“All right. I won’t. But—do you think I’m wrong?”
Teela exhaled. “Kitling, did I mention political ugliness?”
“Yes.”
“I do not think you are entirely wrong. There is a distinct possibility you may be right, which is profoundly disturbing. Shadow is not the only transformative magic—or perhaps, as you’ve said, we don’t clearly understand its power. What controls Shadow, what attacks from Ravellon, is one thing in many parts, but Gilbert was notofit.
“If you did not despise Arcanists so much, that is the place I’d start my inquiries.”
“No way. If they haven’t thought of it themselves, they’ll start. Arcanists can take anything and make it worse. For us.”
“And that leaves the Arkon.”
“I’d rather talk to the Arkon.”
* * *
Talking to the Arkon involved a delay. Kaylin mirrored the Imperial Library from Caitlin’s desk on the way out to patrol Elani. She then went in search of Bellusdeo, whose unofficial position had become bodyguard to Moran dar Carafel.
Given the destruction of the infirmary, Moran was at large, or should have been. In practice, Moran had commandeered a conference room meant for larger gatherings of senior Hawks. It was a space that had been designed for quiet, at least from the outside. Magic was woven into the carpets that lined the scratched floors and the cushions that covered the chairs. Those chairs had been dinged and scratched, but they were solid enough that the damage was entirely cosmetic. Even Marcus would have some trouble disposing of them the Leontine way.
Bellusdeo was standing by the door when Kaylin peered into the room. Moran had some supplies—no doubt wrangled out of the quartermaster—on the large table. There were no beds, but the infirmary had been empty of patients when the bomb had exploded. The gold Dragon looked up.
“I’ve asked to speak with the Arkon,” Kaylin told her. “And if he says yes, I’ll be heading directly to the palace from work.”
The Dragon nodded, half her attention on Kaylin. The other half was on Moran. “You know,” she said quietly, “if I had had people of her caliber under me, I could have—”
“Ruled the world?”
Bellusdeo shook her head, her expression going pensive. “Maybe saved it.” She shook herself. “Why do you need to speak with the Arkon?”
“It’s about Shadow. Teela says it’s political.”
“I see. I’m certain he will speak with you.”
“You want to come, too?”
“Yes, I think so. We will have to detour to see Moran safely home.”
Kaylin nodded and left.
* * *
When Kaylin and Teela returned at the end of the day, Moran was adjusting a standing mirror that she must have commandeered from somewhere. The sergeant clearly wasn’t comfortable with the lack of beds or a proper desk, but fortunately, there had been few visitors to Moran’s improvised infirmary that day—only three, and none of them had been Aerian. One, a new Sword, had had his foot broken—but not crushed—by a horse. A horse that was meant, of course, to be used by the Halls of Law. Kaylin privately felt a deep sympathy for him; he, like Kaylin, had not been raised in an environment where money—and land—was a given, and had therefore never learned to ride.
Moran’s angry energy and the need to martial her forces—such as they were—deserted her as the group made their way home. Her wings were drawn in tight; her shoulders were bunched together, as if to ward off blows.
Helen was waiting for them at the open doors. She handed Moran a mug and the Aerian took it with silent gratitude.
“Come,” Helen told Moran. “I think a bath—and a change of clothing—is in order. You arepraevolo, but here, the regalia is not necessary. There are no more tests to pass or fail today.” To Kaylin, she said, “The Arkon sent you a message.”
“He mirrored?”
“Yes. He has, I believe, rearranged his personal schedule to include time for you, and asks that we ask Bellusdeo to cause less fire. I’m not sure I understand the request.”
Bellusdeo snorted a small stream of smoke. “He has clearly become addled with age if he thinksthatwas a fire. I’m almost of mind to set something alight just to remind him of the difference.”
“Please don’t.” Kaylin rushed in to wedge the request between Bellusdeo’s annoyed sentences. “Iaminterrupting his work. He hates that.”