had been both irrelevant and a daydream in the fiefs of Kaylin’s youth, and at least these streets didn’t have Ferals literally devouring the unwary.
But...was that really any better? She wanted to slap herself for even thinking it. Clearly she’d been too comfortable, too safe, for too long. The Ferals were death. You had a hope of negotiating with anything else.
“You’re thinking, again.”
“Ferals,” Kaylin told the Dragon. “We were more terrified of Ferals than almost anything else.” Small and squawky snorted dismissively. Bellusdeo didn’t bother, but it was clear she felt the same.
“That wasn’t a terrified face.”
“It’s just...they weren’t personal. They weren’t plotting against us. They wanted one thing: to eat us. We wanted one thing: to avoid them. The cost for failure was high, but...it wasn’t personal. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. Why are you thinking of that here?”
“Because the East Warrens are the closest the city comes to the fiefs I grew up in.”
Bellusdeo frowned. “I would like a word with your Emperor.”
“Have several. But before you do, are you implying that your city didn’t have warrens?”
Bellusdeo was silent for several steps. “No. I couldn’t realistically imply that. Some of my best soldiers, however, probably came out of my version of your warrens.” She smiled and added, “We’re being followed.”
“Oh, probably.”
“Will they attack us?”
“They might. They’re used to seeing Barrani in these tabards; the Barrani have been doing this beat for a long time, now. Seeing normal mortals—”
Bellusdeo coughed.
“They can’t see the color of your eyes from here, and you don’t look Barrani at a distance. Even if they could, I doubt over half would realize what the eye color meant. For obvious reasons, there aren’t a lot of Dragons randomly wandering the streets. If they do attack, though, going full-on Dragon would probably be the fastest way to end the fight.”
“I thought that was illegal.”
“You’ve always gotten away with it before.”
“Kaylin.”
She stopped talking at the sound of Severn’s voice. She didn’t, however, stop walking. She didn’t even glance in his direction. She knew where he was, knew how far away, knew how ready he was for a fight. “Where?”
“The old town hall.”
She glanced down the street toward the tallest building in the warren. It stood at the edge of this particular beat, but it had, some indeterminate length of time ago, been a rallying point in a besieged city. It was called the town hall because historical rumor suggested it had been built for that purpose. Whether it had seen any use in that capacity was an entirely different question.
Her small dragon, however, drew himself into the seated posture that implied he was ready for a fight. Or a bellow of outrage. Since she hadn’t done anything to warrant the latter, she tensed, but didn’t break her slow, steady stride.
Not until a familiar voice said, “This is not the place for you.”
Bellusdeo came to an immediate stop. Golden eyes reddened significantly into the orange that was anger, worry or fear—and Bellusdeo was not afraid of the owner of that voice. “What,” she said, in her icy, regal queen tone, “are you doing here?”
Mandoran, however, failed to materialize.
The small dragon squawked and then lifted a wing to cover Kaylin’s eyes. The wing was translucent, of course, but looking through it often revealed hidden things. Or worse. Mandoran wasn’t so much standing in the street as drifting above it.
“What are you doing here?” Kaylin demanded, repeating the gold Dragon’s words. Because Bellusdeo had stopped walking, she had come to a stop as well, the rhythm of patrol abruptly broken.
“Teela found out that you’d been sent to the East Warrens on patrol.”
“Yes. And?”
Mandoran made a face. “She doesn’t want you in the East Warrens. But it’s not actually you she’s worried about.”
Mandoran, Kaylin decided, was an idiot. Had she been in possession of his True Name, she’d be shouting at the top of her lungs in his figurative ears. His wince made clear that someone in his cohort—likely Teela—had had the same thought.
Sadly, Bellusdeo wasn’t as oblivious as Mandoran. “She couldn’t possibly be worried about me.”
“Maggaron’s been sulking for weeks now because he’s not allowed to accompany you—and you know how he hates being left out of a fight.”
Bellusdeo’s brows rose, briefly, in Kaylin’s direction—but to do that, she had to break her glare. “Ask Teela how political this is.”
Mandoran, unlike most of the Barrani she had known before the cohort, was terrible at lying. He didn’t try. “She says you’re likely to survive, and the miscreant she’s worried about—the soon-to-be possible miscreant—would take heat for any attack against you in the High Court. Problem is, he’s not part of the High Court, and hasn’t been for some time.”
“You have an outcaste living in the warrens?” At Mandoran’s expression, Bellusdeo added, “It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.”
“This would not be my idea of a safe hiding place.” Mandoran’s grimace was heavy with disgust; it was also brief. He turned to Kaylin. “Teela wants you out of the warrens.”
“Marcus doesn’t. And you can tell her I said so.”
“I won’t repeat what she just said.”
“Why not? I’ve heard it all before.”
“Yes, but the Dragon probably hasn’t, and you know the Emperor’s just going to blame you if she starts using that kind of language.” For a moment, his expression looked normal but his color was entirely off. His hair seemed almost white, his skin, blue. And his eyes were not Barrani colored at all.
The small dragon squawked, and Mandoran cursed. He turned toward the old town hall. Kaylin tracked the direction of his gaze with little effort.
She froze.
Standing at the peak of the decrepit tower roof was a Barrani.
* * *
Unlike Mandoran’s, his coloring was more or less the norm for Barrani: his hair was black, his skin ivory. At this distance, his eyes couldn’t clearly be seen, but Kaylin would have bet her own money that they were Barrani blue. She hadn’t managed to contain her surprise enough to look away, and although she couldn’t see the color of his eyes, she saw the subtle shift in their shape.
He
