Cast in Wisdom (Chronicles of Elantra #15) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,73
often happened with wooden floors. The doors had been closed but had looked remarkably pristine.
Kaylin hadn’t seen nameplates—or their Barrani equivalent—on the doors, but Bellusdeo and Teela had. This whole everyone-sees-something-different paradigm was getting old.
The doors began to roll open.
Hope hissed. He leaped to his standing position, his body rigid enough it was practically vibrating.
This was not a good sign. Kaylin shouted a single word—“Move!”—as the doors began to open. Hope’s wing rose and covered Kaylin’s eyes as she followed her own advice, clearing the area at the height of the stairs and moving to stand between Bellusdeo and the open doors as she did.
She ran smack into Maggaron and staggered back. Even orange-eyed as she was, Bellusdeo snickered.
* * *
Killian stood in the midpoint of the opening doors, his Barrani face still scarred by the missing eye. His hair, unlike Larrantin’s, was all black, and the remaining eye was a deep midnight blue. He didn’t wear armor, and he didn’t carry a sword. Whatever trouble he was expecting, it wasn’t martial.
No, Kaylin thought, whatever trouble he was in now couldn’t be countered by physical prowess.
Neither Annarion nor Allaron cursed; Kaylin was pretty certain Mandoran or Terrano would have. As the doors rolled fully open, Kaylin heard a voice.
Be careful—there is danger here.
It was Nightshade’s.
* * *
Killian wasn’t nearly as welcoming on this second encounter.
As the doors fully opened, she thought she saw why. Killian wasn’t alone. He’d said he had no master, no lord, and she’d believed it. She still believed it. But there were people with him, one on each side, and neither looked remotely friendly.
One was Barrani by height and what she could see of his or her appearance; long robes and an unwieldy hooded cape covered most of their face. The other was human. He was taller than Kaylin, which wasn’t hard; he was wearing robes similar to the robes the Barrani wore, but as was always the case, not nearly as well. His hood didn’t cover his face, but draped, instead, across his shoulders and behind his neck.
Severn swore.
Of course he did.
Who is he?
Lord Baltrin. An image of said Lord formed immediately between them as if Severn were a portable Records, but better. Severn’s image was not an image that matched the man standing to one side of Killian. He wore a jacket, a shirt, an ostentatious circlet; his fingers were many-ringed, and his expression was indolent, bored and slightly predatory.
You really need to study the human Caste Court, he told her. Even if you’re never sent to speak to any of them as a Hawk.
He’s an Arcanist, isn’t he?
Not officially, no. It’s not legally required that human Arcanists register with the Imperial Order; human Arcanists—mortal Arcanists—are rare. The bulk of the Arcanum—
—is Barrani, I know. I don’t suppose you recognize the Barrani standing on the other side of Killian?
Not by chin alone, no.
Hope squawked loudly and smacked Kaylin’s face with the wing that he’d lifted. He lowered it briefly, and she understood why: without his wing, she couldn’t see either of Killian’s companions.
* * *
Killian’s companions did not expect to be seen.
Kaylin could see them, which posed a minor problem. She had no easy way of warning her companions about their presence without also alerting them.
Hope sighed. He squawked loudly. Kaylin wondered what he would look like as a translucent bird. For some reason, he smacked her face with his wing again. Killian stepped out; his companions did not. He offered Kaylin a slight nod, but his expression was so rigid it was easy to believe it might have been a trick of the light.
“Sorry for bothering you at home,” Kaylin said. She fell silent. It was hard not to look at the Barrani and the human.
Nightshade, where are you?
I am in a large auditorium.
Why?
I am, apparently, attending a lecture.
A lecture.
Yes. It would, if I had any control over my presence, be of great interest to me. You have made clear that you dislike the classes forced upon you by the Hawks; I am therefore less certain that it would be of interest to you. That thought amused him. And he wasn’t lying; the lecture—about theoretical magic and its practical possible applications—was of interest to him. But beneath the surface of the formed words were many tangled emotions, one of which was anger.
We can’t hear you when the doors to Killian’s building aren’t open. The cohort can’t hear their companions, either. Are Mandoran or Terrano in your lecture hall?