Cast in Flame (29 page)

“What I didn’t entirely understand was that she is just as fond of you. If you asked her, she would allow you to move in before you’d finished making the request. She doesn’t have door wards—anywhere—because she knows how much discomfort they cause you. She doesn’t have multiple Avatars—which would be more efficient—for similar reasons. I feel this unfair,” Bellusdeo added, “but she pointed out that you’ve never said anything; she intuits it because you are, to use an Elantran phrase, an open book. She doesn’t want you to feel unhappy or uncomfortable when you visit her, because she’s afraid you will visit even less than you do now.”

Kaylin said nothing. She felt...guilty. She was effectively telling Tara to be
less
herself—in her own home. “I think I could get used to it,” she said, in a much quieter voice. “She shouldn’t have to change herself because she’s afraid of what
I’ll
think.”

“Why not? Isn’t it what you yourself do?”

Kaylin was at a momentary loss for words. Teela, being Teela, filled the gap. “She has you there, kitling. You spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about the opinions of other people as they relate to yourself.”

“I don’t—”

“You do. You dislike old, judgmental men. In the past, you made yourself so obnoxious they were bound to dislike you on principal. Why do you think you did that?”

Kaylin said nothing.

“Because then you’d be in control. You’d
know
what they judged, and why. You’ve improved greatly over the past few years,” Teela added. “You don’t assume that every authority figure in the city will automatically assume you are an ignorant, venal wretch from the fiefs. What Tara does is vastly less offensive—but Tara makes no assumptions of the kind you did. She knows what you think; you hide nothing. You don’t even try. She’s aware that she caused you pain in the past, and she regrets it; she is determined never to make that mistake again.”

Kaylin said more nothing, as Teela glanced at Bellusdeo. “Were there any names on that list?”

“Yes.”

“Any recent names?”

“No.”

“How would Tara even have the early names?” Kaylin asked.

“That,” Bellusdeo said, “was the important point. Your Imperial Records are an echo of the communication and collective memory of structures such as Tara, the Hallionne, and apparently places like Ashwood. Before you ask, the Keeper’s Garden is not part of what Tara considered an array.”

“Did Tara know any of the previous occupants?”

“Not personally, no.” She glanced at Kaylin, and then continued to watch the road.

“What?”

“It is nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. What?”

“It does not appear that you fully understand that Tara, like any sentient being who can speak and think, is fully capable of lying when it suits her purposes. You,” she continued, “are an
incompetent
liar. This does not mean that you do not, from time to time, make that attempt. It’s my suspicion that, were it not for the emergency on her borders, Tara would have asked Lord Tiamaris to accompany us.”

Kaylin wasn’t of a mind to feel grateful for the type of emergency that Tara and Tiamaris now faced—but it was close.

“He would have, at this point, been more welcome than Emmerian.”

“He’s still a Lord of the Dragon Court.”

“Yes—an independent Lord of that Court, with a fief that operates as a small, separate country under his command.” Bellusdeo exhaled heavily. “His existence—his continued existence—is possibly one of the only things that gives me hope for my own future.”

“You said you mirrored Jared?” Teela asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. There’s a rather unpleasant amount of activity at the various windows we’re passing; he’s probably cursing the existence of mirrors—at all—at the moment. Pick up the pace. I happen to like Jared.”

* * *

Ashwood did not, in Kaylin’s opinion, live up to the word
street.
It appeared, as they made their final right, to sport no sign that declared its name in precise, Imperial lettering, for one; it was short, for another. There were two manor homes—one to the right and one to the left—and they were very much in keeping with the general style of this neighborhood—the front doors were as far from actual pedestrians as it was possible to be while still facing the street; there were heavy, ornate fences, and there were gates. Very closed gates. There didn’t appear to be gatehouses, on the other hand.

The road itself led to a third residence. It was also fenced in. It was gated. There were no other homes.

“The one at the end is number three?” Kaylin asked their native guide.

Teela nodded.

“It looks a lot like one and two.”

“Which says more about mortal vision than it does about either of the three manors. You’re certain you’re expected?”

Kaylin stared at the back of Barrani head. Teela turned slowly. “I’m certain we’re not.”

“Given Tara’s concerns—”

“If I’d known that Tara had some sort of connection with Ashwood, I’d’ve asked to use
her
mirror. Evanton said the owner of the house is off the mirror network.”

“The owner of the house,” Bellusdeo added, “is off the Tower network—if such a thing exists—as well. Tara has no ability to communicate with the building here.”

“But she did in the past.”

“Yes.”

“Did she tell you how or why that changed?”

“No. I did, however, ask.” Bellusdeo now approached the front gate. “She was concerned. You are important to her. But she understands that you—and myself, if I am being honest—are desperately unhappy living at the Palace. She is not certain that Ashwood is a danger; she is only certain that it can be. I, on the other hand, am a danger. Were it not for my presence in your life, you would not now be searching for another place to live. Teela is a danger. Were it not for Teela—”

“I get it, I get it. She thinks Ashwood is more like you or Teela than Shadows, which have intent to harm?”

“Yes, I believe so. She doesn’t have a finer understanding of either diplomacy or tact—”

Mandoran snorted.

“—but she has, with Tiamaris’s help and instruction, learned much in the past few months. She does not feel that you have learned
as
much.”

“She has a better teacher,” was Kaylin’s glum reply. She joined Bellusdeo at the very closed gate.

“She asks me to remind you that tact and diplomacy can be used without dishonesty.”

“Oh, I’ll be tactful.”

This time it was Teela who snorted. “The gate is closed.”

“Locked?”

Teela carefully attempted to open the gate. “Yes.”

“And there doesn’t seem to be a gatekeeper,” Bellusdeo added.

Which meant Jared was getting a faceful of “concerned” citizenry for no reason. Kaylin muttered a few choice Leontine phrases, shoulders sagging.

“Tact, remember?” Teela chuckled.

“It’s not like anyone’s listening. Tact is the thing you use when people can actually hear you.” She reached out, grabbed a bar, and rattled the very, very solid gate. “I feel like I’m in jail,” she said, to no one in particular. It had been a damned long day.

No one was more surprised than Kaylin at the sharp sound of metallic click. She yanked her hand away as if burned, although the metal was cool and solid to the touch. The gates, however, began to roll in toward a lawn that was neither wild nor precisely tended. Grass rose on either side of a deliberate stone path; the stones were flat and even—wide enough to accommodate even the most fussy of Imperial carriages. Certainly wide enough to accommodate the diverse party that now stood at the foot of that path.

* * *

“Did I miss a ward?” she asked, although she knew the answer.

“You couldn’t have. You aren’t whining enough,” Teela replied. “Do you see magic here?”

“I see evidence of magic.”

“Very funny.”

The small dragon yawned. He draped himself across Kaylin’s shoulders, mimicking a very bored cat. He did not, however, attempt to speak to the moving gate. Kaylin took this as a good sign.

“How did the Keeper know that his friend was looking for a new tenant?” Mandoran asked, as Kaylin took her first hesitant step up the drive. “If neither he nor the Ashwood building are part of the mirror system?”

“Don’t ask me.”

* * *

The front doors were not as intimidating as the open gate, because they weren’t actually open. Doors were a little like people, in Kaylin’s experience; they told you a fair amount about what to expect on the interiors. The door to her old apartment building had been finicky; it was wider on the street than the interior doors. Getting furniture into—or out of—the apartment had been a nightmare that had only been resolved by removing that door from its hinges, and even then, the door frame was narrow. No one who lived in the apartments, the doors implied, could possibly have much of value or size to move either in or out.

In Kaylin’s case, that had been true. Even the closet had been a gift—of sorts—from the Hawks in the office.

These doors, however, could easily accommodate the same carriage that the drive could if it weren’t for the stairs; they were steep and narrow, as if they belonged at the front of an entirely different—and much smaller—building.

“This place is going to be out of my pay range,” she said, as she reached the top of the stairs. “Unless it’s a rooming house.”

Bellusdeo snorted smoke. “There is no way there would be a rooming house in a neighborhood like this.”

“It’s not illegal.”

“Legality is only one form of social pressure. Have you spent much time with the humans who claim wealth and power in the city you police?”

“Remember that tact and diplomacy I appear to lack?”

“Ah, yes. Well. This is not a place for the less well-off to either live or gather.”

“Bets on the door opening on its own?”

“Define on its own.”

Severn however said, “You’re betting it won’t?”

Kaylin snorted. “No.”

“This, kitling, is why you lose money. That is not a bet anyone would take.”

“I’d take it at high enough odds,” Severn countered.

Mandoran said, “I do not understand the purpose of this ‘betting.’”

“Teela hasn’t explained it?”

“She’s done more than explain it—but it still makes no sense.”

“You need to spend more time in the office,” Kaylin replied, before she actually checked the words leaving her mouth. “You’d pick it up in no time. I’m not so sure about Annarion, though.”

The door did not roll open as they approached. There were no obvious door knockers, no pulls that might ring interior bells; those would probably be found at the trade entrance—the doors regular people were expected to enter. Kaylin had personal experience with this, as a Hawk.

There was no glowing door ward, either, but this wasn’t unusual in the larger manor homes. Door wards were considered inferior to actual, working guards—and the wards were generally cheaper. Only in the run-down, older buildings was there a similar lack of wards, but for the opposite reason: door wards were
not
cheap.

“Ready?” Kaylin asked Bellusdeo.

“I am uncertain,” she said, after a long pause.

Surprised, Kaylin looked toward the Dragon. The Dragon was watching Mandoran.

Mandoran was the color of milk.

Annarion was nowhere near as pale; to Kaylin’s surprise, he stepped in front of Mandoran; his hand fell to the hilt of a sword Kaylin would have sworn he wasn’t wearing when they entered this district. She physically turned to face Teela, whose eyes were predictably blue, raising her brows in question.

“Someone’s coming,” Mandoran said.

Before she could ask how he knew—and she probably wouldn’t have, as she had a suspicion she wouldn’t understand any answer he’d care to give—the doors began to roll open. Standing between them was a withered old man.

Sadly, withered was not a figurative description.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Kaylin started forward immediately. So did Severn. Even Teela moved.

They were Hawks. They had training. And they had some experience recognizing death when they saw it. They didn’t
usually
see a dead man standing between open doors as if his very last act had been opening them—but this was a big city. Stranger things happened.

Kaylin caught him as he toppled—and he did topple; he didn’t crumple.

The small dragon lifted his head as if he were bored. He also yawned, to drive the point home.

Severn immediately checked for vital signs as Kaylin, grunting, lowered the man to the ground. In this particular case, she chose to stay on the safe side of the threshold. Teela came to stand on the other side of the two Hawks. She didn’t ask for the man’s status. “Is this work for Red?”

“Hard to tell,” Severn replied. “He didn’t just open the doors and drop dead; he’s been dead for a while.”

“How long?”

“Less than a couple of days. There are no obvious signs of violence; no visible bruising, no bleeding; there are no obvious bumps on the back of his head.” There weren’t any on his forehead either.

“He’s mortal?” Annarion asked.

Kaylin was surprised. “What else could he be? He’s
old.
”

Annarion joined them, kneeling by Kaylin’s side. The small dragon whiffled in his ear, but he ignored the sounds; he seemed fascinated by the corpse. Fascinated, Kaylin thought, not repelled. “He aged to death.”

“Yes. It’s pretty much how most of us are going to go—if we’re lucky.”

“And age means weakness.”

“Well,
this
age does.”

“There are no signs of violence,” Severn finally said. “None that I can see. He’s not emaciated enough to have starved to death.”

“Oh, he didn’t,” Kaylin replied. She was the one who’d caught him as he toppled. “He certainly couldn’t have been poor, given where he was living. And his clothing is a little on the odd side, but it’s not cheap.”

“You are certain,” Bellusdeo asked, keeping a respectful distance from the Hawks at work. “He lived here?”

“Well, he either lived here or he wandered in through the trade entrance and died on the way out. There’s no sign of struggle; there’s no sign of anything obviously wrong. To know more, we’d have to send him to Red.” Before Bellusdeo could ask, Kaylin said, “Red doesn’t examine every corpse in this city; he barely has the resources to examine the bodies that are obviously murder victims.”