LITMIR.BIZ

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      “One that wouldn’t change?”

      “I’ll take that as a no.”

      He smiled. “There is a wardrobe for your … belongings. You will also find—”

      “I don’t need anything else.” She remembered, clearly, her first visit; she’d lost her uniform and had woken up in a really impractical dress. A really beautiful, attractive, impractical dress.

      “If you dine with me—as I hope you will—you will need less … political garb. I have seen to that,” he added, his voice cooling by several degrees.

      She remembered that annoying him was not a good idea. Not that she wasn’t willing, but she wanted to choose the fights.

      He walked over to the wall and gestured. Stone separated, and a section of the wall reflected light evenly. Perfectly. “This,” he told her quietly, “is the mirror. You may use it, if you wish.”

      “But you’ll hear everything.”

      “Indeed.”

      “And anyone who wants to reach me?” “They’ll be … directed … to this one. You are free to explore the Castle. I suggest, if you do, that you take a guard with you.” “Which one?”

      “One of the two,” he replied, “who stand outside this door.” And he walked toward it. “I have much to attend to this eve. We will talk on the morrow.”

      “I have to work—”

      “You are not a prisoner here, Kaylin. You are no longer a child. You know the way to the upper city.”

      The mirror didn’t wait.

      She was almost asleep—she had trouble sleeping in strange, obscenely comfortable beds—when it went off. For a moment, she was disoriented; she was already out of the bed, and padding on cold stone toward the wrong wall when she remembered that she wasn’t home; she corrected herself as wakefulness caught up with her instincts.

      She touched the mirror, keying it; an image began to form in its depths. Familiar face, and a dreadful, familiar expression.

      “Marya?”

      “Kaylin, thank the gods!”

      Marya was a midwife. Which pretty much said it all. Kaylin reached for her pack. “Where?” she said. “Stevenson Street. It’s Worley’s old house.” “How long do I have?”

      There was a small, stressful silence. Silent answers were always the worst. Had she been home, it would be a five-minute sprint, a fifteen-minute jog. She wasn’t anywhere that close.

      “Marya—I’m not at my place.”

      “I gathered. The mirror had trouble.”

      Kaylin cursed mirrors. And Barrani. And time.

      “I’ll be there,” she said quietly, yanking her boots on under her nightdress. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell her to—to stop pushing. To stop doing anything. Do you have worryroot?”

      Marya’s nod was brisk. “Everything we can do, we’ve done. The baby’s not—”

      Kaylin lifted a hand and shattered the image. Her way of saying she was on the move.

      She dressed quickly and sloppily; she looked like a walking human crease. Her hair, she shoved back and staked. It wouldn’t hold through a real run; it would have to do for now. She stopped for a moment as a glint of light at her wrist was caught in a downward spark by the mirror’s reflective surface.

      Caging her power, opulent and ancient, the bracer that had been both gift and bane, its jeweled surface cool and distant. She could hear Marcus now. She had her orders: it was not to come off.

      And she had her imperatives. She couldn’t wear it and do what—what probably needed to be done. With a grimace, she touched the stones in a sequence that was so familiar she couldn’t consciously say it out loud. A loud click, and it opened. She dropped it on the floor.

      It would find its way back to its keeper, sooner or later—and at the moment, that keeper wasn’t Kaylin. That much thought she spared before she ran to the door. The next thought was for the guards that stood outside of it.

      She almost tripped over the men who now barred her way.

      They were both beautiful, both perfect, and both utterly impassive. She snarled something in very rude Leontine.

      They failed to understand. This could even be because they couldn’t, although she wouldn’t have bet money on it. “I don’t have time for this!”

      But she did. The baby didn’t. The mother didn’t.

      They exchanged a glance. She lifted a hand to her cheek, and drew back in surprise; the mark was hot. She hadn’t even seen it in the mirror, in the brief glance she had given herself before she’d tried to flee the room.

      “We are not empowered to let you wander alone,” one of the two Barrani said. She looked at him carefully.

      “I have to leave. Now. You have your duties,” she added, “and I have mine. But I will never forgive you if you keep me here, and I will never forgive you if any delay you cause costs me.”

      The man’s gaze never wavered. But he drew his sword and nodded at the other guard. “I will accompany you,” he said. “Where will you go?”

      “To the upper city,” she replied, pushing past him.

      “The ferals—”

      She knew. It just wasn’t allowed to matter. Not for the first time—and not for the last—she wished she was an Aerian; she could fly above the reach of ferals with ease, had she but wings.

      She started to run, stopped, and turned to look at the guard. “What is your name—no, what should I call you?”

      A dark, perfect brow rose. “Andellen,” he said at last, as if she’d asked him something that had never been asked by another living creature. Or not one who wanted to stay that way.

      “Good. Andellen. I don’t know the Castle. I need to get out. Can you lead me?”

      He nodded. Whatever hesitation he had shown had vanished the moment he had agreed to accompany her. He was stiff; he wasn’t at all like the Barrani Hawks she knew. He spoke High Barrani, and he chose a sword as his weapon; the Hawks usually used a very large stick.

      He also wore armor.

      But the armor didn’t seem to slow him down, or if it did, it didn’t matter; he was moving at a speed that Kaylin could barely match.

      They made the vestibule, and Kaylin gritted her teeth as she passed through the portal and into the world.

      There was no time for conversation. They made a lot of noise as they ran, and that was bad. It was dark, although the skies were clear enough that the moon provided light. For them, certainly. For the ferals, as well.

      Fighting ferals usually involved a lot of running, but that took time. She made her way straight toward the Ablayne, and the single bridge that crossed it, praying silently. It’s funny how someone who couldn’t follow the names of half the gods in Elantra could pray with such conviction.

      At her side, the Barrani guard ran. He glanced at her only when she stumbled, but did not offer her any assistance; she found her footing and continued, thinking of Worley’s house. Thinking of how best to reach it. Thinking of only that. It helped.

      When they reached the bridge, she exhaled, a long, slow movement of chest. The bright and dark moons across the water were a benediction. The guard, on the other hand, didn’t have the grace to look winded. Had she the energy, she would have whiled away time in idle hatred for all things Barrani; as it was, she looked up at him once. His expression, being Barrani, gave nothing but ice away.

      Which was good;

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