He snickered. “Sedarias insists. Something something something dignity.”
“Were any of thosesomethings useful words?”
“You’d probably think so. I’m going to spend time with Abel, not you guys.”
“Does Abel know this?”
“I have a standing invitation. It’s sort of like the Academia.”
Terrano didn’t have a standing invitation to visit the Academia; he’d achieved tired resignation. The former Arkon chose to accept what couldn’t be changed without either immense effort or bloodshed. Killian wouldn’t kill Terrano; he’d divert hismeager power into kicking the cohort member out—and at the moment, while Killian was rebuilding his power after his long, long hibernation, he had better things to worry about.
Kaylin thought Killian was actually fond of Terrano. And given what she’d seen of Bellusdeo and her sisters, she suspected the groundwork for the former Arkon’s sense of resignation had been laid when Bellusdeo was a child under his care.
Teela’s choice of clothing matched Kaylin’s and Severn’s, and because it did, it was Teela who drew all eyes. Fear was mixed with anger in hostile Barrani gazes; in some, anger and amusement blended—from a safe distance. Kaylin knew the Barrani didn’t make friends the normal way but wondered if Teela had ever had any friends in the High Halls. Allies, maybe—but those allies would stay well away from someone who wore the effective equivalent of Imperial colors.
That’s what the Hawks’ tabard was. She understood. She’d worn the tabard with dogged pride for all her adult life. She knew the Halls of Law weren’t perfect—but it couldn’t be. Officers were people. People who’d gone out drinking far too late. People who spent the morning arguing with their mother. Or burying her. Or fighting with their spouse. Or taking as much care of sick children as working hours allowed.
In order for the Halls of Law to be perfect, people would have to be perfect.
People weren’t perfect.
It was Caitlin who had taken the adolescent Kaylin aside.You make mistakes—but Kaylin, we all make mistakes. The biggest mistake people can make, and I’ve seen it a regrettable number of times, is assuming that if you can’t be perfect, there’s no point in trying to be better.
Caitlin had made hot chocolate for her; she’d been much younger, or felt like she’d been much younger. In Teela’s eyes, Kaylin was practically the same person she’d been back then, but Teela was Immortal.
We try. Good and perfect aren’t the same. But give up on good, and what you have is the fief of your childhood.
That didn’t help the people who fell between the cracks. It didn’t help the people who were neglected and abandoned.
It’s hard work to care. It’s hard work to be here, wearing the tabard, and dealing with the people who gave up on good, on helping anyone but themselves, a long time ago. It’s too easy to feel that there’s no good at all. Think about it this way: one life. One life at a time. If you reach out to one person, if you help one person, you’re making a difference.
That single person might have been you. You can’t save everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t save anyone.
She shook her head. As Kaylin entered the High Halls between the height of intimidating pillars, she took a deep breath. The Barrani clothing, styled and created to make a statement, had been far more comfortable than it looked. Maybe that’s just what power was like: more comfortable than it looked from the outside.
But the clothing she wore now was the clothing she’d chosen. It was the job she’d dedicated her working life to doing. It wrinkled. It stained. It tore. Buttons needed to be replaced.
The Halls of Law hadn’t sent her here, but the visit wasn’t purely personal. The Barrani were part of the Empire, even if most of the lords loathed acknowledging that citizenship. They were bound by the rules that governed the Emperor’s hoard.
She straightened her shoulders. She knew Teela was wearing her uniform to catch attention, to tweak the noses of the powerful. But Teela was, and had always been, a good Hawk. If she’d taken the job out of boredom or petty malice, she did the job. She’d taught Kaylin much of it.
Maybe that’s the reason the Barrani Lords hated the Hawk when Teela wore it. Because she did the job. The mortal Hawks were beneath their notice; they only paid attention to mortal Hawks because killing a mortal Hawk meant laws of exemption could never be invoked, mortals not being Barrani.
Teela didn’t speak a word. She did nod to any Barrani close enough to see it—and Barrani had good eyesight. The only time she spoke was after she’d drawn her sword. Teela wore the tabard today, but she hadn’t armed herself for beat work.Kariannosseemed brighter in the light of the High Halls; the light glinting off the flat of the blade made the entire blade look almost white.
“I don’t advise that you try,” Teela said. “If you injure me at the behest of your lord, understand that it merely means you are disposable; unless you kill me, I will never allow the laws of exemption to be invoked. You and your family will be considered possible criminals by the Halls of Law, and you will be investigated to the full extent of our abilities.”
Kaylin had no idea who Teela was threatening.
Hope sighed theatrically and lifted a wing to her right eye.
Oh. Invisible Barrani.
It happens all the time in the High Halls, Severn said. He hadn’t drawn his weapons, even absent the chain. He wasn’t worried.It’s almost a form of greeting. An’Tellarus once welcomed me in exactly this fashion.
You can see them. Without Hope’s wing.
Severn didn’t answer. But he didn’t expect the invisible people—there were four—to attack Teela. Teela did them the courtesy of drawing her sword, but Kaylin saw from their expressions, and from the blue of Teela’s eyes, that she didn’t consider them a credible threat. They were Barrani. They had to see that as well.