There was a lot of silence on the way home. The Arkon didn’t have an answer to Kaylin’s question; he suggested that the Aerians might. He couldn’t tell her how the wings were removed, and was willing—with obvious and great reluctance—to accept her statement that they were.
But he had done some study on the single flight feather in his possession. It was, he said, immune to most things. The obvious ones—water, air—had not been extensively tested, but fire had.
And Shadow.
Kaylin didn’t ask how he’d tested the latter. She understood the Arkon’s concern with Shadow—in a strange way, it mirrored Bellusdeo’s. It was not as personal, on the surface, but that was probably because the Arkon was old enough that experience tempered pain or anger. But he spoke with authority when he spoke of testing, and Kaylin accepted it, with questions.
He then asked, politely and without edge, if he might speak at length with Moran dar Carafel. Kaylin said, “I’ll ask.”
He accepted that, without demanding that she succeed, and then pretty much ushered them out of the library, making certain they exited the doors before he returned to his research.
“He wants to see the bracelet,” Bellusdeo said, when they were quit of the palace.
Kaylin nodded; that was her guess, as well.
“You have a very grim turn of thought, by the way. I almost admire it.”
“What I don’t understand,” Kaylin said, “is why they waited.”
“Why they waited?”
“Until she was injured.”
“You can’t guess?”
At Bellusdeo’s tone, Kaylin frowned. “Politics?”
“Almost certainly. Ever since Moran donned the robes and the bracelet, she’s been treated entirely differently in the Halls. You must have noticed it.”
Thinking of Clint on one knee for an extended duration, Kaylin nodded.
“People can be both political and religious at the same time. Since Moran chose to wear the bracelet, have there been any assassination attempts?”
“Not that we know of, no.”
“It’s political. The Caste Court is, in my opinion, divided. I’m beginning to think that the people who wanted the augury—the Oracle, as you call it—weren’t necessarily the people who were trying to get Moran’s wings, either figuratively or literally. Or, rather, they were willing to do things up to a point.
“But when Moran flew, everything changed. The wings are injured. In your opinion, they shouldn’t be able to carry her—but they did. They can. So. Before she flew, there was uneasiness. I’d say there’s a split in the Caste Court now. Moran is praevolo. People with ambition can delude themselves; they can talk themselves into believing anything. The fact that Moran didn’t fly when injured would be proof to them that she was a fraud.
“Now, that can’t be argued. And if she’s not a fraud...”
“It’s an actual crime to some of them?”
“That’s my take. I’m not Aerian,” she added. “But I did rule over a bunch of ambitious, fractious, frequently selfish people in my time. I would say that there are some who are old-school—I like that term, by the way—and they’re afraid of what the more ambitious among their kin are planning.”
“Well, that makes two of us. It’s nice to know that conniving, backstabbing political jerks have some sense.”
* * *
“Well?” Kaylin asked, arms folded, back against the nearest stretch of blank wall. She was bracketed by paintings; Moran had been in the dining room when Teela, Kaylin and Bellusdeo had returned from the High Halls. Teela had chosen to stay; Tain had headed home. He wasn’t, he said, up to listening to the children squabble.
The children, as he called them, were not squabbling now; the entire house seemed blanketed in thick silence. It was not the happy, peaceful kind.
Mandoran was at the table. To his left, to Kaylin’s surprise, was Maggaron; they appeared to be speaking. Moran was perched on her stool, her back stiff, her eyes the wrong color; they had lightened when Kaylin entered the room.
They’d darkened when Kaylin asked the only question she wanted answered at the moment. “Can a dead person be made outcaste by the Aerian Court?”
Moran didn’t answer. Kaylin prompted her again, and she maintained her silence. It was a rigid, stiff-winged silence, with a lot of blue in the eyes.
“What would the point be?” Mandoran demanded. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for weeks. Barrani didn’t, in theory, need sleep; they did need rest or repose or something similar. Kaylin had never entirely been clear on what. “Making a dead person outcaste has to serve some purpose.”
“Outcaste means something different to the Aerians,” Kaylin replied, silently willing Mandoran to either shut up or leave.
“What does it mean to the Aerians?”
“Mandoran. Trying to have an important conversation, here.”
“I am joining it. I am tired of thinking about Barrani politics, the Barrani Court and Barrani bloody family. It is very loud in my head at the moment, and I’d appreciate any attempt to distract me.”
This seemed to amuse Moran. It didn’t amuse Kaylin. Because she was unamused, she wasn’t diplomatic. “The Aerians don’t kill their outcastes. They remove their wings. Remove. They don’t cut them off. They take them away.”
Mandoran frowned. “What do you mean, take them away?”
“I mean the wings cease to exist. The person who had them is still alive, but the wings, and their ability to fly, are gone.”
“But they don’t kill them.”
“The don’t have to—”
“They used to remove the wings of the outcaste,” Moran said, “and then throw them off the peak of the Aerie.”
Kaylin almost blanched. Teela and Mandoran seemed entirely unmoved.
“They don’t do that anymore. The person is cast out of the Southern Reach, but they are set down on the ground, where they are doomed to remain.” She rose and headed to the door, but paused midway between door and table, as if she had forgotten what she’d intended to do. “Why are you asking?”
“Because we’ve been thinking that assassinating you would free up the power of the praevolo. You were born in obscurity, and that’s offended someone in power. You’re dar Carafel, but in name only, and frankly, you hate the name and don’t use it.
“But what if that’s not what they intend? The praevolo can’t be made outcaste.”
“You’re certain of that?” Moran asked, lifting a brow and using her sergeant voice.
“Yes, sir.” Kaylin grimaced. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Clint believes it. I think all the Aerians in the Halls believe it. You’ve gone from being a pariah to being the local hero, by the way.”
“Do. Not. Start.”
Kaylin had some sympathy with this. She hated it when the Barrani Hawks called her Lord Kaylin in the office. But it wasn’t the same thing, and they both knew it.
“Do you have any idea how the whole wing removal thing works?”
Moran was silent.
“I’m not asking for the fun of it. It is not fun for either of us.”
“You’re asking for a reason.”
“Yes.”
“And that?”
“Big, ugly outcaste black Dragon who calls Ravellon his home.”
Moran’s eyes shaded to what Kaylin thought of as Barrani blue. So did Mandoran’s. Bellusdeo’s eyes were the orange they generally became when the outcaste Dragon was mentioned at all.
“What does the outcaste Dragon have to do with outcaste Aerians?”
“What if the outcaste Dragon could offer the outcaste Aerians their wings back? What if he could offer the ruling Aerians the power of the praevolo, without the inconvenience of having to worry about who that praevolo actually is?” She drew a deeper, longer breath. “Moran, what if the power of flight, and the power of the praevolo, were somehow related to Shadow and its magic?”
* * *
Moran said a long, long nothing. Kaylin thought she would leave—she was making eyes at the door as if seriously considering that option. But in the end, she exhaled heavily and said, “I owe you at least this much.”
“You don’t,” Kaylin countered. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“You’ve given me shelter, Kaylin; you’ve given me a place in which I can feel at home, even if it’s not my home. That’s a rare gift, at least for someone like me.”
“I didn’t do that, though. Helen did.”
Helen coughed. She was not currently in the dining room, but of course her voice was. She was aware of anything that occurred within her walls.
“You’ve never seen someone declared outcaste.” It wasn’t a question.
“No. You have?”
“Once. Only once. It is not a private ceremony. Many cultures approve of, and even encourage, public executions.”
“They believe,” Teela said, taking a seat, but turning it around so the back faced the table, “that execution serves as a deterrent. If the death—the punishment—is publicly seen, the reasoning goes, people will assume that they’ll face the same fate if they commit the same crime. It doesn’t work that way, in my experience.”
“No?”
“People see the condemned as stupid. They believe that they would never be in that position because they are not stupid. And my apologies, Moran. I did not mean to interrupt.”
“Interruptions—most interruptions—are gratefully accepted. I admit that Annarion shouting at his brother wears a bit on the nerves; there’s almost nowhere you can go in this house that drowns it out.”
“If it helps,” Mandoran said, “Nightshade is shouting, too. His voice doesn’t carry the same way if you’re far enough from it.”
“Because he is only speaking on one level,” Helen told him.
Mandoran joined Teela, moving from his chair into one closer to the Barrani Hawk. He leaned into her left shoulder as if his spine had momentarily deserted him. Teela rolled her eyes, but didn’t move.
“There is ceremony involved in the...excision of wings.”
“Ceremony? Like—religious ceremony?”
“Very like, yes. In theory, the gods are not invoked.”
“In theory.”
“In practice, however, there is very little difference. Up until the moment the wings dissolve, the supplicant, the criminal, has hope that the sentence will be stayed. In theory, the removal requires permission.”
“From who?”
Moran shook her head. She started to answer twice, but barely made it through the first syllable of the first word.
“They ask,” Helen said, coming to Moran’s rescue, “the spirit of the praevolo.”
* * *
For one long moment, silence reigned. Moran did not, however, deny Helen’s words—and once those words were out there, Kaylin understood why Moran hadn’t been able to give them voice.
“And the living praevolo gets no say?”
“Maybe in the past. I’ve been the living praevolo since birth, and no one—no one—has asked my permission.” The words were bitter, terrible, desolate. “I would never have allowed them to take Lillias’s wings. She saved my life. Her crime—if I understand the politics at all—was saving my life. I’m not a god. I’m not the Avatar of a god. I’m a sergeant. I’m a Hawk.”
Kaylin heard the guilt, the anger, even the self-loathing in Moran’s voice. “You think somehow if you were a better praevolo, if you’d played their game, Lillias wouldn’t have lost her wings.”
Moran didn’t answer.
“You were a child. Lillias lost her wings because she wouldn’t allow you to be killed. There is nothing you could have done to prevent what happened.”
“And now?” Moran asked, bitterness seeping into her expression, which hardened and aged her face.
“Right now, I’d like to concentrate on my question. Could the wings be removed from a corpse?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are there stories of it being done?”
“Two or three.”
“When the wings are removed, what happens to them?”
“When I said dissolve, I meant it. The wings fade. They disintegrate, starting from the flight feathers and moving in. It isn’t—I’m told—a painful process. It doesn’t physically hurt.”
Kaylin disagreed with this, but did it silently. “It’s considered civilized? That’s why they don’t throw them off cliffs anymore?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
Civilized people could be incredibly cruel. Kaylin thought of the Barrani and their High Court. “Civilized,” she said, in a tone that was anything but, “would be leaving their wings alone.”
“Being outcaste isn’t a trivial matter—and before you attempt to bite my head off, I understand that the power can sometimes be abused. I could hardly fail to understand that; Lillias lost her wings because I’m still alive. But in theory, only traitors to our race are cast out from it.”
“So the wings are gone?”
“Yes.”
“They’re not removed—they disappear?”
“Yes.”
Kaylin deflated.
“Why are you asking this?”
She glanced at Teela, who shrugged, leaving it in Kaylin’s hands.
“...We were wondering—”
“The private was wondering,” Teela corrected her.
“Fine. I was wondering if the wings that were removed could be transferred.”
“Not apparently. The wings don’t survive.”
It was Teela who asked, “Are you certain?”
Moran started to answer, and stopped. “...No, actually. I know what I saw—but I’ve been a Hawk for years; appearances are often deceptive. I’m not certain. It’s believed that the wings are destroyed—the destruction being symbolic.”
“Which brings us back to the original question. Sort of.”
“And that?”
“By what? What’s the mechanism for the removal of wings?”
“The praevolo.”
“You didn’t remove her wings.”
“No. But the guidance of the Illumen praevolo is very like a deity, to the Aerians. The loss of the wings is deemed the judgment of the power that also bestows wings like mine on an Aerian.”
“This is going to get confusing.”
“Welcome to my life.”
* * *
“Aren’t you on a leave of absence?” Clint asked pointedly. He’d lowered his weapon to bar her entrance. This was going to cause him problems because the person behind her was Moran.
“A leave of absence was requested,” Kaylin replied. “I happen to think it’s unnecessary.”
Tanner whistled. “Wasn’t the leave ‘requested’ by the Hawklord?”
“Does it matter? It wasn’t an order.”
“You’re braver than you look.”
“Or more stupid,” Clint added. He glanced at Moran, and the weapon rose. His expression changed. So did Moran’s; hers instantly soured.
“If you call me praevolo in the Halls, I will break your arms.”
Tanner snickered. “He’s not technically in the Halls at the moment, Sergeant.”
Moran had chosen to fly to work. Bellusdeo was therefore sporting Dragon-scale armor. Teela and Tain had pulled up the rear on the ground, and the guards weren’t generally stupid enough to block the Barrani without heavy-duty orders from above. The Barrani idea of a passing resentment lasted longer than entire mortal lives, and they really resented obvious disrespect. They’d learned to live with most of it, but it wore on their nerves.
Teela—the only Barrani Hawk who was also a Lord of the High Court—was actually better about it than the rest. Tain only took exception to disrespect offered his partner, all other disrespect being beneath notice or contempt.
Clint let them in. Kaylin let them pass her. Only when she was certain Moran was beyond the range of hearing her—the Barrani would still catch it all, as would the Dragon—did she speak. “I need to talk to you.”
Clint met her gaze, his eyes a momentarily weary blue. “You just can’t keep your nose out of things, can you?”
“Not these things.”
“If it helps at all,” Tanner said, “it’s one of her most endearing traits.” As if Clint needed the reminder.
“Not finding it endearing at the moment.”
“Well, no. It’s also frequently highly inconvenient.”
“I’m still here, guys.”
“Of course you are,” Clint replied. “It’s been that kind of a day.”
* * *
Clint found a replacement; there were relief guards who gave them breaks for meals, among other things. He headed toward the mess hall, but Kaylin shook her head. “West room?”
“Fine.” He was in a bad mood, and made Kaylin touch the door ward. The room was only infrequently in use, and today it was empty. Kaylin entered, waiting until Clint had done the same, and then closed the door.
“Did you know there’s an Aerian Arcanist?”
“Yes. I was aware of it.”
“We think—we’re not certain—that an Arcanist is probably responsible for the earlier assassination attempts.”
“And water is wet.”
“Work with me a bit here.”
“I’ve already explained why that’s a very bad idea for any Aerian.”
Kaylin nodded. “I wouldn’t have asked you—but in the past couple of days, the attitude toward Moran has shifted markedly among the Aerians in the Halls.”
Clint nodded. “She’s the praevolo.”
“She’s always been the praevolo.”
“Yes—but no one can argue with that fact now. She’s the praevolo. If there are further assassination attempts, they won’t come from Aerians.” He spoke this as a flat fact. Kaylin wasn’t nearly as certain. “She’s out of danger now. And the rest of us aren’t being pushed by the currents, either. But you’ve got that look that says this isn’t good enough—for you.”
“I’ve got that look,” Kaylin countered, “because I don’t believe it’s over. I don’t believe things are settled. This didn’t just start when Moran got injured in the battle over the High Halls. It’s been going on all her life. You know that they tried to have her killed when she was a child, right?”
Clint stiffened. That was a no. If the stiffness wasn’t enough, she could see the color of his eyes. She really hated Barrani blue when it settled in Aerian eyes. On Barrani, it was more natural.
“It didn’t just happen once, either.”
Clint’s jaw muscles were twitching.
“One woman was made outcaste because she saved Moran’s life. And don’t tell me that the power of the praevolo is sentient enough to decide that it made a mistake. Lillias was made outcaste because she thwarted the will of the Caste Court. It was political.”
“You’re certain?”
“Dead certain, Clint.”
“Kitling,” he said, in a very familiar tone. He almost never used the endearment anymore. “How far is this going to go?”
“I’ve got an appointment with the Hawklord in an hour. I’ll know then.” She hesitated. “I think the outcaste Dragon is involved.”
Clint’s wings rose, stiffening. It was a visceral reaction, and he got it under control again. “Why?”
“The Oracle. I don’t know if the Dragon will literally show up—but I do believe he’s involved.”
“Does the Emperor know?”
“The Emperor knows of the vision, yes.” She hesitated again. “I’ll be visiting at least one Aerian Arcanist sometime this afternoon.”
“When?”
“Whenever I get the mirror call. It’s being arranged by a Barrani Arcanist.”
“This gets worse and worse. Dragons? Barrani? Arcanists?”
“I didn’t start it, Clint.”
“Doesn’t matter who started it.” He ran his left hand through his very short hair. “Where are you meeting him?”
“The Aerie.” Before Clint could say anything he’d regret—or, more honestly, that Kaylin would—she lifted a hand. “I’m going with Bellusdeo. She’s flying.”
“And Moran?”
“I’d like her to stay put.”
“Meaning she’s going with you.”
“Meaning exactly that. There’s a possibility the Hawklord will order her to remain in the Halls.”
“She won’t disobey a direct order.”
“Not while she’s on duty, no. She’ll just demand that the arranged meeting be moved.”
“What, exactly, do you want to ask the Arcanist? He’s dar Carafel, and he’s at the heart of the Caste Court.”
“I’d guessed, given events. I want to ask the Arcanist about the power of Shadow—and the power of the praevolo.”
“You are not suggesting they’re the same.”
Kaylin chose not to answer the actual question. “I think the Arcanist has actually been using the power of the praevolo in a limited fashion. He can’t use it now—Moran has the bracelet. People who have power are reluctant to let it go. He’s had power. I’m certain he considers that power his, by right of birth. He certainly doesn’t consider it the province of an unclaimed, unacknowledged bastard from the Aerian equivalent of the fiefs.”
“She has the wings. He doesn’t.”
“And I’m sure that matters to almost every Aerian alive who knows. I’m also sure it doesn’t matter to him.”
“Kaylin—”
“I think he’s trying to remove Moran’s wings somehow. I think he intends to wear them himself.”
* * *
Clint’s eyes were almost black. He couldn’t look more dangerous unless he were bristling with weapons.
“Moran said that when an Aerian is made outcaste, their wings dissolve.”
Clint’s nod was controlled. It had to be. She’d seen him annoyed and irritated in her time with the Hawks. She had never seen him angry. Not like this.
“I’m not sure that’s true.”
“It is true for the Aerian. The wings dissolve; they are no longer wings. They have no right to the power of flight, and it is taken from them,” Clint said.
“Is the bracelet used in this ceremony? Moran was a child the only time she saw it. I’m not sure she paid attention to the particulars; the horror of watching wings dissolve had all her attention.”
“The bracelet is used. It is not worn, unless the praevolo is present.”
Moran had been present. She hadn’t been wearing the bracelet. Kaylin said nothing. But she had her answer now. She frowned.
“You’re thinking.”
“I am. Someone gave the man who took control of Margot the bracelet. The bracelet, a feather, and a collar.”
Clint stiffened further, which shouldn’t have been possible. “A collar.”
“Yes. Is a collar part of the regalia? Moran didn’t seem to recognize it.”
“If it was taken to the Oracle, it’s significant. A collar is worn by the traitor during the ceremony. You kept the bracelet. You gave it to Moran. Did you keep the feather and the collar?”
“Technically, no.”
“Are they here?”
“In the evidence lockers, probably. The bracelet seemed important.”
“You’re going to think the collar’s important as well, if you’re investigating the ceremony of exclusion.” He headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“The lockers. The Hawklord is going to want the evidence in hand by the end of your meeting.”
* * *
The Hawklord was grim, dark-eyed and high-winged. Clint had apparently gone to the evidence lockers and circumvented Hanson; he was in the Tower when the doors opened.
But so was Moran. Since Moran was there, Bellusdeo was also there. She was still wearing scale armor. Severn and Kaylin were the late arrivals, and they interrupted what was only barely a conversation from the sound of raised voices. Those voices stopped abruptly as the doors rolled open and all eyes turned to the newcomers.
“Private. Corporal. Please join us,” the Hawklord said, voice heavy with sarcasm.
“We made an appointment, sir.”
“Yes. You were the only people considerate enough to do so, given the current political fracas. I have had to put off a mirror meeting with the Caste Court—the Aerian Caste Court. Until I have that meeting, I have had to put off a meeting with the leader of the human Caste Court. And until I have endured both, I am putting off a report to the Eternal Emperor.”
No one in the room except Clint and Kaylin seemed worried about either the Caste Courts or the Emperor.
The collar was not like the bracelet. It wasn’t obviously valuable in the same way. Kaylin had found it creepy and disgusting, and hadn’t bothered to evaluate either reaction. To Kaylin, collar implied one of two things: pet, which was the cheery one, and slave, which was not. And she had seen people in collars before, in her early life in the fiefs.
“Do you know what this is?”
She did, now. “I didn’t, at the time. I’m sorry. I don’t know a lot about Oracles—”
“You know more than most of the Hawks,” the Hawklord pointed out.
“Fine. I still don’t know a lot about Oracles. The Oracles in the Oracular Halls aren’t quite sane. They fall into visions. They’re obsessed by them. Until they express that vision somehow—painting, quilting, singing, shrieking—they remain caught in it. I don’t recall that we ever brought them things to touch. Maybe it would help—I don’t know. I think Sabrai—Master Sabrai,” she added, as the Hawklord cleared his throat, “would toss us out on our rear ends if we tried.
“But they didn’t go through the Oracular Halls. Master Sabrai would never have given them access to his Oracles. They went to Margot. They did think that handling these items would somehow control the flow of vision, or they’d never have sent the items out of the Aerie.”
“They want them back,” the Hawklord added.
“They can bite me. Us. The Emperor.”
He seemed amused by this, and amusement had been very absent in the Tower of late.
“Have they asked?”
“Yes.”
“They want the praevolo to return what’s rightfully hers?”
“They contest the ‘rightfully hers’ part, but yes.”
Clint looked like thunder. Or like thunderclouds.
“And the collar?”
“They want the collar, they want the feather, they want the bracelet. They have evinced a willingness to accept the praevolo as part of the condition of the return of these items.”
Kaylin uttered a string of inappropriate but heartfelt Leontine.
“The Emperor has refused to even entertain the petition. He has asked for legal advice from Aerians, and the Aerian advisors—not, of course, part of the Caste Court—have made clear that the bracelet belongs to the praevolo. Period. The collar and the feather are more contentious—one expert believes that while there is a living praevolo, the collar belongs entirely to her. One expert believes there is legal standing in the demand of the collar’s return. The collar functions when there is no praevolo, as it happens.
“The Emperor is considering the ramifications of this legal advice. He has not, therefore, made a decision. The two items in question will remain in our evidence lockers until a decision has been reached.”
Clint was not a legal advisor. He was a Hawk. But it was absolutely clear that he felt it all belonged to the praevolo, commands from the Emperor notwithstanding.
“We, uh, have an appointment to meet with an Aerian Arcanist,” Kaylin said.
“So I have heard.”
One look at both the Hawklord’s and Moran’s faces made clear what they’d been arguing about. Kaylin understood the Hawklord’s concern—she felt it herself. But she hated to be cozened, to be treated like a child, a liability. She was damned if she was going to do it to Moran—who was, coincidentally, a sergeant to her private.
“Lord Grammayre,” Bellusdeo said softly, “Moran is praevolo. It has meaning to the Aerians. This concerns the use of the power of the praevolo—”
“It concerns the misuse of that power,” Moran corrected her.
“—and it is both natural and possibly necessary that the praevolo be present.”
The Hawklord’s wings rose and stiffened. “There’s a risk—”
“Yes. There is always a risk. But she is the natural leader, the natural ruler, of the Aeries.”
He started to argue. Stopped, glancing at the other Aerian in the room. Clint’s entire posture and attitude made clear that, on some level, Bellusdeo’s claim was true.
Clint, however, was not the Hawklord. “If anything happens to her—”
“I wouldn’t worry much about that. I’ll be there.”
“And if anything happens to you?”
“At that point, it won’t be my problem.” Bellusdeo smiled; it was an almost Leontine smile.
Kaylin, however, wilted, because it would be her problem. The Emperor would completely lose it. And it didn’t matter. Bellusdeo was going. Moran was going. Kaylin privately thought they’d be stuck with Clint as well—but if Moran rejected him, he’d probably stay put.
Moran, however, said, “It is not necessary for the private to accompany us.”
And that touched off an entirely different argument—one over which Kaylin had some control.