Cast in Peril

“I feel a small amount of self-indulgence, given the events of the day, is not unreasonable, yes.”

“I see that your definition of small amounts of self-indulgence has remained a constant.” He turned to Kaylin. “Forgive the interruption, Private. Was there anything unusual that occurred when the egg hatched?”

“Define ‘unusual.’”

“Honestly, Sanabalis,” the Arkon said in a much lower voice, “I feel that Bellusdeo is not the correct companion for the Private. Some of her influence is bound to manifest itself at inconvenient times.” He also lifted a hand to the bridge of his nose. “Anything out of the ordinary. Anything magical.”

Kaylin nodded crisply. “A barrier of some kind appeared. It protected both Bellusdeo and me from the debris and the possibility of injury.”

“Anything else?”

Kaylin hesitated.

“Private.”

“It ate one of my marks right after it hatched.”

* * *

After a very long pause, the Arkon rose from his desk and approached Kaylin. The small dragon lifted its head, bumping the side of Kaylin’s cheek as it did. The Arkon examined the dragon from a safe distance, during which time he was uncomfortably silent. “Given the current status of the Hawks, it is probably too much to ask for a full Records capture of your marks tonight. I will expect a full capture to be arranged for tomorrow, and all records are to be transferred to the Imperial Archives for my perusal. Is that clear?”

“As glass, sir.”

“Good.” He held out a hand. “Please give me the creature.”

Kaylin hesitated, and the Arkon’s eyes narrowed. She tried to disengage the small dragon; he dug in. Literally. “I don’t think he wants to leave,” she said, pulling at four small, clawed appendages. He responded by biting her hair.

The Arkon lowered his hand. “Has the creature spoken at all?”

“Pardon?”

“Spoken. Communicated.”

“Uh, no.”

“Has it separated itself from you at all, for any length of time?”

“Separated itself?”

“Left. You. Alone.”

“No, Arkon.”

“Have you attempted to put it down at all?”

“Not until now, Arkon.” She winced; she’d had burrs that were easier to remove from her hair. “Can I ask where this line of questioning is leading?”

“Did Bellusdeo say anything about the creature prior to your arrival here?”

Kaylin glanced nervously at Bellusdeo, who conversely didn’t appear to be nervous at all.

“I told her, Lannagaros, that I thought she was in possession of a familiar.”

“I…see.”

“Do you disagree?”

“Given that I have never seen what I would consider to be a genuine familiar, or at least the type of familiar about which legends arise, I am not in a position to either agree or disagree.” He turned to the mirror. “Records.”

Since Records was already searching for whatever he’d last asked for, Kaylin thought this a bit unfair—but then again, it wasn’t as if the Records were overworked mortals.

“Information, myths, or stories about familiars. This may,” he added, “take some time, if the Emperor is waiting.”

Bellusdeo nodded, fixed a firm and not terribly friendly smile to her face, and gestured at Sanabalis. Sanabalis bowed. “We may possibly revisit this discussion,” he told Kaylin as they headed toward the door.

Only when they were gone did the Arkon resume his seat; he also, however, indicated that Kaylin could grab a chair and join him—at a reasonable distance from the table that contained his work.

To her surprise, the first question he asked when the doors had closed on the two departing Dragons was “You are well?”

The small dragon had settled back onto her neck like a scarf with talons. She blinked. “Pardon?”

“While I have often heard various members of my Court and your Halls threaten you with bodily harm, strangulation, or dismemberment, you have seldom been a victim of an attack within the confines of your own home. If I understand the nature of the attack correctly, you now no longer have a home, and I am therefore attempting to ascertain your state of mind. Are you well?”

She told him she was fine. Except the words she used were “No. I’m not.” Closing her eyes, she said, “It’s the only real home I’ve had since my mother died. Every other place I’ve lived belonged to someone else, either before I moved in or after.” In the fiefs, there were no laws of ownership. At least not in the fief of Nightshade. It wasn’t that hard to eject a handful of children from the space in which they were squatting so that you could squat there instead.

She opened her eyes. “I’m happy to be alive. I am. But—it doesn’t feel real.”

“Being alive?”

“Being homeless. When I leave the Library, I don’t get to leave the Palace.”

“You are a guest, Private, not a prisoner.”

“Tell that to the Emperor.” The small dragon lifted its head and rubbed its nose along the side of her cheek. “Yes, yes,” she whispered. “I’m getting to that part.”

The Arkon raised a brow, and she reddened.

“Bellusdeo believes that the egg wouldn’t have hatched without the bomb, so—I have the hatchling.” She hesitated. “Would someone really kill me over it?”

“Not if they understood its nature.”

“What about its nature?”

“It is, in its entirety, yours.”

The small dragon’s eyes widened; it swiveled its head in the Arkon’s direction and opened its delicate, translucent mouth. There was a lot of squawking.

“Umm, did you understand any of that?” Kaylin asked as the Arkon stared at the dragonlet.

“No.”

Kaylin had, in her youth, engaged in staring contests with cats—she’d always lost. She had a suspicion that the Arkon in his age was beginning to engage in a similar contest with the small dragon—and given large Dragons, and the inability to pry the small one off her shoulder, she could see a long, sleepless night in the very near future. She therefore reached up and covered the small dragon’s eyes with her hand—something only the very young or the very suicidal would ever try with the large one.

“Can we get back to the entirely mine part?”

The small dragon reared up and bit her hand—but not quite hard enough to draw blood.

“Fine. Can we get back to the part where I’m entirely its?”

The Arkon snorted.

“And also the stories where Sorcerers destroyed half a world in order to somehow create or summon one?”

“Yes. Understand that those stories are exactly that: stories. They are not reliable or factual. There may be some particulars that suit the current situation, but many more will not.” He turned and readjusted the mirror, which made Kaylin wince; in general it wasn’t considered safe to move active mirrors, although Kaylin had never understood why. Angry Leontine was more than enough incentive.

“By the way, what is a Sorcerer?”

“For all intents and purposes? Think of a Sorcerer as an Arcanist but with actual power.”

Since her apartment was now mostly a pile of smoldering splinters, Kaylin thought his definition of “actual power” needed fine-tuning. “Any less arrogant?”

“There was purportedly one extant in my youth, but there was never confirmation of his—or her—existence. Given that people who possess power frequently decide what qualifies as humility or arrogance in a way that allows little dissent, I will offer a qualified no.”

“Fine. Arrogant and very powerful.” She looked pointedly at her shoulder. “How, exactly, is a small dragon of great use to an arrogant and very powerful Arcanist?”

“Bellusdeo implied that the ‘small dragon,’ as you call it, shielded both of you from the brunt of the damage the Arcane bomb would have otherwise caused. It is almost a certainty that you would not have survived otherwise. Further study is warranted, but it is clear to me that Bellusdeo would have been, at the very least, gravely injured. She was not.”

“If a Sorcerer is actually more powerful than the Arcanists, I don’t think some form of impressive magical defense would be beyond him—or her. I understand why the familiar might be helpful to someone like me, but I didn’t exactly destroy half a world to get one.”

“Ah, I think I see the difficulty. If you are referring to this story,” he said, tapping the mirror so that the image immediately shifted, “the Sorcerer didn’t destroy the world to, as you put it, ‘get’ a familiar; he destroyed half a world as a by-product of his attempt to produce—or summon—one. I’m afraid the original word could mean either, so the meaning is not precise. It was what you would consider collateral damage. And if you fail to understand how that damage could occur—”

She lifted a hand. “Not stupid,” she said curtly. “I know why the egg happened. I know what kind of magical disturbance produced it. Given the total lack of predictability of the effects of that magic, I can understand the how. I’m just stuck on the why.”

The Arkon nodded in apparent sympathy. “Dragons were not, to my knowledge, Sorcerers.”

“Meaning?”

“It makes no clear sense to me, either; the stories that we have are fragmentary and somewhat conflicting. The story that I am currently considering—and you may look at the mirror images if you like, but you won’t be able to read the words—doesn’t reference the practical use of the creature. It does, however, make reference to its astonishing beauty.” He lifted a brow. “This story implies that the familiar was winged, but of a much more substantial size.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, apparently its owner could ride on its back, and did. On the other hand, the use of the word summon is more distinct and implies something demonic in nature.”

“Demonic?”

“It’s a religious story.”

“Do any of the stories imply the familiars were a danger to their owners?”

The Arkon took minutes to answer the question. “…Yes.”

“Figures. Does it say how?”

The Arkon’s frown deepened. “I’m afraid,” he finally said, “that this is also a very dead language, and I’m uncertain. I will have to consult with the Royal linguists when time permits. You said that he ate one of your marks?”

She nodded. She didn’t, however, point out that the Devourer had also eaten some of her marks; her testimony was in Records, and if he failed to recall it on the spot, she wasn’t going to remind him. Why, she wasn’t certain.

“And that would be—” The rest of her sentence was lost to the sudden roaring that filled the Library. It wasn’t the Arkon’s voice. He lifted a brow and then shook his head. “Bellusdeo hasn’t really changed very much.”

“That was Bellusdeo?”

“Ah, no. That was the Emperor. I believe Sanabalis is at the doors.” The doors swung open—and shut—very quickly as Sanabalis entered the Library.

“I consider it a very good thing that Lord Diarmat is with the Hawks,” Sanabalis said when normal speech could actually be heard in the room.

“You didn’t stay for their discussion?”

“No. If the Emperor is to lose his composure, it is best for all concerned that there be no witnesses.” The last half of the last word was lost to the sound of more roaring.

“That,” the Arkon pointed out while distant breath was being drawn, “was Bellusdeo.”

* * *

The Arkon decided, during the small breaks between roaring—which frequently overlapped—that it was safe to leave the small dragon with Kaylin. By “safe,” he meant that she was allowed to leave the room with the dragon attached. He was aware that keeping the dragon, at this point, also meant caging the Private, and declined to, as he put it, subject himself to the endless interruption and resentment that would entail.

Sanabalis therefore escorted her from the Library. “Do you know the way to your rooms?” he asked when the doors were closed and there was another break in the roaring.

She looked at him.

“Very well, let me escort you. Attempt to pay attention, because this will no doubt be the first of many forays between the Arkon and those rooms. You will, of course, be expected to perform your regular duties during your transitional stay in the Palace.” He turned to face her as she regarded the door ward with dislike. “You will not, however, be in residence for long if the raid conducted this evening bears fruit.”

Kaylin wilted. “Nightshade?” she asked, too tired to pretend she didn’t understand what he was talking about.

Sanabalis nodded. “I am not entirely comfortable with the exchange of information for your time; the information, however, was crucial. Bellusdeo will be staying in the Palace while you discharge your obligation to the fieflord.”

“Was that part of the discussion with the Emperor?”

“It was—and is.”

“Then it’s not decided?”

“It is. The Emperor has been willing to grant leeway in all of Bellusdeo’s irregular demands for autonomy, but he will not allow her to leave the City—or the Palace—at this time. She intended to accompany you. He has pointed out one thing for which Bellusdeo has no reply.”

“What?”

“She endangered your life.”

It was true, but Kaylin felt it was also unfair. “Neither of us knew that someone would try to kill her.”

“It has always been an Imperial concern.”

“She probably thought you were being paranoid.”

“Yes. She made that clear. Her second thoughts will therefore occur in the Palace, and in your absence. I would suggest that you attempt to make the best of your status as guest here; you will depart for the West March in five days.”

Chapter 4

When Kaylin headed to the Halls of Law the next day, she went on foot. Bellusdeo wasn’t terribly happy about it, because Bellusdeo had been asked not to accompany her. The fact that she was willing to accede to a request that she clearly detested confirmed what Sanabalis had said about the almost deafening and totally incomprehensible Dragon conversation.

“You’re taking the familiar with you?”

“I wasn’t going to,” Kaylin replied, which was only a half lie. “But I can’t keep it off my shoulders for more than five minutes.” This wasn’t entirely true; it was willing to sit on the top of her head or be gathered in the palms of her hands, but neither of these were as convenient.

“You’re going to have to come up with a name for it sometime; if I hear it referred to as the ‘small dragon’ or ‘glass dragon’ again, I’ll scream.”

“That’s what the Arkon—”

“He’s ancient and probably half-blind.”

“Dragons don’t go blind with age.”

For some reason, this completely factual statement didn’t meet with Bellusdeo’s approval.

* * *

When she exited the Palace, Severn was waiting. He fell in beside her in a stiffer-than-usual silence.

“I’m sorry,” she said without looking at him. “I—”

“I heard about it this morning.”

“How?”

“Teela mirrored me; she thought I’d like to know before I hit the office.”

“I—”

“You had better things to worry about.”

“You’re angry anyway.”

“I’m angry, yes, but I’m not angry at you.” He stopped walking. “I should have been there.”

“You didn’t know.”

“Why didn’t you mirror when you hit the office?”

“Everyone was so pissed off, I didn’t think about it.” She hesitated and then added, “I’m still not thinking about it very clearly. At all. I know what happened—I was there—but part of me still thinks I can take the normal route home.”

“You could stay with me.”

She hesitated. “I would,” she said, because it was true. “But I can’t leave Bellusdeo. The Emperor won’t give permission for her to live with you—not that you’d enjoy it—and I’m betting he won’t give his blessing if I move out on my own, unless she requests it.”

He glanced at the small dragon on her shoulder but made no comment; Kaylin guessed that Teela had also mentioned its appearance, and didn’t ask. Mention of her home had dampened a mood that hadn’t been that cheery to begin with.

* * *

Kaylin made it to the Halls with a few minutes to spare and found Tanner and Kelmar on the doors. Getting into the Halls took a little longer than usual, because both of the Hawks wanted to take a look at the glass dragon, and the glass dragon seemed lazily inclined to allow their inspection. While they looked, Kaylin asked if they’d had any word, and their nonanswer was incentive enough to jog through the Halls to the office.

There, she headed straight to the duty board. She read it with care, grinding her teeth as she noticed the address of her apartment and the fact that it wasn’t anywhere near her name.

She then headed straight for Caitlin. “Why am I not being pulled in on the investigation into my own apartment?”

“Think about what you just said, dear.”

“But it’s my—”

“Exactly. Your judgment would not be considered impartial or objective enough.” Caitlin frowned slightly. “I realize you’re upset—”

“I think I’m allowed!”

“—but you shouldn’t be so upset that you forget one of the more significant rules governing investigative assignments. If it helps, the Imperial Order has been working since—”

“Have they found anything?”

“Not conclusively.”

Kaylin perked up. “What was inconclusive?”

“There was, as far as the mages could tell, only one signature left at the site.”

“That’s unusual.” Kaylin hesitated and then added, “It’s also inaccurate.”

Caitlin winced. “I think you should talk to Marcus, dear. But he’s been dealing with Dragons and mages, so he’s not in the best of moods.”

* * *

“This had better be important,” Marcus said as she approached his desk. He didn’t even bother to look up. He was elbow deep in reports. This would have been unusual, but as it was not the most unusual thing about Marcus at this very moment, Kaylin barely noticed. His left arm—or the fur on it—had been either seared or singed off. “What are you staring at, Private?”

“Nothing. Sir.”

“Good. Why are you gaping at nothing in front of my desk?”

She took a deep breath and lifted her chin slightly. “It’s about my apartment.”

“No.”

“It’s not about the investigation,” she said quickly. “But the Imperial mages apparently only found one magical signature at the detonation site. I saw two.”

Marcus dug a runnel into the desk. “When exactly did you see these?”

“Just after the bomb destroyed my home.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to demote or discipline the Hawks on duty there today; you are not supposed to be on-site. At all.” He gave up on the report he was writing—for a value of write that involved reading and a signature that was shaky to begin with—and lifted his head to stare at her. After a significant pause, he pulled a report from one of the piles. “Here.”

Kaylin had learned love of reports from Marcus but took it anyway.

“I’m up to my armpits in Imperial Concern,” he continued before she could ask about its contents. “The Imperial Order will be interested in what you have to say about a second signature. They’re also likely to feel insulted. I suggest you go directly to Lord Sanabalis; I’ve come this close to relieving one mage of his throat this morning already.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Read that report. You can give me a précis of what it actually says later. And, Private, I mean it: you go anywhere near our investigators at your former address, and you’ll be suspended without pay until you leave the City.”

* * *

Reading reports wasn’t nearly as onerous as writing them—unless you happened to be the Sergeant. Kaylin retired to her cramped, small desk, discovered that someone had commandeered her chair, and sat on the desk’s nearly pristine surface instead of going to find it. Bellusdeo was not in the office, and her mood was not Kaylin’s problem, but she felt guilty enjoying the Dragon’s absence. The report helped with that, but not in a good way.

She was uncertain as to why the report was even on Marcus’s desk, because in theory, it involved the fiefs. The Hawks kept an eye on the bridges between the fiefs and the rest of the City, but it was cursory; they couldn’t stop traffic from entering the fiefs, and they couldn’t stop traffic from leaving them, either, although admittedly questions were asked in either case. There was, with the exception of Tiamaris, very little of either.

Oh, wait. There it was: the small tendril that led to the large, omnipresent web. A boy, Miccha Jannoson, had, on a dare from his friends—Kaylin snorted at the word—crossed the bridge from the City into the fiefs. He was lucky, in that the fief in question was Tiamaris; there was enough traffic over that bridge, and most of it seemed to return in the other direction at the end of the day.

He was unlucky, in that he didn’t appear to be one of the returnees. His grandmother had filed a report with Missing Persons the following morning. Which would be yesterday.

Tiamaris was both fieflord and Dragon Lord, and he was willing to cooperate with the Halls of Law in their search.

She read through to the end; there, transcribed, was a brief message from Tiamaris: the boy was not the only person to disappear within his fief in the past two weeks. In other fiefs, such disappearances might not be noticed, noted, or of concern; in Tiamaris, they were apparently personal, Tiamaris being a Dragon. He requested, at the Halls’ leisure, a check for possible similar disappearances within Elantra, but asked that the check be broader: not teenage boys, but people, period. Mortals.

Kaylin glanced at the small dragon draped across her shoulders. She had four days before her departure. Four days wasn’t a lot of time for an investigation of something big—and the fact that Tiamaris had made an all but official request meant he considered it significant. Maybe it was time to visit the fief and speak to Tara.

* * *

Teela dropped by her desk as she was planning. Kaylin almost fell over when she saw the Barrani officer’s face; it was bruised. Her eyes, however, were green. Mostly.

“Kitling,” Teela said, sounding as tired as she looked.

Kaylin felt her jaw hanging open, and shut it.

“Why are you staring? I don’t recall ever saying I was impervious to harm.”

“What the hells were you fighting? Barrani?”

“A dozen.”

Report forgotten, Kaylin swiveled in her chair. “What happened last night?”

“We met some resistance.”

“You didn’t go on a raid with two bloody Dragons expecting no resistance.”

“Sit down. I didn’t come here to deliver bad news; I came here to extend an invitation to the High Halls.”

Kaylin’s brows disappeared into her hairline; if they hadn’t been attached to the rest of her face, they would have kept going. “P-pardon?”

“It is a personal invitation,” Teela added.

“I’m guesting at the Palace at the moment, on account of having no home.”

“Yes. You could stay with me in the High Halls instead; I find the Halls very dull and otherwise too peaceful. Regardless, you will require suitable clothing for your journey to the West March. I assume that very little of yours survived.”

“I’m wearing most of it.” Kaylin sat. “You’re not going to tell me what happened, are you?”

“You can read the report when it’s written. You can read any of a dozen reports; Marcus probably won’t.”

“Teela—”

Teela lifted a hand. “Two of the mages died. We lost four Hawks; three of them were Barrani, one was Aerian. Clint was injured, but not badly; Tain has a broken arm and the disposition one would expect from that.”

“Marcus?”

“His fur was singed, as you may have noticed. He’s alive. He’s alive,” Teela added, “because he can move his bulk at need, and he moved.”

“I don’t suppose the Dragons—”

“The Dragons are, of course, fine.”

“The Arcanum—”

“The Arcanum was damaged during the fighting; it is, however, still structurally sound.”

“Evarrim?”

“He was not involved in the fighting.” The way she said it made clear that no more questions about Evarrim were going to be answered; it also made clear that she would have been happier if he had been.