LITMIR.BIZ

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who was on the way up, when she was on the way down. His eyes had not lost their orange tint, but he didn’t ask her what had been discussed; instead he told her to go wait downstairs—quietly, if she even understood what that meant—and he headed up past her.

      When she reached the office, she was surprised to see Sanabalis seated to one side of Marcus’s desk. She was not surprised, on the other hand, to see that Marcus was a few weeks closer to needing a new desk. As buying a new desk for Marcus generally meant she was allowed to haggle as fiercely as she wanted, she didn’t mind the latter so much.

      But Sanabalis inclined his head toward the second, empty, chair. She stood beside it. His eyes were almost the exact same shade Marcus’s had been. “Lord Grammayre feels that, for some reason, it is inadvisable for you to enter the fiefs at this time.”

      Since that had been about forty minutes’ worth of their discussion, he wasn’t telling Kaylin anything she hadn’t already heard. He did, on the other hand, say it more quietly.

      “Is it true?”

      She hesitated. She knew that the Emperor knew about her past. She would not be surprised if Sanabalis did. But the rest of the office didn’t know, and she didn’t particularly feel like sharing. Ever. She met the eyes of her teacher.

      “I don’t know.”

      This didn’t appear to irritate him. On the other hand, his eyes didn’t shift color.

      “Very well,” he said instead. “It appears that I will have to fall back somewhat on contingencies.”

      The afternoon was spent patrolling with Severn. Marcus, in a foul mood, played switch-the-shifts-around; it was a game that was bound to give him someone to growl at. It was also a great unifier on the force: everyone complained. Everyone hated it. Marcus tended to spread a foul mood as far as it would go; he’d had a lot of practice, so it was pretty damn far.

      The switch in shifts put Kaylin squarely in the market district, where trouble—if it came—would be in the form of petty thieves and annoyed merchants. It was about as far away from magic as she could geographically get in the city, although the market, like Elani, had its share of fraud.

      She’d taken the time to check the schedule, and she knew that Teela and Tain were out on the streets, as well; it would keep them out of trouble. In particular, it would keep them out of her trouble. She tried not to dwell on Morse and Barren.

      She mostly succeeded because she was hungry, and because Severn didn’t ask her any questions. He didn’t speak much at all.

      But when they arrived back at the Halls at the end of the day, Kaylin ran into Sanabalis’s contingency plan. Almost literally.

      Lord Tiamaris of the Dragon Court was standing just around the corner, near Caitlin’s desk. He was wearing the Hawks’ tunic.

      He nodded to Severn; Severn had taken the corner at a slow walk.

      “Private,” he added, turning to Kaylin.

      She said nothing for a long minute, looking across Caitlin’s desk. Caitlin winced. “Lord Tiamaris was sent,” Caitlin told her quietly, “by the Eternal Emperor.” Which meant no help would be forthcoming from any quarter.

      Tiamaris nodded; he did not look terribly pleased about it, either.

      “Why are you here?” Kaylin asked, coming to the immediate point.

      “I think you’ll find, if you check your duty roster, that I am to accompany you on your patrols for the next several days.”

      Severn stiffened, but said nothing.

      She glanced across the office at Marcus, who was not looking at her.

      “I don’t suppose those patrols are bordering the fiefs?”

      “Not bordering, no.”

      She cursed Sanabalis roundly in all of the languages in which it was possible. Tiamaris made no comment, which for Tiamaris meant about the same thing.

      Morning, never Kaylin’s friend, landed through the window in her face. She rose, started to reflexively close the shutters, and then groaned and opened them wider instead. This hurt her eyes, but her eyes could just suffer; she had a winning streak of on-time days she didn’t want to break. Money was, of course, riding on it. Although the betting did concern her, she’d been allowed in. It had taken some whining. But whining about money was beginning to come naturally.

      Tiamaris was waiting for her when she reached the office. He was seated primly in one of Marcus’s chairs. Marcus was seated, far less primly, across from him, his increasingly untidy desk the bastion between them. The Hawks’ Sergeant was never going to be friendly to Tiamaris. Tiamaris, himself not Mr. Personality, seemed to take this in stride.

      Kaylin understood why Marcus was so frosty; Tiamaris had voted, in Court Council, to have her killed outright. But that had been years ago, and it had occurred well before Tiamaris had actually met her; if she was willing to let bygones be bygones, Marcus should be able to do the same. She was not, however, foolhardy enough to tell Marcus this. Not today.

      She approached his desk as if she were a timid tax collector who had the misfortune to leave her burly guards outside. He glanced at her as if she were the same thing. “Reporting for duty,” she told him.

      He grimaced, gritted his teeth, and waited for the window’s mellifluous hourly phrase. She could hear his claws grinding desktop as the window told the office what the hour was, and demanded that they be polite, friendly, and collegial at the start of this busy, busy day.

      Tiamaris raised a dark brow. “That,” he told them both, “could be irritating.”

      “Enraging,” Kaylin replied quietly.

      “I assume it’s magically protected?”

      She nodded.

      He shook his head. “You must have angered someone, Private Neya.”

      “It’s a long list.”

      “Don’t,” Marcus told her curtly, “add me to it, Private.”

      She stood at attention.

      “Given what happened the last time you went into the fiefs,” he told her grimly, “I am on record as opposing this investigation.”

      “Sir.”

      He said nothing for a long moment. Then he stood, scraping his chair across the floorboards loudly enough to break most conversations. “Your partner for the duration of this investigation will be Lord Tiamaris of the Dragon Court.” She nodded.

      “You will investigate the borders of Nightshade, with special attention to the interior.” He was in a mood. His Elantran was strained enough that his words had a distinctly—and angrily—Leontine cast to them. “If anything is out of the ordinary—” he also spit this word out in outrage “—you are to take note and report it immediately. The report will come to this office.”

      “Sir.”

      “Dismissed.”

      She glanced at Tiamaris, who hadn’t moved.

      On cue, Marcus looked at him. “Off the record,” he told the Dragon Lord, although it was highly unlikely to remain that way, “I will hold you personally responsible if Private Neya is returned to the infirmary on a stretcher again. I understand the concerns of the Dragon Caste Court, but whatever else she might be, she is not a Dragon, and the Caste Court’s laws and concerns, unless specifically made public, are not the concerns of the Halls of Law. Do I make myself clear?”

      “As clear as good glass,” Tiamaris replied. He did rise, then.

      Severn was waiting by the office doors. He held out one hand as she passed him, and she frowned.

      “What?”

      “Bracer,” he said quietly.

      She

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