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; had he intended to stop her, it would have looked worse.
She started to adjust her pack, and Andellen surprised her; he grabbed it instead. His hair flew in the stillness as he shouldered its weight, but he said nothing.
And she let him do it. As if he were Teela or Tain.
She led now, and he followed; he probably knew the entire city by heart, but the only roads he usually traveled were those ruled by Nightshade. She wanted to ask him how often he left the fief, but she couldn’t spare breath.
Wasn’t certain he would answer if she could.
The streets were now lined with stalls; there were men and women beneath the low glow of torches and the high lamps that decorated the skyscape; they would work all night, and well into morning, decorating, carving, nailing or sewing as the Festival season required. This was their best chance to make money for the year, and if sleep suffered, it suffered.
They noticed her as she ran past, but that was probably because of Andellen. He didn’t wear a uniform. He wasn’t a Hawk. And a smart person didn’t get in the way of a running Barrani.
She made it past her apartment, turned the corner, skidded and fell; she rolled to her feet, cursing like a Leontine—and in Leontine—and kept going. Five minutes passed like a lifetime. And it wasn’t her life.
And then, two rights, one short left, and three small buildings, and she was there. A lamp was hanging by the side of the door, the dark, glowing blue of the midwives’ beacon. She leaped up the three warped steps and pushed the door open; it wasn’t locked.
Marya was waiting for her. Her eyes were dark, and her face was that kind of pale that speaks of whole days without sleep. “Kaylin! She’s in the—” Her dark eyes rounded when she saw what followed Kaylin in.
“Marya,” Kaylin said, half shouting as she grabbed the midwife’s hands before they picked up the nearest candlestick, “he’s with me. I don’t have time to explain. He won’t touch anything. He means no harm.” She could not force herself to add, trust him.
Before Marya could answer, a thin, attenuated cry carried the distance of still room and closed door. A younger woman, fingers clutching the frame of the door for support, appeared as the door swung open and slapped the wall. “Marya—she’s started to bleed—”
“Kaylin’s here,” Marya said, her voice pitched low, but pitched to carry. “Kaylin’s here now.”
And Kaylin pushed past the poor girl and into the bedroom. “Get water!” she shouted as she ran to the bed. “Drinking water!”
But Marya was already in motion, a comfortable, busy blur. Marya had worked with Kaylin before; she would know what was needed, and when.
Kaylin took the hand of the woman whose eyes were beginning their slow slide into shock. She pressed her free hand up and against the stretched, hard curve of belly and winced as the body told its story.
Late. She was late. She could feel the rupture.
She looked up and met the eyes of a young man that she didn’t recognize; he was so white he was almost green. “Get out,” she told him. He shook his head, mute, his defiance the product of fear.
“Marya—”
“Gerrold, come away,” the midwife said, her voice above Kaylin’s back. “Now. Your wife needs her privacy.” “But she—”
“Now.” A mother’s tone. With just the edge of anger in it—and at that, the right kind of anger. Pity, compassion, or fear would have watered the command down so badly it wouldn’t have worked—but Marya had confidence in Kaylin.
And the poor man? He had nothing. He tried to stand. Stumbled. Kaylin wondered if he was going to pass out. Better if he did.
Without another word, she drew her knife. It wasn’t clean, but it would have to do. She heard a stifled scream from a long, long distance away; heard Marya’s angry words attempt to drown it out.
And then she gave herself over to the sound of two beating hearts; one labored and slow, the other so fast and soft it could barely be heard at all.
Two hours later, she was finished.
Marya caught her hands, and forcibly broke all contact with the young woman who sat in the bed. Kaylin could hear the sounds of infant cries; could see the bundled—and cleaned—baby resting in its mother’s arms. The
