Cast In Secret (20 page)

Kaylin’s brows rose.

And fell as she noted the subtle shift in the folds of the Dragon lord’s robes, which indicated that he might be prepared to step on her foot again, and finish the job by breaking it. But the expression on her face had nothing to do with her normal contempt.

“He – he lets nobles talk to the – the children?” For as she said it, it came to her that they
were
in their way like lost children, even the oldest among then, in their brilliant, scattered and mismatched regalia.

Sigrenne’s face cracked a genuine smile, then. “You
are
Marrin’s,” she said, voice gruff with approval. “And you understand why we’re protective. Not all of the Oracles are… as lost… as the ones you just saw. You’ve met Oracles before, in your line of work, surely?”

Kaylin nodded.

“You’re here to see some of them,” Sigrenne added. “But the Master first.”

“I’ll be good.” She looked at Lord Sanabalis and added, “I’ll try to be good.”

The words
The Master
always had a certain tinge of authority to them that set Kaylin’s teeth on edge in
any
institution. Respect, she could grant – but some stubborn part of her felt it had to be earned. It wasn’t something she could just toss around lightly, like dirty laundry at the end of a long, messy day.

And the man who eventually entered the room, followed by servants who carried simple, but obviously silver, trays, suited the words. The contrast between his attire and the attire of the inmates of this strange interior world could not have been more pronounced; had he been in a throng of pretentious nobility it would have been impossible to pick him out. He was impeccable. His hair was salt-and-pepper black, and he sported a pointed, well-groomed beard; his eyes were a dark brown, and nested under a thick welt of brow that broke only slightly when it crossed the bridge of his nose.

He was a tall man, and his subtle stance made it clear to Kaylin that he was accustomed to taking advantage of his height when it suited him. At the moment, it didn’t suit him, and he stood almost at ease, examining her. He spared Sanabalis the shortest of glances, a certain sign that he was familiar with the Dragon lord. And yet… she had been told that he was an Oracle.

And that those with the weakest power were often the ones who could most easily interact with the outside world by its own rules. She could well believe it now.

“Lord Sanabalis,” he said at last.

“Master Sabrai,” the Dragon replied, inclining his head, “this is Private Kaylin Neya, of the Imperial Hawks.”

“The investigative branch?”

“Indeed.”

“And what do the Halls of Law require of the Oracles on this fine day?” He asked the question of Sanabalis, but he directed the brunt of his scrutiny toward Kaylin, the newcomer. There was, however, no disdain in his gaze. It contained a certain amount of weariness and, yes, hostility – but none of the contempt that she had come to expect of people who dressed the way he did.

She took a breath and turned it around. “It’s not exactly what the Halls require, but what the Oracle Hall needs.”

He was silent in his brittle regard.

“Sanabalis – ” She paused as the dragon cleared his throat loudly, and started again. “
Lord
Sanabalis brought me a sketch – a color sketch that’s really quite good – indirectly attributed to one of the children here. For some reason, he thought I might recognize the girl in the picture.”

“And you did?”

She nodded. “I’ve seen the girl once before.”

Master Sabrai froze in place. Kaylin had heard the expression a hundred times, but only a handful were truly descriptive. “In life?”

“No.”

“In – not in dream?” His brows rose, changing the distant and well-kept expression of his face. The eyes that had looked so dark seemed paler as they rounded, like windows, like a glimpse of vulnerability and uncertainty. Nor did he struggle to contain it, as many a noble might have done, and she realized that he
was
an Oracle.

Wondered what it cost him to be so different from the others who lived here, and wondered what he did when he wasn’t forced into this role.

“No, not in dream, either.”

He relaxed slightly, and the weary look on his face became, for Kaylin, the look of a man who wasn’t anxious to sleep much, and needed to.

“How, then, did you see her?”

“On the surface reflection of a pool of very, very deep water.”

“W-water?”

She nodded, watching him carefully now; she had ceased to be a worry in one way, and had brought home all worry in another.

“Lord,” Master Sabrai said to Sanabalis.

“Yes, Master Sabrai.”

“The other drawings?”

“It was to get your permission to speak with the artist that we came. That and to see the rest of his impressive work.”

“She knows the rules?”

“She has been fully apprised of the rules, yes.”

“Good. You have my permission. I would like to attend, as well.”

“Of course.”

Kaylin could smell the room before she could see it. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell – but it
was
a dusty, strong smell, and an unfamiliar one. They had been escorted through a different set of doors than the one they had entered, which she hadn’t expected.

“Don’t we usually speak to the Oracles in your office?”

“Yes, that would be the usual method. But Everly is somewhat unusual, and he does not speak at all.” He hesitated for a moment, and then added, “He is not generally exposed to the public. On the few occasions that we have felt his presence germaine, it did not turn out… well. And the full effect of his expression of talent cannot be had in my office.”

As he wasn’t looking at her, Kaylin didn’t bother to nod.

“You will see, among his collection, some portraits you may or may not recognize. It’s not exactly his specialty, but – he tends to anchor things
to
people.”

“That’s unusual?” Kaylin asked. Mostly because she couldn’t see how a future that didn’t concern living people was much of a concern at all.

“Try chatting with a tidal wave,” Master Sabrai replied.

“Good point.” She paused for a moment as his back hurried off. “Was that just a random example?” And moved her foot just in time to avoid Sanabalis’s. For someone who affected age, he could move
fast
.

“Lord Sanabalis has been here before, obviously.” Master Sabrai stopped at a closed door that looked sort of like any other closed door in the narrow hall. “Some of the Oracles… don’t like Lord Sanabalis.”

“It’s the Dragon thing, right?”

“Something like that,” Master Sabrai replied, and pushed the door open.

Into the fury that was the jaws of a dragon. Kaylin’s knees had bent and her hand had dropped to her dagger hilt before she realized that
this
Dragon was actually… a huge painting.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Master Sabrai said over her shoulder. “It’s the one that most fascinates Everly. He never quite finishes it. He adds to it here and there.”

Kaylin turned slowly to look, not at Sabrai, but Sanabalis.

“I think it a good likeness of the days of my youth,” he said, without so much as cracking a smile.

“If that’s what the Oracles all see when they see you, I’m surprised they let you in
at all
.”

“Not all of the Oracles will see Lord Sanabalis that way,” Master Sabrai said quietly, as he motioned toward the room itself. “But enough of them do.”

“And you?”

“I see him as he presents himself.”

“Ah.” Kaylin tilted her head to one side for a moment. “And me?”

“You bear an unusual mark,” he said.

Which, Kaylin decided, proved the point about sane and powerful – the more sane, the less powerful. She thought briefly that this might apply to everyone, thought of the marks on her arms, her legs, her back, and decided she distinctly disliked the direction her thoughts were taking her.

So instead of thinking, she chose observation. Kaylin looked around a much larger room than she’d expected, and realized that the painting of Sanabalis had to be
huge
.

“It’s life-size,” Master Sabrai said, because he could probably hear her jaw hit the floor. “It was rather difficult to get the canvas for it, and unfortunately, it was also rather necessary.”

“Oh?”

“He’s an Oracle,” Master Sabrai added, as if it were an explanation. It wasn’t, really.

“Is that why it’s not framed?”

“Oh, most of his work isn’t. The work on display is otherwise framed, yes, but Everly doesn’t care about frames. They do, however, often impress the few dignitaries who request permission to view his gallery.”

And that was the word for this room.

Wall-to-wall paintings stretched out toward the devouring jaws of a Dragon in fury, and above those paintings, light shone from layered windows in the ceiling. The light didn’t directly touch the paintings themselves; someone had designed this room with at least that much care.

She started to walk toward the right wall, and stopped there. A bed was tucked into the corner, beneath an impressive set of cupboards, and a desk was pressed against the wall that held the door. A chair was tucked into it, but the layer of dust across its back made clear how often that desk was used.

“Where is the Oracle?” she asked Master Sabrai.

“He is there,” Master Sabrai said, and lifted a robed arm.

Tucked kitty-corner from the bed was a very tall easel, which held a canvas.

“At work,” he added, lowering his voice. The two words held concern.

“It’s not good for him to work?”

“It is. But not… like this.”

“No?”

“He doesn’t eat unless he’s fed. He doesn’t sleep unless he’s drugged. While many of the other Oracles confront their nightmares, he confronts his – but he doesn’t require sleep to do so.”

“He does need sleep,” she began, and then bit her tongue. Sometimes it flapped way too much.

“He won’t be aware of your presence,” Master Sabrai told her.

Kaylin nodded. “Does it disturb him if we watch him at work?”

“Not usually.”

“And if it does?”

“You’ll know.”

She wasn’t sure she liked the tone in which the words were delivered. She also wasn’t sure she liked the Dragon on the far wall, but she had to approach it to see the boy because it was directly at his back. What kind of child could paint something so obviously deadly, so beautifully savage, and remain unperturbed by the reality of it?

An Oracle, idiot.

She approached the canvas as if it were a manor wall, and she were climbing over it instead of going through the guardhouse, the way visitors who were welcome usually did.

She wasn’t wearing too much in the way of armor, so she didn’t make a lot of noise. But as she was at last within touching distance of the back of the stretched cloth, she could hear the boy’s breath, could hear the small clunk of a palette being settled on what looked, to her eye, like the flat of a bar stool. She couldn’t see the boy yet, but could see the hand that had set it down.

Master Sabrai was behind her, and Lord Sanabalis had chosen to approach at a vastly more leisurely pace than Kaylin, so neither of them were close enough to stop the small noise that came out of her mouth when she finally rounded the edge of the easel and came face-to-face with what the boy was painting.

It was
her.
It was Kaylin Neya.

The boy’s brush hand stopped for a moment; the fine, fine hairs of his brush hovered steadily above the canvas, almost in midstroke. His eyes were a milky blue, and he turned them toward her, staring as if lids were decoration and blinking was a fashion statement. One that he was above making.

She almost introduced herself, remembering the manners that her mother had tried to teach her in a different place a lifetime ago. But her eyes were drawn to the painting and held there, and anything she thought she might say about herself seemed suddenly superfluous.

What, after all, could you say to a boy who was painting the marks that lay hidden beneath your uniform? What could you say to a boy who had removed the uniform, exchanging it for a backless, armless gown, so that the symbols that adorned her skin were, in their entirety, laid bare?

She was half turned away from him, in the painting, so that three quarters of her back could be seen; her hair, which she always wore up when she worked, was in fact pulled high above her neck and pinned there by something he had not yet added. If it were true to life, it would be a stick of some sort. Certainly nothing ornate.

But this
wasn’t
true to life; Kaylin had never worn a dress like this one; she didn’t even
own
something that came close. It was simple, at first glance – but first glance was something that she gave it only because the marks were so accurate and so prominent they dwarfed everything else about the portrait.

“He’s been working on this one for almost a week,” Master Sabrai told her.

“Interesting, isn’t it, Private Neya?”

The old bastard could have warned her, she thought, but the annoyance was halfhearted enough that she couldn’t even put it into words – and annoyed was something she was
good
at. The brush started to move again.

“He works in oil?” she asked Master Sabrai.

“He works in whatever he can get his hands on, and many of his most… useful… works have been done in pencils and watercolors,” the Master replied. “But if oils are here, he tends to use them. The paintings are much clearer, and much cleaner, when he does. They also take much longer,” he added quietly. “This
is
you, isn’t it?”

“You can’t tell?”

He took one look at Kaylin’s street uniform, and then looked at the painting. His raised eyebrow said the rest, and she had to agree with him. If she didn’t know herself, she probably wouldn’t have made the connection so easily.

“But Sanabalis, you said – ”

“I said the image of the girl was taken from his memory with his permission,” the Dragon lord replied.

“But you implied – ”