Moran glanced at the stool, and then at the gathered, standing guests. Some of the swell of what Kaylin had assumed was rage left her—or at least it left her wings. Her eyes remained very blue as she marched toward the stool and sat on it. She was about as graceful as Kaylin would have been had she been angry.
And she was also now the angriest person at the table. In general, angry dinner companions were never a good thing if one liked uninterrupted eating, but at the moment, her anger eased the tension between Bellusdeo and the Emperor. Since that was the theoretical point of the dinner in the first place, Kaylin accepted the angry Aerian with far less discomfort than she normally would. Even when the Aerian’s glare was turned, like a giant, blunt weapon, on her.
“I’m not sure this is the place to discuss it,” Kaylin began.
“Don’t stall.”
“I’m not stalling. I’m being serious.”
“She is not incorrect,” the Hawklord said, coming to Kaylin’s rescue.
“It involves me,” was Moran’s flat reply.
Not even the Hawklord could argue with that, although Kaylin’s first instinct was to do so. The problem with that instinct was that she’d have to lie. She would never have met an outcaste Aerian if it weren’t for Moran, and clearly both the Aerians knew it. “It does,” Kaylin admitted. “But not in a bad way. And I think Lord Grammayre is right—this isn’t the place to have this conversation.”
“Given the conversation you were about to start,” Moran replied, “it can’t be any worse.”
“For me? No. For you? I thought you weren’t—”
“I heard what you said. Helen was kind enough to repeat it. I thought my intervention would be welcome.”
Kaylin highly doubted that. But the truth was, the Hawklord seemed genuinely pleased to see her at the table. Grammayre, like the Emperor, was not a man known for his ability to mimic pleasure or joy—at least not in the office, which was the only place they interacted.
“Your company,” the Emperor said, “is always welcome.”
Blue faded into purple and then returned. Moran inclined her head. “Your Majesty, you do me too much honor.”
“We all, to some extent, bear the burdens of our office,” he replied. “And yours was, is, and has always been, significant to your people. It has been many years since I last saw those robes or that bracelet.”
Moran’s head tilted slightly, as if she were leaning in to catch the echo of words she hadn’t expected. She glanced, once, at her familiar table-mates, and then spoke. “You knew my predecessor?”
“Not well, no. I had occasion to meet with him, of course.”
“You did?”
“He was dar Carafel by birth, a member of the Caste Court.”
She grimaced, just as Kaylin would have done. Kaylin had always assumed that Moran was a decade and a half older than she was; she lost that certainty, watching the off-duty sergeant. “I see.”
“You are dar Carafel.”
“I was adopted into dar Carafel, yes. I am not a member of the Caste Court.” Her voice implied strongly that she would become a member over her dead body. Then again, she was a Hawk.
“No, you are not. You are a sergeant in the Hawks. There are no Aerians I prize more highly, if that is an acceptable word. You serve my Law, and my city, almost as if it were your own.”
“It kind of is,” Kaylin said quietly.
“The injuries you have taken,” the Emperor continued as if Kaylin hadn’t spoken, which was probably for the best, “were taken in defense of the city. Those injuries are responsible for your current predicament. And mine. And Lord Grammayre’s. They are not, however, a source of shame. Nor should they ever be. Were it not for the sacrifice of the Aerians, many, many more would have died.
“I would vastly rather meet with the Lord of Hawks than the Caste Court. I will overlook the fact that you are dar Carafel, in this room.”
Moran’s eyes widened, and she bit back a brief laugh; her cheeks reddened as she lowered her chin.
Bellusdeo was staring at the Emperor’s profile, almost arrested. He noticed, raising one dark brow at her expression. “Surely you did not think I possessed no sense of humor, Lord Bellusdeo?”
To Kaylin’s surprise, Bellusdeo also reddened. She was, however, more defiant—probably because she could be. Nothing short of attempted assassination was likely to lead to her death at the Emperor’s hands. “I can be forgiven for that, I believe. You have evinced none of that humor in my presence since my arrival in Elantra.”
“Some things are too important for humor,” the Emperor replied. His eye membranes lowered. “Humor requires a certain detachment, implies a lack of concern.”