Cast In Fury (36 page)

Sanabalis didn’t seem to have that problem. He didn’t bow, and he didn’t kneel, but he did nod.

“We seek your counsel, Eldest,” one of the older Leontines said. His High Barrani wasn’t as clean or precise as Adar’s, although it was spoken slowly. Clearly the Leontines weren’t used to the language of the Imperial common law.

This did not surprise Sanabalis. It didn’t really surprise Kaylin either. But her opinion didn’t matter. Sanabalis inclined his head. “Speak,” he told them. “And speak in the language of your kin, for if I am not mistaken, the counsel you seek concerns your kin.”

The Leontine nodded and turned to Adar. “With your permission,” he said.

Adar nodded slowly. “With your permission, Eldest, I will speak in the language of Law.”

Sanabalis nodded.

“The first matter we wish your advice on concerns Marcus Kassan. He serves the outsiders,” he added, using a Leontine word that there was no exact Elantran meaning for. Kaylin had heard it a handful of times in the Pridlea, usually spoken with scorn or apprehension.

“He serves the Emperor,” Sanabalis said calmly. “The Emperor governs the City, and the Empire. I, as well, owe my allegiance to the Emperor.”

The other Elders began to murmur among themselves, their low growls a contrast to the almost purring Leontine of the hearth.

“He was to be charged with murder?” Sanabalis asked, when the discussion had continued for that little bit too long.

“He was charged with kin-slaying,” Adar replied. “And he accepted the charge. It was not to discuss charges that we were to convene, but consequences.” Kaylin wondered, for just a moment, where he had been taught, and how long he had been away from his kind. In many ways, Adar was unique. Although he was unmistakably Leontine, there was something about his bearing that set him apart. That, and the deference he was granted. She wasn’t sure how much of the latter depended on the former.

“However,” Adar continued, raising his voice just a touch. The slight increase in volume served to quell the discussion that was unfolding, in the Leontine version of whispers, all around him. “However, in light of your visit, and your investigation, those charges are withdrawn entirely. A man has the right to kill to preserve his own life.”

“You accept the death as a result of self-defense?”

“We do.”

“Very well. Continue.”

“Marcus Kassan offered no defense of his actions when he was apprehended.”

Sanabalis nodded.

“He has been unwilling to address the Elders,” Adar continued. “It is a minor crime, among our kin, but it is not an unfamiliar one. It is, however, notable given the gravity of the situation and the possible nature of his attacker.”

“Meaning that he will not speak to you.”

“Meaning that, Eldest, yes.”

“He will speak to me.”

Adar nodded. “That is my suspicion. Will you speak to him on behalf of the Elders?”

“I will speak to him on behalf of the Emperor,” Sanabalis replied coolly.

Adar turned to two of the Elders and spoke a quick, curt Leontine word that was so harsh Kaylin couldn’t understand it.

They didn’t have that difficulty. They bowed and turned toward the cage in which Marcus Kassan sat. He was out of the range of hearing, but not, Kaylin thought, of vision. He knew damn well they were there, and waiting on him.

But he took his bloody time gaining his feet when the cage door was opened and he was gestured out. It rankled. She wanted to snarl some choice Leontine phrases into the silence. But this was the one place it wasn’t safe to do so. She held her tongue. Kept her hands by her sides. Waited.

Marcus was silent as he was led to Adar. He didn’t snarl, didn’t struggle—there wasn’t much to struggle against. They hadn’t bound or chained him, and inasmuch as a cage existed that could hold an angry Leontine, the one that he’d lived in for what felt like months—but was less than a handful of days—was purely decorative.

“Sergeant Kassan,” Lord Sanabalis said.

Marcus looked at the Dragon Lord.

“You have been cleared of all charges of murder,” Sanabalis announced.

Marcus’s glance flickered off Sanabalis’s face for an eye-blink. Kaylin saw him look at the ground. There, in dark, smudged ash, was what remained of his friend. But his head hadn’t moved. And his lips didn’t either.

Sanabalis frowned; it was the first familiar expression she’d seen on his face. “Sergeant,” he said, his voice a shade more irritable. “We believe that you were called away from your place of work on urgent business.”

Marcus nodded.

“What occurred when you met your friend?”

The silence was heavy.

“Marcus?” Kaylin said quietly.

He looked at her.

She took a breath and then another, deeper one. “The Pridlea was attacked last night.”

His eyes widened, and his expression shed all neutrality in an instant.

Kaylin lifted her chin, exposing her throat. Given that she was wearing her standard beat kit, she didn’t expose
much,
but it was the gesture that counted. She also held her hands out, palms facing him, but that was pure Elantran, pure human. Leontines, after all, didn’t lift their hands to show they were unarmed. Why bother with handheld weapons when you already sported a better set?

“Tell me,” he said curtly, bringing the full force of a Sergeant’s voice to bear.

“Orogrim came to visit.”

He closed his eyes and the Elders began to speak, some to each other, some to Adar. Adar lifted a pale hand. They fell silent slowly, because Leontines were generally never silent. They didn’t
talk
a lot, but there was always a background growl—or purr if you were lucky—in any room that also contained Leontines.

“He was driven off,” Kaylin said. “But the building sustained fire damage.”

“And my wives? My children?”

“All safe,” she answered quickly. “We didn’t have anywhere to go—they didn’t, I mean—so they’re now in residence as guests at the Imperial Palace.”

His eyes were a shade of orange that made him look almost draconic. He turned to Sanabalis, and everything about his stance was different. The Dragon Lord met his gaze and held it. Kaylin—at whom it was no longer directed—fought the urge to take a step back. Or several steps, all at speed.

Sanabalis now lifted a hand. “Kayala accepted the offer of hospitality, and it is simply that. It was expedient to repair to the Palace. It is the one place in which their safety could be guaranteed. They are free to leave, and to wander at will. They are guilty of no crime.

“The same cannot necessarily be said of their husband, and that is why I am here. You did not speak when the charge of murder was laid at your feet. You will speak now.”

Marcus was silent for a long time. Whatever deference other Leontines felt for Dragons Marcus clearly held in abeyance.

But he cleared his throat, breaking both silence and tension. “Gorran mirrored me. The mirror was keyed,” he added, “and Gorran should not have been able to use it—but he spoke of some danger to my wives. He requested a meeting—”

“Gorran would not have dared—”

Adar growled at the Elder, who fell silent. Kaylin, on the other hand, said, “Was Gorran an Elder?”

“He was.” It was Sanabalis who replied.

She looked at the men again. “I regret your loss,” she said in perfect Leontine. It seemed to either surprise or offend them; given the slightly orange tinge to their eyes, she guessed it was the latter.

“Did it not strike you as unusual?” Adar asked, in his calm, deep voice.

“Yes, First Son. It did. But my first duty is to my Pridlea and Gorran was both friend and Elder. I agreed to meet him.”

“And he suggested the location.”

“Yes.”

“You accepted it.”

“Yes. I wanted to hear what he had to say. At the time, I didn’t care where I heard it.”

“Or you believed that Gorran did not wish to be overheard.”

Marcus nodded slowly, and after a marked hesitation.

Kaylin would have bet money that the Elders would break out in another round of growls, but Adar’s glare got to them before words left their mouths. They weren’t happy, however.

Adar turned to Sanabalis. “Forgive my intrusion, Eldest.” He bowed.

“You met Gorran.”

“Yes.”

“And nothing struck you as unusual?”

Again, silence. After a long pause—one unbroken by Sanabalis, who merely waited—Marcus said, “No. Something was unusual.” He fell silent again, but this time, Sanabalis’s posture changed. Clearly, he had tired of waiting.

“Sergeant Kassan, you have served the Emperor’s Law for many years. You have made a name for yourself, and you have the Emperor’s approval. It would cause some distress were you to be executed in this place, and it would also cause some unrest if you were to surrender your badge of office.

“We no longer have time for your hesitation and your personal life. If you cannot answer these questions to my satisfaction, I will call in the Tha’alani and they will extract the answers I require. The choice is entirely yours.”

As if he had expected no less—or no more—Marcus Kassan seemed to wilt. It bothered Kaylin a lot more than she had thought it would. She’d seen him chew through solid wood in fury; she’d seen him bare his fangs when arguments about the duty roster had gone on for longer than his limited patience allowed; she’d seen him tired, and she’d even seen him hiding from his wives.

But this, this almost abject surrender? Never.

And she hated it.

She took two steps forward before anyone really noticed, and she inserted herself between Sanabalis and the Sergeant, turning her back to the Sergeant because she wanted to see Sanabalis’s eyes. Her hands were near her dagger hilts, and although she otherwise stood in the posture that was called “at ease,” she wasn’t.

She even opened her mouth, but the hand that was placed on her shoulder wasn’t the Dragon’s. It was Marcus’s. She turned, as he pulled her around, and met his gaze.

“Kitling,” he said quietly, “you are not of the people. You are of my Pridlea, and you are loved and fiercely defended by my wives, but you do not understand what the Elders, what the Dragon, offer.”

“I know damn well what they offer. I’ve
been
through a Tha’alani investigation before.”

“Yes.” His eyes were almost gold.

“Marcus, can’t you just
tell
them what they need to know?”

“No, kitling. No.”

Something in his tone of voice made her wince.

“Sit with Corporal Handred, if you can. Wait, if you must. Lord Sanabalis must have prepared for this eventuality, and it will not be long now.” He turned to Adar for the first time. “First Son,” he said gravely. “She is young and she is ferocious in her defence of kin.” As if she were a child and he was making excuses for her poor behavior.

But Adar nodded, and the hint of a smile—with Leontines, it was only a hint, and frankly, given the lift of lip over canines that could rip a throat out, it was often hard to distinguish from, say, imminent death—transformed his features. He looked younger than he had at any other time she’d seen him. “The daughters worth having always are,” he replied. “She would die for you, I think. Kill for you, certainly.”

Marcus’s expression was, however, impassive. “She would do both, if she were allowed.”

Lord Sanabalis waited a moment, and then inclined his head in Marcus’s direction. “Yes,” he said softly, “I was prepared.” He turned and walked away, climbing the steps of the vast coliseum as if they were flat and tiny. He didn’t look like he moved quickly, but he covered a lot of distance anyway. Kaylin watched his back until it was out of sight.

“It was clever of you,” Marcus said, when he had gone. “To mention my wives at a time like this.”

“It was the only thing I could think of that would make you speak.”

“Yes.” He looked tired. “How has the operation in the Palace proceeded?”

She would have dropped her lower jaw if it hadn’t been attached to her face. The aforementioned Corporal Handred, however, came to the rescue of her dignity. Or perhaps Marcus’s. It was hard to tell.

“It has proved interesting,” Severn now said. “And involved one visit to the Foundling Halls.”

“The Halls?”

“Mr. Rennick wished to speak with children who had visited the Tha’alani Quarter before the unrest. He wanted their opinions and their impressions. They were, of course, happy to give him exactly what he asked for.”

“Ah. And was it of use?”

“I believe so. The Tha’alani like children. As they did
not
like his first attempt at public communication, he is now attempting to give them a story they will at least have less cause to dislike.”

“It’s not finished yet.”

“No. The Swords are out in full force around the Quarter. Some of the Wolves have been seconded for service there as well, although less visibly. The city has been in arms for the duration. There have been scuffles and some injuries—” he held up a hand in Kaylin’s direction before she could ask a question “—but they all occurred outside of the Quarter, and were caused by either gross incompetence on the part of men who aren’t actually accustomed to handling weapons, or by the Swords in their attempt to disperse the more moblike crowds.”

Severn lowered his hand. “I spoke at length to some of the Swords when I made my report to Mallory this morning.”

Kaylin shook her head. “I should have expected as much,” she said almost ruefully.

Severn nodded. “But you were otherwise occupied.” He turned toward the outer height of the coliseum. “Sanabalis is returning.”

Kaylin turned to look as well, and saw the Dragon Lord descending the steps far more slowly than he had climbed them. He had two companions. One was a Dragon; she recognized the build and the walk. She didn’t recognize the face. She might have if she’d stopped to think, because she’d met the Dragon Lords of the Imperial Court before.

But by his side, in a gown the color of pale cedar, was a woman she recognized. Her hair was the color of honey, and her skin, bronze in the morning light.

Ybelline.

Sanabalis, what the hell were you thinking? She shouldn’t be walking around outside the Quarter at a time like this.
It was her first thought. It was her second thought. The third thought, that the first two should remain behind closed lips, came quickly enough that she actually snapped her jaw shut. But she detached herself from the Elders and walked up the steps to greet Ybelline. The Tha’alani Castelord smiled and held out her arms. Kaylin walked into them and hugged her carefully, aware that the hilt of her daggers wouldn’t be exactly comfortable.