Lords who linger there. It is not your job.
“Your job, however—” and here, the mirror once again flipped, returning to the prior image of a slightly purple Candallar “—will be the fiefs. We wish to know what Candallar wants, what his connections are and what other decisions he’s made with regard to the heart of the fiefs and what it contains. We have little information to offer. Our knowledge is secondhand, at best. Your knowledge is not.”
“I’ve never been to Candallar.”
“No. Corporal Handred has.”
* * *
For the first time in the history of ever, Kaylin was excited to talk to the quartermaster. This excitement was not without anxiety, given the quartermaster’s long memory and his ability to hold grudges, but she had a good reason to be here. She had the best reason to be here.
To her surprise, the quartermaster was almost friendly. He was actively friendly to Severn, possibly to emphasize the difference between grudging respect and genuine respect. At this point, however, Kaylin was willing to take the grudging with both hands and hold it fast. Since respect was, in the immediate present, intangible, she transferred that to the kit he handed across the counter.
He stared at her, his lips twitching. “You’re going to have to let go of it to put it on. And you are not changing here. You’ve got a locker room for that. Get out.” He paused and then added, “Congratulations.”
* * *
It became clear to Kaylin that the world outside of the Halls of Law couldn’t tell the difference between a corporal and a private. In any practical sense, the change in rank didn’t saddle her with new duties, although in an emergency she had more pull than a private, in theory. None of that appeared to be evident to the Elani street regulars. Kaylin glanced at Margot’s ever-present sandwich board. She had the strong urge to borrow one side of it to announce her promotion to the street—but she had no chalk.
Severn said, “Don’t even think it. Marcus will be up to his armpits in paperwork from Margot’s complaints—he’ll probably have to bust you down a rank to mollify her.”
Given how Marcus felt about paperwork, losing the newly gained rank would not be the worst of her worries. Hope hissed laughter.
Bellusdeo, however, paused in front of the sandwich board. While burning a message into the board would satisfy Kaylin—briefly—it was likely to destroy the board, which would be a crime. A petty crime, but a crime.
“Severn’s right about the paperwork,” Kaylin told their companion.
“I don’t have to look at the paperwork,” the Dragon replied, her eyes all gold. “And he can’t demote me or fire me.” She shrugged and stepped away from Margot’s storefront. “But it’s true that he has been more polite of late than he was when I initially entered the office.”
“I told you why he doesn’t like Dragons.”
“Yes. I happen to agree with his assessment.”
It was Kaylin’s turn to shrug. “I didn’t know about it at the time, and in hindsight, I understand why the Emperor considered me a risk.” She lifted her arm and the bracer that kept her magic under control—or under complete wraps, as she had to remove it to do anything magically useful—caught sunlight. “The only important point—to me, the person who was at risk of execution—was that he listened to people who actually knew me.”
“They no doubt downplayed your penchant for wandering into inconceivably dangerous trouble.”
“Probably. You can check.”
“Oh?”
“Well, the Arkon was there. The Emperor was there. It wasn’t an actual trial, but I’ve heard it was pretty formal, so there are probably accessible Records—but palace Records, not Halls of Law. Or maybe not,” she added, catching Severn’s brief shake of head. “It’s old news now.”
Bellusdeo’s eyes gathered a hint of orange.
Sorry, Kaylin told Severn. I wasn’t thinking. I mean, if I’m not mad about it, and it was my fate being discussed, I don’t get why other people would be mad. I don’t think Teela’s mad about it, and she was there.
The orange deepened.
“So, we won’t be on Elani for the next couple of weeks,” Kaylin said in an attempt to divert the Dragon’s focus.
“You’re going back to the warrens?”
“In a manner of speaking.” The orange faded. It would. The warrens were considered a ground beat designed for Barrani; mortal Hawks without wings didn’t fare well there. The Barrani always did, and any injuries that were inflicted were taken entirely by their attackers—none of whom then wandered into the Halls of Law to