Cast In Fury. Michelle Sagara

stone in their place.

      She checked her mirror before she made her way to the door, still wearing the rumpled clothing from the day before. She paused. Someone had messaged her. Someone had tried to get her attention, but they hadn’t tried for very long. She didn’t want to check, besides which, the pounding at the door wasn’t stopping anytime soon. She bypassed the mirror, because if the first thing she saw this morning was the afterimage of Mallory’s unwelcome face, she’d break the damn thing, and the mirror was the most expensive thing she owned. She wouldn’t have bothered with the expense—gods knew she never had money—but her duties at the midwives guild pretty much made it a necessity.

      Severn was standing in the door frame when she opened the door. He handed her a basket. “Breakfast,” he told her. “Eat.”

      “What time is it?”

      “Not so late that you don’t have time to eat.” It wasn’t precisely an answer. She lifted the basket top, and the smell of fresh bread became the only thing in the room. That and her growling stomach. “Hey,” she said, as she sat on the bedside and motioned Severn toward the chair. “Is this enchanted?”

      “The bread?”

      Her frown would have killed lesser men. “Very funny. The basket.”

      “Yes.”

      She nodded. “I didn’t smell the bread at all until I opened it.”

      “It keeps the rodents at bay. More or less.”

      “Where’d you get it done?”

      “Evanton’s.”

      “He’d like it. It’s practical.”

      “I think he thought it perhaps too practical. But he took the money.” He paused and then added, “It keeps the food fresher, as well. It won’t last forever,” he said, “but it lasts longer. Which, given the insane hours you generally keep, also seemed practical.”

      “Wait—it’s for me?”

      “It’s for you.”

      She hesitated, and then nodded. “Thanks. Did you talk to Mallory?”

      “Last night.”

      “The Hawklord?”

      “No. I’ll say this for Mallory, that paperwork is going to get done before the week’s out.”

      “Ha. I’ve seen that pile—most of it was there when I got inducted.”

      “Betting?”

      “Sure. We can pool in the office.”

      “Actually, we can’t.”

      Silence. It didn’t last longer than it took to finish swallowing something that could have been chewed longer, judging by the way it lodged in the back of her throat. “We can’t bet?” To a fiefling, it was like being told don’t breathe.

      “It’s not in keeping with the formal tone he feels is professional in office environs. He is looking forward to correcting the laxity.”

      Kaylin’s bread now resembled clay. Her stomach was kind enough to stop growling, so her throat could pick up the sound.

      “Change your clothing,” he added. “And you may have to get your hair cut.”

      “What?”

      “I think you heard me.”

      “My hair?”

      “It’s not regulation length.”

      “Neither is Teela’s!”

      “I believe he intends for all of the Hawks to sport regulation cuts.”

      If she hadn’t swallowed the mouthful, she would have probably sprayed it across the room. “He thinks he can make the Barrani cut their hair?”

      “He hopes to make his mark on the office,” Severn replied, a perfectly serious expression smoothing out the lines of his face. “I think he believes it will speak well of his tenure if he can be seen to have effected changes that Marcus could not.”

      “Marcus never tried.”

      “No. But there are no Barrani in Missing Persons. There are no Leontines. There are no Aerians.”

      “So what you’re saying is you think he failed Racial Integration classes as well.”

      “Pretty much. Oh, I imagine he passed them—some people can pass a test without ever looking at the content.”

      “The Aerians pretty much go by regs. I keep my hair out of the way.”

      “I don’t think that will be a convincing argument. Stay clear of it if he brings it up.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “Say yes, and ignore him for a day or two. Your yes will pale beside the very Barrani No he’s likely to get from twelve of his Hawks. He’s not a fool. I imagine that the dictate will be quietly set aside as insignificant given the flaws that he obviously sees in the present office bureaucracy. By which I mean reports and paperwork. He will feel the need to impress upon his superiors the qualities that he can bring to the job, particularly if those qualities are ones which his predecessor lacked.”

      She nodded, and finished eating. Then she picked up what was hopefully a clean shirt, and began to change. It was going to be a long day.

      “Kaylin?”

      “Hmm?”

      “Someone mirrored you.”

      “Oh, right. I didn’t want to look in case it was Mallory. Who was it?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Well look.”

      He was silent for a moment, after which he said, “Your mirror isn’t keyed?”

      “Hells no—that costs money.”

      “Kaylin—the Hawks would pay to have it done. Some of our investigations would not be helped if anyone could listen in on more sensitive discussions.”

      “Look, if someone’s listening in on my life, they’ve got no bloody life of their own, and they’re welcome to be as bored as they like. Usually it’s just Marcus screaming about the time, anyway.”

      She could tell by the set of his lips that the conversation was not finished. He did, however, touch the mirror and ask for a replay.

      The mirror hummed a moment, and then went flat.

      “You said this wasn’t keyed.”

      “It’s not.”

      “It’s not playing.”

      “Crap. If it’s broken, I’ll—I’ll—” She shoved a stick into the bun she had made of her hair, and stomped over to the mirror. What she did not need right now was anything she couldn’t afford. A new mirror being her chief concern.

      “Mirror,” she said, in the tone of voice she usually reserved for choice Leontine words. “Replay.”

      The mirror shimmered, the neutral matte of its sleeping surface slowly breaking to reveal a face. A Leontine face.

      “The mirror’s not keyed,” Kaylin said, her voice losing heat as she struggled with her very inadequate memory. The woman was familiar. Not one of Marcus’s wives—she knew all of them on sight, having been to their home dozens of times before she was allowed to join the Hawks.

      “No,” Severn said thoughtfully. “But the message is. I can wait in the hall if you want the privacy.”

      “Don’t bother. It’ll save me the hassle of repeating what it says. I know her,” Kaylin said suddenly. “I saw her when I went to the Quarter for the midwives.