lying.”
“Ask the Lord of Hawks,” he told her, with a shrug. “He’s got the paperwork.”
“No,” the Hawklord replied quietly, “I don’t.”
Severn was silent, assessing the tone of the Hawklord’s words. After a moment, he shrugged again; the folds of his robes shifted, and Kaylin heard the distinct sound of cloth rubbing against leather. He was not entirely unarmored here.
Too bad.
“I was a Shadow Wolf,” he said at last.
“For how long?” She refused to be shocked. Refused to let his admission slow her down.
“Years,” he replied. Just that.
She didn’t believe him. “He’s lying.”
“I didn’t say how many,” he added softly. As if it were a game.
“He is not lying,” the Hawklord told her. “Believe that when the unusual request for transfer between the Towers arrives, we check very carefully. When the man who requests the transfer is of the Shadows, our investigations are more thorough.”
“Thorough how?”
“We called in the Tha’alani.”
She froze. She had faced Tha’alani before, but only once, and she had been thirteen years old at the time. She had sworn, then, that she would die before she let one touch her again. The Tha’alani were an obscenity; they touched not flesh—although that in and of itself caused her problems—but thought, mind, heart, all the hidden things.
All the things that had to stay hidden if they were to be protected.
They were sometimes called Truthseekers. But it was a pal try word. Kaylin privately preferred rapist as the more accurate term.
“He subjected himself to the Tha’alani willingly,” the Hawklord added.
“And the Tha’alani said he was telling the truth.”
“Indeed.”
“And what truth? What could he say that would make him worthy of the Hawks?”
But the Hawklord’s patience had ebbed. “Enough to satisfy the Lord of Hawks,” he told her. “Will you question me?”
No. Not if she wanted to be a Hawk. “Why? Why him?”
“Because, Kaylin, he is one of two men who understand the fiefs as well as you do.”
She froze.
“The other will be with us shortly.”
After about ten minutes, the Hawklord let them go. Mostly. The barrier that held Kaylin’s arms to her side slowly thinned; she could move as if she were under water. Given that she was likely to try to kill Severn again the minute she got the chance, she tried hard not to resent the Hawklord’s caution.
“Feel all better now that that’s out of your system?” Severn asked quietly.
She wanted to cut the lips off his face; it would ruin his smirk. “No.”
“No?”
“You’re not dead.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you Elianne?”
“Tell him to let us go and you can find that out for yourself.”
“I doubt the Lord of Hawks would take the orders of a former Shadow Wolf. Although given your tardiness and his apparent acceptance of it, he’s a damn site more tolerant than the Lord of Wolves was.”
“Try.”
He laughed again. “Not yet, little—what did he call you? Kaylin? Not yet.”
The Lord of Hawks watched them with the keen sight of their namesake.
“You want to send us into the fiefs,” she said at last, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice.
“Yes. It’s been seven years, Kaylin. Long enough.”
“Long enough for what? Three of the fieflords are outcaste Barrani—I could live and die in the time it took them to blink!”
The Hawklord turned his full attention upon her. “I think I have been overly tolerant,” he said at last, and in a tone of voice she hadn’t heard since she’d first arrived in this tower. “You are either Hawk or you are not. Decide.”
Her silence was enough of an answer, but only barely. “The third is coming now.”
The door, which had probably closed the moment Kaylin had fully stepped across its threshold, swung open again.
A man walked into the room. He wore no armor that she could hear beneath the full flow of his perfect robes. Her hearing had always been good. “Lord Grammayre,” he said, bowing low.
“Tiamaris,” the Hawklord replied. “I would like to introduce you to Kaylin and Severn. You will work with them.”
The man rose. His hair was a dark, dark black—Barrani black—but his build was all wrong for Barrani. He was a shade taller than Teela, and about twice her width. Three times, maybe. His hands were empty; he carried no obvious weapon. Wore no open medallion. The hand that he lifted in ritual greeting, palm out, was smooth and unadorned.
Kaylin and Severn could not likewise lift hand—but their background in the fiefs hadn’t made the gesture automatic. Lord Grammayre was under no such disadvantage; he lifted his ringed hand in greeting, and lowered his chin slightly.
“Tiamaris has some knowledge of the fiefs,” he told them both. Tiamaris lowered his perfectly raised hand, and turned to face them.
Something about the man’s eyes were all wrong; it took Kaylin a moment to realize what it was. They were orange. A deep, bright orange that hinted at red and gold. Her own eyes almost fell out of their sockets.
“You have the privilege,” Lord Grammayre told her quietly, “of meeting the only member of the Dragon caste to ever apply to serve in the Halls of Law.”
Severn recovered first. He laughed. “It’s true, then,” he said, to no one in particular.
That rankled. “Like you’d know true if it bit you on the ass.”
“You really are a mongrel unit.”
“No, Severn,” the Hawklord replied softly. Too softly. Had it been anyone else speaking, Kaylin might have dared a warning kick.
She hoped Severn hung himself instead.
Severn fell silent.
“The Hawks have always been open to those who seek service under the banner of the Emperor’s Law. Where service is offered it is accepted, by whoever offers it. Tiamaris has
