Clint was silent for half the flight from the Aerie. Although Moran had told him to take her straight to the infirmary, he stopped, flying to his own home first. There, he borrowed blankets, his wife hovering in a silence weighted with questions. She didn’t ask anything out loud, but clearly Kaylin wasn’t the only one who intended to have a long and involved conversation later.
She did, however, wrap Kaylin in a blanket designed for Aerians, and her expression was much gentler as she did so. “It’s good to see you. You should visit more often.”
“I have no doubt—at all—that she will,” was Clint’s reply. It was very, very neutral in tone, which earned him a glare from his wife. He removed Kaylin as quickly as he possibly could, but his wife was not going to be rushed.
* * *
“I like her.”
Clint raised a brow. His eyes were the Aerian version of gray that implied calm. Kaylin thought of the way Clint had fallen to one knee in front of Moran the last time she’d entered the Halls of Law. There was very little that Moran could command that he wouldn’t do. It was a disturbing thought.
Kaylin, for instance, would obey any order the Emperor gave, especially if she was standing in the vicinity of, say, his figurative jaws or his literal breath. But it wasn’t because she revered him. It was because he could reduce her to her component parts without blinking an eye.
Kaylin would obey any order Marcus gave her, because that was her job. It wasn’t her life. At one point, she wouldn’t have been able to separate the two—but Clint was a Hawk, and Clint was an Aerian, and Moran had become, in the course of a single significant day, his life.
If Moran—no, if the praevolo—gave Clint an order, he would obey it. If Moran told Clint to do something that broke the law, Kaylin wasn’t certain it would matter to Clint.
And that, she told herself uneasily, is not my problem. It’s none of my business. But...they were all Hawks. Their personal lives were part of their work, because their personal lives were part of who they were, and they brought that to work.
In Moran’s absence, Clint became more himself. On the other hand, he did deposit her in the temporary infirmary. He didn’t strap her to a bed, because the meeting room only had two, and they were narrow emergency cots; he did tell her to sit in one of the many chairs. He then stood by the door.
“She didn’t tell you to stay here.”
“No.”
“I’m not injured.”
Clint said nothing.
Kaylin cursed. In Aerian. He said more nothing, but folded his arms.
* * *
Moran came to the infirmary what felt like days later. Clint implied heavily that her whining had made it feel like days for him as well, although it had been a paltry four hours.
Moran was wearing the colorful dress that the praevolo wore during ceremonial occasions. She was also wearing the Hawks’ tabard. She had been wearing it when she had first arrived at the Aerie.
Moran frowned, but it was a familiar frown. An infirmary frown.
“What,” Kaylin asked, “did the outcaste want?”
“Power, I think.” She frowned. “The outcaste did approach the Arcanist claiming to be praevolo. The Arcanist was justifiably suspicious—but my own wings had not yet become public knowledge. He claimed parentage—illegitimate—of the dar Carafel clan; he chose an Aerian who had died decades in the past as his father. Two Aerians accompanied him; they confirmed that he had lived in the Southern Reach, but not in the higher peaks.
“He did not wish to publicly make that claim, not immediately; he flattered the Arcanist, implying that he had far too much to learn about the duties of the praevolo. Instead, he set about proving that he had the abilities expected of him.
“The Arcanist has some influence with the Caste Court. In time, he arranged to have the outcaste take the most dire of our tests: he donned the bracelet. Because he lacked the wings, the ceremony was conducted in privacy, but most of the Caste Court was in attendance. I believe he hoped that the pretender would fail; he had begun to have doubts.”
Kaylin already knew that it had not destroyed him. “How convenient for him.”
Moran grimaced. “He was thus provisionally believed. But he did not have the wings.”
“I don’t understand why—if he could make himself look like an Aerian—he didn’t. Why couldn’t he have your wings?”
Moran shook her head. “I don’t know. I told you that I had worn that bracelet once. It was a test. But the bracelet didn’t destroy me, either. There had never been two praevolo before, and I had the wings. The Caste Court was split.
“But the Arcanist began to question things, and as time passed, he became less certain of the outcaste. He knew that the outcaste was attempting to harness the power of the praevolo, but that power was not—and is still not—well understood. Not even by me.” Her smile was rueful.
“When I was injured, when I could not fly, it was ‘proof’ that I was a fraud. The outcaste—and his supporters—pushed heavily for my death. But the Arcanist’s worries were gaining traction among the Caste Court, and it was the Arcanist who pushed for the Oracle. It was also the Arcanist who talked the Caste Court into allowing the three items out of the Aerie. It was the outcaste who created the enchanted statue given to Margot, and the outcaste who created the enchantment worn by the human who visited her.”
“Did the Arcanist expect that they would end up with you?”
“He hoped, at that point. Or so he says.” Her smile was sardonic. “They did end up with me. I did wear the bracelet. And I flew. At that point, the outcaste was pressured into taking a more active role. He suspected the Arcanist of treason—there’s not another word for it—at this point, and he once again proved that he was praevolo by denying the Arcanist flight.
“And then an appointment was made—with the Arcanist, who was always under observation—and we arrived.”
“What did the outcaste want?”
“I think he wanted to understand how the praevolo harnessed and controlled Shadow.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t feel like Shadow, to me—but it wouldn’t, would it? And according to the Arcanist, he did learn. He learned enough that my control of the Aerie and its skies could not control him. And it makes sense. He lives—according to the Imperial Court—in the heart of Ravellon. He can command the Shadows that move and think and speak, but he cannot use them the way the praevolo use their own power.” She stopped speaking and stared at a pristine tabletop. “What do you think I should do with the people who believed that the outcaste was the praevolo?”
Kaylin shrugged, a fief shrug. “If they’ll serve you?”
“At all.”
At the moment, Kaylin didn’t really care. She tried to see the world from the eyes of the grounded, misled Aerians, and couldn’t. Kaylin was certain that the would-be assassins that characterized Moran’s first few days with Helen would be found among the Aerians Moran had grounded.
They were just following orders.
Kaylin had once followed orders that were very, very similar. She wanted to believe it was different. She could argue that she had been a child at the time. But she’d followed orders because she was afraid of what would happen—to her—if she failed. She hadn’t obeyed Barren because she worshipped him; she hadn’t obeyed him because he was almost a deity. She’d obeyed him because he had hurt her, and would hurt her again if she failed.
She wanted these Aerians punished. She wanted them punished for doing what she had done. And why? Because it meant Moran had all the power? That Moran was no longer going to be their victim or their target?
“You’re thinking,” Moran said.
“Teela says I think very loudly.”
“She’s right. You do. I’ve gotten used to Helen explaining what you’re thinking,” she added.
“You could just ask me.”
“I have, once or twice. Helen’s answers make more sense.”
Kaylin exhaled. “I was thinking about my answer to your question.”
“And?”
“I don’t trust my own answer. I want you to take their wings. And I hate the idea of it. I want you to throw them out. I want them to suffer for trying to kill you. For killing your mother or your grandmother. For removing Lillias’s wings. For treating you so badly when you should have been treated well. I want them to pay.”
“So...you see my problem.”
Kaylin nodded. “I guess that’s why I’m not Emperor.”
“You’re not telling me to do it.”
“It’s not my decision.”
“And if I said I’d leave it in your hands because I owe you so much?”
“I’d say it was a terrible way of showing gratitude.”
Moran’s smile was looser, more natural. Her wings, however, were still larger than life. “Then I won’t. I don’t feel that it’s a decision I can make. But I don’t feel that I have any choice.”
“If they choose to leave the Aerie, will they be outcaste?”
“Yes. But...not in the normal way. I don’t think so many people have been made outcaste at once in our history. In theory, murderers are still Aerians. In theory, so are thieves and petty criminals. We have our own way of dealing with crime.”
“Lillias—”
“Yes. People are people, no matter how lowborn or highborn they are. Some will be exemplary. Some...won’t. The same is true of humans, of Leontines, of Barrani. Maybe it’s less true of Dragons. Lillias did not deserve what happened to her. In all possible ways, it was a gross miscarriage of justice; it was a gross abuse of power.
“But I can’t give back what was taken.”
Kaylin’s shoulders sagged, because she realized that was what she’d been hoping for. In the midst of Dragons and Arcanists and outcastes and Shadow, she had wanted Lillias to get her wings back.
“I can reinstate her name. I can return that to her family. I can tell people the truth, over and over again, until they understand what Lillias sacrificed for my sake. And I will. But I can’t give her back her wings.”
“Why? If they could be taken—”
“They were destroyed, Kaylin. And the praevolo isn’t a maker. If you cut off a man’s leg, you can’t just grow him another one while he waits.”
“But...you could give her back flight?”
Moran glanced at Clint. He met her gaze, his own clear. “No.”
“But you gave me—”
“While she is physically with me in the Southern Reach, she could fly. I could keep you in the air while I touched you; I could stop you from being dashed against the rocks. But her wings are gone, and I have no way of returning them. Being outcaste was not meant to be reversible.”
“Could she—could she go home?”
Clint and Moran exchanged another glance, and this time, Clint exhaled. But the look he gave Moran was less tinged with awe; it was normal. For Clint. “Kitling, when someone is made outcaste, they lose their family. They lose their flight. They are a shame, a stain. If Lillias is exonerated, she will no longer be that shame. But her family turned their wings to her. Her family cast her out, just as the flights did.”
“But they were wrong—”
“Yes. And now they know it. Guilt is not a comfortable home. Lillias has made a life for herself. It is not her old life.”
“Can’t you at least let Lillias decide that?”
Moran bowed her head. “Yes. But sometimes the burden of decision isn’t a kindness.”
“Are we going home?” Kaylin asked.
“For tonight, yes. We are going back to Helen.”
“You aren’t going to stay.”
“For tonight I will.” Moran’s smile was weary. Whatever power or authority she had assumed in the Aeries had deserted her; she looked as tired as Kaylin felt. “But yes, as you suspect, I can no longer make my home with you and Helen.” She sounded as if she regretted it.
“Your wing is better,” Kaylin said, as they headed toward the door.
Moran flexed it, but said nothing. Neither did Clint.
* * *
Helen was waiting for them. Moran had insisted on walking, although flight was faster. Kaylin had recovered enough that she merely looked terrible. She was no longer shaking with cold.
Moran pulled ahead and approached Helen, who stood in the door frame. Helen opened her arms, and the Aerian sergeant walked into them, dropping her forehead into the space made of collarbone and shoulder and neck. Helen held her for a long, silent moment, and then pulled her into the house; Kaylin trailed behind.
“No, dear,” Helen said—to Moran, although Moran hadn’t spoken. “I don’t think there is any reason to retire from the Hawks.”
“You don’t know the Caste Court.”
“Well, no. I am not certain that I want to, either, if we are being honest.” Helen was always honest. “Given the actions of the Caste Court, however, I think it is safe to disappoint them.”
“Again.”
“I do not believe they are disappointed now. It is conjecture, of course, but if I had to choose a word, I would hazard terrified.”
Moran laughed. “I want a bath.” To Kaylin, she added, “You can join me if you want.”
* * *
Helen’s voice remained with them, but the rest of her went off to help Mandoran. Again.
Moran relaxed into the hot water, tilting her head back against a convenient stone ledge.
Helen appeared in the room—without actually opening doors or walking—standing to one side of the outcroppings that had formed around the hot springs’ water. She looked at Kaylin’s familiar with some concern, and spoke to him.
Kaylin couldn’t understand a word of it. Neither could Moran. The familiar could; he lifted his head, opening a single eye as if Helen’s questions were both wearying and boring.
Helen’s voice grew louder, and the room seemed to lose some of its perpetual sunshine.
Kaylin poked the familiar. “You’d better answer her questions.”
Squawk. Followed in turn by even more squawking. Almost all of it beside Kaylin’s ear.
Helen looked at Kaylin, and at Moran. “You are certain that’s what you saw?” she finally asked the younger Hawk.
This caused some confusion. Helen could read minds, or hear thoughts, but none of Kaylin’s current thoughts seemed to suit the very worried question. “Saw when?”
“When you looked at the outcaste, at the end. You perceived him as...an Ancient?”
“I’m not certain that I saw it accurately. I was somewhere slightly off-kilter and looking through the familiar’s wing from wherever I actually was. Mandoran might understand it better.”
“Mandoran did not see what you saw. We have discussed what he did see. He is recovering, but he will need to recover here.” To the familiar, in a softer voice, she added, “Thank you.”
The familiar warbled.
“And me?”
“You are clean,” Helen replied.
Kaylin lifted her hands. Shadow still gloved them like dark, fine lace. Or like a different kind of mark.
“I know, dear. I can see. But it is yours now.”
This wasn’t what Kaylin wanted to hear.
“Yes, I’m sorry. But I do not consider it in any way harmful.”
“Is it inert?”
“I am not certain I understand the question. It will not, however, attempt to alter your base physical structure without your guidance.”
“Explain Shadow to me.”
“I believe I’ve done that before, to little effect.”
“Try again?”
Helen was silent for a long moment—long enough that Kaylin thought she wouldn’t reply. But at length, she did. “Without some element of Shadow, there is no mortal life.”
“...I don’t think that’s what you said the last time.”
“Mortality is change. From your births to your deaths, you are in a constant state of flux. There is no single you; your identity evolves, unravels and is remade. It is a constant process. The Kaylin of five years ago is not you. The Kaylin of ten years from now will not be you. The separate states of you are continuous, contiguous. They are connected. But they are not the same.”
“But the Barrani—”
“The Barrani and the Dragons are both similar and dissimilar. Both require Names to live. But it is not true that they require Names to exist. Without Names, however, they do not exist as Dragons or as Barrani.”
“Mandoran and Annarion—”
“They are edge cases. They are not their Names; their Names are only tenuously a part of who they have become. It is enough—barely—that they can function. The Names are fixed, Kaylin; they are solid. They are unchanging. They are the heart of the immortal.”
“But, Helen—the Name of the outcaste—”
Helen fell silent. After a long pause, she said, “That was not a Dragon’s name.”
Squawk. Squawk.
“Then you must explain it. I will speak with the Tower of Tiamaris,” Helen added, almost gently. “I believe Lord Tiamaris has access to some of the other Towers.”
“Speak with Nightshade as well, if he’s here.”
“I will. He will not give me leave,” she added with a grim smile, “to speak with his Tower, and I have a thing or two I would like to say to his Tower.” None of it good, though all of it, in Helen’s opinion, clearly long overdue.
“Good. But what exactly are you going to tell them?”
“That Ravellon is waking.”
“Pardon? Ravellon is a place, right? You’re saying it’s sentient?” Kaylin rose from the water. “What do you mean when you say it’s waking?”
“I will speak with Tara,” Helen said again. “While I have had more exposure to you, Tara has known you for longer. She may be able to explain what seems obvious to me.” Helen shook her head. To the familiar, she said, “Explain it. That appears to be your job.” And walked out.
The familiar warbled. And flopped.
* * *
Bellusdeo returned home four hours after Kaylin and Moran had. It was late. It was very late. The floor shook with the roaring.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Helen said, as the sound diminished. “I wasn’t expecting poor Bellusdeo to express herself so forcefully.”
“Please don’t tell me she’s angry at the Emperor.”
“As it happens, no, she’s not. She is very angry at the outcaste. Her attempts to kill him failed, and she was not alone. The Emperor has—wisely, in my opinion—informed her that her involvement is too visceral and too personal to be entirely safe, and this has not made her any happier.”
“I thought you said she wasn’t angry at the Emperor.”
“She’s not. She is, however, angry at herself, because she knows the Emperor is right.”
Which, as Kaylin knew, was vastly worse. She dragged herself out of bed and headed down the stairs.
To her surprise, Teela and Tain were with the golden Dragon. Kaylin stood frozen at the height of the stairs, and finally said, “You went out drinking.” Her tone was very flat as she crossed her arms.
“No taverns were burned down in the process,” Tain said.
“Not completely,” Teela added. She glanced at Bellusdeo.
“You were in the infirmary,” Bellusdeo pointed out.
“You didn’t even take Maggaron.”
“Maggaron is sulking because I went to the Aerie and confronted the outcaste without him. I am sulky enough for a small army, and if we’re being honest, he was making me feel guilty.”
“He wouldn’t—”
“Not on purpose, no. If he were trying, I wouldn’t care.”
“So you called Teela and Tain?”
“As it happens, Teela happened to be in roughly the same spot when things were over. She suggested it.”
Teela shrugged. “I did. She looked tense.”
Going out drinking with Teela and Tain was like running an obstacle course—with angry people on either side of it.
“You look terrible,” Teela added.
“Thanks, Teela. I was sleeping.”
Bellusdeo had the grace to flush. She didn’t apologize, but Kaylin wasn’t expecting one. She fully understood why the Dragon was unhappy, and was fairly certain she would have done the same thing. Mostly because she often had—she just didn’t have the innate volume of Dragons.
Looking up the stairs, Bellusdeo straightened her shoulders. “Now,” she said, “it’s time to face guilt, grovel and apologize.” She climbed up three steps, stopped and turned to look back at Kaylin. “I’m sorry.”
Kaylin wondered if she were dreaming.
* * *
Kaylin expected Moran to return to the Aerie the next day, and was surprised when Moran came home to Helen. She also came home to Helen the following day, and the day after, lingering. The mirror room was...busy. Moran largely ignored it, which caused Helen to purse her lips with mild—but obvious—disapproval.
Mandoran joined them for dinner on the third day, looking pale, exhausted and bored. Annarion joined them as well, looking concerned. He had come, in the past few days, to some state of compromise with his brother. Kaylin didn’t ask what it was. If it were dangerous to Annarion, Helen was certain to tell her, because Annarion certainly wouldn’t.
“What happened?” Kaylin asked Mandoran.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Could it be any better than getting stuck in a wall?”
“The wall was not my fault.”
“And this was?”
“No. This was worse than the wall. I’m once again confined to the house.”
Kaylin glanced at Helen, who nodded. She was worried about him. To Kaylin’s surprise, Moran was worried, as well. She wondered if that was why Moran had stayed. The Caste Court—which apparently still existed—was vastly more deferential in its communications with Moran than it had ever been. But deferential or not, the praevolo didn’t want to talk to them.
He said, “I blame you.”
“Me? This was my fault?”
“What the hell were you doing with your hands, anyway?”
“I was trying to—”
“Heal me,” Bellusdeo rumbled. “Which I’m certain you won’t imply was a waste of effort.”
Mandoran grimaced. “What are you doing with that now?” He was still staring at her hands.
Kaylin shrugged. “Don’t know. It’s like the marks of the Chosen—it’s on my skin. I can’t feel it. It’s not active.”
“Helen. Talk sense into her.”
“I have been trying, dear.”
Helen hadn’t said much—at all—about the Shadow gloves. This probably meant that Mandoran was thinking, and Helen was answering the part of the conversation no one else could hear. She was about to demand that she be included, when a chime sounded.
Moran rose.
“Yes,” Helen said. “It’s for you.” She turned and walked out of the dining room to answer the door. Moran hovered near the table.
“Who is it?” Kaylin asked.
“I believe her name is Lillias,” Helen replied. “And she believes Moran is expecting her.” To Moran, Helen’s disembodied voice said, “Should I show her to the dining room?”
“No! No. If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with her in my rooms.”
“Of course I don’t mind.”
* * *
Kaylin rose as Moran left the dining room.
“Maybe they don’t want company?” Bellusdeo suggested. Dragon suggestions generally came across as commands.
“I—”
“I’m teasing. You’ve been fretting about Lillias ever since you first met her. Go on.”
Kaylin followed Moran and entered the foyer as Helen opened the door. Lillias stood on the other side of it, looking very uncertain. Looking, Kaylin thought, as uncertain as Kaylin herself would have looked if she’d had to stand at the door of this house while living in her own apartment.
Her apartment had been home. It had been convenient. But it had been what Caitlin called “modest” and what Teela called something vastly less complimentary. Without Evanton’s intervention, Lillias would never have come here. She would have walked halfway up the street, realized that it was far too fancy, far too snooty, for someone like her, and retreated. Kaylin, however, was dressed the way she always dressed; she was not fancy and not particularly well turned out, as Teela liked to call it.
“Lillias,” she said, channeling her inner Caitlin, and holding out both hands.
Lillias exhaled a few inches of stiff height. “Kaylin.”
“Did you see her?”
“Every Aerian in the city saw her. It was difficult to explain to my employer,” she added with a wry grimace. “I don’t usually drop everything and run out to stand in the middle of the streets.”
“Rooftops are probably better, at least in my experience. No wagons or carriages.”
“Experience which you do not need to share,” Moran told her. She came to stand beside Kaylin and said, to Lillias, “If you let her start talking that way, she won’t stop. You will hear all kinds of hair-raising stories about her childhood.”
Kaylin released the older woman’s hands, and Lillias held them out to Moran, who hesitated briefly before she took them. Moran bowed her head.
Lillias smiled down at her bent head, and then up—at Helen. “You’ve been taking care of the fledgling,” she said—in Aerian.
“I’ve done what I can. It is very seldom that I have Aerian guests.”
“She’s grown stronger. You should have seen her when she was a child.”
Moran’s head didn’t rise. It fell. It fell to Lillias’s shoulder and rested there.
“What was she like?”
“Lost. Lost, and without kin. It’s hard, to be without kin. It’s hard to lose the people who love you when almost no one loves you. She was afraid of heights, did she tell you?” she added, to Kaylin. There was an almost maternal fondness in her, and Kaylin realized then that it had always been there—but it had been swamped by anxiety and fear. Lillias had no reason to be afraid for Moran now.
“But she’s Aerian.”
“Yes. An Aerian fledgling, afraid of heights. She was afraid to fly, and flew very late, for a child. Had she been living in the heart of the Reaches, she would have been forced to fly much earlier. But when she flew—ah, when she finally conquered that fear...” She put her arms around Moran.
Moran said nothing. Kaylin wanted to leave them, to give them privacy, but they were standing in the foyer, in the doorway, and Lillias was looking at Kaylin while she spoke.
“Fledgling,” she said, arms around Moran, whose face couldn’t be seen, “I am grateful for your offer. You have given meaning to something I doubted had meaning in my darkest hours. You’ve made my actions heroic, just by existing. But...the action remains the same. I didn’t do what I did to become a hero. I did it because you were my charge, and I was responsible for you.
“I did it because you had finally learned to fly. And when you flew—ah, Moran, when you flew—it was the very heart of flight. I had never seen a flight so beautiful. I have learned to live with all of the consequences, because in my heart I know that were I to be thrown into the past, were I to be given the same choice, I wouldn’t change it. I couldn’t.
“You think that you ruined my life.”
Moran said nothing. Lillias’s arms tightened.
“It wasn’t you, child. It was never you. You think if I had wings, I could fly. I could have a life. But, fledgling, I have a life. I won’t lie—it was hard. Change is hard. Loss of family is shattering—but you know that just as well as I do. The only thing I worried about was you. I always, always worried. Now, I don’t have to.
“But let me pretend. Let me say that if, knowing what I know, I could go back in time. I could change my decision. I could let you die.”
Moran stiffened, but didn’t pull away.
“I would have wings. I would have flight. I would have family. And I would have had to buy those things with the life of a child. Never mind that you were praevolo. You were a child. Do you think my life would have been better with wings when I could never, ever respect or trust myself again?
“Oh, I could tell myself I had no choice. But that would be a lie. Others might believe it, but I never could. I had a choice. And I made it. And if I could never change my decision, this is the life I was meant to have. The Aerie is not my home. It hasn’t been home for half my life. Even with you there, it couldn’t be my home now. The only person who would welcome me is you.”
“That’s not true,” Kaylin began, because Moran didn’t speak.
“I found a home with people who accepted me. Is that not what you did, in the end?” She asked the question of Moran.
Moran remained silent. Kaylin joined her.
“But I will visit, if you wish.”
Moran said—without lifting her head, “Visit me instead of Evanton. Come flying with me, instead.”
Lillias swallowed. After a long pause, she nodded, which Moran couldn’t see. “I will. I will, Moran. Come, I think we are blocking the door.”
She glanced at Kaylin, who pointed up the grand staircase and mouthed directions.
* * *
“I will keep her room as it is,” Helen said before Kaylin could speak.
They had both watched the slow progression up the stairs toward Moran’s room in silence.
“She will not stay. She is praevolo. I believe she was born because there has been some corruption of the Reaches. Think of her as a living Tower, but without the absolute control of her environment that Towers exert. She must be in the Aerie to affect it. And she knows this.
“She knows that she can return here. She knows that this small piece of home will always be waiting for her. It will be here tomorrow. It will be here in decades.”
“What if I die? What if the new tenant—”
“Hush, Kaylin. It will take time to find a new tenant. It took time to find you. I will keep Moran’s room as it is while she lives.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from CAST IN HONOR by Michelle Sagara.