“But they believe—or you believe—that it is involved now?”
“I am not, sadly, in the councils of the Caste Court. If I am not outcaste, I am—what is your word?”
“Pariah?” Mandoran helpfully supplied.
“Yes. I am a relative pariah. Speaking to me will not immediately target an Aerian for Court censure—but befriending me would draw much more attention than the rank and file really want. And don’t make that face, Private.”
“What face?”
“The one which implies you’re about to storm off to the Halls and shout at the closest Aerians.”
“I won’t,” Kaylin told her, thinking of Clint. And Lillias.
“They have families. They have flights. They have, in many cases, children. Their concerns are very correctly with the people for whom they’re responsible. I am never going to be one of them.” Her voice softening, she said, “And I’m happier that way. I don’t want to be the reason their lives are destroyed. They don’t owe me that.”
“And you don’t owe them anything?” It was Teela who asked.
Moran’s smile was grimmer. “I’m a Hawk,” she said. “There’s that, if nothing else.”
To Kaylin, being a Hawk was not supposed to be a—a consolation prize. It was more, it was much more, than that. The tabard, the ranks, the laws, were supposed to be the thing that cut across the racial differences. No matter who, or how, they’d been born, Hawks hadchosento serve. To protect. And that service was offered independent of race, to anyone of any race.
“I’m proud to be a Hawk,” Moran told Kaylin, as if Kaylin had been shouting out loud. “I wasn’t very good at it, at first. As you might imagine, I didn’t relish authority. I didn’t trust people in power. I didn’t trust the people of my own rank—and the Aerians were colder than even the Barrani. But I was determined to show them all. To prove to the doubters that I could, and would, do the work. The same work.” She shook her head. “It’s hard. The Hawks don’t understand what my life has been like.”
“Have you ever explained it?” Teela asked.
Moran look horrified at the idea. “And become an object of scorn or pity?”
“It would have the advantage of being based on facts. As far as I can tell, you were already an object of scorn.”
“Perhaps. But not pity. Never pity. Do you know what would have happened to the Aerian Hawks if they knew the truth?”
Kaylin said, “Maybe you should let them decide whether or not it’s worth the risk.” But Clint—and she adored Clint—had made clear that to interfere in Moran’s business courted a fate worse than death. And maybe the rest of the Aerians would feel,didfeel, the same way.
If Kaylin were Moran, and in Moran’s position, and that was what she could expect, Kaylin would be damned if she exposed herself to the hope of more. She understood why Moran had remained silent, then. If life was crap, you could accept it. There was no point having a temper tantrum, and in the wrong streets of the city, a tantrum would just hasten your death. You learned to accept what you couldn’t change, and you accepted it quickly.
Justice, fairness, kindness—you could rail against the lack of those things in your life. Kaylin knew, because she’d done it. And then, she’d set about trying to survive that life, because justice, fairness and kindness were simply not on the menu anywhere she could afford to eat. Figuratively speaking.
She knew that hope was worse, somehow. If you had hope that things would change, you stood on the edge of a precipice. You stood on the edge of an abyssal chasm. And if hope was betrayed, you ended up worse off than when you’d started.
Yes, she understood.
But she also understood that without hope, without that taking of chances, nothing changed. Nothing could change. It was something she hadn’t known when she’d first stepped foot across the Ablayne. It was something she had grown to understand with time.
“You’re being arrogant again, kitling,” Teela said.
Kaylin blinked. “Me? Arrogant?”
“Yes—in the most well-meaning way possible, but the end result is probably the same. You haven’t lived Moran’s life, she’s not asking for your advice, and you’re presuming that you can offer advice that would fundamentally improve her life.” Teela’s eyes were now blue green. “I personally prefer well-meaning, but would just as soon avoid condescension.”
“I never give you advice.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s just that I want—”To help. Kaylin bit back the rest of the words. Maybe Teela was right. But she didn’t feel powerful enough, significant enough, tobearrogant. To be condescending. Awkward, flushing, Kaylin turned to face Moran. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Teela thinks I have an obsession with Aerians.” It took her another minute to fully meet Moran’s gaze.
Moran, however, didn’t look offended. Gently, she said, “I’m like the corporal in one regard. I prefer well-meaning. And, Kaylin? The Aerians have taken you under wing—and that phrase has a different meaning for my people. They’ve been kind to you. They’ve offered you acceptance, understanding and tolerance. You have no reason to resent them.”
“I can’t resent them on your behalf?”
