Cast In Shadow. Michelle Sagara

said nothing.

      “Kaylin. Rise.”

      She rose. She hated formality in this tower more than she hated almost anything—because formality meant distance, and distance was the thing he placed between them when something bad was about to happen. Usually to her.

      “Kaylin, I wish to ask you what happened in Castle Nightshade.”

      She nodded.

      “You will come to the center of the circle before you answer, and you will stand there until I have finished.”

      She grimaced, but that was all the resistance she offered.

      Tiamaris surprised her. “Give her leave to sit,” he said quietly. “If she is forced to stand, I don’t think she’ll make it through the interview.”

      “She is a Hawk,” the Hawklord replied coldly. A warning.

      “She is a human,” the Dragon replied.

      The Hawklord’s pale brows rose slightly, and he glanced at Kaylin. After a moment, his wings flicked; it was the Aerian equivalent of a shrug.

      She made her way to the brass circle embedded in stone; she knew what it was for. “Don’t cast until I’m in it,” she whispered.

      If he heard her, he didn’t show it. But he did wait.

      He approached her, and stopped. His feet grazed the circle as he reached out to touch her cheek. “This is a Barrani mark,” he said.

      She said nothing.

      “Nightshade.” The word sounded a lot like swearing. But colder. “Why?”

      “He thought it would protect me.”

      “I doubt that, Kaylin,” the Hawklord replied. “I doubt that very much. Tiamaris, can it be removed?”

      “Not easily,” Tiamaris replied. “And not at all without the permission of the Lord who made the mark. Not from a human.”

      Kaylin heard the distinct that you don’t want dead that he didn’t say.

      “The likelihood of that permission?”

      “In my opinion? None whatsoever.”

      “As I thought.”

      “I can probably cover it up,” she offered. She’d become good at that over the years; black eyes and red welts never made the office staff feel secure.

      Tiamaris shook his head. “Grammayre, have you taught her so little?”

      “I have taught her,” the Hawklord replied, distinct edge in the words, “what she is willing to retain.” To Kaylin, he added, “The mark can be hidden from mortal sight. The Aerians might not recognize it. Most of the humans won’t. But the Leontines will smell it, and the Barrani? You could cut off your cheek and they would still know. Don’t,” he added, as if it were necessary, “try.”

      He lowered his hand, but did not leave her; instead he reached down and lifted the arm that was bound by the bracer. He looked at it, and then he touched it carefully, and in sequence, his fingers dancing over the gems as hers had done.

      It didn’t open; it was a different sequence. He frowned. Stepped out of the circle. She reached out without thinking and grabbed both his hands; she was that tired. His brows rose a fraction; she felt the rebuke in the expression, and she forced her hands to let go.

      But as he stepped outside the circle, his expression softened slightly, allowing a trace of weariness to show. “I trust you to tell me the truth as you perceive it,” he said quietly. “But I do not trust the Lord of Nightshade. The spell is not a punishment.”

      He lifted his hands, and his wings rose with them, until they were at their full span. Like this, she found the Hawklord beautiful in a way that she seldom found anything beautiful. And he knew it. Had always known it. This was as much mercy as he was willing to offer. It shouldn’t have made a difference, but it did.

      He began to question her, and staring at his wings, at the particular length of his flight feathers, she answered him.

      She told him of the Long Halls. She told him of the forest. And then, haltingly, she told him of the room beyond the trees. The circle that surrounded her turned a distinct shade of gold each time she finished speaking.

      But when she spoke of the pillar of blue flame, he lifted a hand.

      “Kaylin,” he said softly, “are you certain?”

      She nodded.

      “Tiamaris?”

      “She has seen what none of the surviving Imperial mages has seen,” the Dragon said quietly, his flawless Barrani tinged with caution. “I am intrigued by her words, but I do not doubt them.”

      “Why?”

      “You know well why. She bears those marks.”

      The Hawklord nodded grimly. “But what do they signify? Why does she bear them?”

      “That has always been the question, Grammayre. The answer is of concern to the Emperor.”

      “I know. Kaylin—show me your arms.”

      She lifted them; they shook.

      Tiamaris walked over to the circle’s edge, but he did not cross it. He did, however, frown. “I wish to see visual records,” he said, distant, his eyes a pale gold.

      The Hawklord frowned in turn; he gestured at the mirror and spoke three words in quick succession; the mirror began to glow. Kaylin really hated mirrors.

      The surface of this one shimmered and shifted; when it cleared, she was looking at her arms writ large; the Hawklord wasn’t short, and it was his mirror. Tiamaris looked at the mirror for some time, and then looked down at her arms. “They’ve changed,” he said softly.

      The Hawklord frowned. He came to stand by the side of the Dragon, and he, too, examined the symbols that covered Kaylin’s inner arm from wrist to elbow. “It’s subtle,” he said at last, “but you are correct.” He looked at Kaylin, his eyes clear, almost gray. Magic.

      “Aside from the mark of the outcaste, I see no difference in her,” he said at last.

      “Remove the bracer, Grammayre, and look again.”

      The Hawklord hesitated. Then he shook his head. “Not yet,” he said quietly. “Kaylin, you have done well. Go home.” He paused, and then added, “Do not remove the containment until I give you orders.”