When Evanton left, she turned to her partner. “An Aerian Arcanist. Any bets?”
“What are we betting on?”
“Which flight the Arcanist belongs to.”
“As long as you’re betting against dar Carafel, yes.”
Kaylin shrugged. “Shadow as simple power?”
“It’s Elani,” Severn replied.
“Meaning it’s a bill of goods we’re being sold?”
“We’re being asked to buy. But he’s probably not entirely wrong. I don’t understand how—or why—the Aerians had Shadow nets. The study of magic related to Shadow is illegal, even in the Arcanum.”
“The Arcanists don’t follow their own bloody rules. They’re certainly not going to follow the Emperor’s when they can avoid it.”
Severn, however, continued to stare at his hands, as if they vaguely displeased him. She could take a guess at why, but didn’t have to waste the mental energy. “Gilbert.”
Since this was more or less some part of what Kaylin had been thinking, she nodded, pensive now. “Gilbert’s the only Shadow I’ve ever met who wasn’t...”
He nodded, freeing her from the search for descriptive words. “Evanton’s not wrong. The first time you really spent time in the garden, it’s because an Arcanist—with an Imperial death sentence hanging over his head—tried to co-opt the Keeper’s powers in order to change the world.”
“To rule it.”
“To rule it by changing it. The heart of the elements weren’t the Arcanist’s concern. The power was. We have evidence—in the form of Leontines—that the powers of creation or transformation used there were, at the very least, susceptible to Shadow.”
“You think it’s more than just susceptible.”
“I think there’s a chance that the heart of the power is similar. The Towers were created to stand against Shadow—but the Shadows that have managed to breach a Tower knew what to look for, where to find it, what to do with it. They were trying to transform the Tower by rewriting the words at its core.” He was talking about Tara and Tiamaris indirectly.
Kaylin nodded slowly. “But what if the Shadows knew what to do because they’ve been at war with the Towers for so long? Bellusdeo understands Shadow better than any of us because she lost a world to it.”
Severn nodded, allowing the point. The problem was that Kaylin wasn’t certain she believed it. Because Shadows—or at least Gilbert—had words at their core. Whatever and wherever that core was.
“You remember the Fishmonger?” Severn asked quietly.
Kaylin flinched. There wasn’t a Hawk on the force who didn’t remember that case, and no Hawk who’d joined the force after the Fishmonger was caught who hadn’t been informed. The whole city knew about the Fishmonger. The Swords had been on full alert for almost a month by the time he was run to ground.
As a name for a man who had killed dozens in gruesome, horrible ways, it was stupid. But he’d earned the moniker because of where he’d found his victims, and how. He’d sold fish. He’d sold fish predominantly to the poorer citizens of Elantra, and on occasion, those citizens had vanished.
Parts of their bodies had been discovered in the fish, later. The Fishmonger had probably known more ways to kill a man than Red, the coroner, did.
There were still a few cookies left in the tin, but Kaylin put the lid firmly back in place, appetite completely absent. “Why are you bringing him up now?”
“Because he was human. We’re human. We’re not the Fishmonger. He didn’t require magic. He didn’t require power—elemental or Shadow or other. He did what he did with what he was born to. The Wolves were hunting him,” Severn added quietly. “We had a different view, but we were looking at the same thing: the damage done, the victims.
“Gilbert is, in theory, of Shadow. You felt it the first time you met him. You knew it. But he’s Shadow the way you and I are human. The Fishmonger was Shadow the way the creatures that come out of Ravellon are.”
Kaylin nodded, frowning. “Do you think that Ravellon was like one big holding cell for the criminally insane? I mean, the Shadows? I hadn’t really thought of it before now, but maybe it makes sense. Gilbert wasn’t what any of us were expecting. I think that hit Bellusdeo hardest. But is it really smart to look at Shadow as if it were fire or water, elementally speaking?”
Severn hesitated. “When elementals are summoned—”
“They’re sentient, if they’re of any size.” Kaylin struggled to catch the rest of the thought. “Shadow might be sentient the same way. But—fire wants to burn things. At any size. The trick to the summoning is controlling or denying that impulse.”
“Water wants to drown or crush things, Air wants to throw things into other things. Earth wants to crush or smother things.”
“And you think Shadow is somehow like the elements?” Kaylin asked Severn. Her first instinct was to deny it. So was her second. “Life needs the four elements. If the elements desire destruction when they’re summoned, that’s sort of understandable. No one likes to be practically enslaved. But what do we need Shadow for?”
“Your guess is probably as good as mine. Maybe we don’t need it—but it’s possible that the Shadows we’ve seen are like uncontrolled elements.”
“And Gilbert?”
“Doesn’t require the control.”
She shook her head again. The idea—to Kaylin—was preposterous. If Shadow was like the elements, there should be a single whole Shadow that existed, as the elements did, in the Keeper’s garden. Kaylin had spent enough time in that garden to be certain there wasn’t.
Evanton cleared his throat. He was standing in the doorway, waiting for a break in conversation. Evanton demanded a lot of patience—it was, he said, simple manners and common sense when dealing with the elderly—but was terrible at actually giving any of it.
Kaylin rose. “Sorry, we were just talking.”
“Yes, I noticed. And unlike many of the conversations you have with your fellow Hawks while waiting, this seems to be of actual relevance. I am loath to interrupt you.” Which meant, of course, he would. He lifted a hand; draped around his left palm was a slender chain that looked to be made of silver. “This is Lillias’s gift to Moran.”
“Is Moran going to be angry if I give it to her?”
“That is not my concern. The sergeant is not my customer.”
“It’s my concern,” Kaylin said, staring pointedly at the pendant that dangled from the chain. It, like the chain that held it, appeared to be silver; it was, to no one’s surprise, a small, stylized depiction of a feather.
“Yes,” Evanton agreed. He handed her the item he’d made. “It is. Your problem, that is. If you will excuse me, I have work to do.”
* * *
The rest of Elani was its usual fraudulent self. The merchants and street hawkers weren’t happy to see Kaylin and Severn, but they never were unless discovery of their fraud prompted former customers to get a bit of their own back from the fraud’s hide. Kaylin considered this attempt justified, and had pointed out to many that it was a consequence of lying and preying on the foolish dreams of the desperate. The criminals, though, pointed out that this was assault, possibly heading toward murder.
Today, however, no street brawls came to interrupt them. No commotion outside of Margot’s. The only people who seemed to want the attention of the patrolling Hawks were people who hadn’t seen—or hadn’t yet paid attention to—the familiar draped across Kaylin’s shoulders. To be fair, when he was like this, he didn’t seem to be particularly real. He might have been a very unusual shoulder adornment; gods knew the merchants here sold some very strange ones.
“Where did you buy that?”
Since the answer was complicated, Kaylin didn’t bother. “He found me,” she said. “And stuck around.”
A predictable offer of money in exchange for the small dragon followed, the amount escalating with each refusal. On Elani Street it was practically criminal to refuse to sell something for the right price. The right price, however, was elusive.
* * *
“Please don’t tell me that Margot is trying to get our attention.”
“I don’t think she’s trying to get mine, if that’ll do.”
Kaylin muttered a short Leontine curse. Leontine wasn’t really a good language for quiet cursing when on duty. “Can we ignore her? I’ve had a bad week and I don’t want to add to it.”
“She probably can’t make it any worse.”
“She’s inventive. She probably can.” Kaylin grimaced and gave in to the inevitable. She waited by the sandwich board in front of Margot’s window until Margot came out to speak with them.
“I know you’re not happy to see me,” the redhead said.
Since this was more or less true, Kaylin shrugged.
“I’m not particularly happy to see you, either,” Margot continued. “And I seriously considered ignoring your presence—but you didn’t trip over my board today.”
This made Kaylin flush. “I usually pick it up.”
“Your partner usually picks it up,” Margot corrected her. She was a very, very attractive woman. Her hair was a bright red, her skin was the type of pale that redheads of that variety usually sported, her eyes—today—were green. They changed color, not with mood, but with money and magical enhancements. Kaylin had no idea what their natural color was.
“I had a new client today.”
Kaylin said, “Was he Aerian?”
“Funny you should ask that. No, he wasn’t.”
“Why is it funny I should ask that?”
“His questions seemed to revolve around Aerians. He was not young,” she added, “and he was very, very well dressed. Almost too well.”
“Is that even possible?”
“I’m thinking out loud. He was extremely expensively dressed. And I didn’t recognize either him or the name he left. He was human,” she added, as if this were necessary. It wasn’t, really—most of the dupes that came willingly to Elani to empty their pockets were. But Margot’s clientele spanned the gamut. One of her clients had once caused Kaylin extreme difficulty, being related to a castelord.
“I’m listening,” Kaylin said when Margot paused. Margot didn’t usually offer anything like help to the Hawks.
“You’re wondering why I’ve approached you.”
“Kind of, yeah. Can we go inside?”
Margot nodded, turned, and led the way in.
* * *
“I don’t have much time,” Margot told them. “I have an appointment later this afternoon.”
“With the same guy?”
She shook her head. “With a very important client.”
“And the rich man wasn’t?”
She shook her head again, her gaze falling to the floor. “I’m not sure I’ll see him again.” She lifted her head and met Kaylin’s eyes. “I know you think I’m a fraud. I’m not. Not entirely.”
Kaylin nodded.
“Ever since the incident on Elani, I’m less of a fraud.” She looked pretty bitter about it, too.
“Let me guess. Most of the people who pay you money don’t actually want the truth.”
“Got it in one. Look, we all need to eat, right?”
Kaylin said nothing.
“I don’t have many other skills. The offers of employ I received when younger would probably curl your toes.”
Kaylin said, “I grew up in the fiefs.”
“...Or not. Look, I know you don’t like what I do. I don’t particularly care for what you do while you’re here, either. But there are times I’m grateful for the Halls—mostly the Swords—and you could be a lot worse. I’ve had beat Hawks proposition me—”
Kaylin held up one hand. “I just ate,” she lied. She didn’t want to believe Margot, and she wanted to have less to disbelieve. But the implication that she’d lost her appetite was true.
“Right. The man wasn’t asking about Aerians, not specifically. But the answers I received were about Aerians. And Hawks.”
“Hawks?”
“Yes. Neither of these are guesses,” she added. “I’ve seen that tabard for all of my tenure on Elani. I know it when I see it.”
“And the Aerians?”
She hesitated. “I don’t do much business with Aerians, so I don’t know a lot about them. I know that they’re generally normal people, but with wings attached. The wings differ in color. But I haven’t seen wings like the ones I saw in my vision before.”
“Go on,” Kaylin said, her jaw tensing.
“They were pale, but speckled gold.”
The speckles were brown. Kaylin did not correct the description. No one expected information gained in Oracles or visions to be accurate.
“You don’t look surprised.”
“No comment.”
“You do look pissed off.” She hesitated. “You want to know why I’m talking to you about this.”
“You said that already.”
“Yes.” Margot exhaled. “I’ve spent a lot of time to get where I am. I’ve made my own decisions, my own choices; I have my own money now. I’m not beholden to—to anyone. Got that?”
Kaylin nodded.
“I’m telling you this because of the client. He did—or said—something just as I sat down.”
“Show me the room you sat in—if you don’t mind. Also, keep talking.”
Margot said, “I don’t want you to touch anything without my permission. Everything in the room I used is expensive. Everything.”
“It’s meant to impress the wealthy?”
“Yes. I have another two rooms, both of which see more frequent use. This room is meant to impress.” She pointed to a curtain composed of long strands of beads. Or of what appeared, at a distance, to be beads. Margot clearly meant the “don’t touch” part; she pulled the beads back to either side of the open arch herself, hooking them carefully in place before she entered the room.
Kaylin slid her hands behind her back and clasped them loosely as she followed.
* * *
Kaylin expected the room to be a gaudy, bright den of things—sort of an upscale version of the dust-covered, cobweb-anchored shelves in Evanton’s store, but more practical. It wasn’t. It was almost austere in its simplicity. There was, of course, a table, and on it a crystal ball, which was a prop for fraud as far as the Hawks were concerned.
Kaylin had visited the Oracular Halls a number of times, all on duty—she knew that Oracles and their prophecies didn’t require something as fixed as a large glass ball. Vision was not confined, in Kaylin’s experience, to fixed locations. She glanced at the rug, the wall hanging, the painting; she saw a vase, flowers and four chairs, all of which were empty.
The chairs, however, would have been at home in the palace. They were upholstered and very heavy. Margot indicated that the Hawks could sit, but her expression made clear that the chairs were far more valuable than her current visitors. Kaylin declined. It wasn’t like she was ever going to be comfortable in Margot’s company, anyway.
“First, I want it to be clear that I never talked to you.”
“Well, at least it’s believable,” Kaylin replied. “What made you overcome your normal reluctance?”
Margot’s smile was leaden. “I know you believe me monstrous,” she said, “and in general I don’t care. But the man who came to visit me today was unusual.”
“Go on.”
Margot turned to the painting on the wall. “Records.” It was a good thing Margot’s back was turned, because she missed seeing Kaylin’s jaw fall open. By the time she turned again, Kaylin was back in control of her face.
What Kaylin had assumed was a painting was, in fact, a mirror. The colors of mountain and city and sky broke into tiny pieces, recombining into an image of this room, and one of the occupied chairs. “This is the visitor.”
“Anything unusual about him?”
“Yes—but not visually.”
Visually, however, he was impressive. Not a single hair was out of place. If he hadn’t so obviously been human, he might have been Barrani. His eyes were a gray blue, which accentuated the subtle ice of his expression. He didn’t look familiar to Kaylin, but she understood why Margot had pegged him as a wealthy mark. It wasn’t his clothing—although that, to Kaylin’s eye, was costly—but his carriage, his demeanor. He was clearly used to both having power and wielding it to gain obedience.
She didn’t like him. Then again, neither did Margot.
Severn was staring at the man.
“Another one of your former clients?” Kaylin asked, half joking.
“I’m not completely certain,” was the serious reply.
Margot frowned, but said nothing. Kaylin, however, flinched. “What name did he give?”
“He didn’t.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“Many of my wealthy clients come to me on the condition of secrecy. As long as their gold is good, I don’t care what they call themselves, even if it’s nothing. I usually recognize them regardless.”
“Not this guy.”
“No.”
“You think he’ll be coming back?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it. He came because he wanted the usual glimpse into the future.”
“Fine. You intended to peddle something relatively harmless?”
“In legal terms, yes.”
“What did you give him instead?”
Margot looked extremely uncomfortable, which didn’t suit her. “I sat down at the table,” she said, by way of answer. She suited action to words, and sat, her hands in her lap. Closing her eyes, she straightened her shoulders and neck, lifting her hands so they rested palms down on the tabletop. She then lifted her hands, turning the palms in, toward the crystal ball.
Kaylin felt her skin begin to tingle. Magic. It wasn’t a strong magic; it was a normal one. The ball itself was likely enchanted. Then again, so were all the streetlamps. Magic was not illegal, Kaylin’s frequent, fervent wishes aside. The ball began to glow. It wasn’t with the radiance of streetlamps, though. “Is the room usually dark?”
“It’s ambient,” Margot replied.
“So...darker than this.”
“Yes.” Her grimace ruined the otherwise perfect picture she presented.
“So you set the ball glowing, and...?”
“I could not release it. I couldn’t move my hands away from its surface.” She did move her hands now, as if testing the ball for defects. “I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t look away from the ball itself. I think I managed to blink.”
Kaylin was now looking carefully at the ball, which appeared slightly magical but otherwise normal. Magic left visible sigils to Kaylin’s eye—but only strong magic. This was not strong. “Can I ask you to stand now, please?”
Margot seemed quite happy to be free of the chair, as if describing what had happened was like reliving the experience.
“Anything?” Severn asked.
Kaylin frowned and shook her head. “Nothing that I can see. If there was magic practiced, it didn’t require a lot of power. Sorry, Margot. You can sit again if you want.”
“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”
Kaylin nodded. “So, you looked into the ball as part of your regular routine.”
Margot nodded. “I also burn incense during these readings.”
“Anything special about the incense?”
“...No.” Which meant yes, but Margot was breathing it in as well, so it couldn’t be deadly. She didn’t like Margot, it was true. She also hated paperwork, and wasn’t willing to do it if it weren’t for something she considered practical.
“I’m not sure how this normally works,” Kaylin continued, because she wasn’t. She was often ignorant—which she hated—but didn’t consider herself stupid. Spending money in Margot’s parlor was stupid. “Did he ask questions?”
“Yes. In general, there’s discussion, a building of rapport.”
The image of the man—still captured in Margot’s personal Records—didn’t imply rapport would be particularly welcome, at least not on his part. “Records, reenact,” Margot said.
The man in the image began to move. “My apologies, Madame Margot,” he said, his voice the type of hard-soft that set Kaylin’s teeth on edge. “I have done some research on the various fortune-tellers in Elani—and elsewhere in Elantra. I would not have taken the time to visit you had it not been for one infamous difficulty in the past year.”
Whatever Margot had said in response, the mirror that looked like a painting hadn’t captured.
“The current custodian of the Oracular Halls, however, is not at all flexible, and any visit to the Oracles requires official Imperial permission. You, on the other hand, are rumored to be discreet. Discretion is a useful trait. I suggest you remember it.”
“Is the part where you punch him in the mouth and boot him out of your store coming up anytime soon?” Kaylin asked. The urge to punch his image in the mouth had caused her hands to curl in fists.
“No, sadly. I did say I couldn’t move, didn’t I?” For the first time, however, she smiled, and Kaylin smiled back.
“I have a few questions that associates of mine need answered. They are currently extremely busy men. I wish you to look at these items, and I wish you to look into your crystal ball. Ah, forgive me,” he added. He stood and walked around the table; Records capture was centered on him.
Margot entered the frame as he approached her. She looked poised, elegant, cool—and annoyed. Kaylin doubted very much that she would have looked half as calm had she been in Margot’s position, and a certain admiration tugged at her.
“First.” The man lifted a feather.
“Records,” Kaylin said. When the man continued to speak, Margot repeated the word, and then returned the capture to the feather. “Enlarge.”
Kaylin glanced at Severn. “Did he leave the feather here?”
“No. If you’re wondering if it’s an Aerian feather, it almost certainly was, given what followed.”
“We may have lost a very fine hunting bird,” the man continued, when Records capture resumed its play. “We wish to locate it. However, it may prove difficult without more information. This,” he said, fishing another item out of an interior pocket, “was the bird’s favorite toy. It has been handed down through generations of those who are tasked with the welfare of the breed.”
Kaylin really did not like this man.
“You’ll break teeth if you keep grinding them like that,” Margot told her. She ordered another freeze and enlarge, but this time, the object was a bracelet or an armband. It was either meant for large hands or slender arms; Kaylin couldn’t be certain. Circular, it appeared to be made of silver or platinum. It contained evenly spaced gemstones of a pale blue color.
“And last.” He held up a collar. “Now, I have a few questions I wish you to answer.”
“Are all your wealthy clients this odious?”
“A handful would probably pass your judgmental muster,” Margot replied. “This one, however, was in a class of his own.”
“And if word gets out that you turned him in?”
“I’ll deny it, of course. The Hawks and I have a known adversarial relationship. Those who matter would believe me.”
Fair enough. “I don’t suppose you know where he got any of these items.”
Margot shook her head, impatient now. Kaylin stared at her, frowning. She glanced at Severn; Severn was paying careful attention to Margot—but almost all men did that. “Records,” Margot said.
“I don’t suppose you could grant me temporary permission to give commands?”
“What do you think?”
Kaylin poked the familiar. He sat up, growled in her ear—which was practically a new sound—and then looked balefully at the crystal. He ignored the mirror. He ignored Margot. Kaylin paid attention to what Margot was saying in the Records capture playback, but what she now wanted to see was the end of this session, not its beginning.
“It’s dark,” Margot in the past said. “It’s dark, but the sky is clear. Over Elantra, it’s blue.” This made as much sense as most of what fell out of Margot’s mouth. “There are Aerians in the darkness.”
“Can you see their wings?”
“I can see that they have them,” was Margot’s curt reply. Her voice held an edge of something that sounded suspiciously like fear.
Kaylin lifted a hand, and Margot paused playback. “You weren’t making that up.”
“Good of you to notice.”
“You’re saying that this visitor somehow compelled you to have a—a vision?” She poked the familiar. The familiar sighed, bit her finger just hard enough to make a point, and launched himself off her shoulder.
Past Margot said, “No.”
“How many do you see?”
“Enough that it’s difficult to count.”
“I will warn you,” the stranger said in his velvet voice, “not to lie to me.” He walked away from Margot and resumed his seat. Past Margot’s voice was clear, but she was no longer visible.
“Dozens,” she finally said. “They’re not hovering, and they’re not flying in the patrol formation. There’s also a Dragon.”
The man’s face became instantly stone-like. After a pause to digest this obviously unwelcome information, he asked, “What color is the Dragon?”
“I’m not certain. I did mention it’s dark.”
“Is the Dragon gold?”
“No. Gold, I think I could differentiate.”
“Take a closer look.”
Kaylin in the present said, “Is he an idiot?”
“He doesn’t seem to understand how visions actually work, no.”
Kaylin would have bet a lot of money that Margot didn’t, either, and clearly, she would have lost it.
Past Margot said, “That is not the way visions work. If it was a precise science, the existence of Oracles would have started seven different wars by now.”
“Why did he want an Oracle?” Kaylin asked.
“Maybe he wanted to avoid angry Dragons,” Margot replied. “I don’t know.” Margot’s response was dismissive, which was typical for her. But the line of her shoulders was a little too high, and her eyes were narrowed in something that wasn’t quite anger or hostility, both of which Kaylin knew quite well.
Something was wrong. Kaylin frowned and glanced at Severn. It was brief, but pointed.
Severn walked across the rug, bent, and examined something. The rug itself was a complicated weave of color and pattern. He rose and lifted an arm; the familiar came to land on it, as if he were a kestrel. He then carried the familiar back to Kaylin.
The familiar crooned.
Yes, Severn said, speaking privately, as he so seldom did. Kaylin was mortal. Kaylin had taken a Name—for herself, instinctively—from the Barrani Lake of Life. The only living person who knew it was her partner. The Name was a bridge he seldom crossed. I think you’re right. I think Margot’s visitor never left. I’m certain the playback is genuine. I’m certain the visitor did somehow cajole an actual vision out of her. But I think something in that vision involved you.
Is she likely to survive if we leave? Kaylin glanced, briefly, at Margot.
Would you care? Severn unsheathed his blades. Although the room was large, it wasn’t large enough that he could wield the full length of his weapon’s chain without lopping off someone’s arm or leg.
Yes. If I’ve managed not to kill her all these years, I resent some stranger strolling in to do it first.
Grab Margot.
You think he’ll use magic here?
Probably.
Past Margot inhaled sharply, and both Hawks stopped their discussion as the Records playback demanded their attention.
“What is it? What did you see? What changed?” the man demanded; he’d risen from his chair to lean over the table, staring into the crystal ball as if it could provide answers. As if.
Kaylin headed across the room to the mirror, and stopped at the midpoint between the table and the wall, which happened to be Margot. To Severn, she said, Break the ball. To present Margot, she said, “Can you speed this up a bit?”
Margot turned a familiar glare in Kaylin’s direction, and the Hawk draped an arm tightly around the redhead’s shoulders as Severn brought both of his blades crashing down on the glass orb.