LITMIR.BIZ

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don’t understand it; the Barrani inheritance wars are brutal enough when they start that legitimacy would seem to be of paramount import.”

      “To an outsider, yes. But primacy is decided by power. What I take, I must be able to hold against all. If I am foolish, stupid or incompetent, I will die. The line, however, requires someone who is none of those things. My death might be regrettable, but it would be seen as necessary. And our children are not so numerous that the parentage defines them. The only exception is the lineage of the High Lord—and even in that case, new reigns are ushered in by politics and death in almost all cases.”

      “Not the most recent one,” Kaylin said quietly.

      “No. And believe, kitling, that there are lords who have been working constantly to ensure that the throne is in the hands of a ruthless, powerful man. A different man.”

      Kaylin frowned.

      “Told you,” Mandoran said as he turned to Kaylin. “He’s been fighting a constant succession war since the death of his father. It shouldn’t take more than another decade or two of your time before those challenges wither. Teela assumed you understood this.”

      “And that has nothing to do with our current predicament.” Teela sent Mandoran a death glare; it didn’t faze him at all. “You do not know your father. Of your wings, you know only that they are of great import to the Aerian people—but not how or why.”

      Moran nodded, shaking herself out of the web of memory that Teela’s words had evoked. “What was I saying? The praevolo. I believe, although again, it’s conjecture, that our ancestors did not suddenly find themselves in possession of a miracle baby. Birth is not quite the word used, but there’s no analogy that I can easily think of in Elantran. Maybe blessing?”

      Kaylin stiffened, but said nothing.

      “And it’s clear, given the stories, that the praevolo of that time could both fly—soar is the word that is used to refer to him—and fight. His prowess in both was considered proof of the benevolence and love of our gods.”

      “And their existence, no doubt.”

      Moran nodded. “I’m not terribly religious.”

      “You’re a Hawk, which requires an entirely different kind of stupid,” Mandoran said.

      “Mandoran,” Helen chided, as if she were his mother.

      “Am I offending anyone?”

      “In all probability, no,” Helen replied. “But you are offending me.”

      Mandoran went still.

      “Hazielle, my first tenant, was quietly and devoutly religious. Kaylin, my current tenant, is devoted to the Hawks. You are a guest here, and greater leeway is given to guests—but you will not insult them.”

      “I insult Kaylin all the time!”

      “He does,” Kaylin said, partly in his defense. Mandoran didn’t appear to hear her. He was staring at Helen, and Helen—or Helen’s Avatar—returned that stare with emphasis.

      “Fine,” Mandoran eventually said. His voice was all sulkiness, except for the bits that were humiliation. Kaylin wasn’t certain this was smart, but even if it was her house, she wasn’t Helen.

      “No, dear,” Helen said gently. “But that’s why you can be my tenant. I could never live with another presence that was too similar to me.”

      Mandoran’s snort was rude, but wordless. Teela pointedly turned her attention back to Moran. “You think that the praevolo was magically created?”

      “I think the power of the praevolo must have been, yes. We know that a flight’s worth of Aerians of both genders went into seclusion. They prayed,” she added with a hint of self-consciousness. “Those that were unworthy faced the wrath of the gods.”

      “They died?”

      Moran nodded. “They did not approach the gods with the proper humility and respect,” she added. “Believe that I heard this particular story frequently. I couldn’t make sense of it until I joined the Hawks. I had no idea how many gods crowded each other for space in Elantra until then.” Her gaze darted to Bellusdeo and away. “I didn’t entirely understand how dangerous the Shadows could be in a global sense until very recently, either.

      “Be that as it may, I believe it was an investiture of power. And it worked.”

      “But the power isn’t conferred that way now?” Kaylin asked.

      Moran shook her head. “But it’s only the flights of the Upper Reach—or the offspring of those flights—that are born with the wings. It’s not a constant; there isn’t always a praevolo. We went three generations without one. But the birth of one—of me, in this case—implies that their power will be needed.”

      “Has this proved historically true for the Aerians?” It was Bellusdeo who asked—of course it would be. If the genesis of Moran’s damaged wings was related in any way to Shadow, it would suddenly become hugely relevant to the golden Dragon. She had lost a world to those Shadows, and she had the memory of immortals. She did not forget for one second.

      “I am not permitted to speak of that.”

      “You aren’t permitted to speak of this, either, if I had to guess.”

      Moran flashed a wry grin. “Technically, there is nothing in this discussion that circumvents the proscriptions. But...yes. Yes, they’ve been relevant. I’m aware that the relevance could be entirely in the hands of historians; historians weight everything with their own particular set of observations and meanings. And even if it was forbidden, and my discussion were to be discovered, the hands of the Caste Court are tied. I cannot be made outcaste.”

      Kaylin had assumed, until this moment, that this was because she was special, that her unique gift granted her immunity to the judgments of the Caste Court. But memories of Lillias, and of Clint’s lecture, now blended together with Moran’s information.

      “They can’t cut off your wings.”

      Moran stiffened. “My wings,” she told Kaylin, “are not immune to damage, as you’ve seen for yourself. They could quite possibly cut off my wings, if they had enough power and the will to do so.”

      Kaylin felt cold in the brief silence that followed. “The Caste Court doesn’t cut off wings.”

      “No.”

      “They remove them.”

      “Yes.”

      “Magically.”

      “Yes.”

      Kaylin’s Leontine response was loud and heartfelt. And long.

      * * *

      She wanted to ask if the wings could be put back. If they’d been magically taken off, why couldn’t they be magically returned? She wanted to ask how the wings were magically removed. How did that work? Could the Caste Court magically remove arms or legs, too? Or were wings like arms and legs? Once they were removed, did they rot?

      Bellusdeo, however, had other ideas—and they weren’t bad or wrong; they just weren’t where Kaylin’s head was mired. Kaylin therefore surrendered curiosity and pulled herself back into the discussion at hand.

      “Were all such emergencies of, or related to, Shadow?” Bellusdeo asked.

      “You mean the ones I’m not supposed to talk about?” Moran replied.

      “Their relative secrecy is less of a concern, I admit.”

      The sergeant grinned. “I confess, Lord Bellusdeo, that you are not like any other Dragon I’ve ever met. I can’t give you a definitive answer, and not because of secrecy. I honestly don’t know.”

      “But they believe—or you believe—that it is involved now?”

      “I

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