Cast In Fury (10 page)

“Good. And you found her well?”

“No.”

“And your duties at the Imperial Palace?”

“I’m not allowed to report to you,” she reminded him.

“Sergeant Mallory would not consider something this informal to be a report,” the Hawklord replied.

She started to argue, and stopped herself because it was true.

“Acting Sergeant Mallory,” she said instead.

“As you say.”

“Why in the hells did you choose him? Why not promote someone from the department? He’s handled Missing Persons reports for the last gods know how many years—he’s not—”

The Hawklord lifted a hand. “Do not question my judgment in this. And before you embarrass yourself by asking, Sergeant Mallory does not have any information he can use against me. He was put forward as the most senior candidate who could fill the position on no notice.”

“By who?”

“It’s not your concern, Kaylin.”

“He’s never liked the fact that I’m a Hawk.”

“No.”

“He’ll do whatever he can to get rid of me.”

“He’ll allow you to do whatever you can to give him the excuse, yes. A year ago, that would have taken a day, two at the outside. I expect that it will now take him much longer. Especially given the nature of your duties at the Palace.”

“Where’s Caitlin?”

“Caitlin—and she has a rank, Private, but as this is entirely informal, I will allow you to forget it—has chosen to take a leave of absence. Her duties under Marcus Kassan did not leave her much free time, and she is, in fact, owed several weeks of back pay, and several more weeks of time off. She is utilizing both at the moment.”

“But when they run out?”

“She is still a Hawk in good standing. If her position is not vacant when she chooses to return, another position will be found for her. She has also received at least two offers of employment from the Swords.”

Kaylin watched his reflection in the mirror, waiting for it to dim as he accessed Records. She waited for at least five minutes before she realized he had no intention of accessing Records at this time.

He just didn’t want to look at her.

It was surprising how much this stung.

“Access to the Tower during Sergeant Mallory’s stay will be restricted,” the Hawklord told her. “If there is an emergency, those restrictions do not apply—but do not create an emergency.”

“But—”

He turned away from the mirror, then. “I am aware of the schedule Richard Rennick chooses to keep,” he said, his voice sharp and low. “I am aware of the hours you are expected to serve. You have half a day of paid time in which to play cards. Corporal Handred is also blessed with the same abundance of time.
Use it,
Kaylin. There is nothing that Marcus will tell me. I haven’t eaten at his table. I haven’t been given the hospitality of his hearth. I haven’t been adopted by his Pridlea. You’ve spoken to his wives before—speak to them now, if they’ll talk.

“I trust you,” he said, his voice still low and intense. “I trust you to use your training as a Hawk. As a groundhawk, when you’re focused, you have very few equals. Go where I cannot go. Discover what I cannot discover. Survive Mallory’s dislike. It is not beyond your skills.” He looked as if he would say more, but he stopped for a moment. “Marcus is the only Leontine on my force at the moment. His loss will be a blow to the city, even if the Hawks see only their own difficulties. You have five days.”

“Five days?”

“The trial is set for five days hence.”

“Five
days?
We couldn’t get something like this to trial in less than five
weeks!
”

But the Hawklord lifted his head and uttered a series of high, clicking whistles. It wasn’t Aerian, exactly; it was the Aerian version of a shout.

Perenne began his descent.

“I regret the necessity of putting you in this situation. But it
is
necessary, Kaylin. Do what you do best.”

“What is it I do best?”

He offered her a weary but genuine smile. “Get involved in everyone else’s business, whether or not they request it. My mirror has been keyed for your use and the key sequence is your voice.
Attempt
to exercise caution when you contact me. Now go. Mallory will be here in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Why?”

“He follows a schedule for his reports.”

She nodded. Bit back the words that she wanted to say. Lifted her arms to catch Perenne as he landed.

“Well?” Severn asked. He was waiting for her by the entrance to the carriage yard.

“Bad.”

“How bad?”

“Not so bad that we can’t do something. Yet.”

“Tell me.”

She waited for the carriage to roll out of the carriage house. “I’ll tell you when we’re en route.”

“To?”

“The Leontine Quarter.”

He nodded as if he had expected no less.

“Given Rennick’s general regard for authority—and I must admit to being impressed—we have some leeway in our timing.” Severn glanced out the window, but it was a measured glance; he was, she knew, following the streets, cataloguing the buildings. She wondered if he was constantly fleshing out a map of the city on the inside of his head. Nevertheless, watching or not, he was still with her, as his next words proved. “But while timing with regards to Rennick isn’t a major issue, our presence or absence will be. You don’t care for Rennick—he is, however, important.”

“He’s not an idiot,” she said, grudging the admission. “But I don’t get him. I don’t understand why he writes this stuff for people when he clearly doesn’t like them much.”

Severn shrugged. “It’s art,” he said, as if that explained anything. Maybe it did. “Where does Marcus live?”

“In the middle of the damn Quarter.”

“And we’re approaching it?”

“It’s not like the Tha’alani enclave. There’s no gate. But it’s kind of hard to miss it—the streets are pretty much always crowded. They don’t seem to have a market in the strict sense of the word.”

Severn nodded.

“You already know all of this.”

“I’ve learned some of it,” he replied. “But I’ve seldom had cause to travel in the Leontine Quarter, and the Leontines are not known for their hospitality.”

“Really?”

“Really. Leontines don’t make people worry in the same way the Tha’alani do—in the end, we all have things we’d rather no one else know about. They make people worry in the same way that giant, man-eating animals do.”

“Where, by people, you mean humans.”

“I mean anything that can be killed and eaten.”

“The Barrani don’t seem to mind them.”

“How would you know? The Barrani affect nonchalance when it comes to bloody dragons.”

“True.” The day Teela said “I’m afraid” was probably the day the world ended—because if Teela weren’t certain it was going to end, she wouldn’t bother with something as dangerous as vulnerability. She’d expose herself only if she was certain no one else could ever use it against her.

“Do they frighten you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve seen what men can do,” he replied carefully. “There’s not much a wild animal can do that would be worse. Or messier.”

“Well, I think you’ll like the Pridlea.”

“I think you’re right.
If
I’m not told to wait outside in the street.”

“Why on earth would you have to wait outside in the street?”

He raised an eyebrow and said, “Are you in a betting mood?”

Kaylin left instructions with the carriage driver, and Severn left different instructions about ten seconds later. The driver seemed to take this in stride, which is to say, he did his level best not to look too amused at her expense. You had to like that in a driver.

She approached the door. Door, at this time of year, was not exactly the right word to describe the heavy, colored curtains that shut out the sounds of the street. During the humid season that any port city suffers, these were the only doors that the Pridlea either desired or needed. After all, it wasn’t as if someone was just going to walk in off the street.

The colors—predominantly a yellow gold—were embroidered into the fabric, which also seemed to boast a profusion of textures. Kaylin had seldom come to the Pridlea when she was on duty, and she stopped a moment to study the heavy, hanging rug. Gold was nubbled in knots around a central patch of color that seemed, to her eye, to be furrier, somehow. She bent forward, and said, “Hey, I think they used Leontine
hair
in this.”

“We did,” she heard a familiar voice say. It was the voice of all Leontines when they chose to speak Elantran, and it implied a growl that wasn’t actually present. “The hanging contains the fur of every Leontine of age in Marcus’s clan. The fur of his sons are here,” she added, as she stepped out of the building—which was a squat, clay rectangle that seemed to go on forever at her back. There were windows in the front of the building, but in the back, very few. As a child, Kaylin had referred to it as Marcus’s cave. Marcus, batting her playfully—but still painfully—on the side of the head had called it
Kayala’s
cave.

“The ones that don’t live here?”

“There are no sons here, no. And yes, when they reached the age of majority, they offered some of their throat fur for this purpose, and we accepted it.” She let her hand fall away from the hanging, and hugged Kaylin suddenly and without warning.

Kaylin, however, didn’t need a warning; she knew what to expect, and if Leontine claws and teeth were sharper and harder than some of the crappier Imperial steel she’d seen, their fur was softer than
anything.
She returned the hug at least as ferociously as she received it, and heard the throat-sound of an older Leontine’s purr just above her ear.

“You look good enough to eat,” Kayala told her, as she stepped back. “We thought you might visit. But I’m afraid the house is not in order.” She looked as if she were about to say more, but stopped and slowly turned just her head to look at Severn. “You may go now,” she told him. “We will watch over Kaylin while she is with our Pridlea. She is as kin.”

Severn glanced at Kaylin.

“He’s not here as my escort,” Kaylin said. She could see the Leontine eyes begin to shade to an unfortunate shade of copper—something they had in common with the dragons. She also had no idea why.

“Kaylin has not made racial differences a study,” Severn told Kayala, speaking both formally and softly. He didn’t move at all as he spoke to the Leontine Matriarch. He didn’t gesture or change the position of his head. “She came here to see you the minute she could—but she didn’t stop to think.”

“Ah. Well.
Thinking,
” Kayala said, inflecting the word with distaste.

Severn didn’t nod. Instead, he said, “Because she didn’t, she has
no
idea why you will not, in fact, allow me to cross the boundaries of your home.”

Well, the orange was gone. But if you knew Leontine faces well enough, you could easily see the shocked rise of eyebrows in that furry, feline face.

“She probably also doesn’t understand,” Severn continued, “why you had to accompany Marcus when he visited her after she was injured in the fiefs. Nor does she fully appreciate how unusual Marcus—and by extension, his Pridlea—is.”

“Unusual?” Kayala said, as if tasting the word.

“He means it as a compliment,” Kaylin said quickly. “And I do—he’s the only Leontine on the force for a reason.”

“Yes. He can coexist in an office that has, among its many members, other males.”

“They’re mostly human,” Kayala offered.

“So is Severn,” Kaylin told her.

“If Corporal Handred chose to visit us in the human Quarter, we would of course grant him the hospitality of the Pridlea. He has, however, come to the Pridlea, and in the Leontine Quarter, social rules must be observed.” She sniffed, a very catlike sound of disdain. “Although why one would consider them
male,
I have never fully understood.”

Kaylin winced.

Severn, however, did not. “He can
also
coexist in an office that has, among its members, many females. And his wives accept this.” He moved something other than his mouth for the first time, and bowed.

“They are not our kind,” Kayala said, but the edge had gone out of her words. “They are human, or—what do you call the long ears that are hard to kill?”

“Barrani.”

“Barrani. And bird-men. They are not of the Pride. We are not threatened by them. They cannot trespass upon our home.”

“Wait,” Kaylin said. “What if there were other Leontine men?”

“There won’t be.”

“But if there were?”

She was silent. Kayala’s silences usually meant death. Quite literally.

“And other Leontine women?”

The silence was almost profound. Kaylin had once asked Marcus why he was the only Leontine on the force, and Marcus had growled an answer:
There’s only room for one. If you want another one, talk to the Swords or the Wolves.
She had thought he was joking at the time.

“What about me?”

“Ah, you. You are his kitling, the one he can’t lose through growth or time. You are not of the Pride,” she added, but she ruffled Kaylin’s hair—which had long since come loose from its binding—with affection as she said the words. “He brought you home,” she added, “and we saw you—hairless, furless, like our young.”

“But Severn’s—”

“Corporal Handred is
not
like you, Kaylin. But he understands and accepts his role here.” There was no question in the words. “Come,” she said, and growled.

Severn bowed again. “I will wait for Kaylin in the carriage.”

“Good. It is not a good time to be in the Quarter without escort.”

“Kayala, I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” was the smooth reply. “We can all hunt and kill. But the trick to living in a city that is so crowded and so dangerous is to avoid having to kill.”

Marcus had four other wives—five in total. Each of his wives had their own room, or rooms, and each of them had their own growls. They had different ways of showing submission, and of expressing rage. Kayala could do either without consequence, but if Kayala was the eldest, she was a far cry from old.