Between Their Worlds

Chapter 19

CHAP TENSED ON THE bed as Leesil spoke those words.

Wynn turned toward where Leesil stood by the door, his back still turned, and it was only Magiere’s steady glare that waited for the sage. Chap knew Magiere was an instant away from open rage.

A small part of him almost wished to let the foolish little sage face such a consequence. Even in their scant time together a few nights ago, he had seen the change in Wynn since their journey here from the Farlands. She was serious, more in control, perhaps even a little hardened. Most of her wide-eyed wonder and naive curiosity had grown faint. Her wispy, light brown hair was a mess, and her pretty, olive-toned features were unreadable.

And Chap still grew angry with her.

What does Leesil mean?

Wynn twitched at his voice in her head and turned her face toward him, but she was silent, perhaps trying to decide how to answer. Before, whenever Wynn was cornered into an admission about Chane, her expression would be awash with guilt and shame—and sometimes defiance. A rush of words would always follow as she tried to defend herself.

Not this time. She said nothing.

“What do you ...” Magiere began, and then looked at Leesil. “Was he with her?”

“He was looking for her,” Leesil answered, now turning about to eye Wynn. “I’d bet my life on it. Wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Wynn answered.

“You knew!” Magiere accused, both her hands clenched into fists. “You knew he was coming for you.”

Osha stared at Wynn, and Chap saw a frown begin to crease the young elf’s brow. Unlike Magiere and Leesil, his expression turned sad. Leanâlhâm’s eyes kept flicking back and forth between everyone in startled confusion.

Chap did not want an open fight to play out in front of either of the young ones, but this matter was getting worse by the moment, and Wynn’s reasoning was in serious question.

“Who is this Chane?” Brot’an cut in, clearly unsettled by the turn this night had taken.

Leesil jerked the scarf from his neck, unraveling its folds around his head.

“A killer,” he snarled. “A so-called Noble Dead ... a vampire.”

“Not anymore,” Wynn said.

“Could he be the one that Chap sensed while he searched for the other majay-hì?” Brot’an asked.

At that, Chap lost track of all else.

Where is my daughter? Why is she not with you?

Wynn turned her head slightly. “She’s with him.”

Chap lost hold of his own anger.

You put my daughter in the company of that ... thing?

“Who is with who?” Magiere demanded.

“Shade ... is with Chane,” Wynn answered quietly. “He’s been helping her to protect me since last autumn.”

Osha now looked almost as unhappy as Leesil.

“Chane ... he is ... ?” Osha began, but faltered, perhaps not knowing the right words in Belaskian. With an exasperated exhale, he continued in Old Elvish. “Was he the tall one in the castle? The one attacking us with those mad monks?”

Neither Leesil nor Magiere would understand him, but Chap did, as well as Wynn. She didn’t look at Osha or answer him. She didn’t need to.

Magiere took a step toward Wynn. “There’s an undead loose in the city, and you didn’t tell us.”

“I didn’t have time,” Wynn answered, standing to face her. “And I told him to stay away from you.”

“You told him ... ?” Magiere choked on her words.

Chap saw her irises enlarge, turning black, and he glanced at Leesil with a huff of warning.

Leesil put a hand on Magiere’s shoulder and whispered, “Easy.”

The room fell silent.

Chap did not know what to think. It seemed Chane had been with Wynn—and Shade—for nearly half a year, so he must have gone to ...

He was with you in that lost dwarven stronghold.

“Yes,” Wynn answered aloud.

Chap saw hints of the old Wynn in her face—lonely, lost, and uncertain.

“I had to find the next orb,” she continued, still facing Magiere. “I couldn’t travel alone, and Shade wasn’t enough protection. Chane is ... He is more than ... He is nothing like what you remember.”

This was the wrong thing to say to Magiere. Even Chap suddenly lost his anger as Magiere wrenched free of Leesil’s grasp.

“Nothing like?” she said right into Wynn’s face. “No more killing to feed ... or just for the pleasure of it?” Her voice lowered to a threatening growl. “And what do you think it took for him to reach you again? How many died along the way for him to cross an ocean and a whole continent alone? How many men, women ... even children—”

“No.” Wynn shook her head.

“You couldn’t count them for that distance! You couldn’t even imagine it.”

Wynn shrank back, looking into Magiere’s suddenly glistening face. Chap stood poised to lunge into Magiere, who was visibly shuddering before Wynn.

“This time I’ll see his ashes,” Magiere whispered, “after I take his head a second time.”

“Enough!” Leesil shouted, and he grabbed Magiere, wrenching her away.

Magiere spun away, unable to look at Wynn anymore. She bit down, clamping her jaws hard against the hunger that her rage called up. Of all the things Wynn had done, of the foolish choices she’d ever made, harboring that monster was too much. Magiere stood facing the wall, trying to hold on to reason.

“Get it under control,” Leesil whispered in her ear. “Now!”

She was trying, but all she could think of was that undead—that thing called Chane—who had come at her and those she loved more than once. Now he was here ... again because of Wynn. She couldn’t stop shaking, even as she tried to focus on breathing and nothing more. And as she half turned from the wall, she saw large, slanted green eyes in a young, frightened, tanned face.

Leanâlhâm stood only a few steps to Magiere’s left, and the girl was watching only her. The girl didn’t belong in the middle of all this. After what she’d likely seen in Brot’an’s company, what she’d seen earlier this night ...

Magiere shriveled inside at the way Leanâlhâm looked at her. She turned away and buried her face in the crook of Leesil’s neck. She had to stop this, to find any way to let go of all the anger Wynn caused. She felt Leesil’s hands grip her upper arms, holding her there. His grip suddenly tightened, and she heard him whisper.

“Leanâlhâm ... no, don’t!”

Magiere stiffened and flinched at another touch upon her back.

“Is the wound ... not truly healed?” Leanâlhâm asked softly.

There was no way the girl could think that what she’d seen was caused by a wound. Not even a scar remained on Magiere’s thigh for how it had been willfully closed. And that small hand on Magiere’s back pressed flat and firm.

“Are you ... ill ... again?” Leanâlhâm asked.

The lie in the girl’s question, so blindly forgiving, was too much to bear. Magiere still couldn’t look at Leanâlhâm, though her hunger vanished.

“She’s all right.... She’ll be fine,” Leesil lied, as well.

“No matter what you think,” Wynn suddenly said, “I had to reach the orb. You, of all of us, should understand that, Magiere.”

Leanâlhâm’s hand remained as Magiere turned her head to look at Wynn.

Chap could not guess what Wynn had been through and that still needed to be uncovered. But it changed little where an undead was concerned.

“That’s all that matters now—gaining the rest of them,” Wynn continued, “before the Enemy’s minions do so. And if not for Shade—and Chane—I would’ve been dead ... more than twice.”

“How could you accept protection from him?” Magiere returned.

“Because you weren’t there!” Wynn answered, her voice quavering slightly, and she looked at Leesil and then Chap. “None of you. You left me, and I had to reach the next orb once I discovered there was more than one.”

In spite of Wynn’s accusation, Chap’s anger did not fade.

Chane had murdered countless people to sustain himself ... or, as Magiere said, for the pleasure of the kill. He had helped Welstiel slaughter a remote outpost of healer monks, turning some of them into feral vampires. He had helped burn to death a ship of the elves, and perhaps was the one responsible for throwing a female an’Cróan hostage over the side as a diversion. He had tracked Magiere to the Pock Peaks and fought at Welstiel’s side, even if he had betrayed Welstiel in the end.

Now Wynn had induced Chap’s daughter to accept the company of that sadistic undead.

Chap would not allow this.

There was no excuse, no reason, that Wynn could give that would keep Chap from finishing Chane the instant the chance came. But his anger over these transgressions was cut cold by one question.

“What next ... orb?” Brot’an asked quietly.

Chap’s fear of discussing anything in front of these elves doubled. Brot’an knew only what Wynn had foolishly written in a journal that she’d sent off with Osha on the young elf’s return to his homeland. Oh yes, Chap knew of that journal, though by what he had gleaned from Wynn’s memories, it had not been specific regarding what they had found. There was only a reference to an “artifact.”

Chap huffed twice at Magiere with a clack of his jaws and then turned on Wynn with a snarl.

We will speak of this later. Brot’an knows too much as is ... because of you!

Wynn flinched but ignored him, and stepped closer to Magiere.

“There are more important things at stake than your hatred for the undead,” Wynn insisted. “Chane retrieved a scroll from that castle, the very one Li’kän was trying to get me to read. Without Chane, we’d all be stumbling blindly about, more clueless than the Enemy’s minions!”

Chap growled and snapped his jaws more loudly this time.

“Don’t make excuses,” Magiere shot back. “He is one of the Enemy’s minions. You, of all people, know that!”

Chap glanced sidelong at Brot’an, who remained fixed on the two women. What would it take to keep these two quiet? And if Wynn kept this up, Magiere’s calm might break again.

“The scroll has the only hints to finding all five orbs!” Wynn argued.

That pushed Chap over the edge, and he lunged off the bed, snarling at both of them. There seemed nothing to be done short of biting one of them, though all he did was snap and snarl.

Wynn, enough!

But Wynn’s words finally caught Magiere, as well. “He took a scroll from the castle? Did you know when we left that place? What else have you been holding back?”

“I didn’t know until he found me here in Calm Seatt,” Wynn countered. “When you arrived, I didn’t have time to tell you before we got separated.”

“Tell us where he is,” Leesil ordered, “before he kills again.”

Wynn stared at him as if he were a stranger.

Chap did not know what to do to keep this from escalating further. He agreed with Leesil, but the secrets Wynn was spilling had gone too far—much too far.

“Where is this scroll?” Brot’an asked, his voice still quiet.

Wynn glanced his way, as if really seeing him for the first time. “What are you doing here? What are any of you doing this far from your homeland?”

“Protecting Magiere,” Brot’an answered. “Protecting the ... orb she has from Most Aged Father.”

Wynn studied him. “Truly ... you’re here to help us?”

“Yes.”

Chap turned his rumbling toward Brot’an, but when he looked back, the expression of finality on Wynn’s face terrified him.

“Good,” she said. “Chane has the scroll.”

Wynn, shut your mouth!

“No,” she said flatly, looking down at him. “We’re in no position to ignore any help we can get—from anyone—and that includes someone as experienced and skillful as Brot’an.”

She glanced over at Leesil, who was no more pleased than Chap.

“But not from anyone who isn’t honestly trying to help,” she added.

Leesil’s eyes brightened with some of Magiere’s fury, but before he could respond, Wynn pulled up her hood and drew her cloak around herself.

“I’m going to Shade ... and Chane,” she added. “If we’re to locate the remaining orbs, we need that scroll, and we need both of them.”

“No, you’re not,” Leesil said, and he stepped in her way before Magiere could make a move.

“Yes, she is,” Brot’an said.

Chap stood stiff. He was not fooled by the butcher’s willingness to help, and he did not need to wait to catch any of Brot’an’s well-hidden memories. This was a ruse, another twist and manipulation, like the one Brot’an had used in a final moment to get Leesil to kill Lord Darmouth.

As soon as the shadow-gripper learned what he needed, he would go after the other orbs himself—alone. The worst part was that Chap still needed to learn the same for himself, and Wynn had hidden that knowledge with Chane.

And worse, the last thing he needed was Brot’an and Leesil assaulting each other, forcing all present to take sides.

“I will keep her safe,” Brot’an added. “Léshil, you must accept that she is right ... in this, at least. If there are more of these artifacts, and Most Aged Father and his agents do not know of them yet, it must remain so. That is the purpose here that comes before all personal issues.”

Chap had his own concerns, and he closed on Wynn.

I am going with you, as well.

She looked down at him in surprise, and then sudden relief, but that expression quickly vanished, replaced by suspicion.

“Only if you mean to help,” she said.

It was not a request ... and you are not going alone with Brot’an.

She crouched down, leaning in close to whisper in his ear.

“We need Chane on this. If you hurt him, Shade won’t be the only one unable to forgive you.”

He could not believe what he heard. But neither could he let her leave without him. This was not the Wynn he knew.

She rose and turned to Leesil and Magiere. “I’m sorry you’re angry, but there is no time for more explanations ... ones you wouldn’t accept, anyway.”

Leesil shook his head and looked away.

“Just go,” Magiere breathed.

Something had broken between those three, and Chap doubted it would ever be mended. And though he hated to admit it, Wynn was correct about one thing.

What mattered most was gaining the orbs. That took precedence over outrage ... and betrayal.

Osha and Leanâlhâm still watched in quiet confusion, though for Osha there was also pain in his long features. Chap thought Wynn might go to him, for the way she looked at him, almost longingly, with equal sadness over not having seen him in so long.

But then Wynn turned quickly and left. Chap waited just long enough to trail Brot’an out the door.

After walking away from Sykion and High-Tower, Rodian felt an unwanted wave of exhaustion. He tried to remember the last time he’d slept.

As he made his way toward the gatehouse tunnel, he saw Corporal Lúcan at the far end, standing before the portcullis beams. In the last day and night, the corporal hadn’t looked much better than Rodian himself felt, and four of their comrades were now recovering in the guild’s hospice. He paused near the small tower that contained the gatehouse’s mechanics.

“Lúcan,” he called out. “I’ll have the portcullis up in a moment. Ride back to the barracks and tell Branwell to gather four men and come relieve us. Then you get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

After Rodian reached the gear room, he gave his orders. By the time he returned to the courtyard, Lúcan was gone. Events of the evening rolled through his mind, and he wondered what would come next with the dawn. Would Sykion come at him with some unexplained charge against Wynn? Would he finally get any hint as to what was actually going on here?

His thoughts wandered too much as time passed quickly. He heard horses’ hooves and headed down the gatehouse tunnel to the open portcullis. There had been little point to closing it until reinforcements arrived.

Branwell came riding through the bailey gate, followed by four men. The lieutenant dismounted and strode up to face Rodian. He held out a folded piece of paper with a royal seal.

“I was told to give you this immediately, sir.”

Something in Branwell’s voice sounded a little too satisfied. With reluctance, Rodian took the message and broke the wax seal.

It was a summons to the royal castle.

“Owain is dead, and you took no prisoners?” Fréthfâre asked from her chair.

Dänvârfij had no illusions about this moment, now that she had returned and begun her report. They had gone back for Owain’s body. It now lay in the room’s corner, wrapped in a scavenged blanket and spare cord and awaiting rites. Dänvârfij did not know how that would be accomplished here in this stinking human city. Fréthfâre would use tonight’s failure to her own advantage, feeding her own hunger for vengeance as well as seizing more control over their purpose.

The room felt small and hot, though the fire had gone out. Rhysís, Én’nish, and Eywodan stood in uncomfortable silence.

“Where is Tavithê?” Fréthfâre continued, resting her head against the chair’s tall back and looking down her nose.

“Still on watch at the port,” Dänvârfij confirmed.

“So ... we are six now and have not a thing to show for it.”

Dänvârfij nodded, though only five were of active use. In the rest, Fréthfâre was not wrong. This mission had been a slowly escalating set of failures since the beginning, as Brot’ân’duivé shadowed them across the world, picking them off one by one. While Fréthfâre had made most decisions along the way, this night’s failure—and loss—rested on Dänvârfij alone.

Even with their numbers so diminished, the success of their purpose was all that mattered. She braced herself, not wishing to allow Fréthfâre any more of this self-righteous indulgence.

“We need to disperse and relocate our quarry,” Dänvârfij said, ignoring Fréthfâre’s last accusation. “And we cannot discount the guild. We cannot confirm whether they freed the sage.”

Her focused tone had the desired effect, drawing attention from Rhysís and Eywodan and even Én’nish. All appeared to welcome the prospect of new orders. None of them wished to stand here with Owain’s body lying only a few steps away and yet so far from their people’s ancestors. They would have no more idea how to address that than she did. But at least Owain would not be found by humans, and his weapons and belongings were safe among his own caste.

“Rhysís and I will watch the guild,” Dänvârfij continued. “For now, Tavithê remains on the port watch. Én’nish and Eywodan will begin covering areas with public lodging. Sweep the streets, as well, but keep hidden as much as possible. We will locate our quarry by process of elimination.”

“Should we not report?” Fréthfâre asked. “Most Aged Father will want to know our status. I’m sure I could manage to make my way out of the city to the nearest free trees.”

Dänvârfij glanced down at the crippled ex-Covârleasa. This was another problem they rarely spoke about.

The Shapers among their people had not produced any new word-wood for the Anmaglâhk, specifically made from Most Aged Father’s own tree home, so that his caste could communicate with him. Not one new word-wood had been finished since the death of the healer named Gleannéohkân’thva, leaving only one member of Sgäilsheilleache’s family: Leanâlhâm.

Word-wood was in short supply, so their group possessed only two. Dänvârfij had one, and Fréthfâre the other.

“It would be best if you remained here,” Dänvârfij said. “I will report to Most Aged Father at the first opportunity.”

Fréthfâre studied her for a moment. “Be sure you do.”

Chane paced his room at Nattie’s inn, uncertain what to do with himself. Shade lay near the door, and Ore-Locks stood restlessly nearby, likely wondering if he was still needed or if he should return to Dhredze Seatt.

Chane did not know the answer.

Ore-Locks shifted his weight for the fourth time, his expression thoughtful. “Where do you think those Lhoin’na might have taken her?”

“They are not Lhoin’na,” Chane answered. “They are an’Cróan, a separate elven people from—”

Shade leaped to her feet, whining and wriggling as she rushed the door. Almost instantly, Chane heard a soft knock outside.

“Chane, it’s me.”

Even via a whisper through the door, he knew Wynn’s voice. Nearly sick with relief that she’d managed to come somehow, Chane rushed the door as Shade scooted out of the way. When he jerked the door open, he did not have long to look upon Wynn. His gaze rose above her head, and he tensed.

Behind her stood someone incredibly tall and too broad-shouldered for his frame. Chane recognized that one’s clothing, for it was the same elf who had been with Leesil inside the guild’s keep. Now there was no face wrap inside the cloak’s deep hood. Lighter-colored scars in dark skin skipped over the elder an’Cróan’s left eye.

A canine head thrust forward around Wynn’s hip to snarl at Chane.

“Enough of that,” Wynn said, not even looking down at Chap.

Before Chane could move or speak, Shade tried pushing past him to get to Wynn. She stopped short at the sight of the tall, silver-gray dog in the hallway. Chane knew exactly how Shade felt.

How could Wynn expose them like this? And how could she bring Chap anywhere near him?

Shade began to rumble.

“No family squabbles, either!” Wynn ordered.

Shade went quiet, but Chane focused again on the tall stranger ... who was watching him in turn. The man’s face was still and emotionless, with eyes that never blinked.

“This is Brot’an,” Wynn said. “I promise it’s all right.”

Chane backed slowly out of the way.

Wynn hurried inside, pulling Shade with her. She dropped to the floor at the room’s center and gathered the dog in her arms.

“I missed you so much,” she said, and then looked up at Chane. “And you.”

At the moment, it humiliated Chane how much she affected him with two simple words. He stepped aside against the room’s wall, allowing the tall elf and Chap inside his room.

Ore-Locks stood watching all of this, though he had retrieved his iron staff and rested it on the floor in his hand.

“Brot’an ... Ore-Locks,” Wynn said in gesturing to each.

“Yes, we almost met a short while ago,” Ore-Locks replied, and the tall elf nodded politely.

“Wynn, what are they doing here?” Chane asked.

Chap had not settled and still rumbled slightly with each breath. The fur on the back of his neck bristled, but he kept looking between Chane and Shade. Shade shifted around Wynn’s other side, placing Wynn between herself and Chap.

That action left Chane wondering why. Was not Chap her sire?

“We need them,” Wynn answered.

Chane found her watching him purposefully.

“And they need us,” she continued, stroking Shade’s back one last time. “Lines are being drawn and may result in some unexpected alliances. You have the scroll?”

The question stunned him. “Wynn?”

“They know about the scroll,” she told him, “and I meant what I said. If we’re to locate the final orbs, we have to accept any allies with skills who can help. Both Chap and Brot’an have ... skills that are more than useful.”

Chane had already made up his mind to put his faith in her, but he had never imagined this. With Chap here, why had not Leesil and Magiere come at him, or had Wynn managed to keep his location secret from them until now? He glanced once at Chap, who bared his teeth slightly.

If Wynn wanted him to work with Chap and this elf, what could he say?

“We may have one more,” Chane said.

“One more what?”

“Ally ... at the guild ... perhaps.”

Wynn blinked, and Chane watched a flicker of hope instantly fade to worry upon her face.

“You mean Nikolas?”

“No. Premin Hawes.”

Wynn looked at him as if he were out of his mind, for Hawes was part of the council that had caused all of this trouble for her.

Ore-Locks added, “She told us if you needed help, we could send her word. When she spoke, I believed her.”

“As did I,” Chane added.

Wynn sat upright, as if panicked. But then, trembling, she sank back to kneel beside Shade. Chane could see her hesitation, followed by hope.

“All right. If we have Hawes, that changes some things,” Wynn said.

“Who is this Hawes?” Brot’an asked.

“A premin of metaology, highly placed in my guild,” Wynn answered, looking at him, “with access to ... resources I can no longer get near. She can help us—me—with translating the rest of the scroll.”

Chane did not care for her familiarity with this an’Cróan. She obviously knew him from before this night.

Wynn suddenly winced and held up one hand. “Chap, stop! Too fast. I don’t know.... We’ll need to get her a message.”

Chap was fully focused on Wynn, and Shade snarled at him.

Chane stepped rapidly to Wynn, and Chap’s focus shifted instantly to him.

“What is happening?” Chane asked.

“Chap wants to know how we’ll contact Hawes,” Wynn answered, rubbing her temple. “He has ... many questions. Too many at once.”

Wynn had told Chane about this odd method of communication, how Chap’s mental voice was far more sophisticated and direct than Shade’s. Chane did not like hearing only one side of the conversation where Chap was concerned.

“He’s not wrong,” Wynn continued. “If we are to find the last two orbs, we must get the rest of the poem translated.”

“Last two?” Ore-Locks asked sharply. “You mean last three.”

Wynn winced again. “Chap, stop it!”

She put her palm on the floor to support herself. Shade ducked around Wynn, growling in Chap’s face, and of all unexpected things, Chap flinched.

Chane felt almost completely in the dark as to what was going on here—and he did not like that, either.

Wynn pushed Shade back and spoke directly to Chap. “They need to know!” She then looked up at Chane. “Magiere, Leesil, and Chap recovered a third orb in the northern wastes. Chap has hidden it ... along with the orb of Water.”

That made no sense at all, for Chane had seen the first orb in the ice-bound castle. How could a majay-hì hide two, each so large that even he or Ore-Locks would have difficulty carrying one? The dog could not have dragged two off on his own.

“That leaves two for us to find,” Wynn said. “We have to locate them as quickly as possible.”

No one spoke for a moment.

Chane was uncertain how to feel at this abrupt knowledge, but in truth, the news was not unwelcome. If a third orb had been recovered, then Magiere, Leesil, and Chap had proven themselves useful. He had imagined himself, Wynn, and Shade having to find the last three—with all three endeavors placing Wynn in growing danger. He could not care less what became of Magiere, Leesil, or Chap, but perhaps Wynn was correct. Their assistance might end this dangerous exploit more quickly, and keep Wynn a little farther out of harm’s way.

“Then we need to contact this Hawes,” Brot’an said. “I assume she wishes to keep her willingness to help a secret?”

“Yes,” Chane answered. “We cannot risk exposing her, or she can do nothing.”

“I may know a way,” Wynn said, though her brow creased. “Nikolas has a friend at the Upright Quill, and I believe that shop is still delivering work to the guild. If this friend can get a message to Nikolas, he can get it to Hawes.”

She stood up with an expression of firm purpose. “Chane, do you have some paper?”

“You are not considering going yourself?” he asked, incredulous.

“Why not?”

“Because half the city guard could be looking for you! Or me ... or Shade. She was the distraction, right in front of the guild, that let Ore-Locks and me get inside.”

Chane could feel an argument coming and braced himself.

“No one saw me,” Ore-Locks said quietly. “I will take the message.”

“What?” Wynn turned to him.

“No one but the premin saw me,” Ore-Locks continued. “My people are common enough here that few would give me notice. I am the only choice among us.” He looked at Brot’an. “I believe you would stand out, and up, far too much. No offense intended.”

“No offense at all,” the elf answered. “It is sensible.”

Chane studied Brot’an. Though he would never trust this stranger, the tall elf appeared to lean toward the side of reason. That counted for something.

“Then it is settled,” Chane said.

Wynn sighed. “Very well.”

Once again, Rodian waited in the luxurious sitting room at the royal castle, with its walnut-legged couches and dyed silks of shimmering seafoam green and cyan. Upon arrival earlier, two of the Weardas had escorted him here and then left. The double doors were closed, and he was alone.

Although worried—perhaps more than worried—he refused to leap to conclusions. Sykion couldn’t have sent word this quickly, so the summons couldn’t possibly involve this night’s events. Yet here he was.

The double doors opened.

Captain Tristan stood in the opening. “His highness, Prince Leäfrich Âreskynna.”

Rodian refrained from a whispered expletive. He would be forced to deal with the prince again, at least in part, depending on who else might appear. His discomfort grew as Prince Leäfrich strode in by himself, without his sister, Âthelthryth, a white-robed elf, or even Duchess Reine. Dressed in loose breeches and an untucked linen shirt, the prince halted before Rodian and then glanced back.

“Close the doors,” he ordered.

Tristan backed out and obeyed, leaving Rodian alone with Leäfrich.

“We were informed of trouble at the guild,” the prince said without preamble.

Rodian hesitated, not entirely certain what had been related. “If I may ask, by whom?”

“You may not. Explain yourself.”

The discomfort growing in Rodian’s chest turned to wariness. “There was an infiltration, possibly from several points of entrance. Four of my men were injured, but not critically. Journeyor Hygeorht escaped.”

“You mean she was taken? You allowed one of our sages to be abducted.”

Of all the ambushes Rodian had considered, this was not one of them.

“No, highness,” he replied. “She had been locked up, illegally, by the Premin Council, and she took part in her own escape.”

“She was stolen from her home, and you allowed it,” the prince retorted. “You will begin a search immediately. You will put every able Shyldfälche into the streets, and you will recover her.”

Therein was the slip—“recover,” not “rescue.”

“And if I locate the journeyor and she does not wish to go back?” Rodian asked.

“Your duty is to recover her.” Leäfrich came closer. “I do not see how I can make myself clearer.”

The skin over his narrow features was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“Your fitness of duty is now in question,” the prince continued, “and you are being given one chance to answer for your negligence.”

Rodian stiffened, but his reaction came from more than just the threat. No one of the royal family had ever spoken to him like this. Perhaps his secret ambitions had crept too high at times, but he was still the commander of Shyldfälches.

“Pardon, highness,” he said slowly. “But I would like to know how Princess Âthelthryth or your father prefer this matter to be handled. I am accustomed to taking orders from them, and as this issue involves the guild, either the king or the heir should be informed.”

“What makes you assume they are not?” Leäfrich asked quietly. “My father is unwell, and my sister is at his side. They are kept fully informed, and at present I carry out their wishes. I have the power to rescind appointments at the highest levels until they say otherwise.”

Leäfrich paused, no doubt to let his last statement sink in. “You allowed one of our sages to be stolen from her bed. If she is not safely recovered within four days, I will put Lieutenant Branwell in charge of the search.”

Rodian was careful not to let his expression betray him, though his stomach rolled.

“Find her.” Leäfrich said, and then strode for the doors. “Tristan!”

The doors opened, and the prince exited without slowing. The captain of the Weardas stood waiting, his hand still on one door’s handle. But Rodian stared after the prince until Leäfrich was gone from sight.

Sworn oaths or not, one thing had been made crystal clear: Rodian had no choice but to hunt down Wynn Hygeorht. He hated this tangled web more than he’d hated anything in life. Nearly dropping from exhaustion, he realized how badly he needed sleep.

As he started for the doors, several memories nagged him. He knew he couldn’t rest until he’d checked the one place where Wynn had commonly been found in the past whenever there was trouble.