Cast In Courtlight

“She failed,” he said softly, “to bring the nature of your … mark … to the castelord’s attention.”

“But he—” She stopped. “Evarrim.”

“Lord Evarrim. You attracted his interest,” he added softly. “What have we told you about attracting the interest of a high lord?”

“It’s lethal.”

“Yes. But not always for you.” The disapproval in the words was mild, for Tain. “She will be called upon to defend her oversight,” he added.

“You’re worried?”

Tain shrugged. “She owes me money.”

Kaylin laughed. It was a bitter sound. “Severn’s there.”

“I note that you haven’t tried to kill him since you returned to active duty.”

She shrugged. It was easier than words. Everything about Severn had changed. And much about Kaylin, to Kaylin’s horror, had changed, as well.

What they had—what had driven them apart—had been the foundations upon which she’d built this life; he’d kicked them out from under her feet, and she still didn’t know where to stand. Not where he was concerned.

But she’d been given the opportunity to be rid of him. And she’d rejected it, in the privacy of the Hawklord’s tower. There wasn’t likely to be a second such opportunity offered.

“Why is he on duty roster there?”

Tain didn’t answer.

“Why am I not on—oh. Never mind.” She lifted a hand and covered the mark on her cheek. To Tain, it made no difference; she could have gouged a chunk of her face off, and he’d still see it. Anyone born Barrani would.

“It will be over in one way or another.”

“Over good, or over bad?”

“It depends,” he said. His voice was the kind of guarded that implied imminent death. “On the castelord.” “But she’s a Hawk!”

“Indeed. The Hawks comprise many races, however, and the caste-law of the race has precedence in exceptional circumstances. As you would know, if you’d paid more attention in your classes.”

Exceptional circumstances: When either of two situations proved true. One: No other species was involved in the commission of the crime or its outcome. This was about as likely as the sun never rising or setting, at least in this city. Two: No member of any other species could be found who would admit that they had been damaged in some way by the commission of the crime in question. This, given the nature of the Barrani’s exceptionally long memory and their famous ability to nurse a grudge down a dozen merely mortal generations, was entirely too likely.

“He can’t make her outcaste. She’s already pledged to Imperial service.”

“The Lords of Law are pledged to the service of the Emperor. Employing an outcaste Barrani would not be in the best interests of any one of those Lords.”

“Marcus won’t let—”

“Kaylin. Let it go. As I said, it is a Barrani affair. Teela accepted the invitation. She has gone.”

“You let her go.” She didn’t even bother to try to keep the accusation out of her voice.

“And had you been summoned by your castelord, we would have done the same.”

“Humans don’t have castelords. Not like that.”

“No. Not like that. You couldn’t. The span of your years is too short. Were it not for the intolerable speed at which you breed, there would be no humans in Elantra.” He turned away, then.

And she realized, as he did, that he’d slipped into High Barrani, and she hadn’t even noticed.

Mouth set in a thin line, she worked her way over to Marcus’s desk. He was, to no one’s surprise, on lunch. On early lunch. She was certain there was some betting going on about the duration of the lunch itself.

But that wasn’t her problem.

She began to leaf through the notices and permits on his desk, moving them with care, as if they had been constructed by a finicky architect who’d been drinking too much.

After about ten minutes, she found what she was looking for—the writs or grants of rights given to foreign dignitaries.

CHAPTER 2

When Marcus came back from lunch an hour and a half later, he walked to his desk. The circuitous way. He paused in front of the schedule nailed to the wall, glared at the various marks made by the Hawks that were lucky—or unlucky—in their assigned duties, and added a few of his own. Although the schedule itself was an official document, this particular rendering of it was not; it was meant, or so office parlance said, as a courtesy. What he added was against the spirit of the thing, but he had a Leontine sense of courtesy; it wasn’t as if he’d drawn blood.

And if the Hawks didn’t like what he appended, they could come crying. Once.

He stopped by Caitlin’s desk, and threw the mirror on the wall a thoroughly disgusted glare; like anything that made noise and conveyed messages, it never went off at his convenience. It had been dull and silent for the entire morning. If there was anything of import to be reported, the Swords and the Wolves were having all of the luck.

He had paperwork.

Oh, and Kaylin.

She was perched in the center of his chair, looking like a leather-clad waif, her hair pulled up in imitation of Caitlin’s, and with vastly less success; she’d stuck a stick through its center, and hair had already escaped it in great chunks.

“What,” he growled, “are you doing in my chair?”

His chair was large; he was heavier than any of the humans he commanded, and wider by far than the Barrani. It wasn’t his favorite piece of furniture; he’d broken three chairs this year because of the shoddy workmanship of the craftsmen employed by the Halls of Law. Armrests were not meant to snap off that easily.

She appeared to be taking notes.

And, as was so often the case when she wasn’t locked in a classroom, her concentration had shut out most of the office noise. His presence dimmed the rest. He could walk silently; as a hunter, he had to. He was seldom given the opportunity to use the skill.

When he was exactly behind her, he roared in her ear.

Papers went flying like loosed birds.

As she tried to catch some of them, she gave him a reproachful jab. As he was smiling, this was safe. Barely. But this was Kaylin; she hadn’t the grace to look flustered or embarrassed. Not for the first time, he thought she’d been born in the wrong skin; she was like a young Leontine kit—a female, at that—and very little unnerved her for long.

Then again, she’d been under his care for seven years, and she’d come as a youngling. If he hadn’t been entirely protective in the normal Elantran sense of the word, he had protected her, and she took advantage of the fact without shame. Or notice.

“If you want to do paperwork,” he said, sitting on the sparse inches of desk that weren’t covered by paper, “you could have volunteered.”

“Would it get me out of those damn lessons?”