“He also hates to be left out of anything that might—just might—require his expertise. Honestly, I think we would have been better off visiting Tiamaris.”
Given that Tara’s job was to guard againstanyincursion of Shadow, Kaylin wasn’t nearly as confident. “We’re going to be late.”
“Yes, probably. But if I show up at the palace in full armor, there’ll be a ruckus, and I don’t feel like dealing with that today.”
* * *
By unspoken agreement, the bomb at the office was not to be mentioned, but Kaylin wasn’t stupid. It would be on Records, and an investigation or ten was currently underway. There was about zero chance that the Emperor did not know what had occurred. There was a higher chance that the Arkon had managed to avoid the information.
Kaylin, with Bellusdeo as sole escort, walked to the Imperial Palace. It was closer to her new home than her old one, but given how little she generally enjoyed her visits, she didn’t consider this a plus. Bellusdeo, however, seemed calm. The informal dinner that Kaylin had dreaded had, in the end, all interruptions aside, had a positive effect. Bellusdeo no longer went orange-eyed at the mention of the Emperor.
Lord Emmerian was waiting for them in place of the steward, a young page by his side. “Lord Bellusdeo,” he said, sweeping a very Barrani-style bow.
“Lord Emmerian. The Arkon has now sent you out as a glorified page?”
Emmerian’s grin was rueful. “The Arkon? No. Some rumor has reached the Court of the morning’s...excitement.”
“And you were sent to make sure that I was materially unharmed.”
“Indeed. The Emperor was not best pleased, and has been martialing the full force of his concentration.”
“He is not investigating, surely. That is what the Hawks are for.”
“Ah, not investigating, no. But there were some concerns, when the report was delivered—verbally, by the Lord of Hawks—that he would fly himself out to the Southern Reach and reduce the Caste Court and the dar Carafel flight to such small parts none of it would ever be found again.”
“I’m somewhat partial to that idea myself, at the moment.”
“Yes. The Arkon felt you might be.”
Bellusdeo’s eyes lightened, and a grin caused the corners of her mouth to twitch. “And so he sent you to head me off?”
“To escort you, Lord Bellusdeo,” was the grave reply, although it seemed to Kaylin that a smile lurked in the Dragon’s eyes. “I am not certain why, but he believes you have a mercurial and unpredictable temper. I have never seen you destroy things in a sudden rage; nor have I heard stories or rumors that have any merit in them.”
“He knew me when I was just out of the shell,” she replied.
“Perhaps that would explain it. Will you tell me a little of your current work with the Hawks?”
“I am not a Hawk,” was Bellusdeo’s careful reply; she had just given Kaylin the side-eye. “But I have been given permission to accompany Lord Kaylin while she does her duty. My laws were similar in spirit, but there are material differences in their execution; I felt that this would be the best way to learn about the Imperial Laws.” She took the arm he offered, and they preceded Kaylin down the hall toward the Imperial Library that was the Arkon’s den.
* * *
The Arkon was frazzled—or at least his hair was—but on closer inspection, his eyes were almost gold. Some hint of orange had shifted their hue, but it was slight, and it vanished as he caught sight of Bellusdeo. “I honestly do not see the point in rumor,” he told her, nodding to Emmerian.
“There is a reason it is called ‘rumor’ and not ‘fact,’ Lannagaros. I have survived much, much worse than a tiny, mortal bomb. And far more Shadow than the bomb is reputed to contain.”
At that, the orange that had nearly disappeared returned in full force.
“...I see the rumors did not trend in that direction,” Bellusdeo said. She released Lord Emmerian’s arm. “Thank you for the company. And thank you,” she added, “for asking questions and listening as if you actually had some care for the answers.”
Emmerian’s eyes were golden. “I am not considered particularly possessive or aggressive,” he told Bellusdeo. “And the clutch-fathers were absolutely certain I would never find, never make, a hoard of my own.”
“I would bite them myself, if I thought they still survived. That is a terrible thing to say to a child.”
“They spoke their minds,” Emmerian replied. “And in truth? They were not wrong. It is significant, I think, that Lord Tiamaris found his hoard; he is the youngest of us. But he is Tiamaris, and remains so.”
“You’ve visited him?”
“Yes, at his invitation. And once at the Emperor’s directive. I was not certain what to expect—it has been centuries since a Dragon has declared his hoard. Once, there might have been ceremony—but perhaps not. It is hard to dress up or civilize the very visceralminethat seems to reside at the heart of the choice.
