racial integration classes—that the Aerians were not distinguished by family name so much as flight name. She’d badgered Clint for his, but he pointed out that he was working on roster time, which meant he wasn’t obliged to answer. Was, in fact, obligated to do the opposite.
The Hawklord was silent for so long, Kaylin was certain he didn’t intend to answer. “She had no flight,” he finally said.
“How could she have no flight?”
“You think of flights as family,” he replied. “They serve that function; they are almost analogous. But they are more—and less—than that. Gennet, at the time of this Records capture, had kin, but she had no flight.”
“Did they kick her out?”
“No, Kaylin.”
“Did she leave?”
“No. And it is not of the flights that I meant to speak.” But he watched, and so did Kaylin, as a child came running out of what looked like the mouth of a cave. An Aerian child. She was young, perhaps six or seven, maybe older. Her hair was dark, long; it fell about her shoulders and down her back, swishing as she moved. She was looking up, and up again. Kaylin could see the shadows cross her upturned face.
“That girl,” Kaylin began.
The Hawklord lifted his left wing in a snap of motion, as if he were shaking off liquid. The image shattered, scattering across a surface that quickly became simple and reflective. Kaylin faced herself and the Hawklord in the oval frame.
“That child was all that remained of Gennet’s family.”
“Gennet’s dead,” Kaylin said flatly, although she meant to ask instead of state.
“Yes.”
“How do you have this in Records?”
“It is personal.”
“These are official Records!”
“Yes. Yes, they are.” He turned to study her. “Have you seen Moran’s quarters?”
Kaylin nodded. When he failed to look away or respond, she said, “Yes.” And then, taking a deeper breath, and remembering everything she owed this Aerian, she continued. “Yes. Her rooms look very, very much like this impoverished residence. I think—I think she was happy there. That was Moran, wasn’t it?”
The Hawklord didn’t answer.
Teela and Tain had arrived at the office by the time Kaylin had finished her meeting with the Hawklord—or until the Hawklord had dismissed her, which was more accurate. She had gotten no further information from him, and she wasn’t certain what to do with the information she had gotten. She couldn’t figure out what the Hawklord wanted her to do.
But she was angry—and disturbed—by the Aerian application for exemption status. She wasn’t certain what she hoped Teela and Tain had found. No, actually, that wasn’t true. She wanted the assassin to be a Barrani Arcanist, because everyone with any capacity for thought considered them to be raging social evils.
She didn’t want them to catch an Aerian.
She accepted, as she glumly made her way down the stairs, that she was being unfair. The only Aerians she’d met were all Hawks, and she desperately wanted the Aerians to be above something as grim and illegal as assassination. But of course Aerians were people. If the Hawks managed to be Hawks first, it didn’t mean there was nothing left over.
Kaylin had always wanted family, ever since her mother died and maybe even before that. But she wondered if the lack of family was a possible advantage to her working life. She didn’t have family responsibilities that tied or bound her; she didn’t have to choose, consciously and continuously, between being a Hawk and being a human.
She hadn’t expected Clint’s reaction to Moran’s injury. She hadn’t expected to be told to butt out, to not care, to offer no help—except by Moran. She wanted to storm to the front doors and shout at Clint the way she’d been smart enough—barely—not to shout at the Hawklord.
She’s a Hawk, damn it.
“I think everyone knows that, kitling,” a familiar voice said. “Everyone knows you think that’s the only thing that matters, as well.” When Teela came into view at the arch that separated the Tower stairs from the office, she looked up. “I assume you didn’t mean to say that out loud?”
“Does it matter?” Kaylin replied, flushing. “It’s not like it’s going to change anyone’s attitude anyway.”
The Barrani Hawk shrugged. “If you’re going to think out loud, you might want to do it in a place with less acoustical emphasis.”
* * *
Teela had not chosen to meet Kaylin at the foot of the Tower stairs for no reason. Although Tain was absent, Mandoran could be seen in the distance, sprawled across Teela’s chair. The rest of the Barrani Hawks—there were only two in the office at the moment—viewed him with healthy suspicion. If he noticed, he didn’t care.
“Did you catch him?”
“That’s making an assumption.”
“Fine. Did you catch her?”
“No.”
“Did you at least see the assassin?”
“Not directly.”
“Teela—”
“Kitling,” Teela said gently, “we’ve been pulled off of the investigation. The Aerian Caste Court—”
“Can stuff itself!”
“Perhaps,” was the neutral reply. “But until the Caste Court is told to, as you put it, stuff itself by the Emperor, that call’s not ours to make. What did the Hawklord say?”
“He told me that the Caste Court had applied for pretty much instant exemption.”
Teela nodded, as if she’d expected no less. It made Kaylin feel vaguely stupid or naive, neither of which she enjoyed. Her life in the fiefs—or her life since she’d been thirteen—should have destroyed that naïveté completely.
But they were Aerians.
“You need to stop idolizing the Aerians.” As comforting statements went, this was about rock bottom—but it was pure Teela.
“I don’t idolize them.”
“You do. Kitling, they have wings, yes, but they’re mortal. They’re people. Wings don’t give them any moral or ethical advantage over anyone else who lives in this city. I know there were no Aerians in the fiefs. But there were no Dragons, either, and you don’t expect the Dragons to somehow be paragons of virtue. They’re not a single thing. They’re people, like the rest of us. And some of them are going to be unpleasant sons of bitches. It’s
