“Meaning?”
“If the High Lord wished to rid himself of a particularly fractious member of his Court, he would order that lord to destroy the outcaste in question—let’s use Nightshade as our example. If the fractious lord doesn’t wish to become outcaste on a flimsy technicality, he has only one choice. He must attempt to destroy Nightshade.” Mandoran’s tone made clear how unsuccessful this theoretical lord would be.
“So...don’t tick off the High Lord.”
“That’s always good advice. Nightshade has survived all prior attempts on his life, and he is considered a favorite, in spite of his status, with the Lady. And now you’ve distracted me.”
“You were doing most of the talking.”
“True. What I meant was, if the High Lord were intent on the destruction of a Barrani Lord, that lord would die. Period.”
“Clint’s not wrong. That wasn’t what he was saying.”
“No? I admit Teela doesn’t have all that much information about him, at least that she’s willing to share.”
“He’s telling me that my interference could cost him his wings. His literal wings. Because the implication is the Caste Court takes its excommunication very, very seriously. And clearly, Moran is at the heart of it. He’s also telling me thatMoranwon’t be stripped of her wings. The worst she can do is die.
“But he didn’t make that claim for the Hawklord.” Her shoulders were bunching themselves up near her neck, which annoyed the familiar, who squawked loudly. “And I owe Lord Grammayre my life. All of it.” She glanced at Severn. “What do we do?”
“Our jobs,” he replied. “And until we figure out where the hornet’s nest is, only our jobs.”
* * *
The Elani beat was relatively quiet. The Hawks broke up one fight, stopped someone from breaking a window, gave directions—and withheld advice, which was much, much harder—to new visitors to the quarter. Mandoran headed into Margot’s house of fraud, leaving Kaylin and Severn to their actual work.
“If you’re doing that just to annoy me, it’s working,” Kaylin told him.
Mandoran grinned. “Teela’s advice. So you know who to blame.”
It was, if one ignored the assassination attempt—and apparently, she’d been ordered to do just that—a very normal day. The type of day she yearned for every time she left her own front doors.
* * *
The unusual part of the Elani patrol—and really, on a street full of fortune-telling frauds and miracle-medicine sellers, angry ex-customers trying to cause damagewasthe usual—came at the end of the patrol. Mandoran had rejoined them, his lips a suspicious shade of red that didn’t look entirely natural. He probably deserved to be clipped by a door that flew open without warning.
The door belonged to Evanton’s shop. Grethan, Evanton’s apprentice, stood in the open frame, looking vaguely anxious. The anxiety cleared as the small dragon launched itself off Kaylin’s shoulders and onto the young apprentice’s.
Kaylin and Severn, who had come to an instant halt, shared a glance before speaking. “Were you looking for us?” Kaylin asked.
Grethan nodded. “Evanton wants to speak to you. He’s in the kitchen with tea. And, um. Tea.”
“Um?”
“He has another guest. The lady’s been in, on and off, for the past three weeks. She wants him to make something he’s not certain he wants to make.”
“And...he’s askingmyadvice? Did he fall and hit his head?”
“No. If he fell, he’d probably manage to hit my head instead,” was the morose reply. “I’m not sure why he wants to see you,” he added.
“Does he want to see the rest of us?” Mandoran asked, remaining outside in the street. Given Mandoran’s previous visits—which had involved a lot of water in the wrong places—this was a perfectly reasonable question.
“He didn’t say,” Grethan replied. “But I think it should be fine.”
Mandoran looked dubious.
“I think he actually likes you and your brother. He just thinks you’re walking disasters waiting to happen.”
“They are,” Kaylin said before Grethan could continue. “You coming in or waiting outside?”
