Cast in Honor (Chronicles of Elantra, #11)(30)

*

“Is it too much to ask?” Kaylin muttered as she tromped down the stairs.

“Is what?”

“A normal day.”

“Be careful what you wish for. As far as I can tell, this is your new normal.” Teela’s grin was sharp and very Barrani.

“It’s not just the weirdness of the Winding Path. I could deal with that. Marcus is almost certainly going to insist we accompany Red when he goes—but that’s work. It’s Hawk work. But I also have to go home to Mandoran and Annarion—and can I just say that Annarion has been in a mood? He’s getting angrier by the day.”

“You are not telling me anything I have not fully experienced for myself. Are you going to tell him about Gilbert?”

“I’m going to talk to Helen first—because if I tell him about Gilbert, he’s going to demand to visit, and Helen hasn’t cleared him yet.”

“Ah.”

“We lost too many people the last time he walked our streets. Knowing what we know now, it would be consenting to murder just to let him out the door.” She exhaled. “And he knows that. I’m not being fair. I would just... I’d kind of like to be able to leave my work at the office once in a while.”

“You’re whining.”

“Yes. I’m whining where a grouchy Leontine won’t hear me and rip out my throat.” Kaylin exhaled. “Sorry. I kind of like them both. And I understand why Annarion is going crazy—if one of my foundlings was missing, I wouldn’t be able to sit still, practicing whatever it is he’s practicing. But Nightshade’s not anyone’s definition of helpless. If we somehow find out that he is in Ravellon—and I seriously doubt that he could be, because I’d hear him, I’m certain of it—it’s Nightshade who’s likely to survive it in one piece.”

“Annarion doesn’t want to take you with them.”

This should have made Kaylin feel better, but it didn’t. It annoyed her.

“He will, though.”

Kaylin stopped at the base of the Tower steps. “You can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Actually, I can.”

“You’re not going to Ravellon, Teela. Even if we do go.”

Teela smiled her best “that’s nice, dear” smile and walked past Kaylin into the office.

*

The Arkon, Caitlin told them—both Hawks studiously avoiding Marcus’s desk—had requested their presence in the Imperial Library. Bellusdeo, Tain and Severn would meet them there.

That left only one item on Kaylin’s list of things to do in this location. She headed to the infirmary. Moran was significant to the Aerian Caste Court. Kaylin knew the Human Caste Court—and didn’t particularly care for it—but it seemed to be a type of figurehead organization of the rich and powerful. The Caste Court could, in theory, rescue mortals from Imperial Law by invoking the laws of exception—and it had, historically. None of those exceptions had been called for in Kaylin’s seven years with the force.

She understood the composition of the Barrani Caste Court; they had never invoked laws of exception. Anyone Barrani who might have benefited from them wound up dead—very obviously dead—in a public space. If the Barrani in question had thrown themselves on the mercy of the Imperial Courts, however, their desire or request took precedence, whether the racial Caste Court liked it or not.

But the Aerian Caste Court was entirely unfamiliar to Kaylin. Kaylin tried briefly to imagine Moran throwing herself on the mercy of anything, and came up blank. She stared, instead, at the very closed infirmary door. Aerians, as a general rule, weren’t fond of closed doors; this one was the equivalent of writing GET LOST in large, unfriendly letters.

Kaylin tried the door anyway. It wasn’t locked—during normal operating hours, it wouldn’t be. Moran was seated, back toward the door, displaying her injuries. “Unless you’re dying,” she said, without turning, “I’m busy.” Her tone also indicated that physical state could be changed.

The small dragon left Kaylin’s shoulder before she could stop him—and she did try. He flew straight to Moran, and landed, somewhat messily, on what appeared to be her paperwork. Kaylin cringed. Her familiar squawked.

Moran’s ill humor did not immediately descend on the small, winged creature—anyone else would have lost a hand. “Private,” she said, still refusing to turn around, “this is not a good time to have a discussion. The infirmary—absent usual emergencies—is closed.”

“I didn’t come here because I’m injured.” Or because she wanted to be, but Kaylin chose to leave that out. “I came because you’re living here.”

Moran exhaled heavily. “Come and get your pet.”

Squawk.

“Or whatever it is you call him.”

“I call him ‘small and squawky.’”

“Which has the advantage of being accurate, I suppose.” Moran finally turned on her stool. She looked bruised and haggard; her hair was flat and dull, and her eyes were gray—a dark gray, not the ash-gray that meant serenity. “Why are you here?”

“Because you’re living in the infirmary.” Moran opened her mouth and Kaylin lifted a hand. “The only so-called living quarters in the Halls of Law are the cells. I have this on the authority of the Hawklord—because when I appeared in his Tower years ago, that’s exactly what he told me.”