* * *
The small dragon liked Grethan; he always had. Grethan therefore remained his perch of interest while the apprentice led them to Evanton and his mysterious guest. They were, in fact, in the kitchen, a functional room that had never been intended for guests. The table could comfortably fit four. Evanton’s expression made clear that it was going to uncomfortably fit five, although he did take pity on Mandoran after everyone else was seated. “You can wander around the store, if you’d prefer. I would ask that you not touch anything without checking with Grethan first.”
Mandoran looked to Kaylin, who nodded with some envy.
Kaylin tried to gauge the importance of this visitor. Evanton didn’t let just anyone into his kitchen—probably some mix of pride and self-preservation—but guests of import or power were usually led through the rickety hall in the back to the Keeper’s Garden.
Tea was poured, and Evanton had a cup situated somewhere in front of him, although he didn’t generally like to drink it. He watched Kaylin for a long, silent breath.
“What did I do wrong this time?” It was a surrender on her part. Someone had to speak first, or they’d be here all afternoon.
“That really is the question, isn’t it?” Evanton exhaled. He turned to his guest. “This is Private Kaylin Neya, and Corporal Severn Handred. They are, as you can see, Imperial Hawks, ground division.”
“I’m not sure we call it a division,” Kaylin said. “The rest is accurate.”
She was an older woman. Not as old as Evanton, of course, but her hair was silver with shots of rooted black, and her square face was lined. Her eyes were a pale gray. She was what Kaylin thought of as handsome: there was nothing frail about her, but she had a compelling face. At one point in her life, she might have been considered beautiful. She apparently had no name she was willing to have divulged, because Kaylin and Severn were the only ones who were introduced.
Kaylin didn’t much care about manners for their own sake, but she was as curious as the next person, and the lack of an introduction made her wonder who the woman was, what she was hiding and what laws she’d broken. Then again, Kaylin was a Hawk, and her mind often ran in that direction, full tilt.
“Grethan said you wanted to see us.”
“Yes. I wish to ask your opinion.”
Evanton’s guest clearly didn’t want him to do so. She drank her tea looking stiff and increasingly uncomfortable in every possible way.
“Ask, then—we’re on the clock, and the sergeant is in a foul mood.”
“I would imagine he is, given the assassination attempt.”
Kaylin stiffened. Severn appeared to relax. Only one of these things was accurate. “You’re not just bringing that up to make conversation.”
“No. I try very hard not to waste my own time, given the number of people who seem willing to waste it for me.”
“What do you know about it, and how much do you want me to pass on?”
“I know that the would-be assassin was an Aerian.”
“How do you know that?” Severn asked, in the conversational tones people used to talk about either sports or weather.
Evanton ignored the question. “This is not a matter for the Hawks,” he said. “I believe it will be classified under exemption status. The target was Aerian, the assassin was Aerian. And I do not believe the target will seek to have justice done in the Imperial Courts. I would even be willing to wager on it.” Evanton was aware of the Hawks’ propensity for betting, and he knew whom most of that habit had come from.
“With your own money?”
“Not with money.”
“Odds?”
“Any odds.”
“Fine.” Kaylin folded. “What do you know about the attempt?”
“Very little. It was carried out by magic. The mage responsible will not be catalogued in the Imperial investigative archives, so there is no point at all in bringing in Imperial mages, even if the case were remanded to the regular system.”
“Do you knowwhy?”
Evanton looked to his guest, who stiffened, her hands tightening around the bowl of the teacup as if to draw strength from it. She looked across the table at Kaylin. “If Moran dar Carafel is dead, the wings will pass on.”
“The wings?”