Cast In Flight. Michelle Sagara

“He’s asked.”

      “Nightshade didn’t want to talk about it?”

      “No, he talked about it.”

      “Then what’s the problem?”

      “He was lying.”

      Annarion glared at Mandoran, looking as if he wanted to argue. He turned back to Kaylin instead. “I want to know your side of the story.” Meaning, of course, that he agreed with Mandoran’s assessment.

      “I’ve got the usual mortal memory,” Kaylin replied evasively. “And I might lie, as well.”

      Mandoran snorted again. “Your attempts at lies are so pathetic you should probably use a different word to describe them.”

      Kaylin glared at Mandoran. Bellusdeo, however, said, “He has a point.”

      Kaylin wasn’t certain how she would have answered. She was saved by the appearance of the last of her housemates. Moran—Sergeant Carafel in the office—entered the dining room. Moran was almost never late for anything, even breakfast.

      Clearly, she had some reason for being late now, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. Her wings—or what remained of her wings—were stiff and as high as they could get with their protective bindings. Her eyes were blue. Aerian eyes and Barrani eyes overlapped in only one color. Moran was either angry, worried or both.

      Kaylin had risen before she realized she’d left her chair, which did nothing to improve Moran’s mood. Moran did not appreciate any worry that was aimed in her direction. Ever.

      “As you were, Private.” She sat on the stool provided for her; Aerian wings and normal chair backs didn’t get along well. To Helen, she added, “The mirror connection was smooth and solid.”

      It certainly hadn’t started out that way. Helen had a strong dislike of mirrors, or rather, of the mirror network that powered their communication. Regular silvered glass didn’t bother her in the slightest. “I made a few adjustments, dear. I’m terribly sorry that the faulty connections to date have caused so much difficulty for you.”

      “They haven’t,” Moran replied, her voice gentling, her eyes darkening.

      Helen’s Avatar smiled. “They have.”

      “The people on the other end of the connection have caused—or are trying to cause—the difficulty. It has nothing at all to do with you. If the connection had been faultless and solid, it would have given them more time to make things even less pleasant. I’m grateful for the respite.” Her eyes had shifted to a more neutral gray by the time she reached the end of her reassurance. She looked across the table at Bellusdeo.

      “Was it the Caste Court?” Kaylin asked. Helen frowned at her but said nothing.

      Moran glared Kaylin into the silence Helen would have preferred, but then relented slightly. “It was two castelords and one Hawklord. Before you ask, none of them were particularly happy. And it is caste business. Aerian business. Is that clear?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Good.” Moran then turned to Bellusdeo. “Are you accompanying us to the Halls today?”

      Bellusdeo’s eyes were golden. “Of course.”

      Moran then concentrated on breakfast. Annarion’s attention had fallen on the Aerian, as had Mandoran’s. Neither of the boys interacted much with her except at meals, and while Moran was polite, she wasn’t highly talkative.

      “Helen,” Mandoran said, “what happened?”

      “I don’t think she wishes to discuss that, dear.”

      “That’s why I’m asking you.”

      Even Annarion looked pained. “He’s gotten worse since he arrived in this city. He used to be capable of actual manners,” he said to the table at large.

      “When they were necessary, yes. Here, no one needs them, and I hate to go through the effort when it won’t be appreciated in the slightest.”

      * * *

      Less than ten minutes later, Teela and Tain appeared in the dining room as if they’d been summoned. What was left of the breakfast conversation died as they were noticed.

      “What, are we not welcome?” Teela asked as she sauntered in. She was wearing a sword. So was Tain.

      “You are always welcome,” Helen told her. “Any friend of—”

      “Yes, yes. Thank you, Helen.” Chairs appeared at the long dining table as if by magic. Well, actually, by magic. Teela turned one of the two so that its back almost touched the table’s edge. She sat, folding her arms across the top rail and resting her chin on her forearms. To Moran, she said, “What kind of trouble are you expecting?”

      Moran glared at Mandoran. She knew the boys could communicate with Teela the same way they communicated with each other. They knew each other’s True Names. All of the children that had been taken, centuries ago, to the West March did. Kaylin thought it a bit unfair that Moran immediately blamed Mandoran.

      Mandoran apparently didn’t. “What?” he asked, spreading his hands. “You asked the Dragon if she was heading into the Halls today. You know it gives Kaylin’s sergeant hives the minute she crosses the threshold. You’ve never asked before. Obviously you’re concerned that something requiring brute strength—or magical competence—might happen.”

      Moran was silent.

      “There are perfectly competent Barrani here. I’ll be damned if I let you depend on a Dragon for heroics. And Teela has to go to the Halls anyway.”

      The Dragon in question said, “I’m still going. And in case it’s escaped your notice, Barrani can’t fly.”

      “Some can.”

      “Not naturally.”

      Mandoran shrugged. “If we’re going to get technical, you can’t legally fly, either. Not without Imperial permission.”

      The word permission touched off a distinct orange in Bellusdeo’s eyes.

      Teela glanced at Moran with some sympathy. “I hear,” she said, her eyes almost green, the Barrani happy color, “that you have a lovely suite of personal rooms. I do hope they make up for the shared spaces.”

      Moran was silent for half a beat. “Yes,” she finally said, “they do. They’re very quiet and very peaceful.” She surveyed the table with weary resignation. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected that the rest of the house would be the same—Kaylin lives here, after all.”

      * * *

      Helen wouldn’t tell Kaylin the content of Moran’s mirror-based discussion. Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered Kaylin; today, for reasons she felt were obvious, it did.

      “They are not obvious to Moran, dear,” Helen replied, although Kaylin hadn’t spoken that part out loud. It didn’t matter. Helen could read the thoughts of almost anyone who crossed her borders. This bothered some of the immortals; it didn’t bother Kaylin. Helen was not judgmental about anything. “You understand that she is older, of a higher rank, and has handled far larger responsibilities than you currently officially have?”

      “Yes.”

      “She did not come here to put you in danger.”

      “I know all that, Helen.”

      “She does not wish you to worry. And, Kaylin? While this is your home, Moran is a guest here. Her privacy and her concerns are important to me. Had she no privacy, this would not be a home to her; it would be a prison. An imposition. That is not what you wished for her when you invited her to stay.”

      “But Moran’s worried about her physical safety!”

      “Yes. But she is not in danger while she is here.”

      “She’s