Kaylin tried hard not to interfere in Severn’s life—both to protect herself, and to protect him. But she’d developed an instinct when dealing with witnesses, and that instinct told her—no matter how much she shied away from it—that Amaldi was telling the truth as she knew it. The young woman spoke with grave certainty.
“Clearly that’s not true,” Kaylin finally said, although her words and voice were now softer. “Perhaps what you were told wasn’t complete, or perhaps people like us weren’t allowed to touch them?” She knew that the weapons had come from the West March; knew that the Barrani there weren’t best pleased with Severn’s acquisition of them, but also knew they were forced to accept it, however grudgingly.
Kaylin thought of the people trapped in the Academia, and thought of how long they’d endured there before the Academia had once again rejoined the real world. She’d assumed most hadn’t been aware of that captivity, but knew at least one had. And the building itself had been half-aware and injured.
These two were definitely not buildings. If it weren’t for the fact that they were clearly invisible to most people—she’d have to investigate Mrs. Erickson far more seriously after today—she would have assumed they were slightly oddly dressed people who’d traveled here from a different country.
But she believed they recognized Severn’s weapon, and to be fair, having seen it once herself, she’d never mistake it for any other weapon.
“Have you actually seen it in use?” she asked.
Amaldi nodded. Darreno was silent.
“When?”
The two once again exchanged a glance. Amaldi spoke. “It was not wielded by your...partner. Not then.”
Did you catch that?
I did, through you. But...in theory the weapons take shape based on their wielder, in some fashion.
Kaylin snorted. So the weapons thought you wanted that unwieldy chain with sharp bits attached?
She felt his brief amusement. I believe my teacher felt that my will was not strong enough to force the weapons to conform to my personal ideal, yes. The amusement faded. Mrs. Erickson’s “ghosts” imply heavily that the weapon conformed to the ideal of some prior wielder. I don’t know a lot about the history of these weapons, and I know nothing about the other hands that wielded them.
What do you know?
Barrani who wanted to wield them came and went; none succeeded; most survived.
Most, she thought. Not all.
“Do either of you experience the passage of time in the way you might have when people could actually see you?”
They exchanged a glance. It was, to Kaylin’s surprise, Darreno who answered. “Not entirely. We’re aware that time has passed. Amaldi told you that we sleep sometimes, but when we wake the world around us has shifted. Sometimes the shifts are simple: the buildings are slightly altered. There are more—or fewer—people.
“Sometimes the shifts are far greater. We recognize almost none of the buildings, and the people are...different.”
Amaldi immediately leaped in. While Darreno continued to be cautious—he seldom looked away from Severn—her natural gregariousness was clearly difficult to keep suppressed. “This time, when we woke, there were so many people. People like us. We can still see Barrani, and we can see the Barrani High Halls—but most of the streets are full of people.
“This would have been paradise for us, once. There’s so much here, so much to see and do—and people like us are doing most of it!” She glanced at Darreno, who had given up on attempting to keep her in check. “There are winged people as well—mostly like us, but not quite—I love to watch them. Sometimes I chase their shadows across the ground.”
Kaylin might have once done the same were it not for the very real people in the streets—but Amaldi wouldn’t have that problem.
“Where do you live?”
Some of the light in her eyes dimmed. “Here,” she said. “We don’t have a home, if that’s what you’re asking. Any home we might have had was destroyed long before our birth, and the crèche we grew up in was destroyed in one of the Barrani wars.”
“With the Dragons?”
Amaldi shook her head. “I don’t think it was the Dragons. We didn’t ask. Some of my people were used as subordinate soldiers to their masters; Darreno and I were considered too weak or too young. We had been trained to other things, and our master considered our deaths on the battlefield a waste of all her cultivation efforts.”
Kaylin was silent for a long beat. She glanced at Mrs. Erickson; Mrs. Erickson nodded.
“Can you travel anywhere you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can you leave the city?”
Amaldi’s expression clearly said, Why would we want to? But Darreno shook his head. “No. If we attempt to move outside of the confines of the city, we sleep. There are streets within the city we cannot follow. There seems to be a specific radius to the area we’re allowed; we can trace a large circle.
“At the center of it is the High Halls.”
“The current High Halls?”
They both frowned at the question. Darreno turned toward the High Halls, although technically they were obscured by the taller buildings that housed multiple families close to the well. “What do you mean when you say ‘current’ in that tone?”
“The current condition of the High Halls is new. For most of my life that’s not what the High Halls looked like.”
They traded another glance. “Do you mean it has changed recently?”
She nodded.
“It...looks the same, to us. But brighter or newer. Amaldi wondered if we had somehow gone back in time.”
“I was quite happy to know that we hadn’t,” Amaldi added. “But it’s true I wondered. I wondered if somehow this city with all these people was like this before all the wars and the—” She shook her head.
Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Kaylin asked Severn.
Severn, silent, nodded slightly. Do you mind if I intrude?
No. I don’t hate it, it just tickles a bit. Severn slid into the space behind her eyes. She hadn’t lied. He almost never did this because it felt so uncomfortable to both of them. Severn wasn’t used to seeing out of two sets of eyes and Kaylin wasn’t used to having Severn in particular look through hers. She was too aware of his presence.
He studied their clothing.
“I’d like to ask a couple of questions about your clothing.”
“Our clothing?”
“Yes. It’s not like the clothing most of the people here are wearing.” Amaldi was wearing a brightly colored silk, which appeared to be a single length of cloth wrapped about her body in a way that emphasized color; laid over that was a necklace that matched the delicate strands of her earrings. Darreno was dressed in almost exactly the same silk, but it was a bit more standard: arms, legs—the legs a darker shade, but looser in fit than the present norm.
“Oh. This is what I was wearing when we...left.”
“You can’t change?”
“Into what? We didn’t bring clothing with us—or if we did, it became solid enough that we couldn’t touch it. I didn’t wish to disrobe and have no way to reclothe myself, and...we don’t have problems with dirt here.” This last was said self-consciously. “Which is good because we couldn’t bathe if we did.”
Got it, Severn said, retreating.
“Can you walk to Mrs. Erickson’s house, or is that too far?”
Darreno said, “We can, but we didn’t wish Mrs. Erickson to feel uncomfortable.”
“I would never feel uncomfortable inviting friends to my house,” Mrs. Erickson replied. Given her expression she meant it, too.
“If you’re safe now,” Severn said out loud, “I will return to my duties.”
Kaylin nodded; they were in theory off duty, which meant the rules governing partnering didn’t apply. She thought Amaldi and Darreno would be more comfortable if Severn was anywhere else. Besides, she had an inkling of what he now considered his duties to be: research into Amaldi, Darreno, and the clothing they wore.
If what they had said was true, they had woken this time when the High Halls had changed, becoming the building it had once been before Shadow had started the war between Dragonkind and the Barrani. She wondered if the master Amaldi spoke of was Barrani at all, or if it was one of the Ancestors that had, woken, nearly destroyed the High Halls for no reason at all that Kaylin could understand.
They had been surprised by Hope; they had recognized the word familiar.
“I’m certain this isn’t how you imagined you’d be spending your evening,” Mrs. Erickson said, dragging Kaylin’s attention back to the present. “But if you’ll let me do a little bit of shopping, I’ll make you dinner.”
“Don’t worry about feeding me.”
“I’m not, dear. Most of my friends can’t eat, and cooking for one can be a bit lonely.”
A bit of shopping later, Kaylin carried a much fuller basket—she insisted—as she followed Mrs. Erickson home. Amaldi and Darreno walked to one side of the old woman, Kaylin to the other.
“I’m going to go quiet for a bit,” Kaylin told the two. “Hope is probably getting a wing cramp.” Hope immediately retrieved his wing, folded it across his back, and fell across her shoulders as if greatly fatigued.
“Poor dear,” Mrs. Erickson said, with genuine sympathy.
Kaylin considered pushing him off her shoulder, especially when he started to snicker.
The first thing Kaylin discovered about Mrs. Erickson’s house was: it was an actual small house. It was narrow, and to either side larger houses had been built in place; they were both obviously newer than Mrs. Erickson’s, and if not in better repair, then at least constructed in a way that implied they should be.
Mrs. Erickson had a small lawn. Kaylin wondered if this was the remnants of a coach house, but the houses to either side weren’t an indicator of the kind of wealth required to own one’s own horses and carriages. Admittedly she didn’t know a lot about horses, and what she did know generally caused horse people to frown or lecture her.
Regardless, this was where Mrs. Erickson lived. Until Kaylin’s first home—an apartment—had been destroyed by a large arcane bomb, Kaylin hadn’t dreamed of an actual house. She now lived in Helen, in one of the swankiest of neighborhoods, and still felt residual guilt about it.
Kaylin didn’t like at least one of Mrs. Erickson’s neighbors, because at least one of the neighbors ventured out of their own house onto her lawn, rather than using the narrow walk that led from the street.
“What did the old biddy do this time?” he asked. He was a broad-shouldered man with a very irritating grin.
“Mrs. Erickson,” Kaylin replied, emphasizing her name, “came to the Halls of Law to report something. As many citizens do.” She was aware that many of those citizens lived in an alternate reality, often augmented by far too much alcohol or other items of questionable legality. But the man’s question set her teeth on edge.
Worse, however, was Mrs. Erickson’s polite smile. “I’m sorry if we made enough noise to disturb you.” There were ways of delivering such an apology that made an insult of it. Condescension was a prized social weapon for most of Kaylin’s Barrani friends or acquaintances. But that wasn’t what Mrs. Erickson was doing, here. Her shoulders had dropped, her back curving as if to ward off unwanted notice. Which never worked.
Hope sat up, catching the man’s attention. “Hey, what’s that you got on your shoulder?”
Kaylin saw Hope open his jaws, the ruby interior of his mouth in stark contrast to the translucence of his body. It took her longer than it should have to insert her hand between Hope and the neighbor.
“An exotic pet,” Kaylin replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse us?”
“Where’d you get it?”
Ignoring him, Kaylin turned to Mrs. Erickson. “Lead the way.”
Mrs. Erickson’s entire tell was one of gratitude, and this made things worse. She was afraid of her neighbor. One of the two who’d failed to notice her absence, and who’d failed to check up on her. If Mrs. Erickson had relied on the aid of her neighbors, she’d probably have starved to death.
“Hey, I asked you a question,” the large man snapped.
“I heard it,” Kaylin replied, her voice a particular kind of neutral that would have immediately caused any Hawk who knew her to step in. Being off duty, none of those Hawks were here. She didn’t bother to look in his direction, but did lower her hand.
“Answer it.”
“Mrs. Erickson?” Kaylin’s smile was probably a clear indicator of her emotions at the moment.
Mrs. Erickson, being Mrs. Erickson, was now worried. For Kaylin, of course. Kaylin could see the patina of guilt shift the old woman’s expression. She struggled to remember that Mrs. Erickson, not Kaylin herself, lived here; Mrs. Erickson—not Kaylin—would have to deal with the consequences of this man’s displeasure. Yes, there were Hawks and there were laws, but so far no laws had been made that made being an unpleasant waste of space illegal.
And there were laws on the books that made decking a jerk a crime. A minor crime. Which Hawks weren’t supposed to commit.
“I said, I asked you a question,” the aforementioned jerk said, in a much lower tone. He stepped forward, hand raised, as if he intended to grab Kaylin’s arm or shoulder. Or worse, grab the familiar that rested on one of them.
Kaylin was fine with this. Neither Hope nor Kaylin could be hurt by this man without very bad luck on their part. But Mrs. Erickson could. Kaylin wondered if part of the reason the old woman made the daily trek to the Halls of Law was the temporary safety provided by the presence of so many Hawks.
None of the other Hawks had mentioned the neighbor, not even the ones who had gone to Mrs. Erickson’s to check up on her when she failed to show up for her daily incursion. But those Hawks had probably come during business hours, as it were; they had come in pairs.
And Kaylin was admittedly not the largest or most instantly intimidating of the Hawks. Maybe he felt safe, stepping closer so he could loom over both of them. Maybe he thought his presence enough of a threat that Kaylin would buckle and fold, just as Mrs. Erickson—an older, frailer woman—clearly did.
She had daggers.
She drew her baton instead. “And I said I heard you. Unless you’re in front of the Imperial Court or the Emperor himself, failing to answer questions isn’t a crime.”
The man’s brows—streaked gray—rose; his skin darkened. “Is this how you were taught to show respect?”
“I was taught,” Kaylin replied, “that respect is earned.”
The man raised an arm. Kaylin was ready for him.
What she wasn’t ready for was Mrs. Erickson, who stepped between Kaylin and the large, odious man, although the space between them had closed enough, her back bumped into Kaylin.
“She’s a new Hawk,” she told the neighbor. “She’s young.”
“She knows the law,” Kaylin said, voice lower; she had to look over Mrs. Erickson’s shoulder. “If you hit Mrs. Erickson, the one who’ll be visiting the Halls is you. If you hit me, your visit will be much longer.” She reached out with her free hand and attempted to move Mrs. Erickson safely out of the way.
Mrs. Erickson’s determination was greater than her slight weight implied; she didn’t budge.
“Go and get your things,” Kaylin told the old woman, coming to a decision. “We can conduct the rest of the interview at my house.” The ghosts that occupied Mrs. Erickson’s house were forgotten. Kaylin wanted to remove her from the vicinity of the neighbor.
“Come with me,” Mrs. Erickson said, without moving.
“I will. If you have no other business,” she said, to the neighbor, “we’ll be seeing to ours.” She had, until Mrs. Erickson had stepped between them, been spoiling for a fight. If the jerk touched or attempted to hit her, any action she took that didn’t break every bone in his body was likely to be given a grudging pass—especially if he opened his mouth.
But she was afraid now that he’d hit Mrs. Erickson instead. If not today, then tonight; if not tonight, then tomorrow. She shouldn’t have pushed him if she wasn’t the one who would bear the consequences. Cursing internally she once again turned toward the front door of Mrs. Erickson’s home.
If Hope leaped off her shoulder and bit the man’s nose, could she somehow fudge the report she was certain she’d have to make in a way that still allowed Hope to be her shoulder ornament during a working day? Highly doubtful.
He looked as if he’d object; his arm lowered, but his hands—both of them—were fists—large fists, which implied incoming pain. Kaylin couldn’t force herself to back down with any semblance of grace—and it was humility and groveling the man wanted. She’d seen his type before, admittedly not nearly as often on this side of the Ablayne.
She stepped out from behind Mrs. Erickson, baton clenched in fists that were just as white-knuckled as the stranger’s. Mrs. Erickson, no longer a shield between Kaylin and her neighbor, immediately turned toward the closed door of her house, as if this was the only way she could somehow avoid a confrontation between the neighbor and the Halls of Law. This was because Mrs. Erickson wasn’t stupid.
The man watched Mrs. Erickson as she scurried for the door. Kaylin watched him, her breath deliberately slow and controlled. She wasn’t angry. She was teetering on the edge of enraged.
Kaylin.
Severn, in his fashion, came to her rescue. He didn’t insult her by saying he should have come with her, either. He knew she could handle the man she now faced if violence started.
If I’d accompanied you, he wouldn’t be out on the lawn.
It was true. But Kaylin wanted to teach him enough of a lesson that the tabard of the Hawk would be a deterrent even if a five-year-old was wearing it.
That’s not respect, Severn said softly. It’s fear.
I’ll take fear. Mrs. Erickson—
Yes, I know. But she’s not a child. Turn and follow her. She’s waiting and you don’t want her to come running back to the lawn armed with a frying pan.
She wouldn’t. Kaylin inhaled slowly. The old woman would return, because to Mrs. Erickson, Kaylin probably was a child.
If you have to hit him, you know the drill: wait until he tries to hit you first. You should probably plan out where to let him connect to avoid actual injury. But that’s not what you were thinking.
It is.
She could feel Severn shake his head. It isn’t. If you kill him, you’ll lose the Hawk.
I wasn’t going to kill him. But she stopped arguing. Let Severn’s calm anchor her because she had almost none of her own left, and holding on to it had become increasingly difficult.
If you skin him alive, Severn said, Mrs. Erickson will be traumatized.
More than she already is? She didn’t tell him that she had no intention of skinning the man alive. She knew what Severn meant. And she knew the deep, visceral fury she could barely keep under lock had echoes of the one time—long before she was officially a Hawk—that she’d done exactly that.
She turned toward Mrs. Erickson.
Hope squawked.
She shook her head, exhaling. There were some fights you had to walk away from. This was one of them—for now. She turned toward the door, showing the neighbor her profile. She didn’t speak, and made no further attempt to provoke him.
For his part, he husbanded his demands as well, which she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t certain why. Maybe it was because he wasn’t entirely stupid and he’d seen, clearly, the certainty that lurked beneath Kaylin’s momentary, but murderous, rage. If her size made her an easy target in the eyes of people like the neighbor, her anger added weight and gravity, as did the Hawk.
Not even the neighbor could consider a physical altercation with an Imperial Hawk to be an entirely safe bet—not when the Hawk knew exactly where he lived.
Mrs. Erickson wasn’t holding a frying pan when Kaylin reached the door. She didn’t appear to be holding a weapon at all, but there was something both tremulous and martial in the older woman’s expression.
“It’s such a pity he turned out like that,” the old woman said, holding her door open to allow Kaylin entry. “His mother was such a sweet soul.”
Kaylin glanced at Hope, who was rigid on her shoulder. He lifted his wing, placing it almost gently across her face, as if her visceral fury was terrain to be carefully navigated.
You should have let me eat him, he said. At the sound of comprehensible words she understood two things: the first, he was almost as angry as Kaylin had become, and the second, that he probably could.
“I don’t see why you should have fun when I’m not allowed to have any.”
His reply was a very loud squawk.
Amaldi and Darreno were standing in front of Mrs. Erickson, and given Darreno’s expression, he wasn’t any happier with the neighbor than Kaylin. He might even be angrier, which she would have bet was impossible.
It was Amaldi who said, “The worst part about our condition is the helplessness. We can see everything. We can do nothing.”
“He isn’t your problem, dear,” Mrs. Erickson said, her voice gentle. “And we have laws in this city that are meant to help people like me. If you could interfere, and you killed the man, you’d suffer for it—and I would feel guilty for the rest of my life. He’s never hit me.”
“He’d better not,” Kaylin snapped, simmering. She turned on her heel, but the man had retreated into his own, much larger, house. She wondered if Hope could set it on fire.
I could.
She reached out and clamped his legs to her shoulder.
“He wasn’t always like this,” Mrs. Erickson said, as if Kaylin hadn’t spoken.
“I don’t care if he was a saint when he was a child,” Kaylin replied, more tersely than she’d intended.
“Well, I wasn’t,” Mrs. Erickson said, in a far kinder tone. “There’s no point in regrets, but I don’t think you can live as long as I have without finding some anyway. They’re like burrs. They cling. Sometimes you don’t regret a thing until far later, when you can see it in a different light. Come in, come in.” She glanced at Amaldi and Darreno.
Both shook their heads. Darreno was only barely paying attention; he was glaring at the neighbor’s house, as if the walls were transparent and he could focus on the man inside them.
“They never come into my house,” Mrs. Erickson said. “I can’t offer them much in the way of hospitality.”
“You’ve offered them friendship—or what friendship you can. At this point in their lives, I don’t imagine they think of normal hospitality the way the rest of us do.” Hope kept his wing up over Kaylin’s eyes.
“Haven’t you ever had those days when what you can offer someone in need never feels like it’s enough?”
“Sure.” Often. “But you’re offering everything you can.”
Mrs. Erickson nodded in a way that indicated she’d heard the words, considered them, and found them both true and wanting at the same time. She headed down the hall, indicating with a hand that Kaylin—heavy basket in arms—should follow.
Kaylin set the basket down on a battered but clean table—a small one, meant to seat two, or perhaps three in a pinch. It was very similar to the first table Kaylin could call her own. That table, along with the apartment, had been destroyed in the explosion of the arcane bomb. Which had in turn given energy to hatch Hope.
But the destruction had led, in the end, to Kaylin’s current home: Helen, a sentient building.
“I don’t see anyone else here,” she said, as Mrs. Erickson set about putting food into cupboards. There was too much of it, but she’d offered Kaylin a meal, and Kaylin had the vaguely guilty feeling she was eating Mrs. Erickson’s food budget. It wasn’t a thought that would have occurred to her a year ago, but she’d now spent some time figuring out what a budget was, and how to stay within it. More or less.
But she’d lived hand to mouth for years, and when it came right down to it, she had trouble walking away from people in need—they reminded her of who she’d been for half her life, and she was accustomed to having nothing anyway. She just...didn’t want to take things away from an elderly woman if it wasn’t necessary.
“The ghosts aren’t in the kitchen yet,” Mrs. Erickson replied. “They’re a bit shy.” Something fell in the distance. “And sometimes a bit petulant.”
“Are they like Amaldi and Darreno?”
Mrs. Erickson shook her head. “Amaldi and Darreno are outside ghosts. They don’t really have a home—I think they’ve come to terms with that. My friends are indoor ghosts. They can’t leave this house.”
“Is that why you stay here?”
“No. This is my home. I was born in it. It’s not large and it’s not fancy—but it’s served us all well.” She hesitated. “Help me cut those vegetables?”
Kaylin nodded. She was handed what Mrs. Erickson no doubt thought of as a knife; it was so dull Kaylin could have done a better job cutting things with her baton. “Do you have a sharpening stone?” she asked, grimacing.
“Not as such, but I don’t generally need a sharp knife. And sometimes the children get a bit unruly, so sharp knives might be a bit of a hazard.”
“They’re ghosts, right?”
“Yes, dear.”
“How can sharp knives be a problem?” Another crash sounded, this one closer. “Never mind. Forget I asked the question.”
“That’ll be Jamal.” Mrs. Erickson reached for an apron, as if falling objects of decent weight were an everyday occurrence. “He can throw things when he loses his temper. Oh, no—that sounds far worse than it is. I think he throws things to prove that he can—that he does exist, that he can somehow still make his presence felt. He doesn’t really like it when I go out, but we’ve reached an agreement.”
“So...he throws things around because he’s having a tantrum in your house, and you call that an agreement?”
“No—he’s throwing things because he doesn’t like that I have a guest.” Her smile, as she turned it toward Kaylin, was almost affectionate. “I don’t have many guests.”
Kaylin could see why. She pulled one of her own long daggers. She’d just sprain her wrist if she continued to use Mrs. Erickson’s knives. “I imagine Jamal scares most possible visitors.”
“A bit, yes. If they could see him, they’d be less frightened, but they can’t. I try not to explain too much, because it makes visitors even more uncomfortable. On the other hand, the neighbor has never tried to enter my house again.”
Kaylin froze. “Again? You mean he tried to force his way in here before?”
“He visited with his mother as a child. But yes, he’s only made one attempt as the adult he’s become.”
“I don’t imagine Jamal cared for him.”
“He’s even objecting to you, dear.”
Fair enough. Kaylin finished cutting what she thought of as broccoli, although it was the wrong color. “Do you mind if I speak to Jamal?”
“Not at all. You might even be able to see him.”
Kaylin rose, wiping the blade before resheathing it. She couldn’t decide if that would be bane or blessing. But as she headed toward the arch—not door—that led from the kitchen, Mrs. Erickson almost shrieked.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Erickson asked, her worry obvious.
Kaylin frowned in confusion. “I’m fine.” She then looked down at her arms: the marks that adorned her unexposed skin were glowing through the cloth of her sleeves.