Cast In Fury

“Sir,” she said, hoping she sounded as curt—and as correct—as Severn.

“You will report to the office before you leave for the Palace while you have duties there.”

“Sir.”

“And you will tender a report of your activities to Mr. Smithson at the end of each day.”

“It’s neither an investigation nor an arrest,” she told him.

“Yes. I’m aware of that. But given the delicate nature of relations with the Palace, and given the probability that I will be called upon to explain your behavior while there, I require a report.

“Ah, and I wish you to lift your right arm.”

She did as he ordered.

He walked over to her and rolled up her sleeve. The golden surface of the bracer caught the ambient light, reflecting it perfectly. “I will also require you to show proof of your compliance with the Hawklord’s orders when you report.

“You are aware, perhaps, that the former Sergeant and I did not see eye to eye on many things. I have spent some time perusing your file,” he said, lifting and waving it as if it were a red flag and Kaylin were a bull, “and while I better understand some of his decisions with regards to your behavior, I feel that he placed too much emphasis on your possible import.

“I will be watching you, Private Neya. Do one thing to embarrass this department, and you will no longer be part of it. Is that understood?”

“Sir.”

“Yes or no, Private.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Dismissed.”

Kaylin took a breath and walked away from his desk.

“Private! That is not the way to the carriage yards.”

She turned on heel. “No, sir. I’m reporting to the Hawklord.”

“No, Private, you are not. I report to the Hawklord. You report to me. Is that clear?”

She was almost speechless. Having to walk past Mallory—and be interrogated by him—was one thing. Being told that all communication between the Hawklord and herself was forbidden was another. Her hands slid up to her hips.

Severn stepped on her foot. She met his gaze and saw the warning in it.

Was about to ignore it entirely when Severn said, “If you’re cashiered, you can’t help Marcus.”

“Sir,” she said, in a slightly strangled tone of voice.

“Good. Do not be late for your assignment.” He went back to the desk that, damn it all, he shouldn’t be behind, and took the chair. “I look forward to your report this evening.”

“Kaylin, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Severn told her quietly. “There’s every chance that Mallory will keep an eye on you for the first couple of weeks.”

Kaylin said nothing. Instead of making her way to the carriage yards, she had made her way to the Aerie. In it, high above her head, and just below the vaulted ceilings, the Aerians were flying. She knew most of them by name. Certainly all of them on sight.

“I know what I’m doing,” she told him, each word a little bolt of fury.

“I know what you intend to do as well,” he replied. “I just don’t think it’s wise.”

“I’m not asking you to come.”

“No. You are not, however, on your way to the Palace.”

“Rennick won’t even be awake.”

“True.”

“So there’s no point in going there now.”

“Less true,” Severn said.

“You didn’t tell Mallory that we’re not required until well past lunch?”

“No. I thought we might make use of the time.”

“I am.”

“In less obvious disregard of your superior officer’s orders.”

She made her way to the middle of the Aerie and waited. In about five minutes, three of the flying Aerians began to circle lower, and eventually they landed. Two of them were Hawks; one was a Wolf. The Wolf nodded carefully at Severn, who returned the nod.

“If the change of leadership doesn’t suit you, Corporal Handred, the Wolves are waiting.”

“It’s an internal matter,” Severn replied, with care. “But I’ll remember what you’ve said.”

The two Hawks watched Severn for a moment, weighing him. Severn had been a Hawk for a couple of months—at most—and most of his duties didn’t bring him in contact with the Aerians. Most of Kaylin’s didn’t, either, but that hadn’t always been the case, and with the Aerians, history counted for something.

“Kaylin,” one of the two said. He was a younger man, Severn’s age, and his skin was the same deep brown that Clint’s was.

“Perenne,” she replied. “Will you come outside with me for a second?”

He said something suggestive, and she smacked his chest with her open palm. “Very funny. I’m serious.”

“If I can be excused from my drill practice, yes.” He turned to the older Hawk.

“It’s heading to break anyway. Do not do anything stupid.” That said, the older Hawk launched himself into the air.

Perenne was not as stocky as the older Hawks, and he was taller. He had arrived on the force some five years past and, while technically he’d been a Hawk for longer than Kaylin, was well aware that she’d been dogging the feathers of members more senior for years.

“You want me to what?” he said, when she told him what she needed him to do.

“Just fly up to the top of the tower and dangle me over the window.”

“Kaylin—”

“Perenne, I need to talk to the Hawklord, and Mallory’s standing guard in front of the usual door.”

“Meaning he ordered you not to talk to him.”

“Not exactly.”

“What, exactly, did he say?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Corporal Handred?”

“He told her that she is not required to report to the Hawklord—that’s his duty.”

“In exactly those words?”

“More or less.”

Perenne grimaced. “I like this job,” he said. “I’d like to keep it for a while.”

“You don’t have to do anything else,” she replied. “I just—I need to talk to the Hawklord, and I’ll be in the dumps for insubordination if I ignore Mallory to his face.”

“You’ll be in the cells for insubordination if you ignore him behind his back,” Perenne replied reasonably. But he opened his arms, and his wings went from their light, airy fold behind his back to a full tip-to-tip stretch.

“Don’t expect much,” he said, as he caught her in his arms and adjusted for her weight. “Mallory was appointed with the Hawklord’s approval.”

“The man’s an arrogant prick.”

“True. But he’s not a homicidal one.”

“Marcus isn’t homicidal.”

“Much. Look, I know there’s some history with Mallory, but the Hawklord trusts him enough to let him run and staff Missing Persons.”

The ground receded.

“Perenne, he’s going to insist that the Barrani cut their hair.”

Perenne winced. “I didn’t say he was sane. But let him. He won’t last long if he does.”

“I couldn’t talk him out of it if I tried.”

The dome that enclosed the Hawklord’s tower grew larger as they approached it from above. It was closed. Kaylin swore.

“Look, just—dangle me above it while I knock.”

“Knock?”

“Kick.”

“Better. Have you put on weight?”

“Very funny.”

The Hawklord could be called many things. Stupid was not one of them. Almost before Kaylin had finished kicking the dome—and it was actually easier said than done if she didn’t want Perenne to drop her—the dome itself began to slide open, eight parts receding into the stone of the tower’s upper walls. Perenne took the open dome as an invitation to relieve himself of his burden, and very gently set her down, his wings beating slowly.

He landed behind her and snapped the Hawklord a salute. The Hawklord nodded at Perenne. “Circle the dome,” he told the Aerian. “Private Neya has no other way of leaving, but I assume she thought this out beforehand.” His white wings were folded at his back, and his hands were at his sides.

But his eyes were ringed and dark, and he looked tired. He waited in silence for Perenne’s ascent, and then turned his regard on Kaylin. “I believe you were told not to report to me.”

“I’m not.”

“Ah. And what, exactly, are you doing?”

“I want you to report to me.”

“I see.” He turned and walked toward the mirror that graced the tower. “You refer to Marcus Kassan.”

“What happened? Why is he—”

“I don’t know, Kaylin. I know that he is currently in the custody of the Caste Courts. The Leontine Caste Court. More than that I have not been able to ascertain. But his arrest is within the purview of the Caste Courts, and unless Marcus demands a public hearing or a public trial in the Imperial Courts, it is not our concern.”

“You can’t believe he—”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. It doesn’t matter what you believe. The Caste Courts have the right to convene in this fashion. If we decide to disrupt Caste law, we risk too much. The city can’t cope with two Caste difficulties.” He paused and then said, “You visited Ybelline Rabon’alani.”

“Yes. At her request. And she’s not going to file an incident report.”

“Good. And you found her well?”

“No.”

“And your duties at the Imperial Palace?”

“I’m not allowed to report to you,” she reminded him.

“Sergeant Mallory would not consider something this informal to be a report,” the Hawklord replied.

She started to argue, and stopped herself because it was true.

“Acting Sergeant Mallory,” she said instead.

“As you say.”

“Why in the hells did you choose him? Why not promote someone from the department? He’s handled Missing Persons reports for the last gods know how many years—he’s not—”

The Hawklord lifted a hand. “Do not question my judgment in this. And before you embarrass yourself by asking, Sergeant Mallory does not have any information he can use against me. He was put forward as the most senior candidate who could fill the position on no notice.”

“By who?”

“It’s not your concern, Kaylin.”

“He’s never liked the fact that I’m a Hawk.”

“No.”

“He’ll do whatever he can to get rid of me.”

“He’ll allow you to do whatever you can to give him the excuse, yes. A year ago, that would have taken a day, two at the outside. I expect that it will now take him much longer. Especially given the nature of your duties at the Palace.”

“Where’s Caitlin?”

“Caitlin—and she has a rank, Private, but as this is entirely informal, I will allow you to forget it—has chosen to take a leave of absence. Her duties under Marcus Kassan did not leave her much free time, and she is, in fact, owed several weeks of back pay, and several more weeks of time off. She is utilizing both at the moment.”

“But when they run out?”

“She is still a Hawk in good standing. If her position is not vacant when she chooses to return, another position will be found for her. She has also received at least two offers of employment from the Swords.”

Kaylin watched his reflection in the mirror, waiting for it to dim as he accessed Records. She waited for at least five minutes before she realized he had no intention of accessing Records at this time.

He just didn’t want to look at her.

It was surprising how much this stung.

“Access to the Tower during Sergeant Mallory’s stay will be restricted,” the Hawklord told her. “If there is an emergency, those restrictions do not apply—but do not create an emergency.”

“But—”

He turned away from the mirror, then. “I am aware of the schedule Richard Rennick chooses to keep,” he said, his voice sharp and low. “I am aware of the hours you are expected to serve. You have half a day of paid time in which to play cards. Corporal Handred is also blessed with the same abundance of time. Use it, Kaylin. There is nothing that Marcus will tell me. I haven’t eaten at his table. I haven’t been given the hospitality of his hearth. I haven’t been adopted by his Pridlea. You’ve spoken to his wives before—speak to them now, if they’ll talk.

“I trust you,” he said, his voice still low and intense. “I trust you to use your training as a Hawk. As a groundhawk, when you’re focused, you have very few equals. Go where I cannot go. Discover what I cannot discover. Survive Mallory’s dislike. It is not beyond your skills.” He looked as if he would say more, but he stopped for a moment. “Marcus is the only Leontine on my force at the moment. His loss will be a blow to the city, even if the Hawks see only their own difficulties. You have five days.”

“Five days?”

“The trial is set for five days hence.”

“Five days? We couldn’t get something like this to trial in less than five weeks!”

But the Hawklord lifted his head and uttered a series of high, clicking whistles. It wasn’t Aerian, exactly; it was the Aerian version of a shout.

Perenne began his descent.

“I regret the necessity of putting you in this situation. But it is necessary, Kaylin. Do what you do best.”

“What is it I do best?”

He offered her a weary but genuine smile. “Get involved in everyone else’s business, whether or not they request it. My mirror has been keyed for your use and the key sequence is your voice. Attempt to exercise caution when you contact me. Now go. Mallory will be here in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Why?”

“He follows a schedule for his reports.”

She nodded. Bit back the words that she wanted to say. Lifted her arms to catch Perenne as he landed.

“Well?” Severn asked. He was waiting for her by the entrance to the carriage yard.

“Bad.”

“How bad?”

“Not so bad that we can’t do something. Yet.”

“Tell me.”

She waited for the carriage to roll out of the carriage house. “I’ll tell you when we’re en route.”

“To?”

“The Leontine Quarter.” He nodded as if he had expected no less.

CHAPTER 5

“Given Rennick’s general regard for authority—and I must admit to being impressed—we have some leeway in our timing.” Severn glanced out the window, but it was a measured glance; he was, she knew, following the streets, cataloguing the buildings. She wondered if he was constantly fleshing out a map of the city on the inside of his head. Nevertheless, watching or not, he was still with her, as his next words proved. “But while timing with regards to Rennick isn’t a major issue, our presence or absence will be. You don’t care for Rennick—he is, however, important.”

“He’s not an idiot,” she said, grudging the admission. “But I don’t get him. I don’t understand why he writes this stuff for people when he clearly doesn’t like them much.”

Severn shrugged. “It’s art,” he said, as if that explained anything. Maybe it did. “Where does Marcus live?”

“In the middle of the damn Quarter.”

“And we’re approaching it?”

“It’s not like the Tha’alani enclave. There’s no gate. But it’s kind of hard to miss it—the streets are pretty much always crowded. They don’t seem to have a market in the strict sense of the word.”

Severn nodded.

“You already know all of this.”

“I’ve learned some of it,” he replied. “But I’ve seldom had cause to travel in the Leontine Quarter, and the Leontines are not known for their hospitality.”

“Really?”

“Really. Leontines don’t make people worry in the same way the Tha’alani do—in the end, we all have things we’d rather no one else know about. They make people worry in the same way that giant, man-eating animals do.”

“Where, by people, you mean humans.”

“I mean anything that can be killed and eaten.”

“The Barrani don’t seem to mind them.”

“How would you know? The Barrani affect nonchalance when it comes to bloody dragons.”

“True.” The day Teela said “I’m afraid” was probably the day the world ended—because if Teela weren’t certain it was going to end, she wouldn’t bother with something as dangerous as vulnerability. She’d expose herself only if she was certain no one else could ever use it against her.

“Do they frighten you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve seen what men can do,” he replied carefully. “There’s not much a wild animal can do that would be worse. Or messier.”

“Well, I think you’ll like the Pridlea.”

“I think you’re right. If I’m not told to wait outside in the street.”

“Why on earth would you have to wait outside in the street?”

He raised an eyebrow and said, “Are you in a betting mood?”

Kaylin left instructions with the carriage driver, and Severn left different instructions about ten seconds later. The driver seemed to take this in stride, which is to say, he did his level best not to look too amused at her expense. You had to like that in a driver.

She approached the door. Door, at this time of year, was not exactly the right word to describe the heavy, colored curtains that shut out the sounds of the street. During the humid season that any port city suffers, these were the only doors that the Pridlea either desired or needed. After all, it wasn’t as if someone was just going to walk in off the street.

The colors—predominantly a yellow gold—were embroidered into the fabric, which also seemed to boast a profusion of textures. Kaylin had seldom come to the Pridlea when she was on duty, and she stopped a moment to study the heavy, hanging rug. Gold was nubbled in knots around a central patch of color that seemed, to her eye, to be furrier, somehow. She bent forward, and said, “Hey, I think they used Leontine hair in this.”

“We did,” she heard a familiar voice say. It was the voice of all Leontines when they chose to speak Elantran, and it implied a growl that wasn’t actually present. “The hanging contains the fur of every Leontine of age in Marcus’s clan. The fur of his sons are here,” she added, as she stepped out of the building—which was a squat, clay rectangle that seemed to go on forever at her back. There were windows in the front of the building, but in the back, very few. As a child, Kaylin had referred to it as Marcus’s cave. Marcus, batting her playfully—but still painfully—on the side of the head had called it Kayala’s cave.

“The ones that don’t live here?”

“There are no sons here, no. And yes, when they reached the age of majority, they offered some of their throat fur for this purpose, and we accepted it.” She let her hand fall away from the hanging, and hugged Kaylin suddenly and without warning.

Kaylin, however, didn’t need a warning; she knew what to expect, and if Leontine claws and teeth were sharper and harder than some of the crappier Imperial steel she’d seen, their fur was softer than anything. She returned the hug at least as ferociously as she received it, and heard the throat-sound of an older Leontine’s purr just above her ear.

“You look good enough to eat,” Kayala told her, as she stepped back. “We thought you might visit. But I’m afraid the house is not in order.” She looked as if she were about to say more, but stopped and slowly turned just her head to look at Severn. “You may go now,” she told him. “We will watch over Kaylin while she is with our Pridlea. She is as kin.”

Severn glanced at Kaylin.

“He’s not here as my escort,” Kaylin said. She could see the Leontine eyes begin to shade to an unfortunate shade of copper—something they had in common with the dragons. She also had no idea why.

“Kaylin has not made racial differences a study,” Severn told Kayala, speaking both formally and softly. He didn’t move at all as he spoke to the Leontine Matriarch. He didn’t gesture or change the position of his head. “She came here to see you the minute she could—but she didn’t stop to think.”

“Ah. Well. Thinking,” Kayala said, inflecting the word with distaste.

Severn didn’t nod. Instead, he said, “Because she didn’t, she has no idea why you will not, in fact, allow me to cross the boundaries of your home.”

Well, the orange was gone. But if you knew Leontine faces well enough, you could easily see the shocked rise of eyebrows in that furry, feline face.

“She probably also doesn’t understand,” Severn continued, “why you had to accompany Marcus when he visited her after she was injured in the fiefs. Nor does she fully appreciate how unusual Marcus—and by extension, his Pridlea—is.”

“Unusual?” Kayala said, as if tasting the word.

“He means it as a compliment,” Kaylin said quickly. “And I do—he’s the only Leontine on the force for a reason.”

“Yes. He can coexist in an office that has, among its many members, other males.”

“They’re mostly human,” Kayala offered.

“So is Severn,” Kaylin told her.

“If Corporal Handred chose to visit us in the human Quarter, we would of course grant him the hospitality of the Pridlea. He has, however, come to the Pridlea, and in the Leontine Quarter, social rules must be observed.” She sniffed, a very catlike sound of disdain. “Although why one would consider them male, I have never fully understood.”

Kaylin winced.

Severn, however, did not. “He can also coexist in an office that has, among its members, many females. And his wives accept this.” He moved something other than his mouth for the first time, and bowed.

“They are not our kind,” Kayala said, but the edge had gone out of her words. “They are human, or—what do you call the long ears that are hard to kill?”

“Barrani.”

“Barrani. And bird-men. They are not of the Pride. We are not threatened by them. They cannot trespass upon our home.”

“Wait,” Kaylin said. “What if there were other Leontine men?”

“There won’t be.”

“But if there were?”

She was silent. Kayala’s silences usually meant death. Quite literally.

“And other Leontine women?”

The silence was almost profound. Kaylin had once asked Marcus why he was the only Leontine on the force, and Marcus had growled an answer: There’s only room for one. If you want another one, talk to the Swords or the Wolves. She had thought he was joking at the time.

“What about me?”

“Ah, you. You are his kitling, the one he can’t lose through growth or time. You are not of the Pride,” she added, but she ruffled Kaylin’s hair—which had long since come loose from its binding—with affection as she said the words. “He brought you home,” she added, “and we saw you—hairless, furless, like our young.”

“But Severn’s—”

“Corporal Handred is not like you, Kaylin. But he understands and accepts his role here.” There was no question in the words. “Come,” she said, and growled.

Severn bowed again. “I will wait for Kaylin in the carriage.”

“Good. It is not a good time to be in the Quarter without escort.”

“Kayala, I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” was the smooth reply. “We can all hunt and kill. But the trick to living in a city that is so crowded and so dangerous is to avoid having to kill.”

Marcus had four other wives—five in total. Each of his wives had their own room, or rooms, and each of them had their own growls. They had different ways of showing submission, and of expressing rage. Kayala could do either without consequence, but if Kayala was the eldest, she was a far cry from old.

Then again, Marrin at the Foundling Hall was old, and you didn’t cross her.

Tessa was next in line, and her fur was a slate-gray that was almost black. Her whiskers were dark, and her fur was shorter than the fur of the rest of her Pridlea. She was fastidious while eating and grooming, and of the five wives, Kaylin thought her the most dangerous. But for all that, she was often the friendliest as well, and little human foibles didn’t bother her.

She didn’t, however, react well to the sight of blood, and Kaylin did her best not to bleed around her.

Graylin—a very unimaginative name—had been the runt of her litter, and her parents, convinced she wouldn’t survive her childhood years, had been less than attentive. Kayala said that Graylin was almost feral when this mistake in judgment was acknowledged. If Tessa was the most fastidious—by a whisker—Graylin was the least, by a whole lot more. She had been civilized to the point where she could eat in a large group and not go nuts about food distribution—but she seldom left the Pridlea. She had the softest voice, the softest purr, and the most tangled fur.