21
Severn was as good as his word, but he always was.
By the time Kaylin had finished drafting her letter, Severn was at the door. He was dressed for work, which meant he’d come
from the Halls of Law.
Kaylin wore her regular street clothing, grateful that she could just bundle her hair up and push a stick through it. Barrani
clothing was much simpler than it looked. Barrani hair, which in theory never tangled or died at the ends, wasn’t. She did
wish she could just wear the boots Teela had given her, though.
Sedarias, predictably, was having a fit—but she was having a fit in her own rooms. Terrano’s expression made clear that she
wasn’t happy with the letter, the courier, or the attire that courier chose to wear.
She’s not wrong; if you were Barrani, this would be a disaster. But she considers you part of her home, if not part of her
cohort; you’re entangled in everything.
So . . . I’m making her look bad?
Severn chuckled. She’s a bit of a solipsist; the world revolves around Sedarias. Mostly in a bad way. If it were Teela, I might be more supportive.
I’m surprised she’s not here.
Kaylin exhaled. “Does Teela intend to meet us there?”
“I am uncertain.” Which wasn’t a no. “There’s only one way to find out.”
What, exactly, are you doing? Ynpharion demanded the minute Kaylin cleared Helen’s property line.
Delivering a letter to the High Halls.
To whom?
Kaylin really wanted to be able to just shut him out. To a servant I met in the High Halls. She’s from the West March, and she hasn’t been here long. She knew he’d take Yvonne’s appearance—and name—from her and regretted coming in person. But she had to leave her house sometime.
Teela clearly intended to meet them at the High Halls; she’d arrived before them and was waiting, with her usual patience,
at the height of the impressive stairs. She was, however, dressed as a Hawk, not a Lord of the High Court. Terrano, invisible,
whistled. “Sedarias is not going to be happy with this.”
“Did Teela tell her?” Kaylin whispered as they walked—in patrol style—down the road that led to the intimidating entrance
of the High Halls.
“No—but I wouldn’t have dressed as a Hawk, myself.”
“Given how little you’re actually seen, it’s a wonder you bother with clothing at all.”
He snickered. “Sedarias insists. Something something something dignity.”
“Were any of those somethings useful words?”
“You’d probably think so. I’m going to spend time with Abel, not you guys.”
“Does Abel know this?”
“I have a standing invitation. It’s sort of like the Academia.”
Terrano didn’t have a standing invitation to visit the Academia; he’d achieved tired resignation.
The former Arkon chose to accept what couldn’t be changed without either immense effort or bloodshed.
Killian wouldn’t kill Terrano; he’d divert his meager power into kicking the cohort member out—and at the moment, while Killian was rebuilding his power after his long, long hibernation, he had better things to worry about.
Kaylin thought Killian was actually fond of Terrano. And given what she’d seen of Bellusdeo and her sisters, she suspected
the groundwork for the former Arkon’s sense of resignation had been laid when Bellusdeo was a child under his care.
Teela’s choice of clothing matched Kaylin’s and Severn’s, and because it did, it was Teela who drew all eyes. Fear was mixed
with anger in hostile Barrani gazes; in some, anger and amusement blended—from a safe distance. Kaylin knew the Barrani didn’t
make friends the normal way but wondered if Teela had ever had any friends in the High Halls. Allies, maybe—but those allies
would stay well away from someone who wore the effective equivalent of Imperial colors.
That’s what the Hawks’ tabard was. She understood. She’d worn the tabard with dogged pride for all her adult life. She knew
the Halls of Law weren’t perfect—but it couldn’t be. Officers were people. People who’d gone out drinking far too late. People
who spent the morning arguing with their mother. Or burying her. Or fighting with their spouse. Or taking as much care of
sick children as working hours allowed.
In order for the Halls of Law to be perfect, people would have to be perfect.
People weren’t perfect.
It was Caitlin who had taken the adolescent Kaylin aside. You make mistakes—but Kaylin, we all make mistakes. The biggest mistake people can make, and I’ve seen it a regrettable number
of times, is assuming that if you can’t be perfect, there’s no point in trying to be better.
Caitlin had made hot chocolate for her; she’d been much younger, or felt like she’d been much younger. In Teela’s eyes, Kaylin
was practically the same person she’d been back then, but Teela was Immortal.
We try. Good and perfect aren’t the same. But give up on good, and what you have is the fief of your childhood.
That didn’t help the people who fell between the cracks. It didn’t help the people who were neglected and abandoned.
It’s hard work to care. It’s hard work to be here, wearing the tabard, and dealing with the people who gave up on good, on
helping anyone but themselves, a long time ago. It’s too easy to feel that there’s no good at all. Think about it this way:
one life. One life at a time. If you reach out to one person, if you help one person, you’re making a difference.
That single person might have been you. You can’t save everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t save anyone.
She shook her head. As Kaylin entered the High Halls between the height of intimidating pillars, she took a deep breath. The
Barrani clothing, styled and created to make a statement, had been far more comfortable than it looked. Maybe that’s just
what power was like: more comfortable than it looked from the outside.
But the clothing she wore now was the clothing she’d chosen. It was the job she’d dedicated her working life to doing. It
wrinkled. It stained. It tore. Buttons needed to be replaced.
The Halls of Law hadn’t sent her here, but the visit wasn’t purely personal. The Barrani were part of the Empire, even if
most of the lords loathed acknowledging that citizenship. They were bound by the rules that governed the Emperor’s hoard.
She straightened her shoulders. She knew Teela was wearing her uniform to catch attention, to tweak the noses of the powerful.
But Teela was, and had always been, a good Hawk. If she’d taken the job out of boredom or petty malice, she did the job. She’d
taught Kaylin much of it.
Maybe that’s the reason the Barrani Lords hated the Hawk when Teela wore it. Because she did the job. The mortal Hawks were
beneath their notice; they only paid attention to mortal Hawks because killing a mortal Hawk meant laws of exemption could
never be invoked, mortals not being Barrani.
Teela didn’t speak a word. She did nod to any Barrani close enough to see it—and Barrani had good eyesight.
The only time she spoke was after she’d drawn her sword.
Teela wore the tabard today, but she hadn’t armed herself for beat work.
Kariannos seemed brighter in the light of the High Halls; the light glinting off the flat of the blade made the entire blade look almost
white.
“I don’t advise that you try,” Teela said. “If you injure me at the behest of your lord, understand that it merely means you
are disposable; unless you kill me, I will never allow the laws of exemption to be invoked. You and your family will be considered
possible criminals by the Halls of Law, and you will be investigated to the full extent of our abilities.”
Kaylin had no idea who Teela was threatening.
Hope sighed theatrically and lifted a wing to her right eye.
Oh. Invisible Barrani.
It happens all the time in the High Halls, Severn said. He hadn’t drawn his weapons, even absent the chain. He wasn’t worried. It’s almost a form of greeting. An’Tellarus once welcomed me in exactly this fashion.
You can see them. Without Hope’s wing.
Severn didn’t answer. But he didn’t expect the invisible people—there were four—to attack Teela. Teela did them the courtesy
of drawing her sword, but Kaylin saw from their expressions, and from the blue of Teela’s eyes, that she didn’t consider them
a credible threat. They were Barrani. They had to see that as well.
They stepped back.
“Don’t worry,” Terrano’s voice said. “It’s the normal variant of invisibility. I’ve been keeping an eye out for the other
kind. But I think Abel understands enough of it to close off that avenue if necessary.”
Kaylin couldn’t see Terrano through Hope’s wing. She sometimes could when he chose to become invisible, but that was probably because the plane to which he’d mostly moved was so close to her own.
“Abel thought it’d be safer if I kept an eye out for you while you were in the High Halls.”
Abel wasn’t present.
“He’s with the Consort. When he’s with the Consort, most of his attention is focused on her, or her immediate surroundings.
It shouldn’t take long to deliver a letter—but we’re not going to the Tellarus rooms. Yvonne doesn’t live in them officially.”
“Wait—we’re going to a wing of the High Halls that belongs to a lord we haven’t met and aren’t involved with?”
“Didn’t Teela tell you? If it helps, Yvonne spends most of her time serving An’Tellarus—but you spend most of your waking
time in the Halls of Law. While we could deliver a personal message to the Halls of Law and expect you to get it, it’s not
reliable.”
“How do you know where she spends most of her time?”
She could almost hear the shrug she couldn’t see in his tone. “I asked Abel. What? You know I’m lazy.”
“And he answered.”
“It’s not about politics—I mean, not yet. But I suspect he thinks Yvonne might become important, and he doesn’t want her co-opted
or killed. He knows we don’t mean her any harm, and he even believes that when push comes to shove—and I really don’t get
that phrase at all—we’ll keep her as safe as we can.”