Cast in Blood (The Chronicles of Elantra #19)

01

Kaylin was late to work for the first time in weeks. Months, maybe. The intense betting pools about her time of arrival had

died down to a tiny trickle. Tanner raised a brow as she made her way up the stairs. Clearly they hadn’t completely gone away.

That was the expression of a man who was going to lose money.

“Lord Sanabalis is in the West Room,” he said.

Kaylin grimaced. “What day is it today?”

“Magic lesson day. Severn’s queued for your Elani beat after the lesson.” He paused, and then asked, “Midwives’ guild?”

She shook her head. There was no reason she’d slept in; no reason that she’d made her way past the breakfast table—against

Helen’s admonitions—and out the door half an hour late. It wasn’t Mrs. Erickson, who was awake, and in whose hands breakfast

prep now resided; it wasn’t the visiting gold Dragon.

Something felt off in her house, and Helen hadn’t seen fit to complain about whatever it was. Kaylin had even asked, once. Helen’s lack of answer

made clear that her instincts were right: something was wrong.

Terrano and Mandoran, often at the breakfast table, were notably absent, not that she’d intended to join them. She half suspected they were avoiding her. Neither of them was much good at keeping their thoughts to themselves.

If she had another day like this—or two, maybe—she’d have to ask more than once. She knew that if she demanded answers, Helen

would have to give them. But if she forced Helen to answer—if she pushed through the barrier of preference and choice—she’d

be damaging something important, and she might never be able to repair it.

She paused in the aerie—the towering atrium in which Aerian Hawks practiced their maneuvers. She had, in her earliest years

with the Hawks, loved it here. Here, where she could watch and daydream and even yearn at a great enough distance that nothing

she could do could break or destroy anything of beauty. She’d once believed that if she’d been born with wings, she’d have

freedom.

She knew better now, but some hint of those old dreams lingered.

Hope squawked loudly in her ear. She covered it reflexively.

Back then, she’d had no familiar. She’d had few friends. She’d had very little in the way of responsibility. But she’d had

the Marks of the Chosen, even then, and she could feel them almost vibrate.

That’s what was wrong. It was subtle; they weren’t glowing. But it almost felt as if they were jostling for position against her

skin, butting into each other, moving in a flat, unseen frenzy.

Ugh.

Hope bit her hand.

“Sorry. I just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

Squawk.

“Or the night before. Or the night before that. Okay?”

He huffed and deflated, returning to his shawl position across her shoulders.

“We all have days like this.” She wasn’t sure if she was arguing with a winged lizard or talking to herself. Probably both. But: she was late for the first time in a couple of months, and this time she didn’t have an excuse.

The general mood in the office made it clear that people had persisted in betting; not as many as before, when Kaylin’s time

of arrival had been far more flexible. But some were annoyed and some were cheerful.

“Are you coming down with something, dear?” Caitlin asked, as Kaylin drifted past her desk.

“I don’t get sick. You know that.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“I’m not coming down with anything that I’m aware of. No fever, no coughing, no chills, no anything.”

“And you haven’t been out drinking with the Barrani Hawks?”

“No.” Strictly speaking, this was mostly true. But she hadn’t gone out in the past week.

Caitlin had that mother hen expression Kaylin found so difficult. She liked what it meant. Caitlin was worried for her. Her

worry implied affection, even love of a kind. But she hated to be seen as a child that was in need of mothering. It hurt her

pride.

You are a child, the condescending voice of Ynpharion said, which didn’t help. It had been weeks since she’d last heard Ynpharion. They’d

been busy weeks, but still. The voice of this particular namebound didn’t make her day any brighter.

She managed not to snap at Caitlin, so gratitude won out—but it was awfully close.

Why are you even talking to me? Kaylin demanded, as she stomped toward the duty roster.

A loud growl diverted her. Right. Sanabalis was waiting in the West Room.

I have been asked to inform you that there might be some trouble in the near future.

What kind of trouble?

I am uncertain. The Lady asked that I reach out; she did not command it. Had she, Ynpharion would have had no choice. If Kaylin reluctantly knew his name—and she did—he had offered it—willingly—to

the Consort. It was the Consort he served; he was grateful to serve her. Whatever Kaylin had done to save his life paled in

comparison; he accepted it because it had allowed him to find the lord he truly wished to serve.

Ynpharion didn’t correct her; it was true. But it was also true that he avoided all contact with Kaylin where possible these

days. If the Consort thought there might be difficulty in the future, it was serious.

But her job was serious as well, and she was late to meet Sanabalis. The Arkon. The new Arkon. She had taken a distinct dislike

to the changing of names. People had had perfectly good names before, and now it was all up in the air, and Kaylin made mistakes constantly.

She’d gotten a bit better about it, but she imagined it’d take months until the new names became the normal ones.

The Arkon was sitting in a large chair at the otherwise empty conference table. His eyes, when he looked toward his tardy

student, were orange. To her surprise, there was no candle in front of him. Candles had been the implement of teaching torture

that he had previously employed.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were coming today.”

“I believe you were informed.”

“I’ve been a bit busy, and your lessons aren’t an emergency.”

The Arkon exhaled a small stream of smoke. “We have heard from Lannagaros; he believes you aided Lord Bellusdeo, with the

help of Mrs. Erickson.”

Kaylin nodded.

“Lord Bellusdeo’s situation is now extremely unusual, but she does seem to be far less prone to tantrums.”

“She isn’t prone to tantrums at all.” Kaylin pulled out a seat and took it, with very little grace.

“She wouldn’t throw them in your presence—you might not survive. If you disbelieve me, you must speak with Lord Emmerian.

After we have finished this class.”

“There’s no candle.”

“No. Unfortunately, this is not that kind of class. I have surrendered some of my authority as your teacher—as Arkon, I have

other duties that occupy too much of my time. It is a wonder to me that Lannagaros did not torch most of the collection in

the Imperial Library centuries ago. And before you defend him, I understand that to Lannagaros, they were the remnants of

his desire for the scholarship offered by the lost Academia.”

“I thought he took most of that with him?”

“You are incorrect. He felt that it would teach me needed patience to be forced to look after what remains of the collection.

From time to time, information from his various relics and artifacts has proven essential—but not in a reliable or dependable

way.”

Sanabalis—ugh, the Arkon—had never struck Kaylin as particularly impatient. Had the Dragon who replaced Lannagaros as Arkon

been Tiamaris, she might have agreed or at least found it less implausible.

“Your interference—your welcome interference—in Lord Bellusdeo’s difficulties made clear to us that your magic, as Chosen, is not strictly the talent-based

magic of Imperial mages.”

“Or Arcanists.”

“You’re a Hawk. That goes without saying.”

“Teela was an Arcanist.”

The Arkon’s eyes reddened.

Kaylin murmured apologies. Hope snickered.

“Your magic seems very tied to context and circumstance. It seems—from observation—to respond to your will and your need. It does not respond in predictable ways. But the few documents the palace has retained that concern the Chosen imply that this has always been the case. My attempts to teach you how to channel your magic have resulted in very little conscious, deliberate control.”

“Meaning?”

“I have been attempting to teach you mathematics. I should instead have been attempting to teach you art.”

Kaylin blinked. She didn’t hate math. At least there were right and wrong answers. She knew when she’d made a mistake. She

knew when she hadn’t.

Art wasn’t something taught in the Halls of Law.

“I have therefore arranged supplementary lessons. Before you ask, no. I am not an art teacher. Creativity is about expression.”

“Then . . . why are you here?”

Sanabalis smiled. With teeth in it. “Rumors have reached the ears of the Emperor.” He fell silent.

“Does this have something to do with the dead?” Kaylin finally asked, when Sanabalis failed to speak.

“Possibly the future dead,” he replied. “Although it is not clear, given my brief interactions with Mrs. Erickson, that the

Barrani leave ghosts in their wake.”

Kaylin winced. “This is about the High Court?”

“There has been movement there that might become cause for concern. Our informants are not highly placed at the moment, for

obvious reasons. In normal circumstances, we would ignore any difficulties from that quarter, unless the High Lord intended

to foment open rebellion and war.”

Kaylin nodded.

“You are aware—of course you are—of the changes in the High Halls the most powerful of the Barrani call home.”

She nodded again.

“The changes have caused some social unrest. Those who might once have perished when they underwent the Test of Name do not

perish now. The Lords of the High Court were once designated as such by the simple expedient of their survival. Now that is

not the case. While some fail to pass that test—or so we have been informed—many have not. The number of Lords of the High

Court has grown.”

Kaylin shrugged. “They can’t have as many as the human caste court.”