Cast in Honor (The Chronicles of Elantra) (4 page)

“That citizen,” Teela continued, when interruption or argument failed to stop her, “has seen more Shadow war than we have. Her presence might be of value in this investigation.”

Kaylin was acutely aware of just how little that would matter to the Emperor, but held her peace, since she was
also
acutely aware of how much it would mean to Bellusdeo. Bellusdeo was the most important single individual in the Empire—in the opinion of the Emperor. As she was the only surviving female Dragon, a life of decadent luxury was hers for the taking. She didn’t need to work or take responsibility for anything that occurred within Elantra; she never needed to lift a finger again in her life, never mind actually
risk it
on anything.

And it was killing her.

“You win.” Kaylin continued down the stairs, but felt compelled to add, “But it’s
me
he’s going to be mad at.”

“In this, your rank will preserve most of your hide. You’re a private. I’m a corporal.”

“Don’t remind me.”

* * *

They didn’t make it all the way down the stairs; Bellusdeo stopped walking suddenly, and Severn stopped just before he ran into her back. Kaylin, worrying about Bellusdeo, stopped
when
she ran into Severn’s back.

“What is it?” she asked.

Bellusdeo said, “The door. The front door.”

Kaylin pivoted and ran up the basement stairs. The small dragon folded his wings, slimming the lines of his body; for once he didn’t drape himself across Kaylin’s shoulders like a spineless, translucent shawl.

Two people stood in the front vestibule. One was a tall, slender man whose skin was pale in a way that reminded Kaylin too much of corpses. His clothing was fine; if he appeared at the Imperial Palace, he was unlikely to be sent to the trade entrance, unlike Kaylin herself. His hair was darker than Kaylin’s, his eyes darker, as well. He was just a smidge taller than Severn.

The second person was a young girl of intermediate age—not enough of her was visible behind the man. Her hair seemed to be a tightly braided, pale brown without the highlights that often made paler hair stand out, and her skin was that mix of ruddy and pale that implied temporary ill health—at least in the young of Kaylin’s acquaintance. But she clearly got more sun than the man who stood between the Hawks and the girl like a shield.

“What,” he asked, in a tone that made ice seem warm, “are you doing in my home?”

The girl peered out from behind his back, then tugged on his sleeve.

He glanced down at her, his expression softening.

“They’re Hawks,” she whispered. It seemed to Kaylin that she was attempting to either comfort or encourage him.

“There was some trouble in the neighborhood late last night or early this morning,” Teela told him, taking over the conversation as she pushed herself to the front of their five-person group; the hall had become quite crowded. “We’re here to investigate that.”

“I assure you that there was no difficulty in
this
house.”

The small dragon squawked softly.

He was not, however, inaudible, and the sound immediately drew two stares. The man’s was frozen and unblinking; he seemed to become a motionless, breathless statue. But the girl came out from behind him, her eyes wide and bright with curiosity. They were lighter in color than they’d first appeared. She took two quick steps, but the man caught her by the shoulder, pulling her back.

Kaylin understood his cautious gesture and immediately crossed the hall toward her; no one followed.

“Is it alive?” the girl asked in a hushed voice.

The small dragon leaned down and squawked more emphatically, which was answer enough.

“Look at it! Look at it!”

The man was doing exactly that; he seemed to shake immobility off with great effort. The smile he offered the girl was, however, genuine. “I am. Where did you come by that creature?”

“Long story,” Kaylin replied. To the girl, she added, “I think he’s one of a kind.”

“Can I hold him?”

Kaylin glanced at the small dragon, who appeared to be sighing in resignation. He opened his wings, hit Kaylin in the face with the left one and hopped off her shoulder. The girl held out her hands; he hovered above them dubiously.

“Don’t grab him, and don’t squeeze—he hates that.” She actually had no idea if that was true, but it was a safe assumption.

The girl’s nod was energetic as the small dragon did, finally, land in her hands. He lifted his head and sniffed her hair, and then her cheeks, while she giggled. “It tickles!”

Kaylin was much closer to the man now and revised her estimate of his height. “I’m Private Kaylin Neya,” she said, extending her hand.

“I am Gilbert Rayelle,” he replied. He made no attempt to take the offered hand, and after a few increasingly awkward seconds, Kaylin lowered hers.

“We have a few questions we’d like to ask you,” Teela said, picking up where she’d left off.

“This is not the best time.”

“And we regret the inconvenience,” she replied. Her tone contained no regret at all. It contained no anger, either. Her eyes, however, were dark blue. So were Tain’s. Kaylin glanced at Bellusdeo, whose eyes were almost red. She’d bypassed the shades of orange that usually served as a warning.

“Kattea,” Gilbert said, “why don’t you go upstairs. It’s not yet time for lunch, and I must answer their questions.”

“Can I take him with me?” Kattea asked Kaylin.

Kaylin shook her head. “He’s my partner. One of them, anyway,” she added, catching Severn’s eye.

“Kattea.”

The girl very carefully handed the small dragon back to its owner. “I’m staying,” she said.

Gilbert looked ill-pleased, but to Kaylin’s surprise, he didn’t argue.

“They’re Hawks,” she continued. “They’re not going to hurt me. I haven’t done anything wrong.” When Gilbert failed to answer, she continued, “They’re not going to hurt you, either—you haven’t done anything wrong.” She spoke the second statement with as much conviction as the first.

Kaylin, observing the reactions of the immortals surrounding her, wasn’t nearly as confident.

“Won’t you come in?” Kattea invited. “And sit?”

This was so clearly not what Gilbert intended that Kaylin wanted to laugh. She suppressed the urge as the small dragon returned to her shoulder, where he drew breath and squawked, this time loudly. He appeared to be talking to Bellusdeo. The Dragon’s brows rose, but her eyes didn’t get any redder, which was a small mercy. Before she could reply, the small dragon swiveled to face Gilbert and screeched at him, as well.

“I think he’s talking,” Kattea said. To Kaylin, she added, “Can you understand him?”

“Not really.”

“Me, neither.” She turned to Gilbert, clearly hoping that he could. “What did he say to you?”

“He said ‘hello.’”

Kattea looked dubious. “All that was ‘hello’?”

“
Hello
, in the old country, is long and involved,” Gilbert replied. “It involves a statement of intent, a statement of limitations and a statement of the rules the guest is offering to follow.”

“That’s not
hello
, Gilbert.”

“Not in Elantra, no.”

“What did he say to the lady?”

Gilbert hesitated.

Kattea, showing the patience of ten-year-olds everywhere, turned immediately to Bellusdeo. She started to repeat her question, stopped and asked, “Why are your eyes red? Have you been crying?”

“No,” the Dragon replied.

“What did he say to you?”

“He said that Gilbert is not, at the moment, my enemy, and reminds me that my people are not all of one mind, and in like fashion, Gilbert may not be what I have...come to expect.”

“So...not
hello
.”

“No.” She exhaled, her eyes shading ever-so-slightly toward orange. “The small creature had better be right.” She exhaled again, which was a good trick, because Kaylin would have bet she hadn’t inhaled in between. “I apologize for my poor temper, Kattea. Your manners have been much better than mine. We would be delighted to accept your offer of hospitality.”

* * *

Kattea was a bustling whirlwind of energy and concentration for the next twenty minutes. The house was modest in size and it was clear that they had no servants—and that Kattea did not mind, or even recognize, the absence. She chattered politely but enthusiastically, she beamed and she reproached Gilbert for his heavy silence—without once sounding anything less than familial.

For his part, Gilbert was stiff as dry wood and about as expressive. He laid his arms on the armrest of his large, curve-backed chair and left them there as if he was clinging to it for dear life.

The small dragon sat on Kaylin’s shoulder, perched as if to lunge. Bellusdeo sat to Kaylin’s right, with about as much warmth and friendliness as Gilbert himself showed. In that, she was more extreme than either Teela or Tain; the Barrani had made an art of friendly, polite, charming death.

Kaylin wondered, as Kattea brought both water and wine, where she’d learned to entertain guests. Perhaps she had a mother who was also out of the house. Kaylin hesitated to ask; she found answering the question hard to handle gracefully herself, and she was no longer a child.

Everyone present, however, was aware that Kattea
was
a child, and one who clearly looked up to Gilbert. Gilbert had again asked that Kattea go to her room, but Kattea ignored the request. After it was gently made a third time, Gilbert surrendered.

“So,” Kattea began brightly as she sat down in front of a tray of breads and baked biscuits, her own glass full of water instead of the darker wine, “what are you investigating?”

Teela said, without preamble, “A murder.”

Years ago, that might have shocked Kaylin. The Barrani concept of “child” was not the mortal one. Bellusdeo, however, frowned at Teela. She said nothing, but said it neatly and loudly.

The child’s eyes widened. “A murder?” Her voice squeaked with, sadly, excitement, and Kaylin revised her approximate age down. “Where?”

“Across the street,” Teela replied. “We’re not actually supposed to talk much about the investigation to anyone but Hawks.”

The girl nodded, as if this made sense to her. She looked up at Gilbert and then away. Interesting.

“Why are you
here
, though?” she asked.

Gilbert said, at almost the same time, “Kattea, I really feel you should go to your room.”

“I didn’t
like
them,” Kattea said, instead of leaving. “The neighbors, I mean.”

“Kattea.”

“I think,” Teela said, “you should listen to Gilbert.”

Kattea immediately turned to Kaylin, as if seeking solidarity with the human woman present. “Why do you think we know anything about it?” The question seemed both honest and straightforward.

“We don’t necessarily assume that you do,” Kaylin replied, choosing her words with care. “But we normally try to talk to the neighbors; they might have seen or heard something unusual that would give us leads.”

“Leads?”

Ugh
. “Information that might help us find the killers.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” she offered. “Gilbert, did you?”

“No,” he replied.

“Gilbert doesn’t sleep, you know. He doesn’t
need
sleep.” This was spoken to Kaylin, but of course everyone else in the room heard it, as well. Kaylin almost told the girl to be quiet—for her own sake, not for Gilbert’s. If, in the end, it was necessary to arrest Gilbert, it would also probably be necessary to kill or destroy him—and Kattea would discover, sooner or later, that her naive comments had somehow helped to betray him.

Gilbert, however, looked resigned. He lifted his hands from the armrests and turned them, slowly, palm out as he rose from the chair. “I will ask you all,” he said quietly, “to take care that your actions do not harm the child.” Turning to Kattea, he said, “I have told you before that it is unwise to tell people about me.”

“But they’re
Hawks
. And you haven’t done anything
wrong
,” Kattea insisted once again.

The small dragon squawked. Loudly. Everyone turned toward him, except Severn, who continued to watch Gilbert and Kattea.

“Barrani and Dragons don’t need sleep, either,” Kaylin said to break the awkward silence.

“You’ve met Dragons?”

“Yes, I have. We have one here.”

The child’s eyes alighted on the familiar, which caused Bellusdeo to snort. “Not that,” the Dragon said. “Private Neya refers to me.”

“Oh.” Pause. “You don’t look like a Dragon.”

“Not at the moment, no. But remember when you asked me why my eyes were red?”

The girl nodded.

“Dragon eyes—unlike yours—change color in different situations.”

“Is red bad?”

“It is very, very bad,” Kaylin answered, before Bellusdeo could.

Kattea fell silent. It didn’t last. “Can you turn into a
real
Dragon?”

“Yes. I won’t do it here, though—I don’t think your house would survive it.”

Gilbert looked wearier by the passing second.

Kattea surprised them all. Rising, she walked to the curtains and shut them. Gilbert did not resume his seat. None of the Hawks stood, but it didn’t matter; Teela and Tain could be out of their seats, armed and deadly by the time Kaylin had blinked twice. Gilbert was obviously aware of this.

“We did not see anything out of the ordinary,” he said. “Nor did we hear anything out of the ordinary. When did you say this took place?”

“Late last night or very early this morning,” Kaylin replied.

“Ah. Kattea—”

“No, I’m not leaving,” she told him, folding her arms and suddenly looking older. “I don’t think they’ll hurt you while I’m here.”

Chapter 4

Gilbert smiled. It was a drawn, but affectionate, expression. “Kattea believes many things with absolute confidence.” His smile was pained, but again, laced with resigned affection. “She does not always understand the world in which you live.”

“She’s not wrong in theory,” Kaylin countered. “But we do have a few questions.”

“I will answer, as I may, but first, I must ask: What brought you to our home?”

“Do Kattea’s parents also live here?” Bellusdeo asked.

The child stilled. After a long pause, and in a much quieter voice, she said, “My parents are dead.”

Kaylin’s heart echoed Kattea’s obvious pain. “Mine, too,” she said. “I was five years old and living in the fiefs.”

Kattea’s eyes almost fell out of her head. She turned, excited again, to Gilbert. “Gilbert! Gilbert! She’s just like us! Which fief?”

“Nightshade.”

“Gilbert! Gilbert!”

Gilbert closed his eyes; in the darkened room, he looked less pale. “Kattea was born in the fief of Nightshade,” he said quietly.

“Gilbert found me. Gilbert saved me from—” She stopped, paling at the memory. “Gilbert saved me. And then we came here. Well—not
right
here, but after.”

“So your parents didn’t live in the city.”

Kattea shook her head.

“And you made it across the bridge.”

She nodded.

“When did this happen?”

“Months ago,” the young girl said.

“Three weeks ago,” Gilbert clarified.

Three weeks. Every Hawk present exchanged a glance. “Three weeks,” Kaylin said slowly. “This was on the night that the Dragons were flying above the city?”

Kattea nodded.

“Kattea’s confidence in the city across the bridge was...high.”

Kaylin’s had been, too. In some ways, it still was; if the ideal city she’d imagined was tarnished, it was still a far better place to live than the fiefs had been. “Why did you bring her here?”

“Because the fiefs were not suitable. I do not think she would have survived them long. Had I not found her, she would not have survived at all.”

“Where were you born?” Bellusdeo asked.

“In Ravellon,” Gilbert replied.

Bellusdeo rose then. Kattea stepped, instantly, in front of Gilbert, her arms wide-open; Kaylin reached out and placed a hand—gently—on the Dragon’s shoulder. “Forgive us,” she said, the words aimed more at Kattea than at Gilbert, “but only Shadow dwells within Ravellon now.”

“That is true,” he replied. “But it was not always so.”

“If you come from Ravellon now, it’s true,” the Dragon said. Her eyes, which had lightened slightly while Kattea spoke, now shifted back into true red.

“It is not” was the quiet reply. “Perhaps you cannot discern the difference, but there is one. Understand that while we share mutual goals, we are not one creature, and those of us who maintain a shred of sanity retain some element of choice.”

The Dragon stared at him, unmoved.

Kaylin said quietly, “Bellusdeo walked the path between worlds to arrive in Elantra. Her world was lost to the Shadows.”

“I did not say that there was no danger; there is always an element of danger when dealing with the powerful. You,” he said, nodding to Bellusdeo, “are a danger to everyone in this room. I intend you—and your citizens—no harm.”

“And the child?” Bellusdeo asked.

“It is as she said. When I stumbled into the fief—and it seems an odd demarcation—I met Kattea. Minor creatures are given free rein in the streets of the fief; she would not have survived them. She called out to me; she asked me to come to her aid. I chose, for reasons of my own, to do so.”

“And those reasons are?”

“I say, again, that I have no harmful intent.”

“And we are to trust you? Your kind has done irreparable harm here, as well as elsewhere.”

“I am aware that it will be difficult to convince you. You have long held my kind in contempt. I am to be judged, always, by the actions of others—actions I would not have chosen to take.” To Kaylin, he said, “How is it that you chose to come first to my home? What error did I make?”

Kaylin shook her head to clear it. What Gilbert appeared to be claiming—that Shadows had free will and that they functioned as individuals—was a new thought, at least to Kaylin. It went against everything she had been told about Shadows; it went against anything she had ever personally experienced.

Yes, Shadows were not uniform in shape or size, although there were Ferals. There were one-offs, as her old friend Morse called them: creatures with too many limbs or no limbs or too many heads or too many mouths in one head—the list was endless. Shadows could be freaking
weather
. But every Shadow of any stripe Kaylin had encountered thus far had been attempting to kill. Or worse. The Shadows in Kaylin’s day-to-day life existed solely to torment, corrupt and ultimately destroy. Oh, and rule everything.

The Towers had been created by the Ancients to guard against the Shadow incursions that could otherwise destroy not only a city, but a world.
Helen
had defenses against Shadows, and she wasn’t even built in the fiefs.

Kaylin’s first thought—and second, and third—was that Gilbert was lying. That he
had
to be lying. But Kattea seemed neither injured nor cowed. She seemed, if anything, apprehensive and indignant—on Gilbert’s behalf, as he certainly wasn’t either on his own.

“Bellusdeo,” Teela said, “is this possible? You have the greater experience.”

Bellusdeo opened her mouth seconds after the small dragon opened his. This time, the translucent creature
breathed.

Kaylin had seen this a few times now. The first time, she had understood the pearlescent cloud to be dangerous by the quality of blue in Barrani eyes. The second had confirmed the earlier Barrani opinion. A group of giant Ferals—for want of a better word—had attacked them on their recent journey to the West March and swallowed those clouds.

The clouds had destroyed them.

This seemed fair to Kaylin, because the Ferals’ blood had attempted to destroy the Barrani, and in what she assumed was a similar fashion: it spread, transmuting Barrani flesh into—well, into something that was no longer Barrani. Kaylin’s ability to heal couldn’t stop that transformation: she’d had to cut out the bad bits and start from there. The changes made by the combination of flesh and Shadow blood had instantly
become
the “healthy” or “default” state of the body. What the finished product of that default state would look like, she didn’t know; she’d worked desperately to make sure that it never happened.

This cloud hovered above the food in the still air of the room.

Since Teela and Tain were already on high alert, its existence didn’t noticeably change their expressions or their eye colors—in fact, Teela’s eyes might have actually lightened.

Gilbert stared intently at the cloud. Kattea sensibly asked, “Is it dangerous?” She spoke to Gilbert.

“Indeterminate,” he replied. At Kattea’s frown, he added, “I’m not certain yet. Is it?” he asked the small dragon.

The small dragon squawked.

Gilbert frowned. When he answered, he spoke in a language that Kaylin couldn’t understand. It was not a language that felt familiar, either; its vowels seemed sharp enough to cut the tongue on.

The small dragon squawked.

Oddly enough, this interchange seemed to set everyone else at ease—or as much at ease as they were likely to get—except Kattea, who frowned. “Why can’t you speak a language
I
can understand?” she demanded.

“I do not believe he is capable of it,” Gilbert replied. “And even if he is, there are some concepts I cannot easily discuss in your tongue. It is not always comfortable to exist in this fashion. My kin are often less confined in the shapes they choose to take.”

“He won’t teach me,” Kattea said to Kaylin. It was the first time she’d sounded less than perky.

“I don’t think he can,” Kaylin replied.

“Why not?”

“Because he’s not human.”

Kattea rolled her eyes. “So?”

“We’re mostly stuck being what we are,” Kaylin replied. “We can learn to do more—or less—with what we are. We can live on either side of the bridge. We can learn to hunt Ferals—” Kattea shrunk into Gilbert’s side, at this “—even if we start out hiding in abandoned buildings and praying they can’t get in. But Teela is Barrani. She’s immortal. She’s going to live forever. She doesn’t really get cold and she doesn’t need to sleep. There are a lot of things we can do together, but I’m never going to be immortal, and when I get no sleep, it’s really bad.

“Gilbert isn’t like us.”

“I
have
explained this to Kattea before,” Gilbert added. “But apparently the word of a Hawk carries more weight.”

“The word of a mortal,” Kaylin countered. “The immortal don’t generally know much about us, except that we’re weak and not much of a threat.”

“That’s harsh,” Teela said.

“I notice you’re not denying it.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t true.” She turned to Gilbert. “Why are you in Elantra?”

“It was safer for Kattea.”

“Are you responsible for the deaths of your neighbors?”

“Did they die?”

“Yes. Their deaths are the reason you have Hawks in your parlor.”

Small and squawky came back to Kaylin’s shoulder and settled there. He didn’t seem to dislike or distrust Gilbert—and that, more than anything else, was the deciding factor for Kaylin. If Marcus ever learned of it, he’d bite her head off. While immortals tended to take the small creature seriously—possibly because he didn’t sound like an irate chicken to them—mortals didn’t.

“Private Neya,” Gilbert said, “may I ask one question?”

Kaylin nodded.

“The mark on your face—where did you come by it?”

* * *

Teela reacted first. In a voice that implied that frost was her natural element, she said, “Why do you ask?”

“It is unusual. I have not spent the majority of my existence in your streets, but I have spent some time observing—and I have not encountered its like anywhere else.”

“I should hope not,” Tain said.

“Does it break your laws?”

“
Our
laws, yes. The laws of the Emperor, no. In general, Imperial Laws are designed to deal with difficulties that are well understood and even common.”

“Is it painful?” Gilbert continued.

Kaylin ignored the question. “Can I offer you some advice for blending in?” she asked him.

He looked surprised at the question. “Yes, of course.”

“Blink occasionally. And stare less.”

This confused him. Which, given his origins, was probably to be expected. “The mark on my face was put there by the fieflord of Nightshade.”

Gilbert rose and bowed. “Then it is to you I must speak. You are Lord Kaylin?”

“I am Private Neya,” she replied, uncomfortable—as she always was—with the Barrani title. It had a weight she didn’t understand how to shoulder, and even if she could, wasn’t certain she wanted. “I’m a Hawk, and I serve the Emperor’s law.”

“Yes. I do not see that these are mutually exclusive.”

“What, exactly, do you need to speak with me about?”

“Lord Nightshade,” he replied. “I carry a message for you.”

Nightshade’s name—his True Name—reverberated in the hush that followed.

Calarnenne
.

There was no answer. There had been no answer for weeks now, and the silence was slowly driving his younger brother insane.

It was Kaylin who attempted to repair the break in the conversation. “You’ve met him?”

“Yes, and no. If you enter Ravellon now, you will not find him.”

Kaylin nodded.

“But he is to be found there—or so he hopes—in the future.”

* * *

“She is
not
traveling to Ravellon,” Bellusdeo said flatly.

“It’s illegal,” Kaylin added, although the clarification probably wasn’t necessary, given the color of Bellusdeo’s eyes.

“It is not safe,” Gilbert agreed, as if that was the entire subtext of Bellusdeo’s statement. “But I was tasked with delivering a message.”

“From whom?”

Gilbert frowned. Kaylin considered the question a bit pointless, all things considered. “From—” and here he spoke a word that was thunder. With lightning for emphasis.

All of the hair on Kaylin’s body stood on end; her skin instantly broke out in the worst of the rashes that magic caused. In case there was any doubt, her arms—beneath the shroud of long sleeves—began to glow. It was not a glow that could be easily missed. Kaylin couldn’t fit
syllables
into the word—or words—that Gilbert had just uttered. She could not repeat the sounds.

The small dragon, however, lifted his head, squawking, and the pearly gray cloud that had hovered in place since he’d exhaled it began to move. It descended, and when it was a foot away from the top of the table on which Kattea had settled both food and drink, Kaylin leaped forward to rescue them.

The small dragon bit her ear without drawing blood; his eye rolling would have been at home on a Barrani face, if Barrani faces had contained eyes that looked like black opals.

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “You can do whatever you’re doing without destroying
food
.”

“Perhaps he means to imply that the furniture is more valuable than the food.”

Maybe it was. “You can’t eat furniture,” Kaylin replied. “Believe me. I’ve been hungry enough to try.” Not that she had any memory of that herself—but she dimly remembered the humorous stories that had sprung from the attempt. She set the tray on the ground nearest the girl who’d carried it so precariously into the room.

The cloud descended until it touched the surface of the table. From there, it rose. No, Kaylin thought, it
unfolded
, springing up in all directions from the wooden surface as if it had absorbed the base property and structure of the wood and was transforming it. What emerged, growing as if by layer, was something that might, in a nightmare, be a...dollhouse. It had what appeared to be doors. It had walls. It had a roof—or multiple roofs, as the various stories of the building, misaligned and not by any means entirely straight, expanded. It had towers, and one of these reached the height of ceilings that were much more generous than Kaylin’s previous home had once had.