“Likely. He comes here all the time to visit Annarion. And then they argue. Loudly. It’s almost like they’re Dragons.”
The Hawklord winced.
Bellusdeo, however, chuckled—which meant the Emperor was under some pressure not to find the offhand comment offensive.
“I feel,” Bellusdeo added, “that that is somehow a challenge.” She turned to the Emperor, smiling. “Shall we?”
Kaylin fled the room before he could answer. It was, again, poor manners. Manners were difficult.
* * *
“I feel,” the Arkon said, “that in spite of everything, the evening was a success. It was not a success in the particular way one might hope—but the addition of the Aerians added something necessary to the interaction.” He wasn’t smiling, but his voice implied that he might. “The appearance of Nightshade, however, will possibly add complications.”
Nightshade was nothing but complication. “He’s only here to see his brother.”
“I do not doubt that. No one in that room does. But it is not the people in the room who will be adding those complications. It is the people who observe your house because Moran resides here.”
Aerians.
“The Hawklord will be flying in the face of his Caste Court. If you think that his position will protect him from consequences, you have failed to understand how the Caste Courts feel about Imperial Law. They are willing—of course they are—to accede; the alternative would involve a winnowing of their race. The Emperor’s Laws are the law—but never forget that the Emperor is the ultimate arbiter. Heisthe law.”
“And he’s meeting a fieflord in private at my house.”
“Very good. Yes. He is meeting a fieflord, in private, at your house. I am not completely certain that the spies will recognize the Emperor’s actual person. Or mine, for that matter. But they will research, and they will—eventually—know. Lord Nightshade’s timing in this matter could not be less fortuitous. It will not, of course, harm the Emperor.”
“...The Hawklord.”
“Yes, Kaylin. The Caste Court is allowed, by law, to cast out constituent members of the race it rules. Its rules must abide, in some fashion, by the laws laid down by the Emperor—but in matters of racial inclusivity or exclusivity, they are given a free hand.”
“I hate that.”
“Believe that no hatred you feel for it could be as deep, as profound or as difficult as the Emperor’s. He did not wish for the citizens of this Empire to be slaves. Ruling the weak is difficult. They are fearful, and fearful people are often very—what is your word?—ah, stupid. Stupid?”
“That’s the word.”
“He could rule as the Dragons once did, as the Barrani once did. But there is a delicacy to the mortal races that would consume most of you were he to significantly shift his style of rulership.”
“The Barrani wouldn’t like it much.”
The Arkon snorted. “Some of the Barrani would like it very much; they are young, brash and foolish. Having lived through only a small part of the Draco-Barrani wars, they would welcome a chance to test themselves in the same arena as their forebearers once did.”
“That would destroy the city.”
“Yes. It would not destroy the Dragon Court. It would probably destroy the younger fools among the Barrani High Court, but I am not certain that that would be a great loss.” At her expression, he added, “Iamold, Kaylin. The old are famously impatient with certain youthful foibles.” They had reached the doors. “I am impatient with the idea that glory is won by slaughter—because of course it is not slaughter that glory implies. The Elantrans have a phrase that is apropos.”
“Please don’t repeat it,” Kaylin told him; she could guess which one, or at least which dozen, might apply. “You can get away with saying anything to the Emperor. I can’t.”
The door opened. Lord Nightshade stood in the doorway.
It was evening, but the foyer lights were bright; Kaylin could therefore clearly see that light reflected in eyes that were a shade too blue. That blue darkened as he met not Kaylin’s eyes, but the Arkon’s.
The ancient Dragon whose library was his hoard inclined his chin. “Calarnenne,” he said.
“Lannagaros. Ah, no, Arkon.” Lord Nightshade recovered first, and this time he bowed. It was not a superficial gesture.
“You did not bring your blade, I see.”
“Meliannosis not a trivial weapon, and it is not much required in the streets of your city; no. I do not have it.”