Cast in Honor (Chronicles of Elantra, #11)(29)

“Yes. Mine happens to be on the line, as well.”

“He’s aware of that. You’ve slept by his hearth, kitling. You are not his child—but you might as well be. He is never going to trust the Dragons; having Bellusdeo hanging around the office gets under his skin. Having Bellusdeo in the office and outside of his jurisdiction is actively annoying. Having you responsible for her when the Dragon Court doesn’t appear to exercise much control makes him angry.”

“This has nothing to do with Moran.”

“No. Before you give me the side-eye, I’m not entirely familiar with Moran’s circumstances. I admit that I was surprised when I first met her, but she’s sergeant material—and Hawk material—through and through.”

“Tell me why you were surprised.”

Teela hedged. “You know that you are not sent on sensitive investigations.” Sensitive being code for crimes involving the rich and the powerful. “You are left out of investigations of the Caste Courts.”

Kaylin missed a step. “Please tell me Moran isn’t part of the Aerian Caste Court.”

“I know very, very little about the Aerian Caste Court,” Teela replied. This was not an answer, and they both knew it. “But Moran is the daughter of an influential flight. She is the daughter of possibly the influential flight. I don’t know her reasons for joining the Hawks. To be fair, she doesn’t know mine, either. The Hawks are, in theory, not politically or racially motivated.”

“In theory?”

“In practice, the Hawks are people. People are political. I don’t expect any group of people to be perfect, theoretical beings—for one, the pay isn’t nearly high enough. Some of the racial decisions made are purely pragmatic; the Barrani are preferentially sent into figurative war zones because we’re much more likely to survive them. There is no equality because we are not equal; we are different. I attempt to respect those differences.”

“Given your comments about mortals, I’d fail you if I were teaching.”

Teela chuckled. “Respect, among the Barrani, generally means something different. If, for instance, I say I respect your territory, what I mean is I will not attempt to conquer it. It does not mean that I find your sloping, creaking floors, your pathetically short ceilings, your warped doors and their insignificant hinges or your...windows...to be the equal of my own.”

Kaylin rolled her eyes.

“Moran is significant to the Aerians.”

“I hadn’t noticed her being treated with anything but the usual respect.”

“Indeed. You’ve assumed it’s because of her rank and her function.”

Kaylin snorted. “Have you ever tried to avoid her when you’re injured?”

“Frequently.”

“Has it worked?”

“Less frequently.”

“She had Marcus practically strapped to a bed. Last I looked, he didn’t have wings.”

“Fair enough. Marcus doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with your request. Neither does Caitlin. But don’t ask him for permission—either do it or decide on the better part of valor.” She headed up the stairs as she spoke, and Kaylin fell in behind her. “Let’s talk to Hanson and then head to the infirmary.”

*

The Hawklord ruled the Hawks, but the details of schedule, among other things, was decided by Hanson, his attaché. Unless the Hawklord personally summoned you, you didn’t see him without speaking to Hanson first.

Hanson’s office door was creaky and stiff. Nothing would induce him to change this; it was his early warning system, as far as Kaylin could tell. He was at his desk, his glasses hooked to his ears but resting on his graying head, rather than in front of his eyes.

He didn’t look particularly surprised to see Kaylin; he didn’t look entirely thrilled, either. Hanson wasn’t normally unfriendly—he wasn’t, like Mallory or a handful of other Hawks, disgusted at her inclusion on the force.

“You don’t look happy to see me.”

“I am delighted to see you,” he replied, looking anything but. His lips did twitch, though. He glanced at Teela, and the hint of a smile vanished. “You, on the other hand, look like you have no time to waste.”

“If you’re the roadblock, I’m perfectly happy to take a break.”

“Thanks, no. What do you need?”

“Sergeant Kassan requires a fire to be lit under the butts of the Imperial mages on duty in the Winding Path investigation.”

Hanson glanced at the mirror on the left of his desk. It was smaller than Marcus’s mirror, but it was significantly cleaner. People did not leave fingerprints on Hanson’s mirror. “How big is this going to get?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Teela replied.

This time Hanson grimaced. “Anything else?”

“That we know of? No.”

Hanson’s mirror flared white in the room. “Private,” a familiar Leontine voice barked. “Imperial Palace transmission. Your presence is requested—an hour ago—in the Imperial Library.”

“The message just came in, sir.”

“Don’t bother with logic,” Hanson said; he had clearly keyed the mirror to mute his voice. “Nothing you do is going to make the rabid Leontine sheathe his claws. Not today.”