Cast In Flight

Before Moran could speak, Kaylin turned to her and said, “Don’t even think it.”

“Think what?”

“Helen is the safest place for you to live in Elantra. You’re not moving out. There’s a reason the Emperor is willing to let Bellusdeo live with us.”

“I hadn’t even considered it,” Moran replied. When she saw Kaylin’s expression, she added, “It’s the truth. I’m busy considering who might feel desperate enough to kill me today. And why.”

“How many candidates are there?” Bellusdeo asked as they headed into the building.

“More than one.” The sergeant’s eyes were a steady, darkening blue. “I’d ask you not to mention this,” she added, “but given our method of arrival—and escape—it’s impossible to keep it secret.”

“From who?” Kaylin demanded.

“Lord Grammayre.” She closed her eyes. “And the rest of the Aerians.”

“The rest of the Aerians are Hawks, Moran. There’s only one way to take this.”

Moran’s expression made her look older and frailer. “The rest of the Aerians are people, kitling.” She almost never used the Barrani-coined diminutive. “They have lives outside of the Halls of Law, and most of those lives take place in the Aerie. It’s not as simple as you’d like it to be.”

“No, of course not,” Kaylin replied. “Nothing ever is.”

* * *

The first argument occurred within the Halls, rather than outside the main doors. Kaylin didn’t want to let Moran go to the infirmary on her own. Moran pointed out—correctly—that Kaylin’s job depended on a different sergeant, and he was probably orange-eyed and long-clawed by this point.

“He needed a new desk anyway,” Kaylin replied. “I don’t expect mages to show up in the infirmary to kill you. But it doesn’t take a mage.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You could, before. But you can’t even use one of your wings.” Those wings were not just for flight; they could be used to devastating effect in close physical combat. Although Kaylin had never seen Moran fight that way, she had seen Clint at work. It wasn’t pretty. “Let me heal it, Moran.”

“No.”

“Let me heal it, or I’m not going.”

Bellusdeo silently lifted Kaylin off her feet. “If it’s acceptable to you, Sergeant,” the Dragon said, “I would like to remain in the infirmary with you. The private, of course, has other duties.”

“The Emperor isn’t going to like that,” Moran said, but her lips were quirked in an odd smile as she met the Dragon’s gaze.

“No, he isn’t, is he?” Bellusdeo’s eyes lost a lot of their orange then.

Moran’s lost a lot of their blue.

Kaylin’s gaze bounced between them while her feet dangled off the ground.

“Yes, it’s acceptable to me. Please see Private Neya out.”

* * *

“Don’t even think it,” Bellusdeo said as she deposited Kaylin on her feet. “I am tired of being treated with condescension.”

“I don’t—”

“I am a Dragon. You are a mortal. The sergeant is willing to have me play bodyguard in the infirmary. Push the issue, and she will have neither of us. Is that what you want?” Before Kaylin could reply, she added, “I am endeavoring not to feel insulted. Your hesitation implies that you think you would be more effective.”

Insulting Dragons was the definition of career-limiting. And Bellusdeo was right. Mostly. “What if there’s an Arcane bomb?”

“Fine. If it makes you feel better, you can leave your familiar here, as well.”

The small dragon squawked.

Bellusdeo rolled her eyes. “Yes, I realize that. But they’re not going to get an Arcane bomb through the front doors, the side doors or the back doors. And anything else is just going to annoy me, not kill me.” She walked back into the infirmary and shut the door, loudly, in Kaylin’s face. The familiar stayed where he was, but complained more.

* * *

Moran was right.

As Kaylin approached the office space designated for the Hawks and their much-hated paperwork, she could practically hear Leontine growling. Marcus was seated at what remained of his desk.

He did, however, have paperwork, and it seemed to be more or less in stable piles.

His eyes were orange, his bristling fur made his face look 50 percent larger, and his fangs were prominent. Clearly, he’d already gotten the news.

“Private!”

She scurried over to the safe side of his desk, which at this point meant the side that was farthest from his unsheathed claws.

“Where’s the Dragon?”

“...In the infirmary.” Marcus’s eyes went from orange to near red. Bellusdeo was the only female Dragon in existence. Her survival and safety meant more than almost anything else to the Emperor; having her tangled up in magical assassination attempts—even if they weren’t aimed at her—was going to cause what was politely referred to as “politics.”

“Bellusdeo wasn’t injured. At all. She’s there to help Moran.” This reassurance smoothed some of the Leontine’s fur. Marcus’s eyes remained orange, however.

“What happened?”

“I’m not entirely certain.” This was apparently the wrong answer, but Marcus held on to patience. Barely. “Someone attempted to kill Sergeant Carafel. With magic. While we were on the way to the Halls.”

“They failed.”

Kaylin nodded.

“You entered the building through the stable yards.”

Kaylin nodded again. When Marcus glared at her, she confessed that Bellusdeo had flown Moran to the Halls.

“Marcus, what’s going on? Why is someone trying to kill Moran?”

“Did you see the assassin?”