The Chronicles of Elantra 6 - Cast in Chaos (37 page)

“But that’s not
all
they are, Evanton.”

His voice softened unexpectedly. “No, Private, it is not all that they are. You will speak with the water?”

“I think…I think I already have. I think the Devourer
does
belong here. But you’re right—I have no idea how to invite him in, if that’s even what he wants.” She walked over to the side of the pool and she knelt by it almost reverently—for Kaylin. Reaching out, her hand hovered a moment above its cool, still surface. The water then rippled as she touched it.

Daughter,
it said, in a familiar voice.

Kaylin was, for a moment, speechless. Silent. Into the silence came the voice of the Tha’alaan, the living racial memory of Ybelline’s people.

Ybelline,
Kaylin said.

Kaylin?

She felt the castelord’s surprise, concern—and joy.
I may need your help,
Kaylin said. She struggled with words, and then gave them up entirely, sending, instead, images, feelings, fears. These fears were not the fears that could drive the Tha’alani to madness.

You wish me to come to Elani street?

If you can. The area is under quarantine.

Ybelline wordlessly agreed, and then the voice of the water spoke loudly and clearly enough that it was the only thing Kaylin could hear.
Yes.

Unfortunately, it didn’t give her much else to go on.

Evanton was reattired in his dusty, grungy apron by the time Kaylin left the Garden. He was also much quieter. “The advantage to total and utter ignorance,” he said, indicating that he was not, however, in a better mood, “is the lack of preconception. I would, however, be interested in meeting the Tha’alani castelord.”

“She’ll be here.”

“I gathered as much.” He slid the key ring back into one of the cavernous front pockets that dangled near his knees. “I am willing to trust you in this, not because I think you have any idea of how you intend to accomplish anything, but because I think there’s no alternative. I don’t think the portal can
be
closed or denied, and I don’t doubt that the Devourer you’ve seen is coming when it opens.”

“Do you have any idea of when it will open?”

“No. Soon.”

Kaylin headed out of the quarantined stretch of the city in which her beat lay, toward the Ablayne’s small wagons and bakers’ stalls. There, she bought dinner. It was a pretty scant dinner, but Severn wisely didn’t comment on the amount of money she barely had.

Buns in hand, she headed toward the Halls of Law.

“What are you planning to tell the Sergeant?”

Kaylin snorted. “I’m planning to write everything up in a report and dump it on his desk. He won’t read it for two weeks—or more—by which time it’ll be irrelevant one way or the other.”

Severn raised a brow.

“Or I can tell him that there are going to be mages and Arcanists crawling all over the quarantined area soon, that they’ll probably blow themselves to bits, wreck the surrounding landscape, or become delusional megalomaniacs, to no effect whatsoever, other than the usual unacceptable body count. After which, we’ll
then
have streets full of thousands of homeless, desperate,
armed
strangers.”

Severn laughed. She laughed because he did, and because she liked the sound of his laughter enough to want to be part of it, even for a moment. “Make clear that the mages and Arcanists will be there under Imperial Dictate, and you’re probably covered. The Hawklord won’t thank you for it,” he added. “Ironjaw hates magic more than you do. I bet he’s up in the Tower in less than five minutes after he hears your report.”

“I didn’t realize magic-hating was a competition. I’ll try harder.”

“Don’t,” he said, his smile still echoing his laughter. “It’s part of what you are now.”

“I don’t always like what I am, in case that escaped your attention.”

“Last I checked, I wasn’t dead. I did notice.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll take that bet.”

“Means you’ll have to tell him.”

She shrugged. “I think he’ll give it at least ten.”

The worse thing about bad news and Leontines is that Leontines, unlike Aerians, weren’t above sharing the bad mood that came out of it. Marcus’s eyes, which had been copper for the last few days, shaded to orange as he listened. And growled.

The office was never
completely
silent—for one, the damn window was babbling up the contents of a play—but even the most bored or notorious of office gossips had developed a sensitivity to Leontine growls. Especially the quieter ones.

“You said
Arcanists?
”

Kaylin was standing almost at attention, her chin slightly lifted to expose her throat. It wasn’t, at the moment, necessary, but it was always a good social precaution when dealing with Leontines who happened to be responsible for her pay, to say the least. “Yes, sir. I’m not completely certain—but I’d bet my own money.”

“Don’t start.”

“Yes, sir.” She stood there for what felt like five minutes, watching the way his ear tufts started to rise. “What would you like us to do, sir?”

“Stay out of trouble, if that’s possible.”

It wasn’t, and they both knew it.

“I do not want Arcanists running around my city.”

“No, sir.” Kaylin heartily agreed. “The Imperial Court is probably still in session.” Bureaucracy, as they both knew, was slow and ponderous. “But you won’t—” She looked up as Caitlin rose from her desk.

A very official Imperial Courier had entered the inner office, and was, even as Kaylin turned, approaching Caitlin. He didn’t speak, but it wasn’t necessary; instead, he handed her a scroll, bowed, and left. Caitlin glanced at it, and then glanced across the office. It wasn’t empty; during the current crisis, it wouldn’t be, even after hours. It was going to be Marcus’s first home, not his second one, for at least another week.

Since she knew his wives were more or less understanding, she expected he’d survive it. She wasn’t, however, as certain of the fate of the contents of the tube that Caitlin now delivered to his desk.

Caitlin stood beside Kaylin; Kaylin had not been ordered to get lost, and she watched as her Sergeant twisted the tube, breaking the seal. It didn’t crumble; it did glow. Kaylin winced.

Marcus’s lips sometimes moved when he was reading High Barrani. They were usually, however, mouthing distinctly Leontine curses. Today was not an exception. “Private,” he said, without glancing up.

“Sir.”

“It appears that you’re to serve as escort for a small group of Imperial mages.” He set the scroll down for a moment, looked up at Caitlin, and said, “One, register my complaint at the assignment. Private Neya has already been stupid enough to offend most of the Imperial mages she’s had the privilege to meet. Offer them any
other
escort. Preferably Barrani Hawks.”

“I heard that!” Tain said, from somewhere deeper into the office.

Marcus didn’t blink. “Two,” he continued, “I would like you to arrange an immediate appointment with the Hawklord.”

“For?”

“
Me.
” The word was couched in a low growl.

Caitlin, who was being unnaturally still, retreated instantly to her desk, because
she
had her orders. Kaylin remained standing in front of it.

“Does the message say when I’m supposed to report for duty?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“If it’s relevant,” was the dour reply.

Caitlin’s registration of complaint traveled the way the Imperial Palace’s message had—by courier. The only difference was that the courier sent by the Halls was to wait for a reply; Kaylin didn’t envy her. This wasn’t the way messages were usually sent, unless the signatures were necessary or the documentation was required, but as both the Halls and the Palace were under mirror blackout except in cases of “emergency,” where emergency was likely to be well-defined only
after
the fact, they didn’t have many other choices.

Kaylin wasn’t worried about Imperial Couriers; nor was she particularly concerned with the ones the Halls employed. But she worried, as she always did, about the inability of either the midwives or the Foundling Halls to actually
reach
her, should it be necessary. Neither placed casual calls via mirror.

She would have asked if any word had, in fact, been sent, but Marcus left his desk and headed toward the Tower stairs. She hadn’t been counting seconds, and looked across the room to where Severn—in an either cowardly or clever way—had taken a seat as far from the action as was safe.
How many minutes?
she mouthed.

He frowned.

He wasn’t entirely honest—no one who’d grown up in the fiefs was—but he wouldn’t lie about a bet. He grimaced and said, “What were the stakes?”

She cursed under her breath. No stakes, no bet.

“You might as well take a seat,” Severn added, as Teela and Tain headed toward her now that Ironjaw was at a safe remove. “We’re probably going to be here for a while.”

She sat, heavily, on the nearest chair that didn’t belong to the Leontine. “I wish they’d start their damn shift tomorrow, what ever decision they reach. You betting?”

“Yeah. I’m betting they send the courier back with a very polite version of ‘get stuffed.’”

“Not touching that one.”

He laughed.

Teela, looking almost tired for a Barrani, folded herself over the back of the chair closest to Kaylin’s. The only difference between this and Kaylin’s rather graceless collapse was that Teela kicked the chair’s previous occupant out of it first; Kaylin had taken an empty one. “How did the visit to the Oracular Halls go?”

“Pretty much as expected. Why?”

“If an emergency is going to occur—figuratively speaking—we’d prefer it happen sooner than later. Marcus is operating under the belief that the Barrani need no sleep.”

“They don’t.”

Tain raised a brow. “Strictly speaking, no.” He also looked a little piqued. “But some time away from people we’re not allowed to strangle or maim is generally considered healthy for all concerned.”

“You want to strangle someone?”

“No. But I will.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re not
deaf,
kitling,” Teela drawled. “And if the Arcanists are allowed anywhere near the area of difficulty…” She didn’t bother to finish the sentence, but the way she left it hanging there would have conjured nightmares for anyone who was actually breathing.

Marcus came downstairs with eyes so orange they were almost reflective. A steady stream of Leontine was bouncing off the enclosed Tower walls as he made his descent, and if Barrani hearing was way better than mere mortal hearing, mortal hearing was still good enough. Everyone either got off their butts or made sure their butts were firmly planted in the chairs at their desks by the time his bristling self had cleared the Tower and hurtled headlong into office territory.

The courier arrived about fifteen minutes later; Marcus’s argument with the Hawklord—and no one could doubt that there’d been one—had not been short. Like the Imperial Courier, Leila—whose name Kaylin actually knew—was smart enough to hand off the reply to Caitlin. It was also contained in an Imperial tube. Marcus almost
ate
it before he remembered to break the seal.

To no one’s surprise, Marcus’s request had been denied. Teela and Tain were
not
happy about it, and given how little they’d been looking forward to meeting Arcanists, this said something. Marcus’s eyes did let up a bit with the fire when he reached the end of the letter, though.

“Lord Sanabalis will be accompanying you at all times,” he told Kaylin. “Or rather, you’ll be accompanying Lord Sanabalis.”

“I don’t suppose they’ll be starting tomorrow
after
I’ve had a chance to sleep?”

To her great surprise, he said, “They will. First thing in the morning, at the Imperial Palace,” he added. “Go home. I expect you to make some pathetic attempt at a report at the end of the day.”

Kaylin didn’t go straight home; she stopped by the midwives’ guild to check in on the status of possible births by mothers who had failed to be relocated. The news there, at least as far as the guild knew, was good, and she found herself relaxing.

She also borrowed their mirror, and sent a message to Ybelline Rabon’alani. “I’m sorry I missed you,” she said, when the image of the castelord failed to materialize. “But…while I need you in the quarantined area, tomorrow is probably not going to be the safe day to meet or escort you through the Swords. Sanabalis has me on Dragon and mage duty in the quarantined area itself, and any attempts at investigative magery in the last few days has been…dangerous for the surroundings.

“And the mage,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

She made it home into a dark and empty apartment; the soft glow of her very normal mirror made her flinch. Someone had mirrored, and she’d missed it. On most days, it was Marcus, asking her when she thought she’d condescend to earn her pay, because he usually did mirror if she was late, and she usually managed to beat the incoming message out the door. But all of the Hawks were on a schedule from hell, and the amusing morning growl hadn’t made Marcus’s to-do list; she was certain of that. He also had no access to mirror use for personal sadism at the moment.

She was also certain she needed to sleep, and an emergency was not going to get her much in the way of shut-eye. But she dragged herself, after one immobile minute, to the mirror’s shining gray surface, and she placed her hand firmly in its center. “Messages,” she said grimly.

To her momentary relief, it wasn’t Marrin’s face or the face of a grim midwife. It was Nightshade.

“Kaylin,” he said. His smile was slender, and his eyes were a bright shade of green. Any day in which the sight of his smile was a relief had been a long one. “I am waiting.”

She watched the image, listening for the rest of the message.

“You have visited Tiamaris; you have spoken with his Tower.