Cast in Ruin (35 page)

“But they knew what you were.”

She nodded.

“And…the ancient enemy?”

“He is not wholly what you—or I—are. He has lived in the heart of the Shadows, and he has been tainted by them. If he is also your enemy, Lord Sanabalis, and you are familiar with his history—”

“The only person who is intimately familiar with his history is the Arkon. He does not speak of it,” he added. “Nor will he appreciate the inquiry. He has, at least once, been seen in mortal form—but not by any member of the Dragon Court.”

“By whom?”

“The Chosen.”

They both fell silent as they considered the ramifications of this statement.

“You may inform the Arkon that I will get his trinket back,” Bellusdeo told Sanabalis. “I hardly see that they will need it if I am here in the flesh.”

“Thank you.” Sanabalis now rose. His chair made a lot more noise. “Private Neya? The Hawklord has requested your presence in the infirmary.”

“What—now?”

“Or as soon as possible. He wishes to fully capture the marks on your body as of yesterday’s…event, for Records. A copy of the capture will be sent on to the Imperial Palace. I have agreed to this interruption in your schedule. You have enough time remaining to be fully examined before you are required to return to the Palace.”

Kaylin tried not to grimace. She knew exactly why a return to the Palace was necessary: she had an etiquette class.

“There is a common mortal phrase,” Sanabalis told her as he reached the door.

“Which one?”

“Misery loves company.”

She frowned.

The Dragon Lord looked pointedly at Bellusdeo and said, “Private Neya is not the only student Lord Diarmat will have at this evening’s lesson.”

CHAPTER 24

“The Emperor is only
barely
willing to allow this,” Lord Sanabalis said as he examined Bellusdeo’s dress. It was a shade of blue that Kaylin found familiar and slightly unsettling because she’d seen it on eight corpses. Bellusdeo, however, had insisted. At the moment, it made Kaylin’s arms itch because the color wasn’t due to something solid and dependable like an exotic dye; they hadn’t the time for it. No, the color was entirely an artifact of magic.

The style of the dress, however, was very much Imperial standard; it was fussy, and it required some help to put on. Kaylin had been relegated to the role of helper, and was clearly not considered competent at the job.

“Barely willing to allow what?” Bellusdeo asked, her voice cool. Her eyes were a shade of amber that was just a trace off its usual gold.

“Your lessons,” Sanabalis replied.

“I would be pleased to avoid them entirely,” was the Dragon’s response.

“You’ve got that right,” Kaylin muttered.

“It is not the lesson itself which is contentious,” Sanabalis told Kaylin, his voice sharper; it smoothed out again when he turned to Bellusdeo. “It is the fact that you will have met every member of the Dragon Court before you’ve been formally introduced to the Emperor.”

“Oh?” If possible, Bellusdeo’s voice was even chillier.

“That’s not true. She hasn’t met Emmerian.” Seeing the darkening of Sanabalis’s eyes, Kaylin hastily added, “Lord Emmerian.”

“I fail to see the relevance one way or the other,” Bellusdeo told Sanabalis.

Sanabalis said nothing. It took a long time. He finally relented. “The request that you attend these lessons came not from the Emperor, but the Arkon. He seemed to feel you would find them edifying in one manner or another.”

“He made the suggestion to the Emperor directly?”

“He made it in the Emperor’s presence,” was the evasive reply.

“And the Emperor agreed.”

“The Emperor made clear that he had some concerns. Nonetheless, the Emperor accepted the Arkon’s request. Will you?”

“Have I not already allowed myself to be dressed for the occasion?” was the cool reply. Kaylin wasn’t certain if this was a face-saving measure because she wasn’t sure what face-saving protocols were required among Dragons with regards to other Dragons; when it came to mortals, Dragons didn’t really care all that much.

Kaylin, however, had other concerns. “Sanabalis,” she said, voice rising. “The time. The
time.
”

Bellusdeo raised a golden brow.

“Lord Diarmat dislikes people who can’t be punctual,” Kaylin said curtly, by way of explanation.

“Oh?”

“I said
people.
I’m sure Dragons don’t count.” She headed toward the door. “If you two want to finish your discussion, I’m sure he won’t mind. If I stay to listen, he’ll bite my head off.”

“A moment, Chosen,” Bellusdeo said.

Kaylin winced. “Could you call me Private Neya or just Kaylin, instead?” Seeing Bellusdeo’s expression, she added, “I mean, in front of Lord Diarmat.”

“We shall see,” was the noncommittal reply. “Please, lead on. We will follow.”

Sanabalis escorted them to the doors with their livid and annoying wards. Framing those doors were the perfect and also annoying Palace Guards. Bellusdeo glanced at both of their chiseled profiles and then said to Kaylin, “Why does everyone equate professionalism with total lack of manners?”

“Lack of manners?”

“Guards like these are all over the Palace halls; not a single one of them has made any attempt to either greet me or respond to my greetings.”

“Ah. The men in metal never do; it’s not part of their job.”

“Their job is to be silent and unapproachable?”

“More or less. You didn’t have guards?”

“I frequently had several. They were, however, competent enough that they could both speak and work at the same time.”

The Imperial Palace Guard was good; neither of the two so much as blinked. Kaylin knew that the Hawks would have. She glanced at Bellusdeo, who seemed genuinely irritated by their presence, and felt a stab of sympathy and
very
grudging respect for these guards.

Bellusdeo stared at the closed doors. Kaylin, grimacing, lifted her left hand, but Bellusdeo caught it and forced it back down. She glanced at Sanabalis, who lifted a brow in silence.

“Visual identification of the type you’ve requested,” he told her, lifting his hand at her silent command, “is not as secure as touch.”

“And your mortals are now so fractious that such security is required?”

“It is not, of course, the mortals that are feared.” He frowned as he placed his palm firmly against the two door wards in quick succession. “Or rather, not most of the mortals. Some—as you are no doubt well aware—are quite capable of complex and powerful magics.”

“My point still stands.”

“It does. Consider, however, the existence—the
peaceful
existence—of the Barrani within the City, several of whom are Arcanists, and none of whom are Imperial mages.”

Bellusdeo looked to Kaylin. “What is the difference?”

“An Arcanist is part of the Arcanum. The Arcanum predates the founding of the Empire. For reasons that make no sense at all, it’s still allowed to exist; in theory, its members follow the Emperor’s Laws, but they owe nothing else to the Emperor. The Imperial Order of Mages are what the name implies: they’re beholden to the Emperor, and they pretty much work under his command.”

“I…see.” She glanced down the perfectly decorated and lit halls, and added, “I suppose the City
is
still standing, so I can’t condemn it as entirely unwise.”

The doors rolled open.

If Bellusdeo had ever spent time in a normal classroom it didn’t show; she didn’t even blink at the layout of Diarmat’s grand function room. She did not, however, enter the room, leaving Kaylin to cross the threshold on her own. She did, and saw that Lord Diarmat was seated behind his very uncluttered desk, his hands folded on its gleaming surface in a steeple.

He looked up at Kaylin as she entered. Even at this distance, she could see that his eyes were well into orange territory. “You are late, Private.”

Kaylin was certain she’d woken screaming from nightmares that had been more fun than this. She opened her mouth to speak and snapped it shut; Diarmat was famous for considering any attempt at making an excuse an additional crime.

He raised a brow at her silence, and then, to her surprise, nodded and rose. “You are not on duty at the moment.”

“Sir?”

“You are not to wear your uniform to these classes while they occur outside your duty schedule.”

What am I supposed to wear, then?
she thought. The answer, which was no answer at all, slowly sunk claws into those thoughts. She had no idea what Diarmat would consider appropriate clothing for civilian classes with a Dragon Lord in off-duty hours. Showing more wisdom than utter panic usually allowed, she said, “Yes, sir.”

“Given the hour, I will refrain from sending you home to change. I expect, however, that you will be here—appropriately attired—two days hence.”

“What,” Bellusdeo asked, “would be considered appropriate attire for these lessons?”

Lord Diarmat looked toward the door, which now contained Bellusdeo in full Imperial Court dress. Her eyes were half closed, but the half that Kaylin could see—obscured by inner membrane—was not that far off Diarmat’s orange. The hair on the back of Kaylin’s neck began to rise—and not because there was magic in the air.

Sanabalis was standing behind Bellusdeo—in part because she was blocking the doors—in silence. Kaylin couldn’t see enough of him from her vantage to see the color of his eyes, but at this point, it didn’t matter; of the Dragon Court, Sanabalis was the least temperamental, and any trouble here wasn’t going to come from him.

Kaylin cleared her throat, which got her the immediate attention of two annoyed Dragons. “Lord Diarmat,” she said, “may I introduce Bellusdeo?” Before he could answer, she turned to Bellusdeo. “Bellusdeo, this is Lord Diarmat of the Imperial Dragon Court.”

“So I gathered,” Bellusdeo replied. It had never occurred to Kaylin to wonder how the Norannir introduced each other. Regardless, she felt that Bellusdeo’s cool reply would still not have qualified as polite.

Lord Diarmat had gathered enough of his temper to say, “My apologies, Bellusdeo. I am currently occupied with a prior responsibility. If I may request that you return at a later time or a later date?”

“You may,” was her quiet reply. “Kaylin, come.”

Kaylin very much did not want to be the rope with which two Dragons played tug-of-war.

Diarmat’s eyes narrowed. “My responsibility,” he told Bellusdeo in a much cooler voice, “is the schooling of the Private. She is therefore also occupied.”

Sanabalis now cleared his throat. “Lord Diarmat.”

“Lord Sanabalis.”

“The Emperor has requested that you make room in your teaching schedule for a second student.” He waited while the import of the words sunk in; give Diarmat credit, it didn’t take long.

“I beg your pardon?” he said in very crisp, very pointed High Barrani.

“I am to be the second student in these lessons of yours,” Bellusdeo told him. “The customs of the Emperor’s Dragon Court differ greatly—or so I am told—from the customs of the Aerie in which I last lived while in these lands.”

There was a much longer pause from Diarmat. Bellusdeo smiled into it, looking very much like Teela in one of those moods, but shorter, and with golden hair. He finally said, “I do not believe that will be possible.”

“Oh?”

“What you are required to learn of the etiquette and customs of the Imperial Dragon Court is very much racially dependent. As is what Private Neya is required to learn. Since she is mortal and you are not—”

Bellusdeo lifted a hand and swatted the rest of the sentence away. “I would be very interested in the customs of the Court in either case.”

“In your…lands…were mortals accorded the same rights and status as your own people?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“But I was familiar with both sets of rules.” She smiled briefly and added, “I had some hand in forming them. Your Private would have skirted the boundaries between them,” she added.

“I see. Personal favoritism—”

“Not for that reason, although I will state clearly and unequivocally that I am both fond of the Private and in her debt.” Bellusdeo finally said, “May I enter?”

Lord Diarmat nodded curtly, and Bellusdeo stepped across the doorjamb and into the room, where her skirts trailed across the surface of the dark carpet. She came to stand beside Kaylin. “She is Chosen,” she told Lord Diarmat curtly. “And in my lands, the Chosen were accorded a great deal of respect.”

“She is mortal,” he countered. “And the respect she is accorded is a respect she will earn, to her benefit or detriment. How you choose to treat her is of little relevance to either the Imperial Court or these classes, as your respect does not determine or define
either.
I will attempt not to belabor the obvious,” he added. “But
these
lands are currently habitable. Your lands, if I am not mistaken, are not.”

“Through no fault of her own,” Kaylin said.

Lord Diarmat chose, for the first time, to utterly ignore her impertinence. He had fixed Bellusdeo with a look more appropriate to a late Private than a Dragon Queen, and he clearly did not intend to break it for something trivial.

“You are not mistaken,” Bellusdeo finally replied. Her eyes were a darker shade of orange, but they hadn’t shaded to red. “However, if your Emperor had kept his Flight in check, the Outcaste from
your
Court would never have been free to wage his war against the outlands. If I have failed my people, your part in that failure is large.”

Kaylin looked to Sanabalis for support; Sanabalis, however, was watching Diarmat.

Diarmat roared.

Kaylin—who was not, and would never be, Imperial Palace Guard material—flinched and took a step back. Sanabalis had entered the room, and he placed one hand on her shoulder.

“Cover your ears,” he told her curtly—and loudly. She took it as permission and did exactly that as Bellusdeo replied. Her roar was as loud as Diarmat’s, and it lasted longer, broken by syllables in the same way storms are broken by thunder and lightning.

Sanabalis dragged Kaylin to the door and pulled her out of the room. He then spoke one very loud word at the doors, and they slammed shut.

When the ringing in her ears had subsided enough that she could hear relatively normal speech, Sanabalis said, “They will converse for some small time yet.”

She could hear them “conversing,” as he called it. But it was far more muffled than it should have been, given their proximity. “The doors are—”

“Yes. They are magicked. They are not heavily enough magicked, apparently, for the intensity of the conversation now occurring. If it helps, I did tell the Arkon that I thought this singularly unwise.”

“What are they saying?”

“They are exchanging insults; they have not yet descended to the level of challenge.”

“Will they?”

“We will have to hope not. Lord Diarmat, of the Court, is the least likely to bend to Bellusdeo’s whim. Her importance to the race will not sway him one way or the other, and he will be far less amused by her general behavior than the Arkon.”

The Arkon hadn’t seemed entirely amused by it, but Kaylin didn’t point this out.

“They are both, at base, correct in their accusations, which
will
help her. It will help you in future if you can convince her—by whatever means necessary—that your status in her lands is entirely irrelevant here.”

“Tried that.”

“Try harder.”

“Easy for you to say. In case it escaped your notice,
she’s
a Dragon.”

“Believe that at this point,” he said, wincing at whatever it was Diarmat had just roared, “I am unlikely to forget that fact.”

Kaylin nodded as the roaring continued. After a few frustrating minutes in which she cursed her lack of linguistic knowledge, she said, “There’s a bright side to this.”