Cast In Flight. Michelle SagaraЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter 1

      Morning was not Kaylin’s friend.

      Helen’s Avatar stood in front of the open bedroom door, her expression as pinched as it ever got. Sentient buildings were in most ways a living marvel, but they definitely had their drawbacks.

      “I’m not hungry,” Kaylin told Helen as she dragged herself out of bed. “I need sleep more than I need food.” She could see only one of her shoes. “Is there anything you can do about Nightshade and Annarion? I never thought I’d say this, but Dragons roaring at each other at the top of their lungs was more peaceful.”

      “I’m sorry, dear. I’ve done what I can to isolate the noise in the house, but Annarion’s voice travels through most of my barriers.”

      “It’s not just Annarion. I can hear every word Nightshade is saying.”

      “That would be because you bear his mark, dear. He can’t control you through it while he’s under my roof, but the connection is still active.”

      Kaylin reached up to touch her cheek. Nightshade’s mark looked like a tattoo of a small flower, and she’d had it for long enough she was barely aware of it, except in moments like these.

      Helen looked down at her hands, which weren’t really hands; Helen was a building. Her Avatar appeared to be human. It wasn’t. Clearing her throat was also an affectation, and she did that, as well. “Regardless, breakfast is an important meal. You have work today. You need food.” Helen’s Avatar folded her arms. As far as Helen was concerned, this was a fight worth having, and as it happened, Helen won all these fights.

      The winged lizard flapping around Kaylin’s face in obvious annoyance made it hard to pull clothing over her head. Kaylin swatted halfheartedly at her familiar.

      “That’s what buttons are for, dear. If you unbuttoned—and folded—your clothing, getting dressed would be less chaotic.”

      Small and squawky settled on Kaylin’s left shoulder with a little more claw than usual. “I used to daydream about having an older brother,” she said as she spied the missing shoe under her bed. “If nothing else, this has cured me of that.”

      “I have a question.”

      Of course she did. “What?”

      “Annarion is upset at his older brother.”

      “Clearly.”

      “He is not saying anything that you have not said, or thought, yourself. He dislikes the governance of the fief of Nightshade.”

      Dislike was far too mild a word.

      “You hate it.”

      Kaylin exhaled. “I grew up there. Barely. I survived. But a lot of people—a lot of kids—didn’t. When I see what Tiamaris has done with his own fief, it’s very clear to me that life in Nightshade didn’t have to be like that. Nightshade’s the fieflord. He could have chosen to do what Tiamaris is doing. The fief is his. So yes, I agree with every single word Annarion’s been saying. Or shouting. Or screaming.”

      “But you feel pain on Nightshade’s behalf.”

      Kaylin grimaced. “Nightshade spent centuries trying to rescue Annarion. I think he might have killed his father because his father chose to sacrifice Annarion to the green. The only person on earth Nightshade cares about that way is his younger brother. In some ways, his choices revolved around Annarion. He’s outcaste because of those choices.

      “Getting Annarion back should have been a good thing. And I think it is. But...Annarion’s so disappointed, so hurt, it’s caused almost nothing but pain.” And that pain? It was killing Kaylin’s ability to sleep. No one who had half a heart could sleep through the ruckus. “To both of them.”

      “And you don’t want Lord Nightshade to be in pain.”

      “I think he deserves it, to be honest. But...not from Annarion.”

      “People have always been complicated.”

      “Even the immortal ones?”

      “Especially the immortal ones.”

      No one with any intelligence wanted to get between two brothers while they were fighting. No one with any sense of self-preservation got between two Barrani when they were fighting. Kaylin hoped fervently that Lord Nightshade had returned to his own castle this morning.

      * * *

      Kaylin chewed on her thoughts while her familiar chewed on her hair as she walked down the foyer stairs toward the dining room. The dining room’s fancy doors were open, there was food on the table, and she was—as usual—late. Annarion was seated beside Mandoran. If Nightshade was Annarion’s brother by blood and lineage, Mandoran was a sibling by shared experience. Seated across from Mandoran was Bellusdeo, her golden hair pulled back in a braid that was looped together on the back of her head. Given the slightly orange tinge to her eyes, it was clear she and Mandoran had already started their daily bickering.

      Having a Dragon living in the same house as a Barrani who’d lost his family to the Draco-Barrani wars was never exactly peaceful.

      Before she could enter the dining room, Annarion looked up from his untouched plate. “I want to know how you first met my brother.”

      No, mornings were definitely not her friend.

      “I don’t think,” Helen said to Annarion as Kaylin made her way—silently—to her chair, “that Kaylin wishes to discuss your brother at breakfast.”

      Or ever.

      “I told him you’d say that,” Mandoran added, half-apologetically. Half was usually as much as he could muster.

      “I’m surprised he didn’t listen,” Bellusdeo said, picking up a fork as if it were a fascinating, rarely seen utensil. “Usually you’re the one who chooses to be selectively deaf.” She smiled at Mandoran. “I’ve come to find it quaintly charming.”

      Mandoran’s eyes shifted to a steady, deeper blue, the universal sign of Barrani fear or anger. And he certainly wasn’t afraid. “As charming as a Dragon in mortal clothing?”

      “Oh, infinitely more so. I assume once you’ve developed better command of your manners, I will be far less entertained. But I don’t expect that to happen in the next decade. Or two.”

      Mandoran’s natural dislike of Dragons as a race left Kaylin stranded with Annarion, who was still staring at her. No one could outstare Barrani.

      “Why won’t you speak about my brother?” he asked. The question was softly spoken, but his tone made it more of a command than a request for information.

      She considered and discarded a number of replies as she began to eat. She wasn’t hungry, and even if she had been, Annarion’s question would have killed her appetite. But she’d grown up on the edge of starvation, and she could always eat.

      None of her possible replies were good. The truth was, she liked Annarion. He was—for a Barrani—honest, polite, self-contained.

      “I don’t suppose you could ask your brother.”

      Mandoran took a break from his barbed “conversation” with Bellusdeo. “He’s asked.”

      “Nightshade