Cast in Honor (Chronicles of Elantra, #11)(15)

“Won’t you come in?” Kattea invited. “And sit?”

This was so clearly not what Gilbert intended that Kaylin wanted to laugh. She suppressed the urge as the small dragon returned to her shoulder, where he drew breath and squawked, this time loudly. He appeared to be talking to Bellusdeo. The Dragon’s brows rose, but her eyes didn’t get any redder, which was a small mercy. Before she could reply, the small dragon swiveled to face Gilbert and screeched at him, as well.

“I think he’s talking,” Kattea said. To Kaylin, she added, “Can you understand him?”

“Not really.”

“Me, neither.” She turned to Gilbert, clearly hoping that he could. “What did he say to you?”

“He said ‘hello.’”

Kattea looked dubious. “All that was ‘hello’?”

“Hello, in the old country, is long and involved,” Gilbert replied. “It involves a statement of intent, a statement of limitations and a statement of the rules the guest is offering to follow.”

“That’s not hello, Gilbert.”

“Not in Elantra, no.”

“What did he say to the lady?”

Gilbert hesitated.

Kattea, showing the patience of ten-year-olds everywhere, turned immediately to Bellusdeo. She started to repeat her question, stopped and asked, “Why are your eyes red? Have you been crying?”

“No,” the Dragon replied.

“What did he say to you?”

“He said that Gilbert is not, at the moment, my enemy, and reminds me that my people are not all of one mind, and in like fashion, Gilbert may not be what I have...come to expect.”

“So...not hello.”

“No.” She exhaled, her eyes shading ever-so-slightly toward orange. “The small creature had better be right.” She exhaled again, which was a good trick, because Kaylin would have bet she hadn’t inhaled in between. “I apologize for my poor temper, Kattea. Your manners have been much better than mine. We would be delighted to accept your offer of hospitality.”

*

Kattea was a bustling whirlwind of energy and concentration for the next twenty minutes. The house was modest in size and it was clear that they had no servants—and that Kattea did not mind, or even recognize, the absence. She chattered politely but enthusiastically, she beamed and she reproached Gilbert for his heavy silence—without once sounding anything less than familial.

For his part, Gilbert was stiff as dry wood and about as expressive. He laid his arms on the armrest of his large, curve-backed chair and left them there as if he was clinging to it for dear life.

The small dragon sat on Kaylin’s shoulder, perched as if to lunge. Bellusdeo sat to Kaylin’s right, with about as much warmth and friendliness as Gilbert himself showed. In that, she was more extreme than either Teela or Tain; the Barrani had made an art of friendly, polite, charming death.

Kaylin wondered, as Kattea brought both water and wine, where she’d learned to entertain guests. Perhaps she had a mother who was also out of the house. Kaylin hesitated to ask; she found answering the question hard to handle gracefully herself, and she was no longer a child.

Everyone present, however, was aware that Kattea was a child, and one who clearly looked up to Gilbert. Gilbert had again asked that Kattea go to her room, but Kattea ignored the request. After it was gently made a third time, Gilbert surrendered.

“So,” Kattea began brightly as she sat down in front of a tray of breads and baked biscuits, her own glass full of water instead of the darker wine, “what are you investigating?”

Teela said, without preamble, “A murder.”

Years ago, that might have shocked Kaylin. The Barrani concept of “child” was not the mortal one. Bellusdeo, however, frowned at Teela. She said nothing, but said it neatly and loudly.

The child’s eyes widened. “A murder?” Her voice squeaked with, sadly, excitement, and Kaylin revised her approximate age down. “Where?”

“Across the street,” Teela replied. “We’re not actually supposed to talk much about the investigation to anyone but Hawks.”

The girl nodded, as if this made sense to her. She looked up at Gilbert and then away. Interesting.

“Why are you here, though?” she asked.

Gilbert said, at almost the same time, “Kattea, I really feel you should go to your room.”

“I didn’t like them,” Kattea said, instead of leaving. “The neighbors, I mean.”

“Kattea.”

“I think,” Teela said, “you should listen to Gilbert.”

Kattea immediately turned to Kaylin, as if seeking solidarity with the human woman present. “Why do you think we know anything about it?” The question seemed both honest and straightforward.

“We don’t necessarily assume that you do,” Kaylin replied, choosing her words with care. “But we normally try to talk to the neighbors; they might have seen or heard something unusual that would give us leads.”

“Leads?”

Ugh. “Information that might help us find the killers.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” she offered. “Gilbert, did you?”

“No,” he replied.

“Gilbert doesn’t sleep, you know. He doesn’t need sleep.” This was spoken to Kaylin, but of course everyone else in the room heard it, as well. Kaylin almost told the girl to be quiet—for her own sake, not for Gilbert’s. If, in the end, it was necessary to arrest Gilbert, it would also probably be necessary to kill or destroy him—and Kattea would discover, sooner or later, that her naive comments had somehow helped to betray him.