Cast in Fury [Mass Market Paperback]

-RT Book Reviews (4 ½ stars) on Cast in Fury

"No one provides an emotional payoff like Michelle Sagara. Combine that with a fast-paced police procedural, deadly magics, five very different races and a wickedly dry sense of humor-well, it doesn't get any better than this."

-Bestselling author Tanya Huff on The Chronicles of Elantra series

"The impressively detailed setting and the book's spirited heroine are sure to charm romance readers as well as fantasy fans who like some mystery with their magic."

-Publishers Weekly on Cast in Secret

A few people's lives, on the other hand, were in question. The amount of sarcasm Clint could put into shocked silence wasn't illegal. Yet. But Kaylin had to grudgingly admit, as she glared her way past his lowered halberd and into the Halls of Law, the wings he extended were a nice touch.

The Aerie was almost empty, but it usually was at this time of day; the halls themselves were suspiciously quiet. Then again, maybe the Swords were actually earning their pay instead of milling around the halls looking smug. Even on her bleariest mornings, Kaylin couldn't have missed the tension and worry that seemed to permeate the city streets recently, and keeping the peace, such as it was in a crowded city, was their job. For a change. The day was already looking brighter. She glanced up as a shadow passed her, and saw a lone Aerian traversing the space high above; he wasn't practicing maneuvers, and his wings were extended for a steady glide. She still envied the Aerians their wings, a little.

She felt a smidgen of sympathy for the Swords but didn't let it show. Much. It wasn't often that the entire city had almost created a new sea coast by the simple expedient of being under most of the surrounding water. She was certain that stories and rumors about the larger-than-Imperial-edict tidal wave that had almost destroyed the harbor—for a start—had already been making the rounds, and growing bigger, if that was even possible, with each telling.

She was waved through—without sarcasm—when she approached the guards that separated the Hawks' quarters from those of the Wolves or the Swords. The halls were vacant, and even the duty roster seemed to have gathered no darts.

"Oh, come on, guys," she said, when the entire office stopped as she entered and approached Marcus's desk. "I'm not always late. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Have you checked the duty roster, dear?" Caitlin asked, from the safety of her desk. Not that she was ever in any danger; if the office had a collective mother, it was Caitlin.

"Oh. No." She turned and, at Marcus's bark of a command, turned back. Marcus's growl was low, and it was short. He must be tired. And a tired Leontine was generally best kept happy by little displays of obedience. Or big ones.

The paperwork on his desk hadn't really diminished but also, to Kaylin's admittedly inexpert eye, hadn't grown; the emergency that had pulled a number of his Hawks out of their normal routine had been resolved; there was no Festival for almost another year. She couldn't quite see what would put him in a mood, but the fact that he was in one was obvious—having facial fur that bristled when you were ticked off was a dead giveaway. Having fangs that were almost as long as her fingers—the exposed parts of the fangs, at any rate— was another.

She came to stand a safe distance from the side of his desk, and waited. She even waited quietly.

Her reward? He lifted a stack of paper off his desk and dumped it in her hands. "This," he said curtly, "is your problem."

She looked down at what she had assumed were reports—or worse. The paperwork required of the office was, by all accounts, more arcane than any of the magic it also required. To punctuate this, the window very sweetly told the entire office what the hour was.

Kaylin really hated the window. There was money riding on how long it would take someone to accidentally break it, and money riding on who would have the accident. There weren't many rules that governed office bets, but one of them was that you couldn't place money on yourself. Which was fair but, in Kaylin's case, prevented her from winning much.

"Well? Are you going to stand there all day?"

Kaylin looked down at the first sheet in the stack— and it was a large stack. "No, sir."

"Good. Take note of the roster—your rounds have been changed."

"Since when? I checked it last night."

"Since then, obviously."

She caught Caitlin's frantic gestures out of the corner of her eye, and nodded. She considered going to the roster by way of Caitlin's desk, but since they were in opposite directions and Marcus could watch you while his back was turned, she decided to actually go to the roster instead.

Her shoulders did a severe downturn when she saw what had been written beside her name. Even Severn's name, at the same location, didn't bring much cheer. The Imperial Palace?

"Don't make that face," Teela said, in her left ear.

Barrani could walk in perfect silence, but it took work, and Teela was usually too damn lazy. Kaylin's little start did not, however, cause her to drop the bundle of paper. Given Marcus's mood, that was good.

"What's eating Marcus?"

Teela shrugged, long black hair rising and falling like a perfect curtain. Kaylin tried not to resent the fact that the Barrani weren't governed by any Hawk regulations when it came to anything they wore. Regulations were, after all, supposed to be practical and as far as Kaylin could tell, Barrani hair never tangled, never got caught in anything, and never got in the way.

And they were gorgeous and lived forever. If it weren't for the fact that they adored politics—preferably with blood and death—they'd be insufferable.

"He's Ironjaw," Teela said. "But he's been in that mood since late last night." Her tone of voice made it clear that it was serious enough that Kaylin should change the subject now, and Kaylin had known Teela for so many years it wasn't possible to misinterpret.

"Figures. Save a city, get sent to the Imperial Palace."

"It's more impressive than being sent to the docks or the Commons."

"More people to offend."

"True, and some of them are significant." Teela smiled. In all, it wasn't a happy expression. "Have you even taken a look at what you're holding?"

"I just got it, Teela."

"You might want to read it over," the Hawk replied. "Severn's waiting in the West room. And so is the Dragon."

The Dragon was generally known by the rank and file as Lord Sanabalis. One of Four Dragon Lords that comprised the Dragon contingent of the Imperial Court, he was also a member of the Imperial Order of Mages. He had graciously come out of teaching retirement to take on one pupil, that pupil being Kaylin herself. She tried to remember to be grateful, and usually succeeded when she wasn't actively staring at a candle wick in a vain attempt to get it to catch fire.

Which, come to think, was most of the time.

But she knew her lesson schedule more or less by heart now, and none of those lessons started at the beginning of her day. Given her nocturnal activities, and the desire of the Hawks not to annoy the mages, Marcus had forbidden any lesson that started before lunch. It gave her a decent chance of not missing any.

So Sanabalis wasn't here to teach her anything new about candles. She pushed the door open—it was open, so she didn't have to go through her daily ritual of teeth-grinding while waiting for the doorward to magically identify her—and saw that Severn and Sanabalis were seated across the room's only table, talking quietly.

They stopped when they saw her, and she slid between the door and its frame, dropping the stack of paper on the tabletop.

"Marcus is in a mood," she told Severn.

"It's better than yours."

"I'm not in a—" She stopped. "You mean better than mine will be?"

"Pretty much. Take a seat. Lord Sanabalis is here to inform us of our duties, and to escort us to the man we'll be aiding."

When Severn spoke Barrani, it was generally a bad sign. Lord Sanabalis, on the other hand, almost always spoke in Barrani.

"We don't have to talk to the Emperor, do we?" she said, sinking into the chair slowly. It was rock hard and weighed more than she did.

"No," Lord Sanabalis replied. "Unless something goes gravely, gravely wrong, the Emperor has more important duties to attend."

"Does this mean there's no lesson today?"

"There will be, as you say, no lesson for the course of your duties at the Palace."

"Well, that's something. Who are we investigating?"

Severn hesitated.

"Investigating?" Sanabalis replied, raising a brow. "I rather think, if you were sent to investigate someone, the last place the Hawks would agree to second you would be the Imperial Palace. As you should know, the

Imperial Guards deal with any difficulties that arise in the Palace. And they do not arise."

"Yes, Sanabalis." She hesitated. "What are we doing there, then? We're not exactly guard material—"

One of his silver brows rose into his thinning hairline.

Fair enough; if the Imperial Guard would be offended at outside investigators, they would probably completely lose it at outside guards. "So we're not there as investigators, we're not there as guards. Are we there as Hawks?"

"In a manner of speaking."

She grimaced. "That usually means no."

"You are Hawks or you could not be seconded in this fashion. You are not, however, there as representatives of the Law."

The old bastard looked like he was enjoying himself. Exactly how he conveyed this, Kaylin wasn't quite certain—his expression was neutral enough, and his voice was smooth as glass.

"So what are we there as?"

"As Cultural Resources," he replied smoothly.

"As what?"

"Cultural Resources."

"I heard you. What exactly does that mean?"

"Ah. Have you taken a moment to peruse the documents you placed upon the table?"

"No."

"I'd advise you to do so. We are not expected at t...