Between Their Worlds

Chapter 9

THE NEXT MORNING, Wynn awoke to sunlight spilling through her window. Everything felt normal, and she reached over the bedside for Shade. Her hand found nothing, though she reached all the way to the braided rug on the stone floor. She sat up, looking about, and her gaze came to rest on the far corner beside the door.

Her sun-crystal staff was still gone. Shade was nowhere to be seen. She was still a prisoner inside her room.

Wynn had so often believed that almost any situation looked better in the morning. Not now, not this time, sitting there alone.

Grabbing her gray robe off the bed’s end, she pulled it on over her shift and leggings and smoothed out the wrinkles. A part of her was tempted to open the door, check the passage and see if Lúcan was still outside. Of course he would be, for nothing else had changed.

A soft knock sounded at her door. It would only be Nikolas with her breakfast, but at least this made her feel less isolated. She stood up, prepared to let him in, but she had taken only a step when ...

“Journeyor? May I come in?”

Wynn froze at the low voice coming from the other side of the door. She knew that voice, and it certainly didn’t belong to Nikolas. She had to respond in some fashion, so she just went and opened the door.

There was Captain Rodian standing outside, with Lúcan at attention just left of the doorframe. The captain’s red tabard looked freshly pressed. His close beard was evenly trimmed, and his neck looked as if it had been shaved early that morning. But his expression was uncertain, and just a hint of dark rings encircled his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept well.

Wynn remembered a night last autumn when Rodian had locked her in a cell at the second castle. He’d come later that same night, asking permission to enter, as well. Why even bother, since she had no choice? Even here, this wasn’t really her room anymore. Mild hysteria grew as she wondered what he’d do if she just told him to go away.

When she didn’t speak, Rodian’s brow wrinkled. He glanced at Lúcan, who said nothing, and the captain whispered something to his corporal. Lúcan nodded and turned away, and Wynn heard him heading down the passage to the stairs.

“Please,” Rodian said, still waiting in the passage.

Wynn sighed, leaving the door open as she took a few steps back. He entered and then glanced back at the door, as if caught between leaving it open or not. Finally, he closed it, and they were alone.

“Journeyor,” he said again, and then paused.

This did not seem like a good thing to Wynn.

Rodian had always struck her as almost comically determined to present a professional front, as if the scuffle with Chane last night and the sight of Dorian dragging her off had never occurred.

Wynn had no idea what he was doing here. With no intention of helping him or offering any encouragement, she just stood there beside the bed, waiting.

“Why has the council confined you?” he asked.

“You’d have to ask them.”

“I have.”

“Well, then, you know more than I do.”

His gaze was intense, and Wynn wavered. He’d sounded concerned, as if worried about her. If that was true, then why had he done everything the council asked of him, aside from taking over control of her confinement? Why had he locked down the guild grounds?

Rodian shook his head and stepped closer. “You must have done something—or something must have happened connected to you—for the council to call me.” His patience suddenly vanished. “Wynn, talk to me! What happened here last night?”

What could she tell him—that a dhampir, a half-elven ex-assassin, and a Fay-born majay-hì returned to her and panicked the Premin Council? And then she’d been forced to sneak out the vampire who’d been hiding in her room?

Oh, yes, that would just fix everything.

Even if Rodian believed any of it—if he didn’t ask a hundred more questions in turn—she didn’t believe those things had anything to do with why she’d been locked up.

“I returned from a long journey south,” she finally answered. “While there, I went farther than ordered in my own exploration, without guild sanction or knowledge. I think now they know more than I realized, and they want me to admit everything ... and I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because of dark comings they don’t want to acknowledge. And the more I tell them, the more they’ll be able to get in my way. You, of all people, should understand that.”

“If you won’t give them what they want, then why haven’t they just dismissed you, thrown you out?”

Wynn smiled at him without a trace of humor. “Because they’d lose control over me.”

Rodian rubbed his brow and turned a circle, as if wishing to pace but finding the small room too confining.

“Are you going to keep on doing what they want?” she asked. “Keep on serving them in this?”

She should’ve known better than to try turning all of this on him. He was now one of her obstacles.

“Have they mentioned any formal charges to be made against you?” he asked.

“Not to me. I wouldn’t know what they’ve mentioned to you.”

Rodian didn’t respond to this. “There’s more to this than your errant mission,” he said. “Something happened here last night. Even if small events seem irrelevant, you need to tell me what led to—”

The door slammed open, and High Premin Sykion stood in the opening, her wide eyes instantly fixed on Rodian.

“Captain,” she said with surprising calm. “May I have a word with you ... outside?”

Rodian’s carefully constructed professionalism flickered.

Wynn wondered if he might not drag Sykion into the room and demand answers here and now. But the flicker passed, and his staunch professionalism resurfaced.

He nodded politely to the premin and then turned back to Wynn. “One of mine will be outside your door at all times. Should you ever find that this has changed without hearing from me first ... do your best to let me know, if I do not hear of it myself in short order.”

Sykion’s eyes narrowed with a twitch.

Rodian spun about, facing the premin, but he didn’t move until she turned away down the passage. He followed the premin and shut the door.

The truth of the situation struck Wynn in the face. Rodian had no respect for the Premin Council, only formal politeness and ethical conduct, and he didn’t care for sages in general. Their ways went against his spiritual beliefs and philosophy, yet he was faithful to his oath of service above all else.

She had seen evidence of this more than once, though she hadn’t always understood it for what it was. Now he once again acquiesced to the council ... or rather to others, as he had been pressured into two seasons ago when she had been hunting the wraith.

This was not be the first time she had seen this contradiction in Rodian’s conduct—nor the first time someone else had intervened in favor of the Premin Council. That had to be the only answer.

Captain Rodian was being pressured again by the royals of Malourné, perhaps Duchess Reine Faunier-Âreskynna directly. And the royals would protect the guild’s ... protect Sykion’s interests at any cost.

In spite of it all, and Rodian’s likely being pressed into actions that bent his oath of office, Wynn felt strangely bereft with the captain gone. What was her world coming to if she started thinking of the captain as even a tentative ally? Was she that alone now?

She rushed to the door and pressed her ear against the wood, straining to hear whatever was taking place out in that passage. It seemed Sykion had moved them both too far down the passage toward the stairs. Wynn only picked up the muffled sounds of Rodian’s short, clipped words and Sykion’s longer, soft responses.

Rodian’s voice grew suddenly sharp, and Wynn heard him bark, “As I see fit!” Silence followed that, though she remained pressed against the door in uncertainty.

The captain had obviously disliked, rejected, whatever the premin had said. She’d somehow pushed him too hard, and he’d shoved her back. But he was clearly under pressure from more than just the guild. He wouldn’t bend completely to whatever Sykion had said, but neither was he willing to break loose from what the royal family expected. Until that latter part changed, Wynn could expect little help from Rodian.

She abandoned all thoughts of him as an ally and hurried to her desk. No matter how she might feel, she wasn’t completely on her own, not so long as she had quill, ink, and paper. She scribbled a quick note and folded it up, but wrote no address on its outside. It wasn’t long before another knock came at her door. Either it was the captain returning for some reason or the one other person she expected.

Crossing quickly, Wynn opened the door to find Nikolas standing there with her breakfast tray. There was a new city guard outside in place of Lúcan, and she didn’t even try to close the door after ushering Nikolas inside.

“Anything good this morning?” she asked.

“Porridge and tea,” he answered, “but I scavenged some honey, as well.”

As he set the tray on the desk, she rounded him, glancing toward the open door. The angle from that side of the room was good, for the guard wouldn’t be able to see them unless he leaned around the doorframe’s edge.

Wynn wanted to get this done now and not wait for Nikolas to return to collect the dishes. She grabbed the front of his robe, jerking him around between her and the door.

Nikolas’s eyes instantly widened.

“Thank you. The porridge still looks warm,” Wynn said a little loudly, and she held up the folded paper before him and slipped it into the front split of his robe.

Nikolas stiffened, reflexively trying to glance toward the open door. Wynn jerked on his robe front again to keep him from doing so, though she did watch the doorway as she spoke.

“Oh, the next time you stop by Nattie’s inn to visit that tall friend of yours, please give him my best.”

Nikolas blinked in confusion.

Frustrated, Wynn raised one hand high over her head to indicate greater height, and then mouthed my friend.

Nikolas’s expression instantly shifted to its normal but nervous state.

“I ... I will,” he stuttered.

She had to push him into motion toward the door. In the opening, he looked back once and swallowed hard.

“I’ll be back ... to pick up ... the tray ... later,” he added, his voice shaking. Then he closed the door.

Rodian strode across the courtyard, determined not to let his frustration and fury show to his men. But Sykion’s needling still stung him.

She’d politely expressed displeasure that he’d not only replaced her people with one of his guards at Wynn’s door, but that he’d visited Wynn alone without guild representation present—and that he’d closed the door. She’d even dared to suggest the latter might be construed as inappropriate. Then she’d reminded him that he and his men were here for reasons of guild security only.

In turn, with teeth clenched, Rodian had informed her that if Wynn was under arrest, then she was under his jurisdiction. And none of this would last long unless formal charges were declared.

Sykion’s answer still burned in his ears. “This is an internal guild matter, Captain, and you will only do what you are asked.”

“Law enforcement is not a guild matter,” he pointed out. “I safeguard your people, and the law ... as I see fit!”

She had gone silent at that, for she knew exactly what he meant. But he realized he’d pushed back too hard. How soon would she go running to the royal family again?

Lengthening his stride, Rodian headed for the gatehouse tunnel to check in with his men. He knew Sykion had gotten to him too much when Guardsman Jonah winced at the sight of him. He didn’t care anymore.

“Report!” he barked.

“All quiet, sir.”

Trying to force calm, Rodian nodded, recalling Sykion’s final instructions.

“Normal guild activities should resume—to a point,” he relayed. “Keep the portcullis closed, but any sages with business in the city should be allowed to enter and leave. If a wagon arrives with supplies, contact one of the sages in the gate tower for confirmation. As long as they clear the driver, let the wagon in. No strangers are allowed inside.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then light, hurried footsteps echoed down the gatehouse tunnel behind Rodian. He looked back to see a slender, gray-robed, slightly hunched form hurrying toward him. Recognition dawned, for he knew Nikolas Columsarn. After the young man had been attacked by the wraith, Rodian had carried him back here for medical attention.

Nikolas slowed, shuffling forward. He anxiously eyed the closed portcullis, perhaps purposefully to avoid the eyes of those watching him. Then again, he always looked nervous. He was also an acquaintance of Wynn’s. When he finally looked up and met Rodian’s gaze, he froze like a rabbit afield that had spotted a fox.

“Yes?” Rodian asked.

Nikolas opened his mouth, closed it again, and glanced at the portcullis.

“I need to go out,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“To where?”

Nikolas blinked and took on a very poorly constructed demeanor of being affronted. “To Master a’Seatt’s scribe shop ... to check on some work.”

“A’Seatt?” Rodian repeated.

“At the Upright Quill,” Nikolas added.

Rodian knew the shop quite well. Pawl a’Seatt had been involved in that mess last autumn regarding stolen guild transcriptions and dead sages. Garrogh had died right outside that shop, and Lúcan had been marred for life. And a’Seatt’s scriptorium and scribes were regularly employed by the guild.

Still pondering what this connection meant for recent events, Rodian nodded to Jonah.

“Let him through.”

“Open up!” Jonah called above, and the clanking began.

The young sage slipped under as soon as the portcullis was halfway up.

Rodian only watched and didn’t follow. Whatever was happening here on the guild grounds was somehow wrapped around Wynn—again. He would not miss any chance to uncover it.

Magiere stirred and opened her eyes to find herself stretched out on the narrow bed. Leesil’s legs were pressed up beside her.

He was sleeping upright, his back against the wall at the head of the bed. At her movement, his eyes opened, and he looked farther down the bed. She was covered by a blanket with no way for him to see her wound—or, rather, where it had been.

“How are you?” Leesil asked, his tone cautious.

Magiere wasn’t sure how to answer. She didn’t remember much—other than doing what she had to. She couldn’t remain incapacitated now that they were being hunted. Pulling back the blanket, she revealed her torn and bloodstained pant leg. All of the blood had been cleaned from her pale skin. Her thigh was stiff and aching, but there was no wound, not even a scar.

Leesil bent forward, reaching over the bedside. When his hand came up, it held a bowl of biscuits and half of a roasted capon.

“Here,” he said, setting the bowl on his lap.

His cautious tone hadn’t changed, but Magiere felt suddenly, wildly ravenous. She grabbed a biscuit, shoving half of it into her mouth as she elbowed up to lean over the bowl.

Vague memories came to her of having tried to eat last night. She couldn’t remember if she’d succeeded. The half capon looked torn off rather than cleanly cut, so perhaps she had. She knew Leesil wouldn’t mention anything about last night. They never talked about any of it, about what had happened to her in the Wastes ... about what she’d become.

Looking around, Magiere spotted Leanâlhâm sleeping on the floor at the bed’s other side. Beyond the girl, Chap lay nearest the door. Osha was awake, sitting beyond the bed’s foot by the window. Magiere sat up to take in the rest of the room and look for one more person.

“He’s on the roof,” Leesil said quietly, placing the bowl in her lap.

Magiere shoved the other half of the biscuit into her mouth, though she hadn’t finished swallowing the first half. She still couldn’t believe Brot’an had brought Leanâlhâm halfway across the world to a foreign land. At that thought, she remembered something more.

Last night, Leanâlhâm had told them Gleann was dead. Had he contracted a sickness from one of his patients? The thought made Magiere sad, for she’d truly liked that old healer. They all had.

With Sgäile gone, as well, perhaps Brot’an saw no choice but to take Leanâlhâm into his own care. Magiere would never say so aloud, but Nein’a, Leesil’s mother, wasn’t exactly the mothering kind ... not like her son. Magiere would never trust Brot’an, but she didn’t hate him as did Leesil and Chap. No matter what Brot’an’s own motives, he’d once defended her, fought for her, and risked his own life when she’d been dragged on trial before the an’Cróan elders.

Magiere briefly stopped chewing. It was so unreal that she, Leesil, and Chap should be hiding out on a foreign continent with Osha, Leanâlhâm ... and Brot’an. After swallowing hard, she gulped from the water pitcher Leesil offered her.

“You’d better call him in,” she said. “We need to talk.”

“Good luck with that,” Leesil muttered.

Before he could get up, Osha rose and opened the window to utter a strange birdlike chirp. Magiere downed the rest of the water pitcher, which was only half full. Leanâlhâm stirred and sat up, but after glancing at Magiere and then Leesil, she quickly dropped her gaze.

Magiere could only imagine how last night had looked to Leanâlhâm. Frightening, at least. She wished she knew what to say, but no words came.

A large, gloved hand wrapped over the window’s upper edge.

Brot’an dropped into the room, landing too lightly on the floor for someone of his size. He was so large that his body seemed to fill the room, and his gaze locked immediately on Magiere’s leg—with its missing wound.

She jerked the blanket over her legs again as she swung them over the bedside. Leanâlhâm shifted out of her way. The movement hurt, but Magiere tried to ignore it. She needed the spare pants out of her pack, but there was little privacy to be had at the moment.

Chap was on his feet. Though he hadn’t growled, he paced over to the bed’s foot, sitting between it and Brot’an.

With everyone assembled, Magiere suddenly felt lost for how to begin. They all had questions full of fear and suspicion for each other. But if a team of anmaglâhk was here in the city—sent by Most Aged Father—she wasn’t about to turn down help from Brot’an or even Osha. But their first concern was Wynn.

“Is Wynn ... prisoner?” Osha asked, breaking the silence.

It was almost a relief that he’d spoken up first. Osha’s Belaskian wasn’t perfect, but it was better than Leesil’s bumbling Elvish. Osha always got straight to the point where anyone who mattered was concerned.

“That’s what we need to find out,” Magiere answered.

“Then someone has to get inside,” Brot’an said.

Leesil climbed off the bed, crouching down beside Chap. “Not by breaking in ... at least not yet. We don’t even know where Wynn is, specifically.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Brot’an returned.

In watching him, Magiere wasn’t certain the master anmaglâhk was all that interested in the answer.

“We ask the sages,” Leesil said flatly. “We simply ask to speak with her. If they refuse, we’ll know she’s in trouble. If not ... then we find out what’s happening.”

Magiere opened her mouth and then closed it, grinding her teeth. She knew Leesil had more in mind than this.

“Watching the guild castle is most likely how your enemies picked up your trail,” Brot’an responded. “They will continue to do so, with no other leads to find you. The sages have seen you. Reappearance will only raise suspicion if the little one is in trouble.”

Magiere felt exhausted again. All this talk seemed pointless. She much preferred to just break in and find the “little one,” as Brot’an often called Wynn. But Wynn herself was the one who’d wanted to stay, and Magiere still wasn’t fully certain why.

“Asking to see her is a foolish approach,” Brot’an emphasized. “Any of you will be recognized.”

As much as this rankled Magiere, she couldn’t argue.

“Not all of us,” Leesil countered. “Not all of us ... present here and now.”

Magiere grew suddenly wary, for Leesil was up to something again. Just before the memories rose in her head, she saw the back of his head turn just a little, as if he’d glanced to his right. There was one person he could’ve looked at. And worse, apparently Chap agreed with him.

Image after image of Leanâlhâm raced through Magiere’s mind as Chap continued to call up more memories. She rolled out of bed to stand protectively in front of the girl at the same instant that Osha shouted at Leesil.

“No!”

Chap did not react to either Magiere or Osha’s outbursts.

“It’s the only way,” Leesil said, for Chap had suggested it to him just before informing Magiere.

“She’s the only one who ... looks innocent enough,” Leesil went on. “And no one there has seen her.”

“Leanâlhâm? That is his idea?” Magiere asked, pointing at Chap. “She doesn’t know this place, these people, or anything outside her own world.”

No one appeared to question how Magiere knew Chap was the one who had started this. But he could not have cared less about her anger, nor the bitter argument that followed. He merely waited as everyone vented on each other—everyone except Leanâlhâm, who kept watching the others in a worried state of bafflement.

Leesil had clearly stated the problem regarding anyone else going. Brot’an and possibly Osha were known to the other anmaglâhk and might be spotted by any such watching the guild. The only one who remained potentially unknown to all was the girl.

That Brot’an went quiet halfway through this loud debate was the only other element that gave Chap pause. But Chap had never intended to send Leanâlhâm out alone.

“Why are you talking about me?” Leanâlhâm finally asked.

Her words were so soft that perhaps only Chap heard her above the others. Of course he had expected a fight with Magiere, but it was Osha who turned the most vehement.

“Magiere right!” he shouted into Leesil’s face and then bent over above Chap. “No Leanâlhâm!”

Chap ignored him, as did Leesil.

Brot’an’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at Chap.

Still, Chap waited. This needed to reach a head before he would put an end to it, as what came next would only bring more for them to argue about. They needed to understand who was making the decisions here, should the girl agree.

“It’s settled,” Magiere stated flatly, and Osha came up, taking position behind her. “It doesn’t matter who’s seen. Leanâlhâm isn’t going. I’ll do it myself.”

That was exactly what Chap had waited for—another ultimatum from Magiere.

Perhaps it was unwise to do this now, or unfair to use the girl. But Magiere’s judgment and changes had too often pushed them into further peril at every turn. She was going to listen to him from now on.

No one but him, and especially not Brot’an, was making the choices anymore.

Chap wheeled with a grating snarl and bit Magiere’s ankle.

It wasn’t enough to break the boot’s leather, but it had to hurt. Magiere toppled on the bed and rolled away in startled anger. She never had a chance to say a word.

Chap went straight at Osha, snapping and snarling. A wolf doing so would have been frightening enough, and majay-hì were all bigger than wolves. Unfortunately, Leanâlhâm was too close and scrambled away to the bedside in terror. Chap did not stop snarling until wide-eyed Osha was pinned in the corner beyond the room’s door. Only then did Chap slowly turn around upon the others.

There was Brot’an in the middle of the room, half-crouched.

Chap took a moment’s pleasure at the shadow-gripper’s tension. He glanced toward Leesil, calling up Leesil’s memories of Leanâlhâm in the cutway last night—fully cloaked and hooded. He added a cascade of every single memory in Leesil that showed Chap himself ranging city streets at night.

Leesil flinched sharply, rubbing the side of his head. “Ah, seven hells. Knock that off! I get the point!”

“What point?” Magiere demanded, rising on the bed’s far side next to him.

Chap grew still and quiet, and looked at Leanâlhâm, who was cowering at the near side of the bed. He shook himself all over and padded to the pile of gear in the corner. He jerked a rope loose from one of the packs, shaking it apart and wriggling his head through a loop of it. Taking up the stray end in his teeth, he padded back to the girl.

Leanâlhâm looked around at everyone with great worry. As Chap neared, head up, she had to look up to stare at him. But all he did was drop the end of the rope in her lap.

Brot’an said, “This is not going to work.” Clearly, he understood and did not care for the idea.

Chap did not care whether Brot’an liked it or not as he waited for Leanâlhâm’s understanding and her consent.

“You stay out of it,” Leesil warned Brot’an.

But the elder elf would not yield. “Chap will be almost as obvious as you or Magiere out there. And he has already been seen at the guild.”

“So we’ll disguise him somehow. But it’s not your decision,” Leesil snapped. “It’s his ... and hers.”

Chap stood absolutely still within reach of Leanâlhâm. He waited until some of the fright and confusion in her green eyes gave way to wonder and curiosity.

“It’s your choice, Leanâlhâm,” Leesil said. “You don’t have to do this, but if so, he’ll go with you.”

Chap caught memories rising in Leanâlhâm of the majay-hì who protected her own homeland.

“He understands what you—we—say?” she whispered, still watching him. “Do all majay-hì?”

“No, just him,” Leesil let out in a grumble. “And trust me ... it’s not always a good thing.”

Chap waited until the last of Leanâlhâm’s fear faded. In some ways, with her mixed heritage and bloodlines, she was so much like himself, like Leesil and Magiere—trapped between two worlds.

For every memory of the majay-hì that came to her, Chap held it there, crisp and clear, until the next rose. From the way they ran in her forests, sometimes in and out of the an’Cróan’s enclaves, to those who occasionally gave birth to their young among the girl’s people.

It was the way that Chap himself had been born, also trapped between worlds—a majay-hì and yet not.

Leanâlhâm leaned forward a little, perhaps wondering if he really did understand her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He poked his nose into hers, lapped his tongue over her face, and she started slightly in shock.

“Stupid,” Osha spit out. “This stupid, stupid!”

“It’s insane,” Magiere added, and turned on Leesil. “How can you go along with this?”

“Both of you, put a cork in it,” Leesil said. “It’s settled.”

Brot’an frowned, but his expression was more thoughtful than doubtful. “If the majay-hì is to play a ... pet, as I assume, the guards may not give him notice, but the Anmaglâhk watching the castle will. They know him. So ... how do we make a majay-hì look like a pet dog?”

Leanâlhâm slowly raised one hand and reached out. Chap tucked his head under the girl’s fingers until they slid between his ears.

“Well, I’ve got one small notion,” Leesil said.

Chap’s ears went straight up. When he glanced away from Leanâlhâm, Leesil was smiling at him.

“After all,” Leesil added, “Wynn’s always said you’re a filthy pig.”

Chap did not like the sound of that ... whatever it meant.

Chane sat on his bed, fighting the urge to claw off his own skin. He had taken a draft of the violet concoction—both a blessing and a curse—and dormancy did not come for him.

He watched the window, now covered with an old blanket. Even so, a glow filtered around the worn wool fabric from the sun outside, creating a bar of sharp light on the floor. He kept waiting for that bar on the scuffed planks to creep toward him.

Chane twitched hard, fighting for self-control, and clenched his hands on the bed’s edge until he felt the straw mattress begin to tear under his hardening fingernails. Shade raised her head from where she lay on the floor, looked at him, and then dropped her muzzle back on her forepaws again. They both sat silently, waiting.

Neither was prepared for the too-soft knock at the door.

As Shade jumped to her feet, Chane flinched again and rose. He glanced uncertainly at her, and the knock came again. One of them had to do something.

Chane grabbed his dwarven sword, still in its sheath, from the bedside, and approached the door.

“Yes?” he rasped without opening it.

No one answered at first, but then a soft, wavering voice replied, “Umm ... I ... umm, have a message.”

Chane flipped up the simple latch hook and jerked the door open. Vague recognition dawned when he saw a young man standing outside and staring up in fear. The unexpected visitor was slender and nervous, with his shoulders hunched inside his gray sage’s robe. There were streaks of white in his unruly brown hair. When he glanced at the sword in Chane’s hand, his eyes froze without a blink.

Chane leaned the sword against the wall next to the door. He had seen this one speaking with Wynn a few times at the guild. Usually he could not help bristling at Wynn’s befriending any other man, but this young sage inspired no such jealousy.

With a trembling hand, the young man held out a folded piece of paper.

There was nothing written on the outside, but at the sight of it, Chane forgot everything else. He grabbed the note and shook it open. It was written in Belaskian, his own language.

The tone and words were clinical and cryptic, but Chane knew their intention. No names or places were mentioned, so Wynn was still concerned about anything written down falling into the wrong hands. This time, she was likely taking precautions in case the messenger was intercepted and questioned. The young man would know little to nothing about what Wynn was really after, and almost no one would even be able to read the letter.

Chane read the note again slowly, trying to determine its full meaning.

Her reference to “official representatives” could only mean the city guard, likely Captain Rodian. That she remained where she was must mean the captain had not removed her; she was still in her room at the guild. The final cryptic line seemed clear.

Magiere, Leesil, and Chap would not know how or where to reach her—and, in truth, Chane preferred it that way. But Wynn was well aware that if all else failed, Chane was the only one who knew the lay of the keep and the exact location of her room. He would be the one to retrieve her.

He raised his eyes the young man. “What is your name?”

“Nik ... Nikolas ... Columsarn.”

“How did you know where to come, who to give this to?”

Nikolas raised his head slightly. “Wynn is my friend and I bring her meals. She slipped me this note and made a passing comment about Nattie’s inn.” He paused. “I’ve seen you with her, so I knew who to look for ... to describe to the innkeeper.”

Chane frowned. This was not the safest method for communication, but he could think of nothing better.

“Can you carry an answer to her without detection?”

Nikolas nodded.

Even amid Chane’s suffering, he felt an unexpected—unwanted—twinge of gratitude. The young man must be braver than he looked.

Chane tore Wynn’s note into tiny pieces and shoved the remains into his own pack for later disposal. He pulled out a small writing charcoal and a journal with notes he had taken on the Begaine syllabary. Since almost no one here wrote or spoke Belaskian, he thought that Nikolas might be asked no questions if he was caught carrying a note simply written in Begaine, the compressed syllabic symbols of the sages. Even so, Chane’s grasp of the syllabary was a work in progress with a long way to go.

It took him a while to stroke the symbols for words in his own language, acknowledging Wynn’s instructions—and without using her name. Once he finished and folded the note, he rose from the floor and then hesitated in studying Nikolas Columsarn.

“What excuse did you give when you left the grounds?” he asked.

“An errand to the Upright Quill.”

Chane winced. He had had a few dealings with “Master” Pawl a’Seatt of that private scriptorium. It was doubtful anyone besides him—and Wynn and Shade—knew the man was an undead. Even Wynn was doubtful after having seen a’Seatt visit the guild in daylight.

What if someone later asked at the scriptorium about Nikolas’s “errand,” only to find the young man had not been seen there? When Chane said as much, Nikolas shook his head.

“There actually is something I can pick up,” he said, “so I won’t look suspicious when I return.”

Chane did not like the idea of any sage getting near Pawl a’Seatt, especially while carrying a note to Wynn. But he could not accompany Nikolas unless he covered himself fully, including with that mask and the glasses. That would only attract attention, even if he could last long enough to finish the escort.

Pawl a’Seatt hated other undead. The only way Chane had gotten clear of the strangely potent man had been by Wynn promising to remove Chane from this city. But Chane would never let a sage go into danger, especially not one that Wynn had asked him to protect.

He glanced at Shade and then back at Nikolas.

“Wait a moment,” he said, closing the door.

Chane crouched before Shade, held up his left hand, and touched the brass ring that he wore to warn her. Then he slipped off the ring. The whole room appeared to shimmer like heat on a summer plain, and then his senses sharpened without the ring’s influence on him.

“Shade,” he said, cocking his head toward the door. “Go and protect that sage, but try not to be seen by ...”

He was at a loss, uncertain if Shade would know Pawl a’Seatt by name. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on the night when they had assaulted Sau’ilahk, the wraith, outside the Upright Quill. Chane had had to flee into the shop when Wynn had ignited the sun-crystal staff. Therein they had all been taken by surprise, finding Pawl a’Seatt in hiding, watching everything that had transpired in the street.

A’Seatt had seen Shade with Wynn, and Chane did not want him associating Nikolas with Wynn—not while Nikolas was acting as go-between. The young man hardly seemed capable of defending himself.

As Chane opened his eyes, Shade growled softly.

“You understand?” he asked.

She huffed once.

“When you get Nikolas back to the guild, return here. Lose anyone who might follow you. I will be waiting to open the back door.”

She huffed again, and Chane surprised himself by saying, “Good girl.”

He slipped the ring back on, then put on his gloves and cloak, pulling the cloak’s hood forward to shadow his face. As he opened the door, Shade rushed past him toward the stairs, startling Nikolas.

Taking in the sight of Chane’s cloak, Nikolas’s expression shifted to alarm.

“You can’t come with me,” he warned. “I heard what happened last night, and if Captain Rodian sees you, he’ll—”

“I am not coming with you,” Chane interrupted, handing Nikolas the note and motioning the sage down the stairs.

Confused, Nikolas led the way. When they reached the bottom, Chane held the young man back, pointing to where Shade waited down the short passage to the back door.

“She is going with you,” Chane said, “and do not argue with me. She will protect you and see you safely back to the guild.”

Nikolas blinked. “Oh.”

“Go out the front door,” Chane instructed. “Head halfway down the street and wait for her to join you.”

Nikolas blinked again but obeyed, turning to leave.

Chane immediately headed the other way. Reaching the back door, he checked his hood and averted his face.

“I will be waiting.”

Bracing himself, he shoved open the door. Even under his cloak, he felt his skin tingle and sting. Shade bolted out, and he jerked the door shut, after which he slid slowly down the wall to sit on the passage floor. A thin crack of light seeped in from beneath the back door.

Chane inched a little farther up the passage. There was nothing more he could do for Wynn besides sit here and wait.