rigid with the shock of it, and angry. She tried to pull free, and wasn’t surprised when she failed.
“What are you—”
“Silence.”
She could feel the magic as it rode up her shoulder, sharp light, and invisible. She hated magic. But she bit her lip and waited; she was already committed.
Severn swore.
Tiamaris’s brows rose. “Lord Nightshade,” he began, but he did not finish.
The magic broke through her skin, questing in air as if it were alive. She could see it. Judging by the expressions of her companions, everyone could. It twisted in the space just above her, and then it coalesced into a blue, sparkling shape, like a ward.
It touched her cheek, in the exact same place that the fieflord had. A lesson, for Kaylin, and one that she would not forget: he did nothing without cause.
“You bear my mark,” he said quietly. “And in this fief, it will afford you some protection.” He paused, and then added, “This is a fief. It will not protect you from everything. Mortal stupidity knows no bounds. But in the event that you are harmed by any save me, they will pay.”
He let her hand go, then. “Now, come. It is late, and we have far to travel.”
“Travel?” Her first word, and it wasn’t terribly impressive. Then again, Severn said nothing at all.
“You are invited as guests to the Long Halls of Nightshade,” he replied, with just the hint of a bow. “But sunset is coming, and in the fiefs—”
She nodded. In the fiefs, night meant something different.
Her skin was still tingling a half hour later. The fieflord walked before them, and the Barrani guards, behind. Sandwiched in an uncomfortable line between these two walked Severn, Kaylin and Tiamaris, the wings of their namesake momentarily clipped.
“Severn,” she said, in a voice so soft he should have missed it.
Severn nodded, although he didn’t look at her.
“My face—what happened?”
“You—you’ve got a blue flower on your cheek,” he said quietly.
“A flower?”
“Sort of. It’s nightshade.”
“It’s what?”
“Nightshade,” Tiamaris said quietly. “The namesake of the fieflord. It’s a … herb,” he added.
“I have a tattoo of a flower on my face?”
Severn did look at her then, his brow arched. “You would have liked a skull and crossbones better?”
“Or a dagger. Or a sword. Or even a Hawk. A flower?”
“A deadly one,” Tiamaris said, with just the hint of a smile. “But it is very pretty.”
Had he not been a Dragon, she would have kicked him. Or had she not been shadowed by armed Barrani. As it was, she glowered.
Which broadened his smile. Dragon smile. “You should feel … honored. In a fashion. This is the first time that I have seen a human bear the mark of the fieflord.”
She turned the words over, picking out the information they contained. “How often have you seen him mark anyone else?”
“Not often,” Tiamaris replied, his eyes now lidded. “And no, before you ask, I am not going to tell you when.”
She frowned. “Does the Hawklord—”
“Lord Grammayre knows much,” he replied. “And if he feels it necessary to enlighten you, he will. Until then, I suggest you pay attention to the—”
Cobbled streets. Badly cobbled. She caught her boot under the edge of an upturned stone and tripped. Severn caught her arm before she made her way to the ground.
“Severn?”
“What?”
“When did you meet the fieflord?”
“Back when we were both in the fiefs,” he said. But he didn’t meet her eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to know.”
“All right, I guessed that. Why?”
He shook his head. “Don’t ask, Kaylin.”
She heard the change in his tone, and she suddenly didn’t want to know. “You know where we’re going?”
“No. When I spoke to him, he didn’t invite me into his Hall.”
“Should we be worried?”
The look he gave her almost made her laugh. It would have been a shaky laugh. She held it. “I mean, more worried?”
And he shook his head and cuffed hers gently. “You haven’t changed at all,” he said, with just a hint of bitterness.
The manor of the fieflord was not a manor. It was a small keep. Stone walls circled it, and beyond their height—and they were damn tall—the hint of a castle behind them could be seen, no more. The stone work of the walls was in perfect repair, and that made it suspect in the fiefs, where nothing was perfect.
The castle would have looked ridiculous had she not been in the presence of the man who ruled the fief from its heart. She’d lived most of her life in Nightshade, and she’d only once come near the keep. Rarely come down the streets that surrounded it. She’d spent a good deal of time honing her skills at theft, and no one survived stealing anything from the fieflord or his closest advisors. And in the end, they were happy enough not to survive; it was all the stuff in between that was terrifying.
She saw no one on the streets. It was not yet dark, but they were empty. She wondered if they’d been cleared by the Barrani guards, or if people were just unusually smart in this part of town. She didn’t ask.
The tall, stone buildings around the keep were better kept than those at the edges of the fief, but they were still packed tightly together, and they still felt old. As old as anything in the outer city. Shadows moved in the windows, or perhaps they were drapes closing; the movements were quick, furtive and caught by the corner of a wary eye.
Between some of those windows, gargoyles, carved in weathered stone, kept watch like sentinels on high, smooth wings folded, claws extended about the edge of their stone bases. She had often wondered if the gargoyles came to life when the last of day waned. She was careful not to wonder it now. Because in the shadow of the fieflord, it seemed too plausible.
The road to the keep was wide; a carriage could easily make its way to the gate, pulled by four—or even six—horses. But the gates themselves were behind a portcullis that discouraged visitors.
They
