Cast in Peril. Michelle Sagara

stone. The small dragon hissed in her ear; when she failed to look at him, she felt his teeth on her left lobe. She didn’t even curse under her breath; Barrani hearing was too good. She hoped that she wasn’t going to be escorted to the High Lord with blood trailing down her neck.

      When they got out of here—if they did, in one piece—they were going to have a long chat.

      The path opened up into a much larger circle, girded by slightly curved benches, most of which were occupied. The center of the circle itself was also occupied, and as Kaylin passed between two of the outermost benches, Barrani heads swiveled in her direction. She weathered the inspection, missing her uniform.

      Lord Darrowelm and his escort did not stop moving until they’d passed through most of the crowd; when they did, the two thrones of the High Court came into view. They were both occupied.

      The Barrani escort immediately sank to one knee; only Darrowelm and Teela were left standing. They bowed. Kaylin hesitated for a heartbeat before she bowed as well, remembering that she was a Lord of the High Court, mortal or no.

      The High Lord bid them rise.

      “Lord An’Teela. Lord Kaylin.”

      “High Lord.” Kaylin glanced to his left. The Consort sat beside him, the platinum of her hair trailing down her shoulders, where some of it spilled into her lap. She wore a simple pale gown, and her feet were bare. Her eyes, however, were a cold blue, and when Kaylin met them, she offered no obvious acknowledgment.

      Clearly, she was still angry.

      “Have you come to the High Halls at the behest of the Halls of Law?” the High Lord asked.

      “No, High Lord.”

      He waited. Fumbling with High Barrani, she said, “I am here by the grace of my kyuthe.” Teela gave her no hints, in part because Kaylin didn’t dare to look away from the High Lord to receive them. “We are to journey to the West March together, four days hence.”

      “So I have been told. Why do you seek the West March at this time, Lord Kaylin?”

      “I wish to witness the recitation of the regalia.” Had she had any idea she would have to stand in front of the High Lord like this, she would have practiced the making of what now felt like totally feeble excuses.

      “Ah. Why?”

      Because Lord Nightshade wants me to hear them. The words didn’t leave her lips and not for lack of trying. Her jaw locked in place; for one long moment it was all she could do to breathe. She felt Nightshade’s presence like a literal weight against her chest.

      The High Lord noticed, of course; he said nothing, but his eyes, which weren’t very green to begin with, shaded into blue.

      “I’ve—I’ve heard the story the Dragons tell the Leontines,” she offered instead—when she could speak. “I’ve seen it; I’ve touched it. It didn’t change or affect me, because I’m not Leontine. I’ve been told the regalia is a—a story told to Barrani, but it’s supposed to be similar in some fashion. And the Lords of the High Court listen to that story at least once.”

      His eyes remained blue. “Very well. I will not command otherwise; you are correct in your assumption. I admit I am curious to see what effect, if any, such recitation will have; you are, in theory, mortal.”

      She bowed, mostly to hide her expression; he bid her rise, probably because he knew.

      “We have not yet finished our discussion, Lord Kaylin. Come, approach me.”

      She glanced at Teela; Teela didn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t move her head at all.

      Kaylin approached the throne. The Consort turned toward her, her eyes still the same frigid blue.

      “We have heard that you suffered the loss of your home in the City.”

      Sarcasm, her early and best defense mechanism, rolled over and exposed its throat under the Consort’s gaze. She swallowed and nodded. “It’s true.”

      “Is it also true that you offered the hospitality of that home to a Dragon?”

      Gods damn it. “Yes.”

      “Why?”

      “Because,” she said, trying to force exasperation out of her tone, “she’s a Dragon. She wanted to stay in my home. I am a Lord of the High Court, but I am not Barrani. I had no safe way of refusing her.”

      “Nor any safe way of accepting her presence, either.”

      She failed to point out that the Arcane bomb had been designed—and probably thrown—by a Barrani Lord of the High Court in which she was now being interrogated, and that took effort.

      “Where is the Dragon now residing?”

      “In the Imperial Palace.”

      “And you?”

      “In the Imperial Palace.”