Kaylin replied.
“He’s in the office more than anyone else who works here,” Caitlin whispered, by way of explanation. “And I believe the window likes to have a chat when things are quiet.”
Kaylin grimaced in very real sympathy for Old Ironjaw.
“In particular, I think it’s been trying to give him advice.”
Which meant it wasn’t going to last the week. Thank the gods.
“Oh, and, dear?” Caitlin added, as Kaylin began to move away from her desk, under the watchful glare of her Sergeant.
“Yes?”
“This is for you.” She held out a small sheaf of paper.
Kaylin, who had learned to be allergic to paperwork from a master—that being Marcus himself—cringed reflexively as she held out a hand. “Am I going to like this?”
“Probably not,” Caitlin said with very real sympathy. “I’m afraid it isn’t optional.”
Kaylin looked through the papers in her hands. “This is a class schedule.”
“Yes, dear.”
“But—Mallory’s gone—”
“It’s not about his request that you take—and pass—all of the courses you previously failed, if that’s helpful. The Hawklord vetoed that, although I’m sorry to say Mallory’s suggestion did meet with some departmental approval.”
It was marginally helpful. “What’s it about, then?”
Caitlin winced. “Etiquette lessons. And I believe that Lord Sanabalis has, of course, requested that your magical education resume.”
“Is there any good news?”
“As far as we know, nothing is threatening to destroy either the City or the World, dear.”
Kaylin stared glumly at the missive in her hands. “This is your subtle way of telling me not to start doing either, isn’t it?”
Caitlin smiled. “They’re just lessons. It’s not the end of the World.”
“So,” Severn said, when she joined him and they began to head down the hall, “did you speak with Caitlin?”
“Yes. Let me guess. The entire office already knows the contents of these papers.”
“Betting?”
“No.”
He laughed. “Most of the office. How bad is it?”
“Two days a week with Sanabalis.”
He raised a brow.
“With Lord Sanabalis.”
“Better. Isn’t that the same schedule you were on before the situation in the fiefs? You both survived that.”
“Mostly. I think he broke a few chairs.”
“He’d have to.” Severn grinned. “Gods couldn’t break that table.”
It was true. The table in the West Room—which had been given a much more respectful name before Marcus’s time, which meant Kaylin had no idea what it was—was harder than most sword steel. “Three nights of off-duty time with the etiquette teacher.”
“Nights?”
She nodded grimly.
“Is the teacher someone the Hawks can afford to piss off?”
“I hope so.”
“Who’s teaching?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t actually say.”
“Where?”
She grimaced. “The Imperial Palace.”
He winced in genuine sympathy. “I’m surprised Lord Grammayre approved this.”
Kaylin was not known for her love of high society. The Hawklord was not known for his desire to have Kaylin and high society anywhere in the same room. Or city block. Which meant the dictate had come from someone superior to the Hawklord.
“It’s not optional,” Kaylin said glumly. “And the worst part is, if I pass, I probably get to do something big. Like meet the Emperor.”
“I’d like to be able to say that won’t kill you.”
“You couldn’t, with a straight face.”
He shrugged. “When do you start?”
“Two days. I meet Sanabalis—Lord Sanabalis—for Magical Studies—”
“Magical Studies? Does it actually say that?”
“Those are the exact words. Don’t look at me, I didn’t write it—in the afternoon tomorrow.” She dropped the schedule into her locker with as much care as she generally dropped dirty towels.
Elani street was not a hub of activity in the morning. It wasn’t exactly deserted, but it was quiet, and the usual consumers of love potions and extracts to combat baldness, impotence, and unwanted weight were lingering on the other side of storefronts. Remembering her mood the last time she’d walked this beat, Kaylin took care not to knock over offending sandwich boards. On the other hand, she also took the same care not to read them.
“Kaylin?”
“Hmm?” She was looking at the cross section of charms in a small case in one window—Mortimer’s Magnificent Magic—and glanced at her partner’s reflection in the glass.
“You’re rubbing your arms.”
She looked down and realized he was right. “They’re sort of itchy,” she said.
He raised one brow. “Sort of itchy?”
The marks that adorned most of the insides of her arms were, like the ones that covered her inner thighs and half of her back, weather vanes for magic. Kaylin hesitated. “It doesn’t feel the way it normally does when there’s strong magic. It’s—they’re just sort of itchy.”
“And they’ve never been like that before.”
She frowned. She’d had fleas once, while cat-sitting for an elderly neighbor. The itch wasn’t quite the same, but it was similar.
She started to tell him as much, and was interrupted midsentence by someone screaming.
It was, as screams went, a joyful, ecstatic sound, which meant their hands fell to their clubs without drawing them. But they—like every other busybody suddenly crowding the streets—turned at the sound of the voice. It was distinctly male, and probably a lot higher
