Cast In Honour. Michelle Sagara

had an impressive glare.

      “What, exactly, are you afraid of? Everyone else who was badly injured accepted my help.”

      “I am not—”

      “You can’t fly, Sergeant.”

      “Not immediately, no. The feathers will grow in.”

      Kaylin didn’t believe it; she wondered if Moran actually did.

      “I have already had an argument about the state of my health this morning. Two, in fact. If I did not listen to that giant, lumbering cat and I did not bow to Lord Grammayre, believe that I am not going to blithely obey a private.”

      “Teela said you would be out for months.”

      “She was demonstrably incorrect. There is nothing wrong with my hands, my legs or my eyes. I am capable of doing my duty. I can’t fly in these rooms, anyway.”

      “Moran, please—”

      “No.”

      “But your wings—”

      “Do you know why I’m a sergeant in the infirmary, Private?”

      Kaylin did not roll her eyes, though it took effort. “Because you can deal with the injured, regardless of their moods or state of mind.”

      “Exactly. You can plead, beg, cry and curse me. I won’t be moved.”

      Kaylin inexplicably felt like crying at the moment. Moran’s wings—white and speckled with a brown that almost formed a pattern when the wings were closed—were unique among the Aerians of her acquaintance.

      “You still have your childish obsessions, don’t you?”

      “Yes.” Kaylin folded her arms, refusing to feel embarrassed.

      Moran’s eyes narrowed. They were blue. Aerian blue was not the same midnight as Barrani blue, but it meant essentially the same thing. Moran was angry. Then again, Moran was almost always angry.

      “Where are you staying?”

      Moran blinked. “Pardon?”

      “You can’t fly. You can get Aerians to carry you to and from the Southern Reach, but you can’t fly back on your own. Given it’s you, I’m willing to bet last week’s pay that you don’t even intend to try.”

      Moran shifted her gaze; it fell on Bellusdeo. There was nothing else in the room to look at, as the beds were all empty.

      Bellusdeo held up both hands. “I am willing to face Barrani ancestors, Shadows and death. I am not willing to pull nonexistent rank on a private. Please don’t ask—I am here on sufferance, with the understanding that I will not interfere with the private’s duties.” She spoke in more formal Barrani, though the rest of the conversation had been uttered in Kaylin’s mother tongue.

      “You’re a Dragon,” Moran pointed out. “You don’t need rank.”

      “She’s the Chosen,” Bellusdeo countered. Her eyes were still golden, although her expression was neutral. Except for the corners of her mouth, which were twitching.

      Moran turned to Kaylin. She could look down on the private from the secure position of rank, but she wasn’t quite tall enough to tower. “I intend to stay here until I’ve fully recovered.”

      No bloody wonder Marcus had thrown a fit. “This isn’t exactly residential.”

      “It has a roof, and the doors are never completely unmanned. Food is within relatively easy walking distance, and if I need supplies, that’s what privates are for.”

      “And where are you going to sleep?”

      “In the Aerie in the halls.”

      “Which you can’t reach.” Kaylin’s eyes narrowed a little more with each sentence.

      “Which is none of your business,” Moran snapped.

      “Fine.” Kaylin turned and marched toward the door. When she reached the frame, she turned back. Bellusdeo was still standing beside Moran; the Dragon looked amused. She was the only person in the room who did.

      “I believe Private Neya is attempting, in her brusque fashion, to offer you a more amenable place to stay while you recover,” Bellusdeo said.

      “I don’t need her charity.”

      “Ah.”

      Kaylin attempted to count to ten. She made it to three. “But it’s okay for me to accept yours?”

      “I’m not offering you charity.”

      “You’ve offered me help and guidance for years. You’ve taken care of me after training accidents. You were here when we almost lost a fight to a Dragon.” The small dragon, bored or silent until now, lifted his head and bit Kaylin’s hair.

      “You,” Moran replied, “were here. Taking care of you here is my job. And you weren’t here for long.”

      “There’s supposed to be give-and-take, Moran.”

      “Sergeant.”

      “Whatever. This is the first time in my entire life that I’m able to offer you any help at all!”

      “I don’t need it.”

      “Fine.” Kaylin turned and walked out.

      * * *

      “If you were a Dragon,” Bellusdeo said, “you’d be steaming the halls. Possibly even melting parts of them.”

      “It irritates me that my help isn’t good enough.”

      “The sergeant probably doesn’t understand what you’re offering. I believe the entire department knew where you were living before the assassination attempt destroyed your home. She might assume you now live in similarly sized quarters—and frankly, the ceiling of your old apartment would be nearly crippling for an Aerian over the long term.”

      Kaylin stomped down the long hall, but slowed her pace as Bellusdeo’s words caught up with her temper.

      “I know you’re upset at the sight of her wings.”

      “They told me—” Kaylin exhaled. “They told me she’d been damaged by the ancestor’s fire. I didn’t actually get to see the damage. It’s a wonder she didn’t die; there’s no way she could keep herself in the air with wings like that.”

      “No. But I have noticed the Hawks keep an eye out for their own. She is alive, Kaylin. But she is an older woman, and she clearly does not care for...coddling.”

      Kaylin gave a little shriek in response. The small dragon whacked her face with his wing.

      * * *

      Marcus appeared to be looking for a suitable target for his obvious frustration. His eyes were a steady orange, and his facial fur was almost standing on end. Kaylin picked up the thrum of his growl just after she had time to reconsider the wisdom of entering the office. Of course. Leontine anger was never quiet or invisible.

      She headed directly for his desk, bypassing the duty roster and anyone else who stood between them—except for Caitlin, who waved her over.

      “Have you seen Moran?” Kaylin demanded, as Caitlin opened her mouth.

      “Yes, dear.”

      “Why is she even in the office? She should be at home recovering!”

      “It’s...complicated,” the office mother replied. The tone of her voice had a dampening effect on Kaylin’s outrage.

      “Complicated how?”

      “Given that you’ve seen her—you didn’t start an argument with her, did you?”

      “I