Page 210 of Cast in Conflict

She was surprised at the clarity of his voice, surprised at the sudden dwindling presence of Shadow within him. She had struggled to contain it, to force it out—but she knew this wasn’t down to anything she’d personally done.

Bakkon surprised her. He started to chitter, an agitation of sound broken by tiny bells.

It was Karriamis who replied. “Yes, old friend.” He spoke in Barrani. “I thought never to see you again. And I am heartened by your appearance here; it is clear that you were allowed your escape in the presence of the battle between the Dragons and the Shadows.”

“I am not so easy to kill as all that,” Bakkon replied.

The Shadows were gone, now. Kaylin looked up; she could see no outcaste in the air above the fief.

“He is no longer here. I admit that he is far more subtle—and more powerful—than the Shadows that have previously managed to infiltrate this fief. Come, Chosen—join us.”

She hesitantly lifted her hand from Emmerian’s flank. When she did, he dwindled in size, his shape changing, the entirety of his presence once again contained in—confined by—a mortal form. He wore silver plate armor; from a distance, he might have been an Imperial Guard.

Kaylin turned toward Karriamis, who had adopted a similar form; he wore clothing, not the scale armor forced on the Dragons who would otherwise be butt naked in the streets. Not that this would generally bother Bellusdeo.

Bellusdeo wasn’t butt naked; she was draconic. Karriamis stood beneath her, tilting his head to meet her enormous eyes—which were, sadly, red.

“You’re going to want to get in there quickly,” Kaylin murmured to Emmerian.

“We can all hear you,” Bellusdeo rumbled.

“We can,” Karriamis agreed, although he didn’t look away from the gold Dragon. Her eyes remained red. “My apologies, Lord Bellusdeo. You were correct in some fashion; this is not the time for testing. I have been watching the borders for the entirety of my existence—but that one, I had not seen.”

“Which variant of that one?”

“The outcaste.”

Kaylin, however, understood. She continued to watch the Dragons but spoke to Nightshade as she did. Can you hear it? Can you hear the name of the fief?

I can.

Is it Bellusdeo?

It is. I am not sure I approve of this Karriamis—but neither he nor the fief is my problem. She felt him wince and sought sight of him with her actual eyes; he was bleeding, but the wound didn’t seem deep.

It is not deep, and no, I do not require healing. His tone suggested she’d be the one who required it if she tried.

“Lord Bellusdeo,” Karriamis said. “We await you.” He then turned to Bakkon. “Is it foolish to hope that you have not made a commitment to the Tower of Liatt?”

“To Aggarok? No. I believe some negotiations might be required, and Aggarok was always difficult. Unless they have changed markedly in the centuries since last we met.”

“I cannot say. I am not permitted—by construction and design—to leave the fief over which I stand sentinel. But you returned without speaking to him?”

“I felt the young Chosen might require aid. And to be frank, Aggarok was unsettling before his ascension, and I don’t have the stomach for him at the moment.” He then turned to Kaylin. In a slightly more anxious voice, he said, “You did not lose the bag?”

“I gave it to Mandoran.”

“I have it,” Mandoran said, from a distance. “Are you sure you don’t want to take the bag—and the books it contains—to the chancellor of the Academia?”

“I am certain of very little at the moment, your city seems so bleak and lifeless,” the Wevaran replied.

Karriamis turned toward Bellusdeo; he lifted a brow in question.

Smoke jetted out of her nostrils before she lowered her head and began to transform. Her eyes remained red when she was no longer an obvious Dragon. “I can hear Kaylin’s stomach from here. If any of you would care to join us, we’re repairing to the Tower.” She paused. “You can adequately feed everyone?”

It was Karriamis’s turn to snort. “Of course. I must say it has been quite a while since I last offered to entertain quite so many people—but if that is your desire, it will be my pleasure.”

Bellusdeo snorted again. She glanced, once, at Emmerian; Emmerian met—and held—her gaze. When she didn’t look away, he nodded. She offered him an arm, Imperial style; he grinned, because he had lifted his arm to do the same. He lowered his arm, accepting hers, and she led them all toward the Tower she had finally claimed as her home.

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