Kaylin did not consider this the height of luck four hours later, and cursed herself for her thoughtless, offhand comment. It was fine to complain after the fact. It was fine to complain if you did the work. But somewhere, some woman was struggling simply to survive the birth of her child—and Kaylin had made a joke about it.
“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” Kaylin demanded of her home.
“I woke you as soon as I had evaluated the message, dear,” Helen said.
Kaylin dressed in a rush of panic. “Where do I need to be?”
Helen’s answer did not make things any clearer. The familiar landed on Kaylin’s shoulders as she leapt out of her room and headed down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time until she could leap to the ground below without breaking anything. She headed straight for the only room in the house in which mirrors actually worked. Even then, there was a delay while Helen evaluated incoming communication for safety purposes.
Helen keyed the mirror to life; its center filled, without fanfare or visual effects, with a very familiar face, its lines structured around an equally familiar expression. Marya was the head of the midwives guild, the über den mother. She had a temper that was constantly being challenged by the stupidity and the unfairness of the universe, although she claimed to be far mellower now than she had been in her youth. Kaylin was grateful she had never met Marya in that youth.
“Where,” she demanded, before Marya could open her mouth, “do I need to be?”
Marya said, “Keira is there. It’s not—” Her lips thinned. It wasn’t going well. Of course it wasn’t. They didn’t call Kaylin for normal births. They didn’t call her for difficult births often, either. But catastrophic ones? Yes. “It’s near Highpost.”
Highpost. Kaylin closed her eyes. “How long ago did Keira mirror in?”
Silence.
Kaylin wheeled, turning on Helen in a kind of helpless rage that almost demanded it be passed on or shared. “How long ago did the message arrive?”
Helen was unflappable. “Less than half an hour ago.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“Dear, I did.”
Kaylin was tying her bootlaces. The familiar was slumped across her shoulders, indifferent to the panic and the fear and the desperation that were fighting for control of her mind. She wasn’t going to make it. She wasn’t going to make it in time.
Teela had never understood this particular panic, although she’d seen it a few times; she’d been at Kaylin’s apartment when the mirror had started its blaring appeal for attention. The midwives were not the Hawks; Kaylin’s survival did not depend on them in any way. They didn’t pay her; her work for the guild was strictly voluntary.
The women who were in the midst of a delivery that the midwives thought was likely to kill them were strangers to Kaylin. She didn’t know them. She owed them no loyalty. She owed them, in Teela’s opinion, nothing. She could understand the mortal need to be of use—although this stretched the definition of the word understand, in Kaylin’s opinion. She couldn’t understand the panic. She couldn’t understand the dread weight of guilt that accompanied the thought of too late.
That had been an early argument. If Teela still didn’t precisely understand it, that didn’t matter; she knew what it meant to Kaylin.
Kaylin opened the door with so much force it would have bounced against the nearest wall had it been a normal door, a normal wall. Because it was part of Helen, this didn’t happen. She made a beeline for the front door, stopped, and rolled up her sleeve. The bracer was clipped around her wrist like a dead weight. It wasn’t—but it was going to be worse than dead weight tonight. She pressed the studded gems across the bracer’s length, and when it clicked open, she removed it and tossed it over her shoulder.
“Are you certain you should be doing that?”
She had her hand on the door handle; she had the door open a few inches. Turning only her head, she looked up the stairs to see Moran. She was not dressed for the office—which, in the past few days, meant very colorful clothing—but she was also not yet dressed for bed. She looked like her normal self: Hawk sergeant, undisputed ruler of the infirmary.
“I have to,” she said. “I’ll explain later.”
“You don’t need to explain later. Helen told me what’s happening.”
“Good. I’ll be back when I’m back.”
“Wait.”
Kaylin wanted to shriek in agonized frustration. She waited instead, but it was very, very hard.
“I’ll take you there.”
“What?”
“I’ll fly.”
A different panic struggled for expression and attention, but failed to gain enough of a foothold that it formed an actual thought. “You can’t.”
“According to Evanton—and you—I can. I’ll take you. That’s not a request.”
The desire to argue came and went, streaming past before Kaylin could catch it. “Fine. But hurry.”
* * *
While night air pushed hair out of her eyes, Kaylin’s second thoughts asserted themselves. Moran was larger than Kaylin, but not by a significant amount, and even Clint had complained about Kaylin’s weight when he was forced to carry it while flying, admittedly in a sort of good-humored way.
Moran was mortal. Moran was Aerian. Kaylin was living with a Dragon, and while it was technically illegal for Dragons to assume their scaled, racial form without Imperial consent, Kaylin was fairly certain Bellusdeo would be forgiven if she happened to break that law. Her weight was entirely insignificant to a Dragon of Bellusdeo’s size, and Bellusdeo had the grace, maneuverability and speed of the much-smaller Aerians while she was on wing.
Bellusdeo had been the target of assassins in the past—but Bellusdeo was harder to kill than any of Kaylin’s other friends, and she included the Barrani in that number. Moran was staying with Kaylin because it was safest. No assassins could reach her while Helen stood guard.
And Kaylin had allowed Moran to risk everything by flying her to Highpost, in the desperate hope she could arrive in time. She hadn’t stopped to think. She hadn’t assessed the risk. She hadn’t made the smart decision—wake up the Dragon—because she was still, on some gut level, used to working solo.
And if anything happened to Moran because of her own panic and her own inability to think on the spot...she couldn’t finish the sentence, even internally.
Moran, however, seemed to have none of the fears that Kaylin did. And she didn’t seem to feel Kaylin’s weight at all. She flew like an arrow, but on a straighter trajectory, and her expression was a sergeant’s expression. She understood what the job was and she understood how to get it done; nothing else mattered at the moment.
The familiar was no longer slumped across Kaylin’s shoulder; he was seated, tail curled around Kaylin’s throat for balance. He chittered like an angry bird but wasn’t glaring at Kaylin while he did so; he didn’t appear to be glaring at Moran, either.
“Do you know any useful words?” she asked the familiar; her voice was not loud in the rush of wind that followed Moran’s flight.
He squawked.
Kaylin scanned the skies, but it was night, and late. The moon was not full, and the skies were cloudy enough that they flew by the pattern of streetlamps below their bodies. The darkness wouldn’t have been a problem for the Dragon, either.
Please, please, please, Kaylin prayed. If we get there in time, if Moran stays safe, I promise I will think before I rush into anything else. Please.
* * *
Moran knew the city. She knew it well. She didn’t ask for directions because she didn’t need them. That was good, because the directions Kaylin would have given involved feet on the ground and the layout of streets. Running, she didn’t have the option of ignoring the buildings in the way of the straightest path, although she’d leapt yards in haste any number of times in her career.
What would have taken at least half an hour at a brisk pace—Kaylin couldn’t sprint for half an hour, no matter how much training she put in—took vastly less time by air. But she couldn’t translate what her feet knew instinctively into the bird’s-eye equivalent. She was grateful that she didn’t need to. She would have had to give Bellusdeo directions.
Moran dropped her in front of the right house; it was a narrow, cramped space, a door with walls that extended to either side to encompass other doors, which opened into other homes. Moran knew it was the right house because it was the only one on the street that shed light; everyone in the immediate vicinity was sleeping.
Kaylin opened the door; it wasn’t locked. “Keira!” she shouted up the stairs. She didn’t bother to remove her boots; she did make certain Moran entered the cramped hall. The ceilings were low here—but low here was still better than the ceilings of her old apartment had been before the apartment had been reduced to rubble and splinters.
“Upstairs—thank god you’re here.”
Relief caused Kaylin’s shoulders to slump; the breath left her in a rush. But she caught it again and sprinted up the stairs, because “on time” was only barely a guarantee, and it could change at any minute. “I got a ride,” she said.
“Fine. Hurry.”
“The ride’s the best doctor the Halls of Law has.”
“Good. Tell your doctor that the father has passed out and I think he hit his head on something on the way down. She can see to him. We need you.”
* * *
The father had indeed hit something, as Keira had said, on the way down, and he wasn’t particularly lucid when he woke to the grim face of an Aerian sergeant; he thought the wings were hallucinations. Moran, however, didn’t look the angel that many religions seemed to favor; she was far too grim-faced for that. She was also annoyed. She considered the mother’s condition to be an act of fate, given relatively healthy pregnancy; she considered the father’s condition to be wilful stupidity.
Self-inflicted wounds were severely frowned upon in the Halls of Law, and the biggest frowns given were generally from the woman who had to deal with them. It made Kaylin, who was exhausted, want to cry sentimental tears.
The mother had lost a lot of blood; Kaylin had arrived only barely in time to save her. The loss of blood had caused trouble for the baby as well, and in all, the bed more resembled the aftermath of a bloody slaughter than it did a place of rest. Keira moved the mother when Kaylin said it was safe to do so. She was a good decade older than Kaylin, which, to Marya’s eye, was young, but she was brisk and no-nonsense about anything she could actually affect.
“Have some tea,” she told Kaylin. It wasn’t a request. When Kaylin stared vacantly into the cup, Keira added, “You look terrible.”
“I look better than I feel.”
“Probably true. Have some tea.” She turned to Moran, extended a hand and said, “I’m Keira. Thanks for dealing with the father. Normally someone would help with that—”
“You were occupied.”
“He’ll be okay?”
“He clearly has a very thick skull. Yes, he’ll be okay. I’m going to take Kaylin home. We both have work in—two hours? Maybe three.” To Kaylin, she said, “I better understand why our superiors tolerate your tardiness.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you do this often?”
“Probably not often enough. They only call me in when they know for certain things are going to get ugly—and sometimes, the call comes too late. I can’t get there in time. I try,” she added. “But—I don’t normally have Aerians on hand.”
“But you do.”
“I’ve been called while at work maybe three times. And yes, I did get a ride, but in one of those cases, I actually needed it.”
“You went to the Aeries?”
Kaylin nodded. Hesitating, she said, “How do your wings feel?”
“The injured one hurts—but it made no difference. I could fly. I flew.” She spoke the last two words with a kind of bemused wonder.
* * *
She flew them back, as well. Kaylin was too exhausted to argue with her, but healing always had that effect on her when the injuries were severe. There had been no assassins, no magical attacks. It had been stupid to let Moran fly her out to the emergency—but Moran had been awake and ready. And if Kaylin had legged it the old-fashioned way, she wouldn’t have made it on time.
Even a carriage driven by Teela wouldn’t have made it on time.
Moran clearly wanted to stay outside in the night air, testing her wings. Using them. But Moran knew what the risks were and chose not to take them. From her expression, it was a close thing.
Moran, bright-eyed, was conversing with Helen when Kaylin dragged her butt up the stairs and deposited it heavily on her bed. The Aerian sergeant wasn’t going to get a lot of sleep tonight, one way or the other.
Kaylin, on the other hand, couldn’t keep her eyes open. Sleep mugged her, and she let it.
* * *
In the morning, Moran was once again colorfully dressed. She wore the bracelet. She spoke with Bellusdeo, who disappeared into the mirror room, which, in Kaylin’s opinion, most resembled the holding cells in the Halls, and returned. Kaylin’s face was an inch away from her plate, her eyes were circled so darkly she looked hungover, and she could barely force food into her mouth.
“I really think you should stay home,” Moran told her.
“I’m awake. I’ll work.”
“Fine.” Fine did not mean that Moran was content to let it go, which Kaylin discovered when Teela and Tain showed up at the front door.
“Kitling,” Teela said, with obvious disapproval. “You went out drinking without us?”
“I went on a call for the midwives’ guild.” At Teela’s shift in expression, Kaylin added, “We made it on time.”
“We?”
Moran said, “I flew her out.”
Discussion stopped—not that there was much of it—as the Barrani turned to Moran. “Did you, now?”
Moran nodded.
“Courtesy of the Keeper?”
“Indirectly, yes. But if you mean courtesy of his power or the blessing of the elements he both jails and serves, no.”
“The meeting went well, then?”
Moran exhaled. “It went well.” She flexed her wing—her injured wing—and grimaced.
“I’m surprised the wing could carry you both.”
“You’re surprised the wing could carry me,” Moran said, voice dry as summer grass.
Teela shrugged. “It doesn’t look like it’s up to the task, and you certainly haven’t been trying. If you could fly, we wouldn’t be in this political tangle.”
“I was thinking that, myself,” Moran replied, grinning. It was a very, very martial expression.
Teela, whose eyes were mostly green, returned it, nuance for nuance. “We’re not going to make great guards today—we can’t keep up.”
Bellusdeo muttered a single word that sounded a lot like derogatory Elantran.
“Pardon?”
“Tain might not be able to keep up; you certainly could.”
Teela didn’t deny it. “Let’s go, shall we?” She frowned. “Mandoran’s coming.”
Kaylin wilted; Bellusdeo frowned.
“He’s bored,” Teela continued, “and Annarion is expecting Nightshade. Why, I don’t know. If I were Nightshade at this point, I’d give his brother some space.”
Kaylin had never had siblings, and had no comment, which was generally safest. “Tell him to hurry—we’re going to be late.”
“He says you’re often late.”
“Me? Yes. Moran? Never.”
“He’s hurrying.”
* * *
Moran flew to work.
Bellusdeo joined her—in full Dragon glory. Kaylin assumed that the trip to the mirror cell had been to get permission, but didn’t ask—it was better not to know.
The streets were therefore full of people who had momentarily forgotten their own business in favor of the aerial maneuvers of a large golden Dragon and her smaller Aerian companion. And they were maneuvers. There was nothing businesslike about Moran’s flight paths, and nothing straightforward and simple, either.
Mandoran was making a face.
“What is it now?” Kaylin said, although her eyes were drawn to the sky again.
“Teela says I can’t join them.”
“Could you, if she weren’t sitting on you?”
“I’m not certain—but yes, I think I could. You know, I haven’t tried at all since I’ve been back?”
That wasn’t remotely comforting. “Don’t start now.”
“I think it would be like swimming—but in air.”
“We’ve got enough attention for the day. Don’t add to it.”
“You know, you shouldn’t let Teela suck the fun out of your life.”
“I haven’t. I can’t fly.”
“Fine. You shouldn’t let Teela suck the fun out of my life.” He did, however, keep both of his feet on the ground as they made their way to the Halls of Law. “She’s going to be late. You said she’s never late.”
“She’s never been late in all my years at the Halls.”
“And she’s going to start now?”
“Probably.”
Mandoran whistled at Moran’s maneuver. “She really can fly circles around the Dragon.”
“She can probably fly circles around the rest of the Aerians, too. I’m sure the ones who are watching her are pathetically grateful she’s not in charge of their practice drills right about now.”
“You think they’re watching?”
“I’d bet all of last month’s pay on it.”
“No one here would be stupid enough to take that bet,” Teela said. “We’d better get moving. The Dragon can handle anything stupid enough to take Moran on in these skies, and the Hawklord is going to want to speak to us.”
Kaylin wilted. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“No, we haven’t. And before you try to bite me, neither has Moran. But the Hawklord’s the one who’s been sitting in political debris since Moran was injured.”
* * *
“You know, you should quit the late-night drinking binges,” Clint said. He was speaking loudly, with the happy malevolence the very sober sometimes showed the very hungover.
“I wasn’t out drinking. I was out carousing with the midwives.”
His grin vanished.
“I made it in time, but only because—” She stopped.
Clint had never been particularly stupid. “The sergeant flew you out.”
“How did you know?”
“I’ve been watching her in the skies since she took wing.” His voice was almost a hush, which didn’t suit his size or his general demeanor. “The Hawklord wants to see you.”
* * *
Severn was at his desk when Kaylin entered the office and headed toward the Tower stairs.
“You’re back.”
Since it wasn’t a question, he said nothing.
“What did the Wolflord want?”
He said more nothing, and Kaylin exhaled. “Sorry. That was a stupid question.” If the Halls of Law could be said to be clandestine, it was entirely due to the Wolves.
She’d never been entirely comfortable with Severn as a Wolf. And he was a Hawk now. She opened her mouth again, but Severn shook his head.
“The Hawklord,” he said, “is waiting.”
* * *
“I want to know exactly what happened last night.”
Kaylin was standing more or less at attention beside her partner, whose posture was perfect.
“You look like you haven’t slept for a week. Did you go out drinking with Teela and Tain?”
Kaylin sighed. “No, sir.”
“What did you do to Moran?”
She really resented the question, and was too exhausted to hide it. Being exhausted pushed her into one of two states, but since sleep wasn’t an option, she settled into prickly and irritable instead. “I didn’t do anything to the sergeant,” she replied, using Moran’s rank for emphasis, because hers was so junior in comparison.
The Hawklord frowned.
Kaylin attempted to straighten up shoulders that were probably sagging. Attention was not a natural posture. The small dragon was slumped across her shoulders as if he were absorbing her exhaustion. “We went to see Evanton, sir.”
“And she returned, able to fly.”
“We met Lillias.”
He stiffened; he obviously recognized the name.
“He left Lillias in the garden with Moran, and Lillias told Moran that Evanton lets her fly there—in secret, in the folds of the elemental air. Moran was invited to join her—and did. Except she didn’t need the elemental air. The injuries she sustained, which would cripple any other Aerian, apparently don’t affect her ability to fly. Once she realized this...” Kaylin shrugged.
“She flew to work.”
Kaylin nodded.
“Which means she could fly to the Southern Reach.”
Kaylin stiffened, then. She was too tired to think, and hadn’t been. She started to now. The Hawklord was right. If Moran could fly—and demonstrably, publicly, she could—there was no reason she needed to stay in Kaylin’s house. No reason she had to live where the rest of the ground dwellers were forced to live.
“She thought her flying would remove most of the political stress you’ve been under.”
“I highly doubt that.” He lifted a hand before more words could follow. “I do not doubt that you both believe that. I find that view entirely too optimistic at this point. Moran can fly. Her duty to the Hawks, her service to the Imperial Halls of Law, has therefore not done irreparable harm to the Aerians, as was first claimed.” His expression made clear what he thought of that claim.
“But the assassination attempts, and the coercion of Margot, occurred regardless. They are crimes. If Moran can be pressured—mistakenly believing it is for my sake—into recanting all accusation, the assassination attempts would be removed from our remit. They would become a matter of the Caste Court.
“The events in Elani Street cannot be so remanded. They were perpetuated by a human, not an Aerian.”
“Could our prisoner attempt to have the case remanded to the human Caste Court?”
The Hawklord’s answering grin was so devoid of warmth or humor Kaylin almost took a step back.
“You’re joking, right?”
“I have not said a thing, but were I to do so, I would most assuredly find no humor in it.” His wings unfolded slightly, but his eyes remained blue. “Have you ever seen her fly like that?”
Kaylin had watched flying Aerians all her life, and had seen precisely none who could fly the way Moran had been flying.
“Very well. I will not caution you. Moran seems to have done well living with you; if she wishes to continue—”
“She’s not going back to the Southern Reach.” Kaylin folded her arms. Severn recognized her mutinous glare, but said nothing, content to let the Hawklord shoulder the brunt of the work.
“That must,” the Hawklord said gently, “be her choice, surely?”
“Yes. But she likes living with us.”
“She is praevolo,” the Hawklord replied.
“So what? She’s a person, not a symbol. And she wasn’t happy living in the Reaches.”
“Ah. No. No, she was not. Dismissed.”
* * *
“We need to find out who made the motion to have the case against Margot’s attacker remanded to the human Caste Court.” Kaylin’s steps echoed heavily down the Tower stairs; Severn’s, in theory heavier, did not.
“It’s political.”
“Obviously. But we need to follow the money here. And you know as well as I do that remand means ‘dismiss entirely.’ There’s not going to be a lot of justice.”
“Margot is human. If Margot refused to endorse a remand, the request would have gone nowhere.”
“Exactly. We’re going to have a chat with Margot. What? It’s our beat today anyway.”
* * *
Margot was not in her store. She was not one of nature’s early risers, but the meeting with the Hawklord, the subsequent meeting with Marcus and the less-than-gentle aside from Clint, who had abandoned his post at the door to make it, had taken enough time from their daily schedule that Margot should have had more than enough time to put out her shingle.
Her doors were locked.
In and of itself, this wasn’t unusual; if Margot was popular—and she was—she had her share of angry former customers, some of whom wanted more than simple words with her.
But current customers—at least two—were waiting almost forlornly on the doorstep. They gave the Hawks the side-eye, but also gave them room. Margot had not been in yet.
Kaylin generally found Margot a safe target for venting spleen. She was almost certainly bilking the stupid and the hopeful out of their money, and she couldn’t stand Kaylin. She practically wore a target saying Hate Me.
But this?
“She hasn’t been in at all? She’s not in lockup because someone theoretically more important is in there with her?” she demanded of a slender elderly man.
“No, Officer.”
Severn was speaking to the other man, and when he was done, he met Kaylin’s eyes. “She’s not at home.”
“She lives above the store.”
“Yes. And she’s not at home.”
Kaylin didn’t ask him how he knew, because they were pretty much thinking the same thing. Margot had asked that the case be remanded to the human Caste Court; Margot was not at home. The prisoner in the holding cells had asked—or demanded, as it turned out—that his case be remanded to the human Caste Court, as well. They knew where he was.
In theory, he was still alive.
* * *
“You want me to what, exactly?” Teela demanded. Evanton’s mirror was small, and he disliked its use, but Kaylin had convinced Grethan that it was an emergency.
“I want you to go and talk to the prisoner. And I want you to get me permission to break into Margot’s store.”
“You’ve done it without permission before.”
“I didn’t break in,” Kaylin pointed out. “The store was open at the time.”
“Ah. Surely that’s just a trifling detail?”
“Caste Court remand, Teela.”
“Fine. What exactly do you want me to say to the prisoner?”
“His guards have been Barrani. Without exception. But suddenly he’s demanding that his case be tried by the human Caste Court. I want to know who his visitors have been.”
Teela’s eyes were now very, very blue. “He hasn’t had visitors.”
“He must have.”
“He hasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the Barrani contingent has been in charge of his safety; it has been made perfectly clear that if he does not survive his captivity, it will reflect very, very poorly on us.”
“You’re not in charge of that detail.”
“Not technically, no.”
“But—”
“I’ll talk to the prisoner. Marcus says you can go ahead and investigate.”
“You haven’t asked him.”
“Fine. You want a bristling Leontine filling your mirror, you can have him.”
Marcus did say yes, eventually. There was a whole lot of Leontine that happened between his first appearance and his permission, most of which was not repeatable, almost literally.
“This is not the day to be in the office,” Kaylin said when the mirror image once again receded and she was staring at her own face. She did look hungover. “Let’s go.”