Cast In Flight. Michelle Sagara

out of the room.

      “What,” Nightshade said, “are you doing housing the lllumen praevolo? Have you lost your mind?”

      * * *

      Kaylin wondered, briefly, why he’d asked the question out loud.

      “I thought it best,” Helen replied. “I am somewhat occupied at the moment, and I did not feel that dinner conversation would become difficult. I apologize for my lapse in supervision.”

      Kaylin realized two things then. First: Nightshade would no longer be able to speak with her through the bond of True Name; Helen had killed that avenue of private discussion. Second, and more troubling, that Helen had allowed it to begin with. Kaylin didn’t believe that the lapse, as she called it, was accidental. Nor did she think that Helen truly believed that the conversation would not be difficult, given the way she clearly felt about Nightshade.

      Her house had lied to her. What she couldn’t understand was why—and just in case Helen was listening in, she made it clear that she didn’t need to understand why right this very second. Later would do, if they all survived the meal.

      “What did you say?” she asked Nightshade.

      “I asked if you had taken leave of your senses.”

      “Before that.”

      “Illumen praevolo?”

      They were the exact words Lillias had spoken. Lillias had been fragile, nervous, afraid. Nightshade was none of those things. “Yes, that. What does it mean?”

      “It means nothing to humans,” he replied. His eyes were a glittering blue, hard as sapphires as they absorbed the room’s light. “It means much to Aerians. Was it the Illumen praevolo who survived the assassination attempt?”

      “Yes.”

      “They do not belong here.”

      “Thanks, but it’s my house. My castle. I get to decide that.”

      “Did you know, before you offered shelter?”

      Kaylin was irritated. “What do you think?”

      “I think you were ignorant.”

      “Good. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, tell me why you think she doesn’t belong here.”

      “She?”

      Damn.

      “How did you even come to meet her? I suppose I should not be surprised; you are certainly acquainted with the Lady and with Lord Bellusdeo.”

      “She’s not like the Lady,” was Kaylin’s flat and certain reply. “And she’s not like Bellusdeo, either.”

      “No. She is not, but she occupies a central, singular place for the Aerians, as the Consort does for the Barrani, or Lord Bellusdeo for the Dragons. It should not surprise me,” he said again, “but it does.”

      “Do you know what her role is?”

      “We will trade information, perhaps. How did you encounter her?”

      There was a beat of silence before Kaylin exhaled. “She works in the Halls of Law.”

      His eyes shifted from blue to a very surprised gold, a color she very seldom saw in Barrani. “You must be mistaken.”

      “I think I know the Halls of Law, and I think I know a sergeant when I see one. She works in the Halls.”

      “A...sergeant.” He closed his eyes; when he opened them again, they had reclaimed the color blue. It was a lighter shade than Teela’s. So was midnight sky. “No wonder they tried to kill her. This has happened before?”

      “Not while she’s been a sergeant.” Kaylin set her cutlery down and folded her arms, tilting her chair back on two legs. She wasn’t hungry, and while that didn’t usually stop her from eating, she wanted to concentrate.

      “Never?”

      “Not that I know of, no. But I’d say ‘never’ covers it.”

      “Ah. And before that?”

      “It’s not in Records.” She stonewalled. He couldn’t read her mind now. He couldn’t see her thoughts. “Why would you expect that this wouldn’t be the first attempt?”

      He smiled. “Because she is living here, Kaylin. Perhaps you do not understand why this is a crime in the minds of the Aerians.”

      “Some of the Aerians.”

      “As you say. Why does she not dwell with her kin? Why does she choose menial employ? She is Illumen praevolo.”

      “And I’m the Chosen,” Kaylin shot back. “But I need to eat.”

      “The Chosen does not mean to humans what your Aerian will mean to the Aerians. Perhaps it should.”

      “It certainly should,” Bellusdeo interrupted. “She is not treated with nearly the respect her burden is due.”

      Kaylin lifted a hand in Bellusdeo’s direction, and the Dragon fell silent. She probably wasn’t happy about it, but Kaylin didn’t check; she was watching Nightshade as if he were the only person in the room.

      “Do your Aerians not speak of it?” Nightshade asked her.

      “No. And I can’t ask them.”

      “And she does not explain?”

      “No. She thinks it’s not safe for me to know.”

      He smiled; it was winter, but beautiful. “And so you come to me.”

      “I didn’t—” She exhaled and regrouped. “Yes. Yes, I’m asking you.”

      “Has it occurred to you that your companion may be correct? No, don’t answer. You will say yes, but mean no. It is vexing. If you wish to know how I come by this information...” he began.

      “I know how.”

      “Ah. I forget. Yes, you probably do. The praevolo is not a position like the Consort within the Barrani. To become Consort, there are tests. Tests of the Tower. Tests of the Lake. Failure does not always mean death, but the closer one comes to success, the higher the possibility of death becomes. We are not, like humans, a people to whom children come quickly or easily; the risk of death can be a strong deterrent.

      “But it is the line’s risk to take. Your friend did not have the distinction of determination or choice. She was born to it. It has been an essential part of her nature since that birth.”

      Kaylin nodded, trying not to be impatient. Or not to be obviously impatient, at any rate. “I understand that part. I don’t understand why it’s significant. I don’t understand what it means.”

      “As I have said, to humans, it means nothing.”

      “She’s not a human, and she’s living here.”

      “How much do you feel you have a right to know?” he asked, almost gently. It was gentleness from Nightshade that she didn’t trust. His violence, his arrogance, his intimidation were things that were obvious threats. “If she does not wish you to know, and it is her secret, her life, how much do those wishes count to you?”

      There was a disgusted snort—a sergeant’s sound—from the doorway; everyone looked up. Moran stood in the frame, arms folded, eyes a blue that almost matched Teela’s in shade. “Lord Nightshade, I presume.”

      He raised dark brows.

      “You were the Barrani who marked Private Neya?”

      Kaylin almost stood; Annarion’s expression had drifted from mild interest into disgust and anger and disappointment.

      “It is not one of my many titles,” came the cool reply. He was staring at her, at the rise of her wings, or her one wing, at the bindings that kept the other more or