against this particular ward took Bad Day and made it worse. At the best of times, Kaylin’s allergy to magic made door wards uncomfortable—but this ward could raise so much noise it might just interrupt the Dragons. One of whom was the Emperor.
There was no other way to open them. Kaylin briefly considered knocking. With her head. Before she could—and it was late enough, or early enough, that she might have—the doors surprised her by gliding open. No one stood between them.
At this hour, the library desk—the publicly accessible library desk—was unmanned. The display cases and the rows upon rows of standing files were shadowed. The robed clerks who kept the library spotless were conspicuous by their absence—but that was no surprise. No one sane visited the library at this hour.
As the doors rolled closed at her back, the sound of Dragon anger diminished.
The Arkon made his way toward her from the back of the large room, which surprised Kaylin; she’d expected to find him holed up in one of the many, many rooms that comprised his personal collection—none of which the public was invited to peruse.
“Thank you for opening the doors,” she told him.
“I felt it best to avoid interrupting the ongoing discussion. No one involved in it is likely to be amused by the sudden need to attend to intruders.”
“I live here, at the moment.”
“Indeed. I imagine the only person present who might find a disaster of your making remotely convenient is Lord Diarmat.”
“Who doesn’t deserve it.”
“You give him too little credit.”
“Do I?”
The Arkon’s smile was lined. It was also sharp. “Perhaps I will beg the Emperor’s indulgence.”
In theory, this sounded good. Given the way the day had started, it couldn’t be. “How?”
“I might ask permission to teach you the rudiments of our language.” His smile deepened as her eyes rounded and her brows rose.
“I’ll go deaf!”
“Yes. Follow me, please. You interrupted me,” he added.
“I don’t know how you can work with that ruckus going on in the background.”
“It is difficult. I do not have the concentration I once possessed in my youth.”
“So, what are they arguing about exactly?”
“Bellusdeo’s status at court, at the moment; the argument has touched on many subjects.” The Arkon’s eyes were a steady shade of orange, which wasn’t a good sign, in a Dragon.
“What about her status? She’s a Dragon, so she’s technically a Lord of the Court.”
“That is true only in mortal terms. She is not—as Diarmat has been at pains to point out—a Lord of this Court. She has not offered the Emperor an oath of fealty; nor has she agreed—in a binding fashion—to abide by the laws he hands down.”
“She spends most of her free time with me,” Kaylin replied. “I’m a groundhawk. She probably knows the law better than anyone who isn’t.”
“You misunderstand. Humans are not, of course, required to take such a binding oath—I believe they would not survive it. Bellusdeo has not been required to do so. Lord Diarmat correctly points out that she therefore poses a risk to the Court.” He stopped at a smooth, flat wall. It was unadorned; Kaylin suspected it was actually a door.
The Arkon barked a sharp, harsh word and proved her suspicion correct; a part of the wall simply faded from sight. What lay on the other side of it was a disaster. It made Kaylin’s desk at its worst look pristine and tidy. Hells, it made Marcus’s desk look well-organized, which Kaylin would have bet was impossible.
The Arkon noted her hesitation. “Is there a difficulty?”
“Just how important is all the paper—that is paper, isn’t it?”
“Parchment. Some paper. There is also stone and a few shards of smooth glass. I trust that you will disturb nothing while you are here.”
“How?”
He raised a brow; his eyes didn’t get any more orange, which was a small mercy.
“There’s stuff all over the floor. There’s stuff all over the chairs. I probably can’t put a foot down without stepping on something.”
“Then do not, as you put it, put a foot down.” He gestured.
The hair on Kaylin’s arms and the back of her neck rose in instant protest.
“Do not,” he said, in a more severe tone of voice, “make me regret my foolish and sentimental decision to take pity on you and provide you some form of refuge.”
Folding her arms across her chest, she walked into the room; her feet touched nothing. Neither did the Arkon’s.
“Not to be suspicious or anything,” she began.
“You do not think me capable of either sentiment or pity?”
“Not much, no. Not for me.”
His smile deepened. “As you point out, Private, Bellusdeo did spend most of her free time in your presence. You have not, however, been in the city for the past month and a half. She has therefore had no anchor. No friends, if you prefer. In the last two weeks of your absence, she has spent a greater portion of her time in the fief of Tiamaris, speaking with the refugees there. When she chooses to enter the fief, she is met by one of the Norannir.”
“That would be Maggaron.”
“The Emperor does not consider Maggaron to be a suitable guard in the fiefs; Lord Tiamaris, however, is. She has accepted—with poor grace—the Emperor’s wishes in this regard.”
“What happened?”
“She has taken to flying in the restricted air-space above the fief of Tiamaris.”
“It’s not Imperial land.”
“No. She has pointed this out—at length. You might have recognized one or two of the words she used, if you were paying attention. She has, however, come close to the borders of the fief once too often for the Emperor’s comfort.”
“The Norannir live on the borders.”
“Indeed. She has taken pains to point this out, as well.”
“He’s going to isolate her! The Norannir are the only other friends she has in this city!”
The Arkon’s smile was softer, and infinitely more pained. “They are not her friends, Kaylin. They were once her subjects. She is not merely a Dragon to them; she is akin to a living god. Bellusdeo has her vanity. She has her pride. But she, like any Dragon, understands her role in their lives. She does not go to them for their sake, but her own. They remind her of who she
