Cast in Ruin. Michelle Sagara
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eyes were gold, and his lower membranes, unlike Diarmat’s, were entirely lowered. “It means that legally you owe him no deference. Legally, you owe the Lord of the High Halls and his Consort no deference, either.”
“I’m technically a Lord of the High Court.”
“Believe that I am conversant with your history in the High Court. You are, however, not required by Imperial law to comport yourself according to the dictates of the High Court, outcaste exception laws notwithstanding.”
“I’m not breaking any laws if I cease to breathe, either.”
“Indeed. You see my point.”
She could barely see his point, and begrudged the comprehension.
“The very deliberate and complicated social structure of the High Court evolved, in part, for what reason?”
“Sanabalis—”
“I have done you the courtesy of holding our classes in abeyance. If, however, it is necessary, I will rescind that courtesy.”
“Those are magic lessons!”
“Indeed. But what one learns in one discipline can be applied to others in unpredictable ways; education is a process.” He folded his arms across his chest, and waited.
Sanabalis’s meeting room was littered with chairs; the walls contained shelves with glass doors, and a mirror lurked in one of them. Kaylin availed herself of a chair, sitting heavily as she did. Lowering her face into her hands, she forced herself to think about what she knew of the High Court; it didn’t take all that long.
“The Barrani tend to kill each other as an idle pastime.”
“So it’s been rumored.”
“Barrani crimes are all confined to the Barrani Caste Court. They don’t reach the Imperial Court, ever.”
“So the Barrani commit no interracial crimes?”
She snorted. “Of course they do. But if there’s any chance we’ll catch them and they’ll be forced to trial in the Imperial Courts, the criminals wind up conveniently and messily dead. And often on our doorstep, because gods know the Barrani have more important things to do than clean up their own mess.”
Sanabalis actually chuckled at that. “An interesting digression. The rest of your answer?”
“There is no court of last resort among the Barrani. There are no Hawks or Swords that any sane Barrani will use. The Barrani are part of the City, but the only way they seem to really interact involves commerce. If I were Barrani, I would therefore have to live and act as if anyone—anyone at all—could be planning to assassinate me. Or if anyone could decide it was necessary if I somehow offended them.
“I could, if I felt powerful enough and secure enough, afford to offend the less powerful with impunity. I’m not sure I’d consider it wise. But…on the other hand, I suppose if I did behave that way, it would give people second thoughts about attempting to take me down.”
“Does this sound familiar?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “It sounds like any other sort of thug law. But it’s got more money behind it.”
“Good. The way in which it is clothed is crucial to its execution, but it is, in essence, something you do understand. It does not require your approval; survival has often been its own imperative.”
“You’re trying to tell me that the same is true of the Dragon Court.”
“No. The Emperor is your Commander.”
“Then what was your point?”
“Lord Diarmat is not. He is, however, dangerous in precisely the same way the Barrani are dangerous. He is not above the law—but if he chooses to break the law, the Emperor may grant him dispensation if he feels such extremes were merited.”
“And total lack of respect—”
“For a Dragon of his stature? I leave you to draw your own conclusions.”
“I’m sworn to uphold his laws. Saying that you killed someone because they annoyed you isn’t codified as acceptable, by those laws, anywhere that I’m aware of.”
“You are clearly not looking carefully enough.” He let his arms drop to his sides. “How did the lesson go?”
“He didn’t attempt to teach anything. I thought I’d get a list of things that were no-go around the Emperor. You know: don’t burp, don’t swear, don’t scratch your armpit, don’t wear green.”
“Green?”
“Or whatever color he doesn’t like. I thought he’d give me a list of acceptable ways to address the Emperor. With, you know, titles, and gestures—how to salute, how far down to kneel, whether or not you ever get to stand on your feet in his presence.”
“And?”
“He made me stand in front of his desk for half an hour without saying a word while he wrote a letter to the Hawklord.”
“I…see. And you did?”
“I work for Marcus. When Marcus is ticked, you stand in front of his desk at attention for as long as it damn well takes. I can do it for hours. I’m not great at it, and I don’t enjoy it, but that’s never mattered much.”
Sanabalis said crisply, “Good.” He smiled, but it was slender, and there was a trace of edge in the expression. “After the half hour?”
“He handed me a bunch of papers. I assumed they’d be the class transcripts from the Halls, which every prospective teacher seems to pore over. Even you.”
“They were not.”
“No. They were—” She sucked in air and almost pushed herself out of her chair. Or his chair. “Reports.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “They displeased you.”
“No one’s pleased to find out that every single thing they’ve ever done has been spied on, Sanabalis.” She did push herself out of the chair then. “But the last report—or the last one I looked at—was the Foundling Hall report.”
Sanabalis’s inner membranes rose. “Your reaction?”
“I sat on my reaction,” she told him, pacing around the chair. “But…the bracer started to light up.”
The Dragon Lord lifted a hand. “You did not speak?”
“No.”
“Bad,” he told her grimly. “But it will have to do. The class was ended at that point?”
“More or less.”
“I will attempt to augment your lessons with some of the material you expected to be handed. I am busy,” he added more severely, “but I will take the time to compose a list. You will not, however, be short of work.”
“I’m working on the outside desk at the moment. You’ve got a way to get me back in the streets?” It was the only possible bright spot in a day that had left her with the nausea that comes in the aftermath of fury.
“So to speak. I, too, have a letter which I wish you to deliver to Lord Grammayre. I guarantee that its contents will differ somewhat radically from those of Lord Diarmat’s.”
Kaylin went home in the dark. Not that it was ever completely dark in Elantra, and certainly not close to the Palace, where magic had been used the same way stones had: it made the streets passable. Kaylin was all for useful magic; she usually felt that there wasn’t enough of it.
Severn wasn’t waiting outside for her, which was a good sign. It meant he trusted her to more or less survive a lesson with Diarmat intact. But she missed his company on the way home, because she was, in fact, still fighting fury, and it helped to have someone she could both shout at and