02
She hadn’t heard from Nightshade in almost a month. Helen kept the namebond contact out of the house, because she didn’t completely
trust the fieflord. But Helen let him into the house, in person, whenever he wanted to visit Annarion. If she didn’t entirely
trust him, she didn’t entirely distrust him, either. Kaylin, sprinting all out, didn’t disagree.
Ynpharion’s warning, Sanabalis’s information, and her own sense of restless anxiety had come together in a visceral near certainty.
That and her bleeding cheek. Severn kept pace with her; they could run without break through a quarter of the city, but not
at an all-out sprint. Gaining the bridge across the Ablayne required slowing to a quick jog.
They were wearing the Hawks’ tabard. The guards situated on the fief side of the bridge frowned but made no attempt to stop
them. They jogged across the bridge, into Tiamaris proper. The Dragon had made significant changes to the fief he ruled in
the short time he’d captained the Tower; it now felt like a poorer district within Elantra. Not the warrens, but a place that
was slowly struggling its way out of that almost lawless state.
She hit the fief side of the bridge and shouted. “Tara!” She then continued to jog.
She wasn’t surprised to see the shadow of a Dragon’s descent before she’d reached the streets that formed part of the Tiamaris-Nightshade border.
“This had better be an emergency,” the Dragon fieflord said, his orange-red eyes the size of Kaylin’s face.
“I need to get to Nightshade.”
“That fief is not under my jurisdiction.”
“No—it’s Nightshade’s. At least for now.”
“Your cheek is bleeding.” He exhaled a stream of smoke; that was his only pause. “Very well. Get on. If this causes diplomatic
issues, the Halls of Law will hear about it. Tara is concerned,” he added, which explained the speed of his appearance. Kaylin
had expected that. He lowered himself to ground so Kaylin could scrabble up his side.
Severn leaped up onto Tiamaris’s back, behind Kaylin; they both braced themselves as the Dragon launched his bulk into the
sky. The city shrunk beneath Tiamaris, but not too much; he flew as close to the ground as the aerial demands of flight permitted.
“Where?” he asked.
“I don’t know—I just know something’s wrong!”
“Do you know where he was?”
“I just said—” She stopped. “He didn’t answer. When I reached out, he didn’t answer at all. It’s namebond stuff. I don’t always
understand it.”
“Clearly.” The word was more felt than heard; Tiamaris vibrated with the sound of his own voice. “You can, however, find him
if he still lives.”
She felt the hair on her arms rise in a ripple of goose bumps and sensitivity. Tiamaris, in draconic form, was casting a spell—a
traditional one, in Sanabalis’s terms. Severn snaked an arm around her waist as she closed her eyes; she wasn’t certain which
came first.
Nightshade.
Silence.
Tell us where you are. We’re coming on dragonback.
Silence.
She’d been told she would know if he was dead. No one whose name she held had died—not yet.
Ynpharion said, So, it starts. And it ends.
If you can find it in yourself, be helpful or shut up.
The Consort believes he was traveling to see his brother.
Why? She cursed. Never mind. Not important. It wasn’t. How the Consort knew could wait. Nightshade himself couldn’t. She inhaled, exhaling slowly as wind whipped strands
of hair from her face.
If it was true that she’d know if Nightshade was dead, he wasn’t. Not yet. But Ynpharion believed she could find him. Somehow.
It had been a long time since she’d been the one to initiate contact with the fieflord. He, like Ynpharion, was aware of where
she was or what she was doing—or he could be.
But he hadn’t reached out either, and if she were honest, she was comfortable with that. She wasn’t comfortable with his death.
Didn’t examine the why of that. Instead, she listened as she tried to find Nightshade through a namebond she didn’t really
understand.
But Ynpharion, curse him, was right. She could sense something, a flicker of light she could almost see, although her eyes were closed.
“We need to cross the border,” she told Tiamaris. The familiar painful tingle of magic made her arms highly sensitive to the
cloth that was rubbing against them. “Can you stop that?” she asked, trying—and failing—to sound less annoyed.
“Stop what?”
“The spell. Whatever you’re casting, stop.”
Silence.
Kaylin frowned. “It wasn’t you who cast the spell, was it?”
“No. I will have to have a word with the Arkon if you can even ask that question.”
Kaylin was at a loss for words. This level of magic, at a distance she couldn’t even see, was the equivalent of an Arcane bomb. A very big one.
But the buildings beneath Tiamaris’s massive wingspan hadn’t been destroyed, and a bomb that felt this large at this distance
could level part of a city block. Maybe the border buildings were different. Or maybe there was no Arcane bomb.
Nightshade couldn’t have been in Castle Nightshade; the Tower’s defenses were ferocious. Even if an invited guest had tried
to harm or kill him, the Tower would have prevented it. She didn’t think he could be in the streets of his fief, although
there, assassination stood a better chance.
If what had threatened him had come from Ravellon, the Tower’s defenses would aid him within the boundaries of the fief itself. But what if the threat wasn’t Shadow? How useful
could the Tower be?
She felt certain that he was in the border zone. She didn’t bother to put that into words. Tiamaris was already flying there.
“Have Shadows been more active recently?” Kaylin shouted in what she hoped was the direction of draconic ears.
“Not notably. Some of the Norranir remain at our borders; most have migrated to the fief of Bellusdeo. They are very, very
sensitive to incursion; no alarm has been raised. Do you fear Shadow has managed to infiltrate Nightshade?”
Did she? Or was she just hoping? And if she was hoping it was Shadow, what in the hells was wrong with her?
The border zone emerged beneath Tiamaris’s wings. She wanted to tell the Dragon to fly lower, to fly more slowly. The latter
he could do, but not without circling, and that felt like almost no movement at all. But as he wheeled, as he came closer
to the ground, as his shadow darkened buildings, she felt the painful slap of magic grow stronger.
She shouted directions.
“She means the other left,” Severn said, raising his voice. “There—the building on the very edge of the border zone from the Nightshade side. You can see the smoke rising from it.”
“I do not have permission to land within the fief itself.”
Kaylin almost shrieked in frustration—and pain.
“Set us down at the edge of the border!”
“Where the bodies are,” Severn added. He didn’t seem to be shouting—Kaylin certainly was—but his voice carried.
Tiamaris offered no further argument; he landed.
Severn had been right. There were bodies. Some were missing limbs, some missing heads—although the heads, detached at the
neck, weren’t far away. Not all of them were dead, but most were dying. They were armed and armored in a style consistent
with the High Halls, the High Court—and its many members.
They are, Ynpharion said. His focus was so intent, she could almost feel it and pushed him back. They are not Nightshade’s people.
They aren’t anyone’s people anymore, she snapped. She didn’t understand how she hadn’t seen this from Tiamaris’s back.
Magic, Severn said.
But you could see it?
I cheated. Be careful.
She nodded, waiting beside the Dragon until Severn had fully dismounted. She waited until he was armed. He’d pulled the twin
blades of his most significant weapon but hadn’t unwound the chain.
Kaylin had long knives, and she drew one. She then glanced at Tiamaris.
The Dragon glinted red as he nodded. He didn’t return to the air or his own fief, but he didn’t cross the almost invisible
line that marked the edge of the border zone, either. Then again, his breath had range. Kaylin’s daggers—or Severn’s weapon—lacked
that.
Together, the two Hawks walked toward the building Severn had indicated from the air.
One wall was a blackened mess; stones—for it was a stone building—had cracked and fallen, both outward and inward.
She passed over headless bodies, choosing a path that wasn’t littered with the dying.
Dying Barrani could still take out two human Hawks if that was their intent.
She counted twelve bodies. She wanted to sprint ahead, but training overtook impulse. Ynpharion, what’s the smallest unit of a Barrani war band? What are the numbers?
Between twelve and fifteen, historically.
Twelve to fifteen. She counted twelve and glanced at Severn.
“It’s a war band,” he said, hearing the question she hadn’t put into words. Maybe hearing the question that followed—how do you know this?—but ignoring it for now.
Barrani played games of politics—their polite word for assassination—but this was different. There was no subtlety in it.
Someone had sent a war band into Nightshade.
They could not afford subtlety if they intended to remove Nightshade, Ynpharion said. His interior tone had sharpened, not in his usual condescension, but almost in earnest.
Do you recognize any of the dead?
No.
Does the Consort?
She is our Lady. This meant yes. Ynpharion’s next question made clear that the Consort was far less concerned with the war band. Can you sense Nightshade?
Kaylin frowned. I’m not certain. I think—I think he’s in the ruins of that building. It would be a better place to deal with greater numbers
of assailants, but a worse place to use his sword—it’s too large, and buildings this size weren’t meant for all-out combat.
Not that way.
The sword, Ynpharion said in the same urgent tone, was not the only reason he was feared.
Severn tapped her shoulder, as if aware of her ongoing conversation with Ynpharion. He probably was. I want to enter the building first—I have some protection against magic.