Michelle Sagara - Cast In Courtlight

On any other day, that would have been a good thing. But Kaylin had to walk past Marcus, and Marcus seemed disinclined to actually move his bulk out of the door. His fangs were prominent.

“Marcus?” she dared as she approached him.

He turned red eyes on her, and she flinched—which was always a bad thing to do around a Leontine. But his eyes lost their deep flare of red as he saw her expression. “No,” he said curtly, the single word a raw growl. “It’s not about you. Yet.” He stepped aside then, and she ran past him. The office seemed quiet, which was usually a bad sign—but not when Marcus was in a mood. When that happened, the word that best described the room was empty. This wasn’t, quite.

She caught Caitlin’s expression; it was frozen on her face. The rest of her had retreated to a safe distance. It was an art that Kaylin could appreciate and couldn’t master; she didn’t try.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

Caitlin only pointed to the far door, the tower door, and shook her head.

Kaylin practically flew up the stairs. Fear did that; it shoved exhaustion into a small corner for later use. Given the previous night, it was going to see a lot of use.

The door, thank whatever gods the Hawklord worshipped—if he did—was already open; he was waiting for her.

Standing beside him was a tall, elegant stranger in a fine, dark dress the color of mythic forest. She wore a small tiara, with an emerald that would beggar small houses to own, and her slender arms were gloved in a pale green that echoed the dress.

Her hair, Barrani black, was loose; it fell past Kaylin’s immediate vision. Barrani hair wasn’t worth noticing; eyes were. Hers were blue. But they were an odd shade of blue, not the dark, deep sapphire that marked so many of the Barrani; these were almost teal.

Kaylin couldn’t recall seeing that shade before, and it made her nervous.

The Hawklord, however, was grim, and that was perversely calming. Kaylin started to bow, and he cut her off with a gesture. Formality was out.

“Kaylin,” he said, his voice a shade grimmer than his expression, “your services are required.”

She stared at him blankly. Something about the woman was familiar. Something—“Teela?”

“She hasn’t gotten any faster on the uptake, has she?” Teela said to the Hawklord.

“Nor has she become more punctual. Teela will take you where you need to go.” He paused. “Do exactly as she says. No more. No less.”

“Where are we going?”

“Definitely not faster,” Teela said, her Elantran jarringly at odds with her appearance. “We go,” she added, sliding into High Barrani, “to the Court of the castelord.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. But we don’t have time.” “What—you don’t need me as a Hawk.” “Smart girl. Slow, but smart.” “Teela—what’s happened?”

“There has been a minor difficulty at Court,” Teela replied, reaching out for Kaylin’s arm. Kaylin was too stunned to move out of the way. “If we do not repair to the Court in time, it will become a major difficulty.”

“How major?”

“War.”

That was major. Kaylin looked down at her pants, hating Nightshade.

“Severn is waiting below,” the Hawklord told her quietly. “I’ve summoned a carriage. It’s an Imperial carriage.”

Teela began to drag her out of the tower room, but the Hawklord had not yet finished. “Go quickly, and return quickly. Do not leave Severn’s side.”

Severn was waiting. He was tucked into a corner of the carriage, and appeared to be sleeping. Or he would have, had she known him a little less well. She watched him for a moment; his closed lids were like fine-veined membranes, round and edged in a black fringe. His hair was actually pushed up over his forehead by a knotted band; she didn’t recognize the knot-work, but it was expensive enough to be official. He looked nothing at all like the boy she’d grown up with.

And yet, at the same time, exactly like him.

She shook her head; too much time spent looking and not enough moving. When she scrabbled up on the bench beside him, he opened an eye.

“Did you offend the mage?”

She snorted. “The mage is probably impossible to offend.” Then, slightly more quietly, “No. I didn’t.”

“Good.”

Bastard. He was smartly attired; he wore dress uniform, and it even looked good on him. His scars made him look like a Ground Hawk in any case; there was probably no clothing so ostentatious that it could deprive him of that.

The door slammed shut.

“Where’s Teela?” she asked.

“She’s driving.”

“She’s what?”

“You have a problem with that?”

Gods, Kaylin thought. This was an Imperial carriage.

It lurched to a start. “Yes!”

Severn managed to grip the window; it was the only reason he was still seated. He glared up through the coach wall. “Never mind.”

“What happened to the driver?”

Severn’s head disappeared out the window, and reappeared just as quickly; the window was not a safe place to hang a necessary appendage if you wanted it attached at the end of the journey. Not when Teela was driving. “He’s the large man in livery with the purple face?”

“I’m not looking,” Kaylin told him.

“Just as well.”

The carriage didn’t stop. Not once. It teetered several times on the large base of its wheels, and Kaylin and Severn tried to balance the weight by throwing themselves in the opposite direction. But Imperial carriages were heavy enough to carry four Dragons; they didn’t tip easily. If she had thought Teela was aware of this fact, it would have eased her somewhat—but she’d been in a carriage that Teela had driven before. Once.

She’d promised herself—and everyone else who could hear—that she’d never do it again. So much for promises.

Then, Tain had been her companion, and he had found the entire journey amusing, especially the part where Kaylin turned green. You had to love that Barrani sense of humor; if you didn’t, you’d try to kill them. Which was, of course, suicide.

Severn was not turning green. As if acrobatics on the interior of a very unstable vehicle were part of his training, he moved in time with the bumps, raised stones, and ruts that comprised the roads that Teela had chosen.

But these passed quickly by, as did the large, narrow buildings that fronted the streets, casting their shadows and shielding the people who were smart enough to get the hell out of the way.

The roads widened, and smoothed, as the carriage picked up speed. Beyond the windows, the buildings grew grander, wood making way for stone, and stone for storeys of fenced-off splendor that spoke of both power and money. The towers of the Imperial palace could be seen, for a moment, in the distance; the red-and-gold of the Imperial standard flew across the height of sky. Only the Halls of Law had towers that rivaled it, and that, by Imperial fiat; no other building erected since the founding of the Empire of Ala’an was allowed, by law, to reach higher.

There were other buildings with towers as high, but they were in the heart of the fiefs, where even Kaylin had not ventured. Not often. They were old, and had about them not splendor but menace; they spoke of death, and the wind that whistled near those heights spoke not of flight but of falling.

She shook herself. Severn was watching—inasmuch as he could, given the rough ride.

“The fiefs,” he said. Not a question.

She swallowed and nodded. The years stretched out between them. Death was there, as well. In the end, Severn looked away—but he had to; the carriage had tipped again.