Harvest Moon (24 page)

Caitlin was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was hushed. “You need to speak with Lord Grammayre.”

“I think he already knows,” was the bitter reply. She knew Caitlin wanted to hear more, and she'd even started to try to find the words, when Clint rescued her. He landed at the mouth of the alley. His left arm was
bleeding, but not a lot more than Caitlin's had been. It seemed to bother him a lot less, on the other hand.

“Thank the gods,” he said. His wings were high and rigid. In the poorer light, Kaylin couldn't tell what color his eyes were. “You're both all right.”

“Yes, dear,” Caitlin replied. “Did you catch the person who attempted to fire?”

“Yes. Or rather, the ground did. His leg is broken. His right arm is broken. It's possible a few of his ribs are also cracked.”

Caitlin winced, which caused Clint to roll his eyes—and even in the poor light,
that
was obvious. “Try to remember he was aiming to kill?”

Caitlin glanced at her arm and managed a wry smile. “That might not be as hard as it should be.” She gently removed Kaylin's hand, and they both got to their feet. When Clint saw her bloodied sleeve, his expression changed.

When Caitlin saw
his
expression, hers changed as well. She lifted both her hands. “I'm fine, Clint. I wasn't hurt.” Frowning, she added, “But you were. I think, as we're close enough to the Halls, we should head to the infirmary. I need to use the mirror,” she added. “I think we're going to have to miss the apartment viewing.”

 

As they walked back to the Halls, Caitlin said, “It's a very good thing you were there, Clint.”

His expression could have been carved out of stone, there was so little give in it.

Caitlin raised a brow. “Why
were
you there?”

Kaylin had been wondering the same thing, but given the grimness of Clint's expression, and the definite pres
ence of his blood, would never have had the courage to ask.

For his part, Clint pretended he hadn't heard the question—and maybe he hadn't. His gaze was focused in a sweep above the ground, at window—or roof—height. Kaylin joined him as the buildings grew more familiar; it was a pretty silent walk, and even Caitlin had given up on small talk by the time they reached the Halls of Law. The guards on the door were two men Kaylin didn't recognize. Clint and Caitlin clearly did, but more important, the guards recognized them—and were expecting them.

There was more grim on those steps than she'd seen anywhere but at the wreckage of the house.

“Sergeant's waiting for you in the infirmary,” one of the men told Caitlin. Caitlin winced.

“I can wait here,” Kaylin told her.

“No, dear, I really don't think that's an option.”

“I can wait in the office?”

“A better choice, but I still don't think that's an option. And Clint does need to get to the infirmary. Arguing will only delay—”

“I'm fine,” the Aerian Hawk barked.

“You're bleeding.”

Clint eyed the torn remnant of her sleeve. “And you're not? Oh, wait—I'm somehow less hardy than the office den mother, a woman who doesn't train, doesn't work out, and doesn't—
ever
—join ground or air patrols.”

“The air patrols would be a bit difficult.”

Clint snorted, but that was infinitely better than his rigid silence. Kaylin glanced at his wings; they were
fuller and slightly higher than they usually were, but even so, they looked soft and lovely. She flushed when he suddenly turned on her. “They're
just wings
. They're like arms or legs.”

Kaylin nodded, and Clint smacked his own forehead. “Here,” he said, extending one. When she didn't move, he did, stepping toward her. He lowered the wing, but kept it extended. “This is not a comfortable position,” he told her.

She understood that he meant her to actually
touch his wing,
and she stood there like an idiot, her mouth half-open. “Can I—can I hurt it?”

Both of his brows rose. “What, you?” Before she could answer, he continued. “The day you can accidentally hurt
my
wings is the day I retire. At the very least. Just be careful of the flight feathers.”

It wasn't flight. He wasn't offering her the skies. It was—it was really a handshake. And she
knew
it was stupid…but she reached out anyway, her hands trembling.

“See?” he said, voice gruff. “Solid. Not as soft as they look. Not the stuff of dreams.”

She smiled, eyes wide. “Not the stuff of dreams,” she repeated quietly. He was wavering in her vision, and he lifted his wings to gently brush her cheek.

“Come on,” he said, voice gruffer. “If Morlan lets me out of the infirmary without her usual hour-long lecture on wound care, I'll take you up over the City. Just don't tell everyone.”

 

Sergeant Kassan was, indeed, waiting in the infirmary. He wasn't the only one. The infirmary, like the morgue, was a large room with a wall full of cupboards,
a lot of counter space cluttered by a bunch of lidded jars. But instead of the morgue's tables, it contained beds with thin sheets, and there was no intimidating wall-size mirror anywhere in sight. There were standing screens shoved toward one wall; Kaylin guessed they could be pulled and moved anywhere a modicum of privacy was needed.

At the moment, they probably wouldn't have fit.

The Sergeant was standing in the center of a pack of Hawks who looked identical. They wore the Hawks' tabard, and they had the long, flowing hair that characterized the Barrani. She knew that Teela and Tain must be among them, and was embarrassed to admit—even to herself—that she couldn't tell which ones they were.

They saved her the humiliation of asking. Teela separated herself from the pack and approached. Her usual elegant saunter was gone, and if Kaylin had thought she'd never looked friendly before, she repented. Before she could speak, however, someone intercepted her.

“Caitlin!”

“Morlan,” Caitlin replied with a tired smile.

Morlan was an Aerian with spotted wings, and one of the only female Aerians Kaylin had seen in the Halls. The infirmary was, as Caitlin quietly pointed out, her roost. She was happy to see Caitlin—for all of five seconds. But the torn and bloodied sleeve caught her attention on the sixth second, and all Caitlin's protestations aside, there was instant worry—and instant rage, but the rage was channeled into something productive. She made Caitlin sit down.

The Sergeant came over to the bedside, and Morlan also made him leave it, which caused his fur to stand on end. “Caitlin?”

“I am
honestly
fine, Marcus. You'll note that Clint is still bleeding, on the other hand.”

“That? That's not bleeding, it's a kitten scratch.”

Only when she'd pulled back the sleeve to see Caitlin's arm did Morlan stop.

“I told you,” Caitlin began.

Morlan frowned. “Whose blood is this?”

Caitlin was silent.

“It's hers,” Clint said.

“It can't be,” Morlan replied in an equally flat voice. “You can look if you want, Sergeant. There's no wound.”

The Sergeant, however, was looking at Kaylin, and after a minute, so was everyone else in the room. They were all angry, and Kaylin couldn't figure out why, but she felt her throat tighten. She could use anger as a defense or a shield, but she was tired and confused; she let it be.

Caitlin reached out and caught one of Kaylin's hands. “You don't understand. They're not angry
at
you,” she said, as if every emotion Kaylin felt had been put into loud, screaming words.

“They're angry.” Kaylin looked at Caitlin. She understood in that moment why almost everyone did. There was nothing threatening about Caitlin, but there was something about her that suggested a spine that would neither bow nor break.

The Sergeant growled. His eyes were classic orange, and his fur had not, in fact, come back down.
“Kitling,”
he said, “They're angry
for
Caitlin. She was lucky.”

Kaylin felt herself relaxing. That anger made sense to her.

“It wasn't luck,” Caitlin told him. “Whoever it was, he wasn't aiming at me.”

Teela didn't look surprised. She placed a hand on Kaylin's shoulder. “They were aiming for our trainee?”

Caitlin nodded. “Clint?”

“It was Kaylin.”

This should have calmed people down. It didn't. The Sergeant's eyes had gone from orange to a peculiar shade that wasn't
quite
red, and his lips had curled, exposing the length of his fangs. Teeth that long wouldn't have fit in Kaylin's mouth, even when it was fully open.

“We need to have a chat with the Wolflord,” Teela said, heading for the door.

“Corporal,” the Sergeant growled.

“What?” She spun, her hair gleaming as it followed her movement.

“Wait for me.” He stalked out the door first, and Teela signaled to Tain, who broke away from the Barrani pack to join them. Kaylin started to follow, and Caitlin's hand tightened.

“Not you, dear.”

“But—”

“You don't like hostility, and that is
not
going to be a friendly meeting.”

“Should we wait?”

“Yes. I don't think the Sergeant is going to let us leave without an escort. Not tonight.” She sighed, and added, “There's also the matter of the injured assassin.”

Morlan lifted a wing. “The Hawklord's with him now,” she said grimly. “And the Tha'alani are on their way to meet him as we speak. If he knows anything, we'll know it before Marcus gets out of his meeting. But
yes, I think you should stay in the office until things have settled down a bit.”

The mirror flashed enough of a warning that Caitlin could tell Kaylin to put the chair back, as people were often territorial about their chairs, their desks, or their square feet of cubicle. Kaylin was therefore sitting on the floor at Caitlin's feet when an angry Leontine and a small host of Barrani swept in. They had been joined by two Aerians, both of whom were familiar to Kaylin: Clint and Lord Grammayre.

They had also been joined by three men Kaylin didn't recognize. Given the sheer size of the Halls, this wasn't surprising—but none of the three wore the now-familiar Hawk. “We're not going to have much time,” one of the strangers was telling the angry Leontine. “We'll have two hours from start to finish tomorrow. That's it. If we find what you hope we'll find, all bets are off.”

“If we don't?”

“A member of the Imperial Dragon Court takes a personal interest in the well-being of the Imperial Order,” was the reply. It seemed to mean something to everyone there. “You've got one man on the inside, but he's almost certainly under constant surveillance. We're not going in that way.”

Kaylin started to rise, and Caitlin caught her hand and pressed it firmly.

The movement, however, caught the attention of the man. “You are Kaylin Neya?” he asked, one brow rising just that little bit too high. She nodded.

“Captain Neall,” he said, and held out a hand. She shook it with only a trace of hesitation. “I'm with the Wolves.”

“She's with the Hawks,” one of the Barrani said curtly.

The Captain raised his brow again. He was tall, slim, and younger than Caitlin; he had one scar across his forehead, and a nose that suggested a fistfight, but he was impeccably dressed and his posture was perfect. “Lord Grammayre?”

“She is, indeed, with the Hawks, if the poor display of manners does not already make that clear.”

“How much does she know?”

“She was not present for the interrogation of the prisoner. She does, however, have a clear understanding of the methods used.”

Kaylin froze for just a minute, but the Hawklord's expression was neutral.

“Very well.” Captain Neall turned to Kaylin and then turned back to Lord Grammayre. “How old is she?”

“Kaylin?”

“Thirteen,” Kaylin replied. “Almost fourteen.”

Captain Neall grimaced. “Let's stick with thirteen.”

Kaylin reddened, and once again, one of the Barrani spoke. “From our perspective she's almost fourteen. She's also almost eighteen.”

This time, the Captain ignored the comment. “The man on the roof had a crossbow. I assume you are aware of this fact.”

She nodded.

“The crossbow itself is of local make, and it is not of particularly high quality. Nor is that entirely relevant. Had the Corporal not interfered, he would have hit—and in all likelihood killed—his target. His target, we are informed, was you. Do you have any idea why?”

Someone coughed.

“I assume someone was paying him,” Kaylin said.

This caused a different type of coughing.

“Very clever. Yes, someone was paying him.”

“Who?”

“Less clear. A human woman, roughly forty, possibly fifty. Well dressed, slender. We have a memory crystal with a functional image.”

“Where did she meet him?”

He raised a brow. “Young lady, I believe I'm the one asking the questions.” He glanced at Lord Grammayre and shook his head. “The woman in question is not connected in any way with the Imperial Order of Mages. It is through the Imperial Order, however, that the information was conveyed.”

“How do you know that?”

“Kaylin,” the Hawklord said. “Answer the Captain's questions
without
posing your own, or we will be here until morning.”

“There are only two points of origin we consider probable.”

Kaylin nodded.

“And I am informed by the Corporal that we will require your assistance on-site to evaluate the two possibilities.”

The Sergeant growled.