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you would have survived.” Eyes narrowing, Teela paused. “You don’t think you would have survived, either.” It wasn’t a question.
    “No. I had time to speak with the Imperial mages in your absence. I had time to assess their reports. But Teela, it’s absolutely certain that the bomb would not have been thrown had I not been resident there.”
    Teela shrugged. “I didn’t say Kaylin was wise. She’s not. But in this case, accept her lack of wisdom as the gift it is. She means well—mostly—and sometimes you have to encourage that.”
    “Meaning well was not highly prized in the home of my childhood.”
    Teela chuckled. “It was actively discouraged, in mine. But mortal lives are so short; they believe, and they die before that belief is entirely lost. It makes them curiously compelling.”
    “Is that why you’re a Hawk?”
    “No.” Teela hesitated, which was unusual. “And possibly yes. I didn’t come to the Hawks looking for Kaylin Neya; I was surprised when I found her.”
    “Hello,” Kaylin said, raising a hand. “I’m actually sitting here. ”
    They both looked at her. Teela opened her mouth, no doubt to say something cutting, when the small dragon flew out of the fire, squawking at the top of his little lungs. Just in case volume wasn’t attention-grabbing enough, he made a beeline for Kaylin’s shoulders, landed with fully extended claws, and whacked her face with a wing.
    “I don’t know why you never had cats,” Teela said, rising. “They couldn’t possibly be any worse.” Her eyes, however, had settled into Barrani danger blue.
    Bellusdeo’s were now orange.
    “Can you understand him?” Kaylin asked, vacating her own chair before the small dragon bit a hole through her ear lobe.
    “In this case, I don’t think it’s necessary.” Teela rose and headed toward the door. It was awkward to have three grown women converge on said door at the same time, but Kaylin had the sinking feeling that awkward wasn’t even on the list of their problems.
    * * *
    The door opened into torrential rain. The ceiling, such as it was—and the Garden was so elastic in shape and size, Kaylin didn’t put much faith in Evanton’s roof—was completely invisible; the skies were the gray-green of heavy cloud, and lightning illuminated the landscape in brief, bright flashes.
    She couldn’t see raging plumes of fire, and the ground just outside of the hut wasn’t shaking in a way that implied it was about to break beneath their feet. But the wind was howling.
    Literally.
    Kaylin turned to the small dragon. “Where,” she shouted, “is Evanton?”
    He lifted a wing and plastered it against her upper face. He’d done this before, in the outlands, where vision was so subjective it was the only way to see what was actually in front of her. The Garden, in theory, didn’t have that problem.
    But when the wing covered her eyes, she could see past the driving rain; she could see past the flying leaves and the debris that might once have been offerings to each of the elemental shrines. She could see the clouds, and froze for a moment.
    “Kitling!”
    The clouds wore the shape and form of a woman. She was not familiar to Kaylin; she was too large—far too large—and too angry; her eyes were the size of the moons, even narrowed as they were. More disturbing were her wings. Kaylin had always loved Aerians because of their wings; she knew that those wings were weapons; that they could break a man’s arm. But the wings of the storm—of the water—were like tidal waves; there was nothing beautiful about them, and the only freedom they implied was death.
    “Can you see the Keeper?” Bellusdeo shouted. Her voice felt like rumbling earth.
    “No—but the water is here, and it’s enraged!”
    “Only the water? Kaylin—can you see any of the other elementals?”
    She started to say air, and stopped. The storm was entirely a thing of the water. “No.”
    The ground shook beneath Kaylin’s feet. Leontine