“But if the law can sometimes be used to protect those who don’t have that power, it’s better than nothing. Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Frequently,” Bellusdeo replied, but her voice was gentle. “But not in this. I wanted to be perfect, when I ruled. I wanted to be a queen who could be admired and followed; I wanted to make no mistakes. In that, I failed. But I considered the alternative worse: to not try. I learned from my mistakes. I made new ones. As I gained power, the cost of my mistakes grew—because it wasn’t just me who would pay for them. It’s the one silver lining to the cloud of being powerless, here.”
“You could join the Hawks.”
“Given your Sergeant’s attitude toward Dragons, I highly doubt it.”
“He’s not in charge. If Lord Grammayre gives you permission...” Kaylin trailed off.
“He would require Imperial permission first, and I highly doubt he would receive it. Not in my case. And yes, I am aware that Lord Tiamaris has been, in the past, considered a member of the Hawks. I am content, however, to be allowed to accompany you on your patrols. If,” she added, “you have no objections.”
Right at this very moment, Kaylin didn’t.
* * *
If anyone else was surprised to see Bellusdeo approaching the Halls in regular clothing, they were better at containing their shock than Kaylin was.
Clint and Tanner were on door duty, and therefore had the first opportunity. They nodded to Bellusdeo; they were not required to be more formal while on duty. Not that any of the Hawks were great at formality, except those in the upper echelons.
“Anything I should be dreading before I’m given permission to enter?” Kaylin asked, glancing at Clint’s wings. They’d been singed, but not in a way that would prevent flight; Clint had assured her that they would be fully functional, and he’d been right.
“Moran had a screeching fight with Ironjaw. She also had a clipped, angry ‘discussion’ with the Hawklord.”
“Moran?”
“You might remember her? Shortish, speckled wings, foul temper, runs our infirmary?”
Moran had reportedly been clipped by fire that was hot enough to melt stone. According to Teela, one of her wings was a disaster; her prognosis for future flight was not good, and she was supposed to be confined to the Aerie in the Southern Reach.
“Why is she even in the office? Shouldn’t she be at home?”
“You might want to keep that opinion to yourself today,” Tanner replied, wincing. “She is not in the mood to have her presence at work criticized, and she made that quite clear.”
“Can she even fly?”
Silence.
Kaylin turned to Bellusdeo. “We’re going to take a detour to the infirmary.”
“Were we not just warned against that?”
“Not exactly,” Kaylin replied at the same time as Clint said, “Yes.”
“I am not familiar with Moran,” the Dragon said. “I’ve met her, of course, but our paths have not otherwise crossed.”
“If you’re smart, they won’t cross today.” Clint glanced at Kaylin before adding, “But if you mean to tag along where Kaylin goes, smart won’t count for much.”
“Thanks a bunch, Clint.”
“I thought you valued honesty?”
“If your Sergeant was unable to convince Moran that her services are not currently required, what do you think you’ll achieve?” Bellusdeo asked pointedly as they made their way to the infirmary.
“I’ll worry less. I just want to make sure she’s all right.”
“You don’t expect her to be all right.”
Kaylin rolled back her sleeve, exposing the bracer that she wore. It was a gift—of sorts—from the Imperial Treasury, and it looked like a golden manacle, but longer, and with gems. The gems were actually buttons, and when pressed in a specific sequence, it opened. If one didn’t know the sequence, the bracer wouldn’t open. If it didn’t open, it did not come off. Cutting Kaylin’s hand off would not remove the bracer—because while she wore it, her entire arm seemed almost impervious to physical damage.
She frequently tossed it over her shoulder; she sometimes tossed it into the Ablayne. No matter where she threw it, it always returned to its keeper.
Its keeper was not Kaylin. It was Severn.
Today, she handed it to Bellusdeo instead. Bellusdeo didn’t exactly argue when Kaylin dropped it, but she clearly didn’t approve of the casual way Kaylin treated the artifact.
“You mean to heal her.”
“I mean to try, yes. She has a very Barrani attitude toward healing. She considers it intrusive.”
“It is intrusive.”
“I didn’t say she was stupid. I might in the very near future, though.”
Kaylin’s power had been used extensively the day after the disastrous attack. Moran had been absent from the infirmary, and the mood of the Hawks working in its crowded environs had been a blend of determination and gloom. Moran was not particularly fond of Kaylin’s healing ability; she seldom allowed Kaylin to heal at all. But First Corporal Kirby, the Aerian who had taken over the infirmary in Moran’s absence, was more of a pushover. He was only a little older than Kaylin, and he lacked Moran’s wintery presence and absolute authority.
Since Moran hadn’t been present, things had gone more smoothly. If over two dozen officers of the law had died, many, many more had been injured. Moran felt that setting bones—arms, legs, ribs, collars—was her purview. She was less sanguine about burns—especially those that involved flight feathers or wings.
Kaylin had insisted she be allowed to heal the men and women who were not guaranteed to survive. She tended to severe burns and the infections that came with them; she was allowed to heal crushed limbs and fractured skulls. Kirby approved it all, while muttering Moran is going to kill me under his breath.
No one had questioned Kaylin’s work in the infirmary, though the use of her power was not entirely legal. Kaylin was not yet a member of the Imperial Order or the Arcanum—and she would rather die than join the latter.
In theory, there were strict laws that governed the use of magic in Elantra. But in practice, the use of magic wasn’t easily quantified. It was therefore very poorly governed.
Even had it not been, it wouldn’t have mattered. The Hawklord and the Swordlord were fully capable of petitioning the Emperor for permission; neither had felt the paperwork would be productive or entirely necessary.
The beds had emptied slowly. While Kaylin could heal—and very effectively—the process exhausted her, and she’d only been able to work on one man or woman at a time.
At least today, if she collapsed on the way home, Bellusdeo could carry her the rest of the way.
The likelihood of that happening was very small if Moran was, as Clint stated, at her desk. Kaylin wanted to believe that Teela had exaggerated. She didn’t. Moran, she was certain, should not be at work. Not yet.
* * *
Clint, unsurprisingly, was right: Moran was in the infirmary.
Her left arm was in a sling, and her wings...
Kaylin shook her head. Moran’s left wing was a mess; the