Cast in Flame. Michelle Sagara
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“Hey! I mean it!”
The small dragon flew to the Leontine who seemed to be standing in a quiet daze. Kaylin sucked in air and ran after him. A docile Leontine, while a bit surprising, wasn’t going to be a difficulty. An awake, aware, and possibly angry Leontine was more than she could handle.
Teela joined Kaylin. Kaylin wanted free of Severn’s chain, because it was bloody awkward to move at any speed while it was attached to his weapons.
“Do you have any idea what your small creature is doing?”
“About as much as I ever have. At least this time he’s not insulting a water Dragon.” Kaylin had never seen the small creature take an injury. She didn’t want to start now, but he was well ahead of Teela, and as Teela approached the Leontine, she slowed. Barrani against Leontine wasn’t a sure thing.
Without a lot of preparation, human against Leontine was, and not in the favor of the human.
“Can you stop him?” Teela asked.
“Probably not. Why?”
“I’m uncertain that this is likely to have a calming effect on Annarion.”
“What would?”
“At this point? Very little. If Calarnenne was a more accomplished liar, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Liar?”
“Annarion is disappointed in his brother. Disappointment—even betrayal—is something we all encounter as we gain experience; we learn that our hopes and our beliefs are not always based in fact. Usually, we’re changing at the same time; we encounter ways in which our beliefs in ourselves are tested and found wanting. Annarion’s and Mandoran’s weren’t tested, in their youth.” She frowned. “Mandoran doesn’t approve of his place in this discussion.”
“Why?”
“He considers Annarion fecklessly idealistic; he feels a set down has been a long time coming, and is well deserved.”
“Could he keep that to himself until we’ve worked out where Annarion—or his brother for that matter—is?”
“You’ve met Mandoran. What do you think?”
Kaylin’s jaw ached, she was grinding her teeth so hard. “Why exactly did you miss these people?”
Teela laughed. “Probably because they’re like this,” she said, her eyes losing some of the saturation of blue. “I’m not ready to lose any of them again. Not yet.”
* * *
The small dragon reached the Leontine, and alighted on his left shoulder. He’d never done that to Marcus, and Kaylin was pretty certain he wouldn’t; Marcus had trigger reflexes, and things flying at his face—or his neck—were likely to set them off. Kaylin wasn’t certain if the glow that illuminated the Leontine’s face was the dragon’s or the rune’s, but his perfect fur reflected it; he was much richer in color than Marcus, and his ears didn’t have the small scars that Marcus’s did. The brunt of his entirely exposed fur was gold, but the light from the mark-lamp implied red highlights, like sunset or sunrise across a field of wheat.
His face was longer, his cheekbones more prominent; he apparently didn’t have the bulk that caused Marcus to tower over his subordinates, even when he was seated. His eyes were Leontine eyes; at the moment, they were a peculiar shade of gray. Kaylin rifled through her very inadequate memory; she’d seen gray only a handful of times in her life, and never when things were going well.
She thought gray meant sorrow.
Speaking Leontine wasn’t easy; if she had to do it for any length of time, it wrecked her voice. Only in Marcus’s pridlea did she give up on rolling r’s and the growling tone that was half the conversation; she didn’t care if his children thought she was a pathetic, mewling kitten.
Teela came to a full stop as the color of the Leontine’s eyes became clear. Kaylin continued to walk, Severn attached by a slender chain at her waist. She held out both of her hands, palms up, fingers toward the ceiling to indicate sheathed claws. Not that she had claws.
He stared at her, his dull gray eyes at odds with the rich color of fur and the gleam of perfect, ivory fangs.
“I am Kaylin ni Kayala.”
He blinked; his eyes narrowed. Kaylin noted that small and squawky still held the word in his jaws; he hadn’t dropped it on the Leontine’s forehead, and it hadn’t disappeared. If he was using it just for the light it shed, she’d have words with him later.
“You cannot be kin,” he finally said. “You are human.”
Since human more or less meant hairless, mewling kitten, Kaylin nodded. “Kayala is our myrryn. Marcus is our leader. I have shared meat at their hearth-fire; I have protected the kittens. I have fought for my leader’s survival. I wasn’t born to the pridlea, but I am of it.” She inserted all the appropriate sounds.
“Why are you here?” he asked. As he looked around the dimly lit room, his eyes turned down at the corners. “Where is Calarnenne?”
“He is at the heart of his castle,” Kaylin replied, taking the same care to add all appropriate r’s and sibilants. “His pride-kin has returned after a long absence.”
The Leontine’s eyes widened, which Kaylin had not expected. “His brother?” he said, using the Barrani word.
She nodded, and added, “Annarion. He has not eaten at his pride-kin’s hearth for hundreds of years. He finds the hearth fires hot.”
“He is home,” the Leontine replied. He closed his eyes. Opened them. They were now a shade of gold. “Calarnenne does not sing to his brother.”
Kaylin blinked. “Does he sing to you?” Leontines were not notable for the quality of their lullabies.
“Yes, when he is restless. Have you heard him sing?”
“Once or twice. Mostly in the middle of battle.”
“You have seen him fight? You have stood by his side?” The way the last question was asked implied that it was an undreamed of privilege. Kaylin revised her estimate of his age down. He looked, in stature, to be fully adult.
“Yes,” she replied, because technically it was true.
“Do you travel to his side, now?”
“Yes.” The fact that arriving there wasn’t a certainty was unnecessary information.
“Will you take me with you?”
Kaylin faltered at the desperate hope in his eyes. And the fear, which was an edge of orange. When she failed to answer, he reached for her, grabbing both of her hands with greater than usual Leontine force.
“He woke me,” the Leontine continued. “He must have intended to be with me.” As if he were a child.
“Does he wake you often?” Kaylin asked, stalling. She could no more drag this Leontine into the wilds of Castle Nightshade than one of Marcus’s own children.
“He wakes me when he can spend time with me,” was the unadorned reply. “But he is not with me now. You are mortal.”
She nodded.
“As am I. I will wither and die if I am left to live on my own. This,” he continued, releasing her hands to trace an arc in the air that took in the whole of the chamber, “is my eternity, as promised.”
“You spend most of it as a statue,” she replied, before she could bite back the words.
He nodded, as if she’d just said water was wet. “How else can we live forever? We cannot live without aging. Age leads to death. If we wake only when he is with us, we are his forever.”
This was so not one of Kaylin’s life goals.
“He