Michelle Sagara - Cast In Courtlight

Praise for

MICHELLE SAGARA

and The Chronicles of Elantra series

Cast in Shadow

“No one provides an emotional payoff like Michelle Sagara.

Combine that with a fast-paced police procedural, deadly

magics, five very different races and a wickedly dry sense of

humor—well, it doesn’t get any better than this.”

—Bestselling author Tanya Huff

“First-rate fantasy. Sagara’s complex characterizations

and rich world-building lift her above the crowd.”

—New York Times bestselling author Kelley Armstrong

Cast in Courtlight

“Readers will embrace this compelling, strong-willed

heroine with her often sarcastic voice.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A fast-paced novel, packed with action and adventure …

integrating the conventions of police procedurals

with more fantastic elements.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Cast in Secret

“The impressively detailed setting and the book’s spirited

heroine are sure to charm romance readers as well as fantasy

fans who like some mystery with their magic.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Remarkable … Filled with time-release plot threads and

intricate details, these books are both mesmerizing

and unforgettable. If you’re a fan of rich fantasy,

this is the series for you!”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews, Top Pick (4½ stars)

MICHELLE SAGARA has written twelve novels since 1991, when her fi rst book, Into the Dark Lands, was published. She’s written a quarterly book review column for the venerable Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction for a number of years, as well as dozens of short stories (or novellas, to be more exact).

In 1986 she started working in an SF specialty bookstore, where she continues to work to this day. She loves reading, is allergic to cats (very, which means they crawl all over her), is happily married, has two lovely children, and has spent all of her life in her native Toronto—none of it on Bay Street.

She started reading fantasy almost as soon as she could read, and fell instantly in love with Narnia; her next fantasy discovery was Patricia McKillip’s Forgotten Beasts of Eld. She moved on to The Hobbit, which led to her discovery of the life-changing The Lord of the Rings.

Her greatest hope for her writing is that someone will read it and be moved by the same sense of magic and mystery that she fi nds in the books she loves.

She will talk about writing, bookselling and books forever if given a chance. You’ve been warned.

Cast In Courtlight

Michelle Sagara

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This is for Tanya and Fe, with gratitude for long years of friendship that involved phone calls about all of life’s little anxieties and triumphs, none begrudged.

The home team, again, came through: First and foremost Thomas, Daniel and Ross, who put up with my imaginative flights and figurative absences; John, Kristen, Jamie (affectionately referred to as His Majesty), Gary and Ayami, who do the same; and my mother and father.

The away team: For this book, my editor, Matrice, patient with my unusual inability to deal with outlines; my agent, Russ Galen; and of course, as always, Terry Pearson, who read it all a chapter at a time.

Thanks, guys.

In the old days, before the Dragon Emperor—sometimes called the Eternal Emperor by those responsible for toadying—had invested the Halls of Law with the laws which governed the Empire, angry Dragons simply ate the idiots who were stupid enough to irritate them. Or, if they were unappetizing, burned them into a very slight pile of ash.

Ash had the advantage of requiring little to no paperwork.

Marcus Kassan, Sergeant for the Hawks—one branch of officers who served in the Halls of Law—stared gloomily at a pile of paperwork that, were it placed end to end, would loom above him. At over six foot, that was difficult. The desire to shred it caused his claws to flick in and out of the fur of his forepaws.

The desire to avoid annoying Caitlin, the woman who was—inasmuch as the Hawks allowed it—den mother to the interior office, which set schedules, logged reports, and prepared duty rosters and pay chits, was just slightly stronger. In their personal life, Leontines disavowed all paperwork, usually by the expedient of chewing it, shredding it, or burning it, when it wasn’t useful for the kits’ litter.

Then again, he’d been at his desk for the better part of an hour. He expected there’d be a shift in the balance before the day—which looked to be long and grueling—was over.

Caitlin smiled at him from the nest she made of the paperwork she endured, day in, day out. It was a slightly sharp smile that looked, on the surface, quiet and sweet. That was Caitlin. Human all over. She’d been with him for years. He was aware of her value; the three people before her had lasted two weeks, three weeks, and four days, respectively. They had all babbled like morons.

Fear does that, Caitlin had said when she’d applied for the job. She was bird-thin and fragile to the eye, and her voice was soft and feminine—no growl or fang there. But definitely some spine. She was one of two people who manned the desks who could stand six inches from his face when he was on the edge of fury. She barely blinked, and attributed that, regretfully, to his breath.

At any other time of the year, paperwork was optional. Pay chits and duty rosters weren’t, but he was enough of a Sergeant to at least sign off on them when he wasn’t actively composing the lists themselves. No, this hideous mess was courtesy of the Festival. Permits, copied laboriously by clerks in some merchant branch of the Imperial palace, had been sent by dim-witted couriers in bags that were half again as large as Caitlin. Bags. Plural.

But not just permits. Festival regulations, which seemed to change year after year. The names of important dignitaries from the farthest damn fringe of the Empire of Ala’an, manifests of cargo transports, and diplomatic grants were also shoved in the same bags. The latter were, however, sealed in a way that screamed “special privilege.” Diplomatic immunity.

Marcus hated the Festival season. The city was enough of a problem; throwing foreigners into the streets by the thousands was just asking for trouble.

Not only that, but every get-rich-quick scheme that had occurred to any half-wit moron in the street could be expected to rear its imbecilic head during the next two weeks. Unfortunately, every get-rich-quick scheme that occurred to any cunning, intelligent person would also rear its head during the next two weeks. The money that flowed into the Empire’s capital during the Festival was staggering, and everyone wanted a piece of it.

The Swordlord, and the men who followed his orders, were probably in worse shape, and this provided a moment’s comfort to Marcus. He was Hawk, through and through; the Swords were his natural rivals. Not, of course, his enemies; they all served the Lords of Law, and they all worked in the labyrinthine buildings referred to as the Halls of Law by people who saw them from the outside. But the Hawks and the Swords had their own way of doing things, and when the Festival season was at its height, there were always disagreements.

On the other hand, at least the Swords were in the streets; the damn Wolves were at bay. It was hard to hunt in the city during the Festival, even at the behest of the Wolflord. The Wolves were kept in reserve in case of riot, when all servants of the Law could be called into action. This was, however, downtime for the Wolves, and Marcus sullenly resented them their freedom.