“Oh?”
“Don’t converse in your native tongue while he’s here. The rest of us don’t understand Dragon, and don’t have the vocal cords for it.”
“And if he starts?”
“Are you a hatchling?” Mandoran cut in, with some scorn.
Bellusdeo flushed. Fair enough.He started itdidn’t work so well for the young foundlings who tried it, either.
“Pretend he’s the monarch of a neighboring country. You were, I hear, queen of your own country for more than a few years. I don’t imagine your diplomacy involved shouting and swearing.”
“It involved armies and death.”
Mandoran shrugged. “Fine. But the armies and death weren’t the first line of action. Just...pretend this is the first meeting.”
Bellusdeo snorted smoke. Nothing on the table, however, burned. “You’re certain you want to stay in the training room?”
“I don’t,” Mandoran replied. “But I’m being overruled and outvoted at the moment. My head’s a very noisy place.”
“Ah. And I thought it was mostly an empty one.”
Mandoran grinned, acknowledging a scored point. Kaylin wondered what the current tally on either side stood at, because she was certain the Barrani was keeping score. Then again, the Dragon probably was, as well. Ancient wars that had had a profound direct effect on the two people involved tended to bring an edge to every single interaction.
On the other hand, that didn’t seem to be as much of a problem for Annarion.
“They can read each other’s thoughts,” Helen said, having obviously read Kaylin’s. “This does not make them the same person.”
“You can say that again.”
* * *
Only when dinner was finished did Kaylin directly approach Moran. Moran had, as she usually did, absented herself from the Draco-Barrani hostilities. She had absented herself from the discussion of the Emperor as a dinner guest—although it was clearer, in that case, that she had thoughts. She didn’t volunteer to avoid their guest, though.
Kaylin wanted to, but Helen forbade it. It was, after all, Kaylin’s home, and she had responsibilities as hostess to her invited guests. Given the way the various Hawks had walked through her life—and her apartment—with little notice and frequently no invitation, Kaylin didn’t really understand the fuss of hospitality. She figured anyone who had a key was allowed to drop by when they felt like it.
Clearly, this wasn’t the Helen-accepted version of good manners.
“I’m tired,” Moran said, pulling Kaylin out of her petty confusion. “Can this wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Fine. But come back to my room. I find the ceilings here oppressive.”
“I could make them taller,” Helen’s disembodied voice offered.
“Much taller, and Kaylin would find them oppressive,” Moran answered, slightly amused. “And it’s Kaylin’s home.”
* * *
When the sergeant was ensconced in the heated pool of water Moran called a bath, Kaylin pulled off her shoes, rolled up her pant legs, and dipped her toes in. The water wasn’t steaming; it was warm. “I have a couple of things I wanted to ask you about.” She opened the flap of the small pouch she wore belted to her waist. It was vastly more practical than an over-the-shoulder bag, especially when it came to running.
Moran stiffened, but she couldn’t hold on to physical tension as efficiently when she was soaking in very warm water. “Please don’t tell me, Private, that you’re in possession of evidence.”
“Technically, no. Did you recognize the items he passed under Margot’s face?”
Moran was silent. It didn’t last. “Don’t give me cause to regret accepting your hospitality.”
“I’m trying not to. But someone is trying to kill you. And frankly, someone’s trying to kill me.”
