Cast in Honor (Chronicles of Elantra, #11)(49)

“Yes, dear.”

“Why, exactly?” She asked the question of Kaylin, who was now looking at breakfast with an amazing lack of appetite.

“He’s worried, of course,” Helen replied again—coming, in the worst way possible, to Kaylin’s rescue.

Annarion and Mandoran made a wide, wide circle around Helen and came to the table. They chose seats as far from Bellusdeo as the table stretched.

“If it’s any comfort,” Mandoran said, “we get this from Teela all the time. It’s like she thinks we’re children.”

This was clearly no comfort to Bellusdeo.

“And if that isn’t,” Annarion added, “Teela—and several of our other friends—are telling Mandoran to shut up.”

The Dragon’s lips twitched at the corners, and the color of her eyes lightened.

“You worry for the Arkon, dear,” Helen pointed out softly. “He does not find this insulting or condescending.”

“No. But I don’t tell him what to do. I can’t give him orders. Had he come to me with his plan to face the ancient, I would never have attempted to forbid it.”

“Do you place no value on your own life?”

“I don’t need to” was Bellusdeo’s bitter reply. “Everyone else is always telling me what I’m worth.”

Moran cleared her throat.

It was a familiar sound; had Kaylin been speaking, she would have shut up instantly.

“Helen, is it always this noisy first thing in the morning?”

“Sadly, no. The house hasn’t been this lively in a while.”

“Lively.”

“There is goodwill beneath the frustration and anger,” Helen replied, her smile serene. “And affection. I have missed it. Understand, Moran,” she continued, as she drifted around the table, “that all living things yearn for purpose. Mine is—and always has been—to become a home. But a home is defined entirely by the people who live in it.

“If you will allow it, I would be honored to make a home for you until you can once again return to the Southern Reach.”

Moran settled her hands in her lap. “What will it cost me?”

“That, dear, is for you to decide. Obligation and a sense of personal debt are too delicate and too complex for a simple building to navigate.”

Bellusdeo’s snort had smoke in it.

“But regardless, that decision is not in my hands. This is Kaylin’s home. I imagine that the entire cost will be written in pride. Yours,” she added softly.

Moran glanced at Kaylin and then at Bellusdeo. To the Dragon, she said, “The Emperor is merely worried. He is Emperor. He has not forbidden you freedom of action.”

“He has made the attempt.”

“Perhaps you do not understand our Emperor,” the Hawk continued. Kaylin’s jaw dropped. “He is not, historically, incompetent enough to make unsuccessful attempts. If he has attempted to move you by discussion, debate or even argument—”

“A lot of argument,” Kaylin said.

Moran ignored this. “He has not commanded.”

Bellusdeo said nothing for a long beat, but when she exhaled, she lost two stiff inches of rigid height.

“I understand the formal protocols of the Empire are foreign to you; I understand that Lord Diarmat is...problematic. But even a private in the Hawks can see that the Emperor is trying to accommodate you. It is not something he is generally accused of being—accommodating, that is. He will probably get it wrong more often than right. Frankly, were you Aerian, you would not be allowed to fly outside of the Aerie. You would not be allowed to go anywhere unaccompanied.”

Bellusdeo could have pointed out that she wasn’t unaccompanied. She didn’t. Instead, she exhaled more air than she could have possibly inhaled and folded her arms. “What did he come here for?” she asked.

Seeing an opportunity, Kaylin said, “He wanted to join us for dinner.”

“Join us.”

Some opportunities were disasters. “He doesn’t want to be your enemy. Inasmuch as Emperors have friends, I think he’d like to be one of yours.” When Bellusdeo failed to reply, she continued, “You understand the burdens of a ruler. You were one. Dragons are not known for their ability to gracefully accept advice or criticism—but I think you have more in common with the Emperor than you think. Except for your sense of humor.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t think he has one.”

Mandoran snickered. So did Bellusdeo.

“Did he say when?”

“I think that’s going to be up to you. Look, I can’t tell you how to behave around the Emperor. I wouldn’t be stuck in Diarmat’s hell class if I was qualified to do that. But...he’d be here without his stuck-up, wooden guards, and he wouldn’t be sitting on a throne. It probably wouldn’t be boring.”

“Are we invited?” Mandoran asked.

“Absolutely not,” Bellusdeo replied.

They devolved into bickering, and Kaylin looked back to Moran. To her surprise, the formidable sergeant was smiling.

“You’ll probably regret it,” she told Kaylin. “But...yes. If the offer is still open, I’d like to stay here until my wing is healed.”

“About the wing—”