All the things that she could tell herself but couldn’t quite believe rushed up, because if she said them to Moran, they would betrue. Nothing in Moran’s expression allowed for any attempt at comfort. Kaylin’s jaw snapped shut.
Moran’s assistant entered the infirmary in his on-duty clothing. Kaylin wondered briefly where he’d been. She didn’t like any answer she could come up with, and didn’t ask. Moran waited for the assistant—a lowly private, just as Kaylin herself was—to pick up a large, heavy bag.
She looked far more like Red going out on a premorgue assignment than she did a doctor. Red, on the other hand, carried his own bag; he considered privates in general too careless.
* * *
The holding cells were crowded. The Hawklord had either not returned to his Tower, or had descended from it again. Barrani Hawks—Teela and Tain among them—were onguard duty. The only Aerians present were the Hawklord and Moran.
And the bleeding Aerians who had been deposited here.
Moran’s Leontine was impressive, but she didn’t slow down for it; she sped up. Her private, understanding instantly, sped up as well; Kaylin and Severn stepped out of the way to let them pass.
Kaylin almost couldn’t understand what she was seeing. Almost.
But when she’d been fourteen—or fifteen, the years blurred a bit—and a mascot, not an actual full-fledged private, the Hawks and the Swords had, between them, managed to capture a Barrani criminal. He was wanted for a number of petty crimes, mostly involving drugs and prostitution. He had been taken to the holding cells, and he had been restrained; Barrani had been sent to guard him because mortal guards wouldn’t cut it.
He had died.
Restrained as he was, he could have put up a struggle against mortal guards, excepting only Leontines, and since there was only one of those and he was a sergeant, he was definitively not on guard duty. He’d had no chance at all against Barrani.
It had caused the ugliest rift in the Hawks Kaylin had, until that point, seen. She’d seen impressive rivalries for things ranging from chairs, desks and pencil acquisition—but those rivalries had been, at base, friendly. The death of the Barrani prisoner—the helpless Barrani prisoner—had changed that. It had driven a wedge of fury, contempt, and not a little fear, between the Barrani Hawks and their mortal counterparts; it had made race an issue even if, in theory, they were all equal when serving the Imperial Law.
Not everyone was upset about the death—but enough were. Enough had been.
Petty Barrani criminals weren’t Aerians. Kaylin held her breath, reaching for her wrist. She’d already removed the bracer. She didn’t look to the Hawklord for orders. She didn’t look to Moran. She particularly avoided looking at Teela and Tain. She wascertainthey hadn’t killed the Aerians. And she was certain the Hawklord already knew who had. After the death of the Barrani, Records captures became mandatory for each of the holding cells that were in use.
“Private,” the Hawklord said.
Kaylin ignored him. She knelt across from Moran and her infirmary assistant. One Aerian was dead. Just...dead. His throat had been cut, and he’d been stabbed in the chest, close to, if not through, his Aerian heart.
She placed her hands on the forehead of the second Aerian. He was—barely—alive. Everything was on Records. Everything. And that didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if the Hawks didn’t know she could heal. It wasn’t as if the Hawklord didn’t. The Emperor was aware of her abilities. Were they legal? No. But she could figure that out later.
She sent the healing power of the marks on her skin out, into the wound. Someone had slashed his throat as well, but not deeply enough. They hadn’t taken the time to stab him through the heart, possibly because they didn’t have that time. It was the only thing she was grateful for. She heard Moran barking orders and felt a twinge of sympathy for the private on the receiving end. Belatedly, she hoped that private wasn’t actually her.
The familiar was crooning, a wordless sound that almost managed to be musical, if music was slightly flat and occasionally squawky. She listened as she felt the wound begin to close.
“Enough, Kaylin,” Moran said quietly.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” she answered, without opening her eyes.
“We’re aware of that. He’ll survive on his own now.”
“I can—”
“You’ll be flat on your back for at least three days, according to Teela. You’ve done enough.”
“But—”
“Hawklord’s orders,” Moran added.
* * *
Kaylin was grateful that she was only a private by the end of that grueling day. The office was in an uproar—but Hawks in uproar generally gave very strong meaning to the wordsdeafening silence. There were always exceptions, but for the most part, Marcus was in low-growl mode all day. It wasn’t considered wise to interrupt that or, more precisely, to draw his attention when he was in that mood.
Because she was only a private, she had no idea who had murdered one of the two prisoners and almost killed the other. The Records of cell captures weren’t considered of relevance to privates. Or corporals. Or possibly even sergeants. They were above Kaylin’s pay grade, and for the long, long hours of that day, she wanted them to stay that way enough that she could ignore the insistentwho would do thisthat rattled around her head. Someone had just thrown away his career, and quite possibly his freedom, in order to ensure that the assassins never had the opportunity to talk.
Bellusdeo remained in the infirmary—on the inside, near Moran. Teela and Tain took up positions on the outside of the infirmary door, by command of their very growly sergeant. The surviving prisoner had not regained consciousness by the end of the day.
