Cast In Shadow

“I have offered him my service,” Tiamaris replied softly, “and it has been accepted. While I am here, I am his agent.”

The fieflord surprised Kaylin, then. He laughed. It was a rich, lovely sound, and it conveyed both amusement and something she couldn’t quite name. “Times have changed, Tiamaris, if you can serve another.”

“I have always served another,” was the cold reply.

Kaylin had never seen a Dragon fight. Had a bad feeling that she was about to. The Barrani guards had forgotten Severn, forgotten her; they were drawn to Tiamaris as if he were the only significant danger in the room. Which was fair. He was.

The fieflord, however, raised a hand, and the Barrani stiffened. She knew some of the silent language of thieves, and saw none of it in the gestures of the fieflord. They knew him well enough that that gesture was command.

“It is strange,” the fieflord said softly. “I know both you, Tiamaris, and the young man called Severn by his kind. But the girl? She is at the apex of events, and I have never met her.” He held out a hand, then.

She stared at it.

“Leave her be,” Tiamaris said, and his voice, soft, was suddenly louder than Marcus’s at its most fierce.

“I intend her no harm,” the fieflord replied. He had once again turned the full emerald of his eyes upon her, and she could not help but believe his words. “And I intend to make clear to the people of my lands that I intend they offer her none. Will you gainsay me?”

“I will not have you mark her.”

The fieflord said, quietly, “She is already marked, Tiamaris.”

To that, the Dragon offered no reply.

Which was too bad; it might have helped her make sense of the fieflord’s words. She stared at his hand; he did not move it. After a moment, it became clear to her that he intended her to actually take his hand.

“I am not patient,” the fieflord said, when he realized that she wouldn’t. “And I have little time to spare. You are here because of the sacrifices, of course. And it is in my interest to see an end brought to them as well.”

Still she stared. Might have gone on staring, dumbfounded, had Severn not said, curtly, “Take his hand.”

Her fingers touched the fieflord’s palm, and he closed his hand around hers.

Magic coursed up her arm. Her right arm. She was rigid with the shock of it, and angry. She tried to pull free, and wasn’t surprised when she failed.

“What are you—”

“Silence.”

She could feel the magic as it rode up her shoulder, sharp light, and invisible. She hated magic. But she bit her lip and waited; she was already committed.

Severn swore.

Tiamaris’s brows rose. “Lord Nightshade,” he began, but he did not finish.

The magic broke through her skin, questing in air as if it were alive. She could see it. Judging by the expressions of her companions, everyone could. It twisted in the space just above her, and then it coalesced into a blue, sparkling shape, like a ward.

It touched her cheek, in the exact same place that the fieflord had. A lesson, for Kaylin, and one that she would not forget: he did nothing without cause.

“You bear my mark,” he said quietly. “And in this fief, it will afford you some protection.” He paused, and then added, “This is a fief. It will not protect you from everything. Mortal stupidity knows no bounds. But in the event that you are harmed by any save me, they will pay.”

He let her hand go, then. “Now, come. It is late, and we have far to travel.”

“Travel?” Her first word, and it wasn’t terribly impressive. Then again, Severn said nothing at all.

“You are invited as guests to the Long Halls of Nightshade,” he replied, with just the hint of a bow. “But sunset is coming, and in the fiefs—”

She nodded. In the fiefs, night meant something different.

Her skin was still tingling a half hour later. The fieflord walked before them, and the Barrani guards, behind. Sandwiched in an uncomfortable line between these two walked Severn, Kaylin and Tiamaris, the wings of their namesake momentarily clipped.

“Severn,” she said, in a voice so soft he should have missed it.

Severn nodded, although he didn’t look at her.

“My face—what happened?”

“You—you’ve got a blue flower on your cheek,” he said quietly.

“Aflower?”

“Sort of. It’s nightshade.”

“It’s what?”

“Nightshade,” Tiamaris said quietly. “The namesake of the fieflord. It’s a … herb,” he added.

“I have a tattoo of a flower on my face?”

Severn did look at her then, his brow arched. “You would have liked a skull and crossbones better?”

“Or a dagger. Or a sword. Or even a Hawk. A flower?”

“A deadly one,” Tiamaris said, with just the hint of a smile. “But it is very pretty.”

Had he not been a Dragon, she would have kicked him. Or had she not been shadowed by armed Barrani. As it was, she glowered.

Which broadened his smile. Dragon smile. “You should feel … honored. In a fashion. This is the first time that I have seen a human bear the mark of the fieflord.”

She turned the words over, picking out the information they contained. “How often have you seen him mark anyone else?”

“Not often,” Tiamaris replied, his eyes now lidded. “And no, before you ask, I am not going to tell you when.”

She frowned. “Does the Hawklord—”

“Lord Grammayre knows much,” he replied. “And if he feels it necessary to enlighten you, he will. Until then, I suggest you pay attention to the—”

Cobbled streets. Badly cobbled. She caught her boot under the edge of an upturned stone and tripped. Severn caught her arm before she made her way to the ground.

“Severn?”