“Terrano can still go where some of us can’t. Mandoran is second best.” Annarion shrugged. “And none of us can tell Terrano what to do. Or what not to do. In his defense, he’s trying to be careful.”
“This is not careful.”
“For Terrano?” Annarion didn’t wait for an answer. “We’ll head home. Sedarias doesn’t want us to meet the Emperor yet.”
Kaylin agreed, although she wasn’t going to meet the Emperor, and they’d already managed to meet the Arkon without giving or taking offense.
A palace steward was on duty though it was late in the night—or early in the morning. So were the Imperial Guards. Kaylin disliked both on principle, but let Bellusdeo do the talking for obvious reasons. And for less obvious reasons: she wasn’t sure she could speak without sounding like someone in serious need of a fix.
Bellusdeo didn’t have that problem. She was in Dragon armor, not the clothing most of the Dragon Court wore, which made her look—to Kaylin’s eye—more regal, not less. The palace guard were silent and invisible. If they sneered at Kaylin, as she was certain they would otherwise be doing, they did it on the inside of their heads.
The steward was clearly concerned. But...the Arkon, like most immortals, didn’t require sleep. He did require a certain amount of privacy, and he disliked interruptions when he was otherwise expecting to get that privacy. Kaylin understood the steward’s hesitation. Bellusdeo understood it, as well. She glanced at Kaylin. “If it is acceptable, I will not require a page to approach the library.”
Silence.
“I believe the Arkon left strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed.”
“I’m sure he did. You require his explicit permission?”
The poor man paled.
“Fine.” Bellusdeo lifted her chin and opened her mouth. Kaylin couldn’t cover both of her ears, even with this much warning, because she’d drop the book. But Bellusdeo spoke in a voice to wake either the dead or distracted Dragons, and she spoke in her native tongue.
Even the Imperial Guards cracked something that looked like an expression. Kaylin was impressed. The steward, however, looked resigned. If Bellusdeo’s Draconic had been a short bark of sound, he might have managed to keep hold of the starched, stiff lines of the palace’s version of helpful and welcoming—but she went on for some time. Kaylin did cover the one ear she could easily reach.
She kept her eyes on the long hall behind the obstructing desk. It didn’t disgorge more guards. No, instead, two figures entered the hall, coming round a corner at almost the same time. Kaylin recognized both men. Well, Dragons.
One was Lord Sanabalis, and the other, to her surprise, was Lord Emmerian. She was relieved to see that Lord Diarmat didn’t immediately follow. The guards relaxed, although that didn’t mean much; she could see it in the lines of their faces and jaws. The steward, however, looked openly relieved when the two Dragons arrived.
Dragons didn’t require sleep. Kaylin wasn’t certain what the long sleep of Dragonkind entailed; for some cultures “long sleep” and death were synonyms. Not so with Dragons, because Bellusdeo had been denied permission to attempt to wake some of those sleeping Dragons. But if they didn’t need sleep, Sanabalis looked as if he could use a week of it.
Emmerian, however, looked exactly the way he always did. Calm, quiet.
“We will take over from here,” Sanabalis told the steward. He glared balefully at Kaylin. Since various emergencies had curtailed her magic lessons with Sanabalis, she thought this unfair. He wasn’t the Arkon, though; after a few seconds of orange-eyed glare, he transferred his annoyance to the person who had caused it.
“Lord Bellusdeo. While it is a pleasure to see you in the Imperial Palace, this is not the time at which visitors usually arrive.”
“Not mortal visitors, no.”
“Lord Kaylin is now an immortal?”
Please, Kaylin thought,don’t drag me into this. Hope nudged her cheek and then, as if to make a point, relaxed into his draped, bored position. If he started to snore, she was going to push him off her shoulders. He snickered instead, which wasn’t much better.
Sanabalis, however, had returned his glare to Kaylin. “What, exactly, are you carrying?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? We’re taking it to the Arkon.” Her words were broken by involuntary shudders, which she forced herself to keep at a minimum.
“The Arkon is, ah, indisposed.”
“He’s sick?”
“No. You appear to be ill. He is...focused. He has made clear—loudly—that he does not wish to be interrupted.” Sanabalis glanced at Emmerian, as if he wished to pass the contents of this conversation to someone else. Emmerian was younger, which probably meant junior.
“Your previous visit,” Lord Emmerian then said in a much less irritable tone, “caused the type of focused concentration that the Arkon seldom engages in anymore. He has not eaten and has not rested since. He has given the librarians themselves a week of paid leave because even their presence is an annoyance.”
“The library is closed?”
“To the general public, yes.”