“Meaning Barren didn’t have enough money.”
“Meaning exactly that.”
“But Tiamaris is still building.”
“Yes. There have, however, been a few significant difficulties.”
Kaylin started to eat again, but she did lift a hand before the Dragon could continue. “Please tell me that this has nothing to do with the Exchequer and his alleged embezzlement.”
Sanabalis was notably silent. He was also, however, grimly pleased with the comment, in the way that teachers often are when a student says something unexpectedly clever. “You see the issue.”
She did, and she bit down on the bread a little too hard. “The treasury doesn’t have the money.”
“The treasury is, by no means, approaching insolvency. But the funds are greatly reduced for projects of an unspecified nature. In emergencies, tax levies could be raised—”
“I know this one,” was the grim reply. “I’ve done tax collector lookout before.” This was the polite phrase for guarding the tax collectors, who had the dubious distinction of being the most despised men in the City, bar none. “The Emperor can’t raise an unspecified levy without the Caste Courts bickering like starving dogs. He can’t, in this case, raise a specific levy without causing idiots to cross the bridge in resentful fury with torches.”
Severn, often quiet, said, “It would, on the other hand, rid us of dozens of idiots; the Swords would probably be grateful in the long term.”
“I concede that the Emperor would not be distressed to see them go, either. Be that as it may, there has been a slowdown in the purchase of the materials required for the reconstruction. Tiamaris has, of course, his own funds, but these have been appropriated. The issue of food was initially problematic—but I forget myself. The food is entirely an internal matter.”
“In theory, so is the reconstruction.”
“Indeed. The investigation into the Exchequer is not going as well as the Emperor had hoped.” He steepled his hands beneath his chin, teasing wisps of beard before he continued. “The funding is not the only problem, and frankly, were it, your presence would not be required.”
“Got it. Shadows, then?” She watched his expression. “It’s not just the Shadows.”
“No. The strangers—who call themselves the People in their own tongue, which we may adopt as their formal racial designation in the archives—have their own customs and their own experiences in dealing with Shadow, and those customs are not in accordance with fief customs.”
“Meaning?”
“They walk around more heavily armed than any previous fieflord’s thugs, they are between seven and eight feet tall, they are silent and while they are not immediately violent, they are not friendly. They do not keep curfew, which, given their size and ability with their weapons, is not actually an issue—for them. It has led to some speculation on the part of the humans living in the fief that they are Shadows themselves, or in league with the Shadows.”
Kaylin winced. “And since there are Shadows, of an unspecified and subtle nature, running around the fief—”
“Very good. You now understand most of the difficulties.”
“I do.”
“But?” He used the Elantran word for this.
“I don’t understand why it requires your presence in the fief. The fief of Tiamaris demonstrably already has a Dragon Lord of its own, and from all accounts he’s a damn sight more effective at scouring the streets for Ferals and other nightmares than any of the previous fieflords before him.”
Sanabalis nodded. “Your point is taken,” he said, rising. “I have one meeting before I am free to leave the Palace. I will leave you both here, and return when I am able to depart.”
“He didn’t answer the damn question,” she said—but only after the door had been closed for a good five minutes. Even Dragon hearing had its limits.
“You noticed.” Severn was frowning, but it was a slight frown.
“What?”
“I don’t think he thinks your presence in the fief of Tiamaris is necessary.” Before she could speak, he held up one hand. “I think he wants you there. Why?”
She grimaced. “I’d like to think I was necessary or useful.”
“But?”
“Diarmat also asked that I be seconded to the Palace. To him, directly, for more intensive lessons.”
“This occurred at the same time?”
“If I had to guess, Sanabalis actually wrote out his request first. But…he probably had some idea of what Diarmat would demand. You don’t know what he’s like, Severn.”
“I have a very good idea of what Lord Diarmat is like.”
“Is he still alive only because he’s a Dragon and they’re so bloody hard to kill?”
“Probably. We’re going to need to change,” he added.
“Why?”
“Fiefs.”
“They’ve got a Dragon for a fieflord. He’s trying to institute reasonable laws—and install the people who’ll enforce them. I don’t think the Hawk is going to matter one way or the other.”
He folded his arms across his chest, and Kaylin grimaced. “All right, I’ll ditch the tabard, but I’m not ditching the armor until I have a better idea of what we’re likely to be up against.”
Severn rose and headed toward the window view that Kaylin liked so much. From the slight angle of the back of his head, Kaylin guessed that he was looking at the Halls of Law, or at the flags that stood atop each of its three towers. But after a minute, he turned.
“We haven’t talked,” he said after a long pause.
“About what?”
He didn’t dignify the question with an answer, which was fair. Kaylin shifted in her chair in a way that was suspiciously like squirming. She hesitated, glad that there wasn’t much in the way of food; the only time she had trouble eating was when she was nervous, and a life of near starvation hadn’t managed to kill that response.
Severn said nothing, not with words. But he watched, gaze almost unblinking. It was hard to meet that gaze, and the floor suddenly became a whole lot more interesting.
“I don’t—” She wasn’t one of nature’s natural liars, and Severn deserved better than that. Plus, he’d know. He always did. “I almost can’t remember most of what happened when I was trapped in the…Other. No, that’s not what I mean— I remember it, it just doesn’t make sense. Here,” she said, thumping the ground heavily with her foot, “things are solid. The wood is hard. The carpet is soft. There’s wind and the noise of the street. Well, the halls, but you know what I mean. There’s food. There are people.
“There are no elements wandering around. There are no true names floating in the air like signposts. It’s normal—it’s normal, but it’s less—”
“Clean?”
“Maybe. Less simple. Everything there was absolute. To speak to any of it—elements, emptiness—I had to be as absolute as I could. I didn’t have time to be afraid.”
“You were afraid.”
She grimaced. “Yes, but on most days I have a half-dozen different fears pulling me in different directions; I balance them.”
“So,