In Shade and Shadow

Chapter 5

Rodian woke the next morning to knocking on his chamber door, adjacent to his office.

His needs were few—a bed, a basin to wash in, a mirror for grooming, and a chest for extra clothes. After spending long hours at each day's end filling out reports and updating log entries, he felt it best to have his personal space close at hand. He'd chosen an office with an empty adjoining room to convert for personal space.

Rodian sat up quickly, instantly alert. No one knocked this early but Garrogh, and not without a good reason.

The top drawers on both sides had been shoved outward, their locking mechanisms torn from the desk's front. The deeper bottom drawer on each side was still in place. The right was filled with journals or ledgers, but the left was empty.

He crouched and studied the broken desk, running a finger over the top's outer side, and then he glanced at the exposed edges of the desk's walls. He saw no marks of a pry bar, but he hadn't expected to find any. Whoever had done this had been in a hurry—and had strength to fulfill such urgency.

"What was in the folio?" Rodian demanded.

Master Shilwise's tone changed. "Excuse me?"

"The pages—what did your people copy for the guild?"

Shilwise glanced at his two scribes, who were watching Rodian in equal confusion.

"How would we know that?" one of them asked.

"You were transcribing sages' notes, yes?" Rodian started coldly, and then he calmed. "I take it what they sent was written in their script?"

Shilwise looked at him in surprise. "You know of the Begaine syllabary?"

"Can you read it?" Rodian asked.

Shilwise's face tinged slightly pink. "I fear not. I bought this scriptorium, so my title is master, but it is my business and no more. I hire certified scribes to do the work. I am not... a master scribe myself."

"Like Pawl a'Seatt?"

Shilwise snorted with a scowl, and his pink turned to red.

"I can read a bit of it," said one of the young scribes.

"Shut your mouth!" Shilwise barked, and turned back to Rodian. "If you've spoken with a'Seatt, then you know all scriptoriums working on this project have signed contracts of silence, backed by decree of the royal family. Until you have written court orders to counter that, I won't be caught in a breach. I have a reputation to maintain."

"It wouldn't help anyway," added the young scribe. "It's mostly gibberish."

"What did I just tell you?" Shiheyell youlwise warned.

"Be quiet!" Rodian barked, and pushed past the paunchy shop owner, closing on the scribe. "What do you mean?"

The young man was rather gangly, with oily black locks pushed back from his high forehead. His deep-set eyes flickered once to his employer.

"The syllabary is just a system for recording... syllables... how things are spoken—in any language. It saves space, and hence paper or parchment, versus all the different letter systems for various languages. But what little I can make out, I couldn't make sense of."

"Why?" Rodian asked. "What languages did you encounter?"

"I couldn't even say. Bits of it seemed like Sumanese, but I don't know. And others..." The young scribe just shook his head.

"That's enough," Shilwise warned. "Captain, if you want to know any more, go ask the sages. I've no idea why someone did this to my shop for a folio of nonsense. But if I find out the content was dangerous, my solicitor will file charges with the high advocate... for the guild offering work under false pretenses."

Rodian ignored the shop master's blustering threat and looked about the workroom.

"You're certain nothing else is missing?"

"I'm certain of nothing," Shilwise snapped. "Not until we sift through all of this. But it's the only thing I've noted so far. Now, if you're finished, may we start putting things back in order?"

"No." Rodian waved the scribes aside and pushed through the swinging door. "When my lieutenant finishes questioning your neighbors, he will go over the shop. Do not touch anything until he tells you."

Rodian headed out, his gaze fixed on the empty front door frame.

One massive blow seemed to have smashed out the door, for wood shards lay in a sprayed pattern, suggesting they all fell at the same time. How—and why—would someone who had managed to get inside, ransack the workroom, and steal the folio, then have to break out to escape?

How had the culprit gained entrance?

Perhaps someone had let him in. But then why break out?

This was the second folio to have gone missing in the span of two nights. He still had no information regarding the content of either one. Once again Rodian's only option was the sages.

Ghassan il'Sänke slowed in surprise upon entering the guild's common hall for breakfast.

There was Wynn, sitting between two gray-robed apprentices of her order, eating a bowl of boiled oats.

He knew she preferred to eat in her room, but not this morning. Her left-side companion was a young man the others often called Nervous Nikolas.

Wynn looked up, and her spoon halted halfway to her mouth. She nodded aze. She npolitely to Ghassan. Normally he too preferred to take his repast in his quarters or while working elsewhere. But this uncommon sight, of her willingly out among the populace, piqued his interest.

"Boiled oats again?" he said as he approached. "At my home branch there are honey cakes every morning, in case nothing else seems appealing."

Wynn half smiled, setting down her spoon. "Then how do you stay so thin?"

"Oh, ages of living in near-constant distress," he answered.

She smiled openly at this. "You are hardly that old."

No, Ghassan thought, one would not think so. Nikolas and the other one—Miriam was her name—both stared in fright as he sat down across the table.

"I... I need to get started on cleanup," Miriam stammered, rising quickly to scurry off.

Such a plain-faced, pudgy girl—her eyes were too small for her face. But apparently High-Tower had found something promising in her. The old dwarf once mentioned that he had rarely known such an apprentice who comprehended the syllabary's complex system so easily. But most apprentices grew uncomfortable in Ghassan's presence.

For one, he was an exotic-looking foreigner, taller than normal for his people, and of distinguished elder appearance—or so he liked to think. Second, he was a domin of metaology.

The Order of Metaology in Calm Seatt was smaller and less prominent than in Ghassan's own branch, but still treated with some reserve—as were all the metaologers. In most cases rumors of the order's abilities were exaggerated. The only true work they did in magic was mostly in thaumaturgy via artificing, which included alchemical processes. They were responsible for making cold lamp crystals and other minor items used by the guild.

In other rare cases, rumors fell slightly short of the truth—something Ghassan kept to himself.

To Nikolas's credit, he kept his seat. Impressive, but Ghassan had no interest in the young man—only in Wynn. In what she knew, what she might share, and what she would keep to herself. She looked pale this morning, as if she had not slept well, but her hair was cleanly pulled back into a tail.

"Would you care for bread with butter and honey?" Wynn asked. "I can go find some."

Her simple offer moved him. Then he hardened himself against sentiment.

She possessed a giving spirit, but under the present circumstances this was not a good thing. If only she were closed off and self-serving, then she would cause him less concern. He had often been forced into cold decisions, doing what was necessary, and regret was not something he could afford.

Ghassan shook his head politely at Wynn's offer. He was about to tell her that boiled oats would be fine when his attention shifted. High-Tower suddenly appeared from the smaller northeast entrance.

The old dwarf's mouth was set in an angry, determined grimace, and his cloak was tied tightly divtied tiabout his wide shoulders. He strode halfway through the hall toward the main wide arch and the passage to the double front doors.

Where was the dour domin going so early?

Symbols and lines of Ghassan's art appeared in his mind, lacing over the sight of High-Tower. He reached for the domin's mind, attempting to pick up surface thoughts.

A loud commotion rose out of the main archway, echoing from the outer main passage.

"Sir! Sir, you cannot go in there. You must have permission first!"

High-Tower came to a sudden halt as Captain Rodian strode in.

Everyone in the common hall looked up to see an initiate scurrying backward before the captain. But the captain's threatening gait quickly backed the boy into a nearby table.

"What do you think you are doing?" High-Tower growled.

Rodian locked eyes with the dwarf. "I assume you're heading out to Master Shilwise's scriptorium to demand your folio?"

The entire hall fell silent, and Ghassan tensed.

Rodian's growing involvement concerned him almost as much as Wynn did. If nothing else, the captain struck him as competent. Not at all what Ghassan needed.

"I'll save you the effort," Rodian said softly, though his voice carried clearly in the silence. "The folio is gone. Someone broke into Shilwise's shop last night, ransacked the place, and took it."

The captain closed another two steps on High-Tower.

"Now, would you care to go to your study," he continued, "and tell me what was in that folio? Or do I still need an order of the court or a decree from the royal family?"

Ghassan glanced at Wynn.

She seemed as taken aback as everyone else, watching the exchange in stunned silence. Nikolas, however, was staring at the captain, and the young man's brow glistened with a sudden cold sweat.

"More unfounded assumptions, Captain," said a calm reedy voice from the smaller north entrance.

All heads turned as High Premin Sykion entered, silver hair tied back and her long gray robe sweeping the floor.

Rodian did not even flinch. "Unfounded?"

"Do you have evidence that the thieves intentionally broke into Master Shilwise's scriptorium... for the sole purpose of taking our folio?"

"It's the only thing missing."

"You are certain, without a doubt, that nothing more was taken?"

"With respect," Rodian replied, "two of yours were murdered, and the folio they carried is missing. The following night another is stolen direcwas stolently from a scribe shop. My duty is to protect this city, including your guild... and even from itself. You will tell me exactly what was in—"

"Premin Sykion!"

The initiate who had been driven before Rodian came running back into the hall. Ghassan had not even noticed the boy leave.

"Forgive me, Premin, b-b-but..."

The boy looked anxiously about the hall, then hurried close to Sykion and whispered.

Ghassan focused upon the initiate, once again stroking the mental symbols and ciphers he needed. As Sykion leaned down, he slipped into the young one's thoughts and heard...

Duchess Reine is here! She asks to be admitted immediately.

Before Ghassan could try for the premin's thoughts, the captain whirled about, facing the archway. Nearer to Sykion, he had obviously overheard the boy.

Shifting a spell's focal point was not so easy once a connection to target was established. The captain appeared startled, and all anger and determination faded from his demeanor. By the time Ghassan grasped at the captain's thoughts, all he caught was...

Oh, Blessed Trinity! Why is she here—now, of all times?

Sykion straightened with a worried glance to High-Tower.

"Everyone out!" High-Tower shouted. "Any but domins, clear the room!"

Rodian glanced back, frustration plain on his face, but Premin Sykion relaxed where she stood, offering the captain a polite smile. Or was it an expression of relief?

The hall filled with the noise of rushing feet. Initiates, apprentices, and a handful of journeyors hurried for the exits. Some were diverted away to the northeast exit when they tried in confusion to leave through the main archway. Nikolas seemed reluctant, and Wynn pulled him up.

Rodian pointed at her. "You stay."

Wynn froze, staring at him. She gently pushed Nikolas after the others before taking her seat.

With so many in a frenzy about the hall, Ghassan was uncertain whose thoughts to reach for next. As the room cleared, Premin Sykion nodded to the messenger.

"Please show the duchess in."

Before the boy even moved, Duchess Reine Faunier-Âreskynna swept into the common hall with her full entourage.

Three female attendants in rich gowns of varied and dignified hues, and one tall elven male in a white robe, surrounded the duchess. Or rather princess, for that was her true title.

Duchess Reine was niece to the king of Faunier, one of Malourné's neighboring countries and a staunch ally. She had married Prince Freädherich of the Âreskynna, the royal family of Malourné—though he no longer lived. For sod wlived. me reason she preferred her original title rather than the one gained by marriage. And she was guarded by three of the Weardas.

These tall warriors in their polished steel helms, chain vestments, and long crimson tabards each wore a long sword sheathed upon a wide belt of engraved silver plates. They carried short spears with heads shaped more like a leaf-bladed short sword.

The leader, Captain Tristan, walked beside the duchess. An emotionless soldier, there were some rumors that he had trained with the Suman emperor's personal guard. But this was all Ghassan knew of the man.

And everyone in the entourage towered over Duchess Reine.

She was no taller than Wynn, perhaps less, with a tiny waist and slightly wide hips beneath a long sea-foam satin skirt. Her matching vestment scooped beneath her jutting bosom covered in a white linen shirt. In the common hall's somber and earthy colors, she stood out like an emerald tinted by a blue sky. Her dark chestnut tresses were pinned back on each side by twin combs of mother-of-pearl shaped like waves—the only jewelry adornments she wore.

By her early arrival and attire, Ghassan guessed the duchess had risen at dawn, putting her three attendants hard at work in order to achieve such a seemingly simple elegance.

Duchess Reine smiled warmly at Rodian and stretched out one hand.

"Captain Siweard Rodian... at your duties already. Do you never tire?"

Ghassan watched the pair carefully. He caught a flicker in those matched gazes. And as the captain took the duchess's hand with a slight bow, his formal—yet familiar—gesture suggested a connection between them. She was about five years Rodian's elder, something Ghassan had not noticed at first. Perhaps her diminutive stature conjured the illusion of youth.

And the effect of Ghassan's spell was lost.

He began his mental work again, eager to reach for the captain's thoughts—and those of Duchess Reine.

"Your Highness," Rodian said, clearly confused. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Ghassan finished the sigils, shapes, and glyphs in his mind's eye, but behind Rodian's spoken words he picked up only a muffled sound in the man's mind—like a far-off voice, muted and unintelligible behind a closed door.

He instantly let the spell wane and scanned the room.

Something—or someone—had interfered. It was not strong, and likely he could have broken through. But if it were an active intervention, rather than some emplaced work or hidden device, whoever held it by will might have felt his effort.

Who else here could even have knowledge or skill like his?

Ghassan's attention was pulled back as Duchess Reine spoke to Sykion.

"Lady Tärtgyth, it has been too long. I trust the latest endowment arrived without complication?"

Rodian turned startled eyes upon the premin, as did Ghassan. The duchess referred to Sykion by her first name—and as "lady"?

"Yes, we're honored, and thank you for visiting," Sykion answered. "The captain was inquiring about an unfortunate break-in at a scribe shop."

"I heard," the duchess replied. "Very unfortunate."

Another surprise. How had word of a mere burglary so quickly reached the royal family?

Duchess Reine glanced sidelong at Rodian. "Surely searching among our sages will help you little in finding the criminal."

The captain shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Highness, I believed the royal family would be most concerned over the deaths of two young sages. And certain guild documents have gone missing twice in two nights. I simply wish to inquire about the nature of those documents... to guard against another such loss."

"You have evidence that the guild's project is the target of these crimes?" the duchess asked, and she seemed to work too hard at keeping her tone light.

Rodian glanced at Premin Sykion and struggled for an answer. "Not specifically, but it seems clear—"

"The translation project is important to the guild's masters," Duchess Reine went on. "And they are important to our land and people, yes?"

At the duchess's turn, the folds of her skirt twisted. A long slit down the front separated, revealing darker breeches and a pair of glistening, polished riding boots.

This attire was out of place for a royal of the Malourné, but not so for a noble of Faunier. Descended from horse people, they were skilled riders, their high-bred mounts prized even in Ghassan's homeland.

"For now, could you not pursue other leads—until certain of a connection?" the duchess asked. "I remain confident you will solve both these crimes long before such invasive tactics are necessary."

"Your Highness?" Rodian asked.

"The royal family would be grateful for your good faith."

The captain fell silent. With a long side glance at Premin Sykion, he finally dropped his eyes and nodded deeply.

Duchess Reine returned a nod of lesser depth. "Thank you, Siweard... you have my faith as well—in your abilities. Baron Twynam will join us at dinner on the next full moon. I understand he is a friend of yours. We would be most pleased if you could attend as well."

Rodian lifted his eyes and nodded again.

Ghassan had not missed the duchess's slip. She had called the captain by his first name, something far too familiar for the public venue and their disparate social ranks.

Duchess Reine turned back to Premin Sykion. "Lady Tärtgyth, would you and Domin High-Tower favor me with a tour of the new library's improvement's imprts? I have meant to come for so long, but... time has simply passed too quickly."

Premin Sykion tilted her head politely to the captain and then led Duchess Reine's entire entourage toward the northeastern passage. High-Tower was the last to follow, with a derisive grunt at Rodian.

Ghassan watched them leave—with a long study of the tall elf walking close in the duchess's wake. The cut of that one's robe was the same, or nearly so, as that of a sage. But white was not the color of any guild order. And the notion of interference with his spell from that source was preposterous. As much as his art was little known among humans, it was less likely to be found among the Lhoin'na—those "of the Glade."

Guild domins and premins would go to great lengths to restrict specific knowledge of translations from the texts. But royal intervention had come too quickly. Had Sykion asked the monarchy for help? And if not, did Duchess Reine or the royal family know something of the text's content, wishing to keep it hidden, even from the captain of the Shyldfälches?

Ghassan exhaled in frustration. One of the royal family had appeared at precisely the right moment, referred to a premin by a noble title, and betrayed a connection to the one man digging too deeply into guild affairs.

And Captain Rodian came straight at Ghassan's table, his jaw clenched. He was obviously unaccustomed to having his leash jerked in, no matter how politely done by such a gentle hand.

"Journeyor Hygeorht," Rodian said through his teeth. "Would you be good enough to walk me to my horse?"

It was not a request, and Ghassan stood up. While considering these new tangles, he had almost forgotten Wynn sitting right across from him.

"You cannot find your horse alone?" he challenged.

"It's all right, domin," Wynn said, swinging her legs over the bench to rise beside the captain. "I'll walk out with him."

Glowing lines and marks flashed across Ghassan's sight, and he reached for her thoughts.

...and all Nikolas's foolishness... and all this mess around Jeremy and Elias...

A wave of anxiety flooded Ghassan. What had Nikolas to do with anything? He tried reaching deeper.

Wynn put a hand to her temple and looked around the hall.

Ghassan immediately severed contact. Had she felt him? No, not possible; she had no training or experience. He watched carefully as Wynn followed Rodian out the wide archway.

Perhaps too many spells, cast too quickly, with lost attempts due to new random pieces he had just gathered. For whatever reason, Ghassan felt a twinge building in his own head.

"You know the duchess?" Wynn asked, taking two steps for Rodian's one.

His position as captain was well respected. But even so, members of the Shyldfälches didn't have dinner with the royal family—certainly not at the invite of the wife of a prince, even a deceased one.

"I assisted her once," he said bluntly, but he stared ahead, focusing on nothing.

Wynn didn't press further. She suddenly realized that she knew part of this story. Even in self-imposed seclusion, rumors reached her. The higher they came from, the more momentum they gathered as they rolled downward through all levels of society.

About two years ago Prince Freädherich of the Âreskynna had died, and his body was never found.

The tale was that he and his wife, Duchess Reine, had gone out in a small sailboat one evening. Not even members of the Weardas had accompanied them. The boat was found adrift late the next morning with only the hysterical Duchess Reine aboard.

As a Faunier, she knew nothing of sailing and had been unable to bring the small boat ashore. It was said that when she was found she was half-mad with grief, and couldn't—or wouldn't—explain what had become of her husband. Strangely, not one of the royal family raised charges against her, but just the same, an inquest was required by law.

A young captain of the Shyldfälches, newly promoted when his predecessor retired, investigated the disappearance. The inquest was held privately in the royal court. No one ever learned what the young captain had uncovered.

Though the duchess was never proven wholly innocent in the eyes of the people, neither was she charged in any way. The king and queen still held her dear, as if she were one of their own children by blood rather than marriage. Prince Freädherich's death was officially cited as accidental. And all because of a report presented by the newly appointed captain of the Shyldfälches.

Wynn glanced up at Rodian.

She'd never cared enough about the rumor to put a face to the city captain who accomplished this feat. No wonder Duchess Reine had invited him to dinner.

"Was anyone hurt during the break-in?" she asked.

"No." He glanced down at her. "It happened after closing."

The captain hesitated, and his brows gathered as he scrutinized her, perhaps judging whether to say more.

"Whoever did it," he finally went on, "got into the shop and then broke out. Would any of your people know how or why?"

Wynn was confused by the captain's brief explanation. So many of Calm Seatt's citizens viewed sages as possessing arcane knowledge rather than just as hardworking scholars.

"I don't think so."

Then she mulled Rodian's words more carefully. The thief managed to gain access, but then had to break out?

"You might ask Domin il'Sänke," she added.

"Why?"

"He is a master of methe'master aology, metaphysics and the like, which includes the scholarly study of magic."

When they reached the courtyard, Rodian's white mare stood waiting near the open inner gate, not even tied to a post. She nickered at the sight of the captain.

"A pretty thing," Wynn said as they approached, and she reached up to stroke the animal's velvet nose. "And so gentle."

"Unless I'm threatened," Rodian said, and then his voice softened as he patted the horse's neck. "Then she is fierce. Her name is Snowbird. I trained her myself."

"Do your people raise horses?"

His expression closed up, as if he'd given away something private. Wynn knew he hadn't asked her out here to discuss Duchess Reine or his horse. She waited quietly.

"What was your real reason for going to Master a'Seatt's scriptorium?" he asked.

Flustered, she wasn't certain how to answer. She'd kept stoutly to her lie of seeking out a grief-stricken Imaret. But the captain had certainly heard too much when he caught up to her.

"To learn what truly happened to Jeremy and Elias," she finally answered.

"So, then you would believe their deaths and the break-in are tied... to this project of your guild?"

"Yes," Wynn answered.

"Then help me," he said. "Even if you don't know what was in those folios, what did you bring back from the Farlands?"

Wynn stared at him, remembering their seemingly casual chat on the ride back to the guild. The first words that came to mind were... you conniving bastard!

She bit her tongue. This was why he'd been so innocently curious about sages and journeyors and assignments. All his polite questions were nothing more than a way to get into her head. She stopped petting Snowbird.

"My first loyalty is to the guild," she replied coldly, "as well as to any agreement of confidence requested of them by the royal family. But I have other information you should know."

"And what is that?" he returned.

"Jeremy was working—without guild knowledge—for a moneylender under investigation by the high advocate."

All the morning's trials and frustration faded from Rodian's face.

He slowly shook his head. Wynn guessed that he might've known of such a case, as head of the city guard. But obviously a link to the deaths hadn't occurred to him—not without the connection she'd just provided.

Rodian patted Snowbird once more. He pointed toward the lone stone bench to the courtyard's left, and Wynn followed to sit with him. She repeated what Nikolas had shared concerning Selwyn Midton and the forged account books. For now she kept Nikolas's involvement to herself. Rodian listened carefully to every word.

"Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?" he asked.

"I just found out last night. But please be discreet. Even you can see how badly this might damage the guild's reputation... and the memory of a dead apprentice."

"Even I?" he returned, but he let the barb pass. "Who told you this?"

Wynn shook her head. "I cannot say."

Rodian's ire began to spread across his face again.

"There's more," she said.

She wasn't certain how to begin, as Duchess Reine had mentioned one of the parties involved.

"Do you know Baron Twynam's son, Jason?"

"Why?" he asked cautiously, which implied «yes» to her question.

"He and Elias were courting the same girl, a merchant's daughter named Elvina. Jason caught Elias one night and threatened to kill him if he didn't stay away from her. I think Elias was going to meet her the night he died."

Rodian's blue eyes widened, and his voice rose. "Where did you hear that?"

She shook her head. "I'm not even certain it'll be helpful," she replied. "What you do next is your own business, but remember discretion... if you expect anything more from me."

Wynn got up and headed across the courtyard, and the captain didn't try to stop her.

Rodian had to investigate all possible leads, but he'd been «royally» warned off of pressing the sages—at least for now.

Wynn fought to remain rational. She had to at least entertain the possibility that Jeremy and Elias had died for some reason other than the folio they'd carried. And the burglary at Master Shilwise's was just a coincidence. But a feeling in the pit of her stomach said otherwise.

Entering the common hall, she found Domin High-Tower and Premin Sykion speaking quietly by the great hearth. Whatever tour they were giving Duchess Reine seemed to have been interrupted, and il'Sänke was nowhere in sight. Wynn willed herself calm as she went to her superiors.

"Thank you for seeing the captain out," Premin Sykion said. "A bit of air has done you good."

Wynn bit down again at this condescension. Treating her like a child was just another way of undermining her. Although she didn't care for High-Tower's cold looks and lectures, at least he was openly hostile.

"Thank you," she answered politely. "I understand that we must keep the translations away from general citizens, like the captain... but you both know someone may be seeking the contents of our folios."

High-Tower grumbled under his breath with a snort, but said nothing discernible.

"If I had access to my journals," she continued, "and translations, and the codex of all recent work, I might help find what this... person is seeking."

"Wynn!" High-Tower growled, trying to silence her.

"I didn't just carry back those texts!" Wynn snapped, and it came out too loud, echoing around the empty hall. "I handpicked every one the best that I could! I know what I chose and why."

She took a long breath, grasping for calm once more, and appealed directly to the premin.

"Please... I can help stop these thefts, or at least offer a motivation for them."

Premin Sykion raised a hand at High-Tower's impending barrage.

"Wynn, do you truly believe you would understand the texts better than the masters of our order, or even those of the other orders helping us? Is that not rather prideful and assumptive?"

Wynn clenched her hands so tightly that her fingernails bit into her palms.

"Please... Premin," she repeated. "What harm could there be in giving me access?"

The slightest flicker of anger crossed Sykion's narrow, serene face. "Your place here, as well as your soundness of mind, has been in question for some time. You will keep away from what does not concern you."

Premin Sykion and Domin High-Tower walked away together.

Wynn stared after the pair until they vanished out of the north archway. She turned to the fireplace and crossed her arms, clutching herself tightly, as if it were the only way to hold herself in one piece.

Why hadn't she presented a more reasoned argument? Someone or something was willing to kill for the secrets of the texts—someone who could read the Begaine syllabary. And none of her superiors seemed the slightest bit willing to acknowledge that truth.

She leaned forward until her forehead touched the hearth's warm headstones.

"Oh, Chap," she whispered. "What would you do?"

He'd rebelled against his kin, the Fay, not only to save her life, but to do what he knew was right for those he watched over. In becoming an outcast among his kind, even an enemy to them, he found the courage to bear that sacrifice.

Wynn gazed into the hearth's low embers.

If—when—she ever saw Chap again, how could she look him in the eyes unless she found the same in herself?