Cast in Silence. Michelle Sagara
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Private, my time is of significant value, at least according to the bureaucrats who charge the Hawks for these lessons. I expect, when you are in class—which would be anywhere that I happen to be delivering a lesson—you will be awake and aware. Is that clear?”
She got to her feet. “You’ve spent too much time around Marcus,” she told him, rubbing her elbows where they’d hit carpet a little too hard.
“I’ve spent too much time around students,” he replied. His eyes were mostly gold; he wasn’t actually on the edge of angry. “At my age, I should be living in graceful retirement.”
She took her chair again, after righting it, and sat down.
He hit the table with the flat of both his palms. The table was hardwood, and even axes had problems denting it. But the whole damn thing moved about three inches.
“Sanabalis—”
“I had hoped that on our first day back in class we would at least be able to pick up where we left off. It appears that I was, as is often the case with students, wildly optimistic. What, exactly, is troubling you?”
“Nothing,” she said, sharply and a little too quickly. That brought the orange highlights to his draconian eyes. She swallowed, trying to decide whether getting out of the chair would annoy him more than staying put.
“You are making Lord Tiamaris look like a model student,” he told her, in a clipped and slightly chilly tone of voice.
That was a new one. Tiamaris was the youngest member of the Dragon Court, and as far as Kaylin could tell, he was about as stiff, formal, and tradition-bound as its older members. A flicker of curiosity wedged itself into the grim worry that had been the start of the day. “He was this frustrating?”
For some reason, the question lessened the intensity of the orange streaks in Dragon irises. Dragons were never going to be something Kaylin understood.
“He was possibly—just possibly—worse.” But Sanabalis’s shoulders slid into their normal curved bend. “He seldom came to my rooms this distracted.”
“Sorry.”
He raised a white brow. “I had hoped to have this session well underway before I interrupted it with matters that might prove even more of a distraction. I see I was entirely too hopeful. Yesterday, during your normal rounds, you visited Evanton on Elani Street.”
She nodded. She didn’t ask why he asked because she had a very strong suspicion she didn’t actually want the answer. Some days, the universe gave you everything you didn’t want.
“Apparently you were called into the…store.”
Kaylin nodded again. She knew, now, where this was going. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Evanton wanted to speak to me for a bit.”
“For well in excess of an hour.”
She grimaced. “I wasn’t exactly counting minutes, Sanabalis.”
“No. I imagine that’s not one of your accomplishments. I will, however, point out that you were on duty at that time.”
“And?”
“And you failed to file a report.”
Honestly, the day could hardly get any worse.
“Sanabalis—”
He raised a hand. “A report, however, is not entirely necessary. I was making an attempt to be humorous,” he added gravely. “But your presence, and the length of your visit, was noted.
“As,” he added, in a softer tone, “was the state of your clothing when you left the premises—carrying your boots.”
“They were wet.”
“And, apparently, muddy.” His eyes were a clear gold, which was made brighter when he lowered his inner membranes. “Kaylin, what happened? It is seldom that someone the Keeper apparently considers safe enough to allow into his domain emerges in that condition. I was personally asked by the Emperor, in case you think this is idle curiosity, to inquire.”
Which was his way of saying she couldn’t weasel out of an answer.
“The elements are, apparently, upset,” she finally said. “Which is where the water and the mud came from. The wind helped,” she added. “For a value of help that made me look like a sodden cat.”
He became very still, and she wished—not for the first time—that she had locks on her mouth, and that someone who had more wisdom kept the keys. “Sanabalis, please. I am not supposed to talk about this.”
“I highly doubt,” the Dragon Lord replied, “that Evanton expects you to keep silent in the face of Imperial dictate.”
“You clearly don’t know Evanton.” She glanced at the table, and then at the Dragon sitting behind it. “You should,” she told him, surrendering. “I think you’d get along just fine. If you didn’t kill each other on sight on a bad day.” She rose. “The elemental garden wasn’t much of a garden; it was a storm, but worse.
“But Evanton said—and I do not argue with him when he’s in a mood—that the elements do this when they’re trying to communicate.”
Sanabalis raised a brow. She actually liked that expression on most days. Today was not one of them. “You’re not going to like it,” she told him, in a quieter voice.
“I’d guessed that.”
“And I was going to tell you.”
The brow rose farther; it hadn’t actually come down.
“Well, before other things came up.”
“I’m sure they were vitally important,” he said, in a very dry tone. Since he could breathe fire, that type of dry usually showed up when he was just on the edge of annoyance. She’d never, thank the gods, seen him angry.
“Something is happening somewhere close by.” She hesitated again. “The elements were trying to write a—a word. Evanton showed me what it was. I couldn’t see a damn thing in the storm. I could barely see my own feet.”
“You recognized the word.” It wasn’t a question.
“I didn’t—” She glanced at the slightly copper tint to his eyes. “It’s not as simple as that. I didn’t recognize it because I’d seen it before, if that’s what you mean. I— It felt familiar.”
“Was it in a living language?”
He was such a smart old bastard. “No.”
“Was it similar, in style, to the marks on your arms?”
“Not—” she glanced at her sleeves “—not exactly.”
“Kaylin, do not force me to strangle you.”
“I’m trying to answer the question—”
“You are trying to answer the question without actually saying all of what you know. If you are going to do that, learn from your Corporal. It is actively painful to watch you flail, and the attempt is—I assume unintentionally—insulting. Because you are young and demonstrably ignorant, I am exercising patience, but my patience, while vast, does have limits.”
She tried not to grind her teeth. “It’s not a rune I recognize. I don’t think it’s written on me, but I admit I haven’t actually looked at the back of my neck in records recently. But it felt familiar anyway.” He said nothing. He didn’t move a muscle. Not even the corner of his mouth twitched.
“It felt like…Ravellon.”
Sometimes, he pretended to be old. It was only very, very rarely that he actually looked it. He did, now.
“The Keeper was aware of this?”
“No. And he looked about as happy at the mention of the