She followed him, looking back and to her side in growing unease. No one seemed to notice that the damn fieflord of Nightshade was walking the streets of Elantra. Then again, she wouldn’t have believed it either; she would have seen just another Barrani, in the company of a junior Hawk.
But as she followed him, the streets grew familiar. Not even the gaudy ribbons and wreaths, the symbols of a dozen different gods, the statues—layers of new paint over layers of old paint, like some miniature ode to geological formations—could make these streets so new or strange that she wouldn’t recognize them; if she closed her eyes and slowed down, her feet would know the path.
He was walking her home.
She stopped walking, in the vague hope that he would. Instead, the distance between them grew until she’d have to really sprint to close it. She did.
She couldn’t bring herself to touch him; had he been Severn, she’d have had two handfuls of elbow as she swung him around. Instead, she tried hard to avoid looking at any of the details of her daily life that made her life bearable. As if, by ignoring them, she could protect them. She walked.
He stopped in front of her building, at the locked door. She fumbled for her keys, but because it was deliberate, a way of buying time, he taught her a small lesson; he passed his hand over the lock, and she felt her cheek flush. Just the one.
The door opened, gliding with a creak on its hinges.
He didn’t speak a word; he simply met her gaze and waited. This much, that gaze seemed to say, he was willing to grant her for the sake of her dignity. But it was his to grant, and his to deny.
“I should arrest you,” she muttered as she hurried in the door. It closed behind them.
His smile never reached his eyes. “I think that not even your Sergeant would demand that you carry out that duty. You are, of course, free to try.”
She walked past him and up the narrow flight of stairs, stopping at the bend. He followed, and again, he followed in such a way that the stairs didn’t acknowledge his weight.
Not even Teela could do that.
“She can,” he said.
“Will you stop?”
“No. If you wish to shield your thoughts, it is something you will have to learn. And I fear that your ability to learn this simple act is hampered by your inability to learn what is not taught by fists, knives, and the streets.”
She knew he was referring to the mages. She almost accused him of spying—but what would be the point?
“Very little.”
And she wanted to hit him. She unlocked her door instead.
Her room, as usual, was a mess. It had been a bright and tidy place while she’d been recovering from her fight with a gods-cursed Dragon, but that had been Caitlin’s doing, and once Caitlin had no longer judged herself necessary, it had reverted over the course of a few busy—and, yes, late—days into the place that she called home. Piles of laundry were the only works of art along the floor; her shutters were closed, and tied with a small length of chain, and her mirror was covered.
Her bed was unmade, of course. Everything seemed to be. Even the chair looked untidy, which was odd, as chairs didn’t normally require much making once they’d left the carpenter.
She headed toward the kitchen, and Lord Nightshade raised a hand. She felt it; her back was turned, so she couldn’t see it.
“You are here,” he told her quietly, “to gather the belongings you feel are necessary for your comfort.”
“What?”
“I have no intention of leaving you in this part of the city for this particular Festival.” “What?” She felt like a parrot.
“Rooms have been prepared for your use in Castle Nightshade. You will remain there until the Court has adjourned.” “But I—I have to—work—”
His response was a silence that was all blue. “Understand, Kaylin, that this was not a request.” “And if I don’t want to go?”
“You don’t,” he replied with a Barrani shrug. “What of it?”
The dagger that she’d forgotten to sheathe looked pathetic in the scant light. She stared at it for a moment, and then looked at the fieflord. Here.
She was cold.
After a moment, she started to gather her clothing, her weapons, the sticks she shoved into her hair. She shoved these into a sack.
“You will be free to return—if you desire it—when things are less … difficult.”
CHAPTER 3
Inasmuch as Kaylin understood class—the adult form of bullying and condescension—she felt like a class traitor. Lord Nightshade was rumored to be a mage of great power, and in spite of the fact that she’d evidence of that with her own eyes—and Hawks had their own arrogance when it came to trusting opinions formed by gathering information—she was almost disappointed when they walked down the same set of narrow, shoddy stairs and into the wide streets. She had expected something less mundane.
Hell, she’d once seen him walk through a mirror and vanish. Then again, her mirror would bisect him, so it was probably just as well.
Her bag hung over her shoulder, and her uniform gathered in uncomfortable, trapped wrinkles; she felt like a street urchin again. Especially when compared with her companion. She took care not to make the comparison more than once.
He led the way, and she followed; she would have led, but his stride was the longer of the two, and his dignity—Barrani dignity—did not allow him to trail behind something as lowly as Kaylin. It did, however, allow him to stand behind his chosen guard when he chose to venture into the streets of the fief he ruled.
He’d brought no such guard with him.
When they reached the bridge, she paused. He had walked ahead, and he, too, paused at the gentle height of the bridge’s curve. He turned to watch her. Met her eyes.
“I assure you,” he said in a tone of voice that had the opposite effect, “you are not a prisoner. This is not a kidnapping. I do not intend to … interfere … with your duties in the Halls. I merely wish to insure that no one else has the opportunity to interfere with them.”
“I’ll have to tell—”
He grimaced. “If it comforts you, I have altered your mirror. If someone chooses to invoke it, it will carry your message to your room within the Castle.”
“Where you’ll hear everything that’s said.”
He raised a brow.
“The Hawklord isn’t going to be happy about this.”
“The Hawklord is not your lord. He rules your life when you labor under his command. What you do in your … free time is not his concern. Come, Kaylin. It will be dark soon, and while I am not afraid of ferals, I do not think facing them will be in your best interest.”
Enough of a warning. She made her way across the bridge, marking the point at which her new life was discarded and her old life opened up before her in the roads and causeways of Nightshade.
It was not the only fief she knew; not even the only fief she had called home. But it was the fief in which she had lived almost all of her life. The other, she didn’t name and didn’t think about.
“Why is the Barrani castelord—”
He held up a hand. “Now is not the time for that discussion.” His smile was slender and cool. “If we are lucky, there will be no time for it. If we