ago, that might have shocked Kaylin. The Barrani concept of “child” was not the mortal one. Bellusdeo, however, frowned at Teela. She said nothing, but said it neatly and loudly.
The child’s eyes widened. “A murder?” Her voice squeaked with, sadly, excitement, and Kaylin revised her approximate age down. “Where?”
“Across the street,” Teela replied. “We’re not actually supposed to talk much about the investigation to anyone but Hawks.”
The girl nodded, as if this made sense to her. She looked up at Gilbert and then away. Interesting.
“Why are you here, though?” she asked.
Gilbert said, at almost the same time, “Kattea, I really feel you should go to your room.”
“I didn’t like them,” Kattea said, instead of leaving. “The neighbors, I mean.”
“Kattea.”
“I think,” Teela said, “you should listen to Gilbert.”
Kattea immediately turned to Kaylin, as if seeking solidarity with the human woman present. “Why do you think we know anything about it?” The question seemed both honest and straightforward.
“We don’t necessarily assume that you do,” Kaylin replied, choosing her words with care. “But we normally try to talk to the neighbors; they might have seen or heard something unusual that would give us leads.”
“Leads?”
Ugh. “Information that might help us find the killers.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” she offered. “Gilbert, did you?”
“No,” he replied.
“Gilbert doesn’t sleep, you know. He doesn’t need sleep.” This was spoken to Kaylin, but of course everyone else in the room heard it, as well. Kaylin almost told the girl to be quiet—for her own sake, not for Gilbert’s. If, in the end, it was necessary to arrest Gilbert, it would also probably be necessary to kill or destroy him—and Kattea would discover, sooner or later, that her naive comments had somehow helped to betray him.
Gilbert, however, looked resigned. He lifted his hands from the armrests and turned them, slowly, palm out as he rose from the chair. “I will ask you all,” he said quietly, “to take care that your actions do not harm the child.” Turning to Kattea, he said, “I have told you before that it is unwise to tell people about me.”
“But they’re Hawks. And you haven’t done anything wrong,” Kattea insisted once again.
The small dragon squawked. Loudly. Everyone turned toward him, except Severn, who continued to watch Gilbert and Kattea.
“Barrani and Dragons don’t need sleep, either,” Kaylin said to break the awkward silence.
“You’ve met Dragons?”
“Yes, I have. We have one here.”
The child’s eyes alighted on the familiar, which caused Bellusdeo to snort. “Not that,” the Dragon said. “Private Neya refers to me.”
“Oh.” Pause. “You don’t look like a Dragon.”
“Not at the moment, no. But remember when you asked me why my eyes were red?”
The girl nodded.
“Dragon eyes—unlike yours—change color in different situations.”
“Is red bad?”
“It is very, very bad,” Kaylin answered, before Bellusdeo could.
Kattea fell silent. It didn’t last. “Can you turn into a real Dragon?”
“Yes. I won’t do it here, though—I don’t think your house would survive it.”
Gilbert looked wearier by the passing second.
Kattea surprised them all. Rising, she walked to the curtains and shut them. Gilbert did not resume his seat. None of the Hawks stood, but it didn’t matter; Teela and Tain could be out of their seats, armed and deadly by the time Kaylin had blinked twice. Gilbert was obviously aware of this.
“We did not see anything out of the ordinary,” he said. “Nor did we hear anything out of the ordinary. When did you say this took place?”
“Late last night or very early this morning,” Kaylin replied.
“Ah. Kattea—”
“No, I’m not leaving,” she told him, folding her arms and suddenly looking older. “I don’t think they’ll hurt you while I’m here.”
Gilbert smiled. It was a drawn, but affectionate, expression. “Kattea believes many things with absolute confidence.” His smile was pained, but again, laced with resigned affection. “She does not always understand the world in which you live.”
“She’s not wrong in theory,” Kaylin countered. “But we do have a few questions.”
“I will answer, as I may, but first, I must ask: What brought you to our home?”
“Do Kattea’s parents also live here?” Bellusdeo asked.
The child stilled. After a long pause, and in a much quieter voice, she said, “My parents are dead.”
Kaylin’s heart echoed Kattea’s obvious pain. “Mine, too,” she said. “I was five years old and living in the fiefs.”
Kattea’s eyes almost fell out of her head. She turned, excited again, to Gilbert. “Gilbert! Gilbert! She’s just like us! Which fief?”
“Nightshade.”
“Gilbert! Gilbert!”
Gilbert closed his eyes; in the darkened room, he looked less pale. “Kattea was born in the fief of Nightshade,” he said quietly.
“Gilbert found me. Gilbert saved me from—” She stopped, paling at the memory. “Gilbert saved me. And then we came here. Well—not right here, but after.”
“So your parents didn’t live in the city.”
Kattea shook her head.
“And you made it across the bridge.”
She nodded.
“When did this happen?”
“Months ago,” the young girl said.
“Three weeks ago,” Gilbert clarified.
Three weeks. Every Hawk present exchanged a glance. “Three weeks,” Kaylin said slowly. “This was on the night
