep, short sound that resembled a grunt. “Severn’s. Corporal.”

He nodded. “Very good. Get it back. I will overlook its absence, since you wouldn’t be wearing it during these lessons anyway.” He paused. His eyes were still liquid gold, and his expression had never wavered; there was some deep sympathy lurking in the folds of his face that she didn’t understand.

And she wanted it.

“Lord Grammayre has been very cooperative, he has aided me in every conceivable way in my investigations. I believe he would like you to survive these trials. Inasmuch as the Lord of Hawks can afford to be, he is fond of you. And inasmuch as it is wise, he does trust you.”

And you, old man? she thought, staring at the candle that was unremarkable in every way. Dull, white, mostly straight, with a small waxed wick, it stood in the center of the table.

“Not yet,” he replied. “And if you wish to keep your thoughts to yourself, you will learn to school your expression. I’m old, and given to neither sentiment nor tact. If I trust you, in the end, it will because you’ve earned it.

“And I understand you, Kaylin Neya. You value nothing that you have not earned. You want it, covet it, hold it in some regard—but you don’t value it.” His face lost its perpetual smile, and his lower lids fell, exposing his eyes again. “Begin with the shape of fire,” he told her quietly.

What the hell shape did fire have, after all?

It was going to be a long lesson.

Or it should have been.

But the West Room had a door, and when the door swung wide, Kaylin jumped out of her chair. Literally. She had a dagger out of its sheath, and she was moving to put the table between herself and whatever it was that had slammed that door into the wall.

Her brain caught up with her body, and she forced herself to relax, or to mimic it. It was hard when the door was full of bristling Leontine.

Sanabalis, however, had not moved an inch. As Kaylin stilled, as she took in Marcus in full fury, he lifted his chin an inch or two. “Sergeant Kassan?” The inquiry was about as friendly as a rabid feral, but a whole lot politer.

“You’re wanted,” Marcus said to Kaylin, ignoring the mage he’d told her not to offend. “Tower. Now.”

“The Hawklord?”

“No, the tooth fairy. Go.”

“I believe the lesson will have to wait,” Sanabalis said, rising.