“Leanâlhâm,” Leesil said softly. “Where is Gleann?”
Chap glanced at the girl just in time to see her wince at her own name. A long pause followed before she answered quietly.
“With our ancestors ... with Sgäilsheilleache.”
For the span of a breath, everyone in the small room went still. Gleann, the kindly old healer with biting humor who had taken in three humans and a wayward majay-hì was dead.
Osha whirled angrily and rushed toward the window. He stopped and looked back, as did they all, at the sound of a whisper.
“Oh, Leanâlhâm.”
The girl froze as Magiere tried to sit up and failed, and then reached for Leanâlhâm’s hand on her leg. Leesil came out of his shock.
“Gleann, dead?” he breathed. “How can he be ... where is my mother?”
“She is well and safe,” Brot’an answered instantly, but even he appeared unsettled by the turn of this discussion.
Leanâlhâm’s gaze drifted to Leesil, and all of her fright of Magiere had drained from her expression. Chap waited for what else the girl might say.
“We cannot tell you more for now,” Brot’an said, staring hard at Leanâlhâm. “Your mother is safe with her kind, Léshil.”
Chap suddenly wondered who had taken on the painful task of telling Leanâlhâm that Sgäile was dead. Had Osha been the one? She had loved Sgäile, worshipped him as a hero. He had been highly honored by their people and respected by all factions of his caste—even Most Aged Father.
Osha suddenly took a few steps at Leesil, still angry.
“You ask question,” he growled. “I ask question. Where Wynn? Why she not here?”
That was all they needed with everything else so complicated. Osha’s feelings for Wynn were no secret. Still, Chap was surprised it had taken this long for the subject of Wynn’s whereabouts to come up.
“Trapped in the guild’s keep,” Leesil answered tiredly, perhaps reeling in relief that his mother was safe. Or perhaps hoping—as did Chap—that answering Osha’s question might gain some answers in turn.
“We’re not sure why,” Leesil added, “but we’ll get her out.”
“Then perhaps we can help,” Brot’an said.
Yes, Chap thought. I’m sure you would.
“Osha speaks the truth,” Brot’an went on, and looked at Magiere. “We are here to protect you. To protect ... what you carry.”
They were not carrying the orb—orbs—anymore. Chap took some satisfaction in that, though he wondered if Brot’an knew anything more than the other anmaglâhk about what they had been carrying. Chap had insisted on hiding both orbs in a place neither Magiere nor Leesil knew of. That decision now appeared more important than ever.
None of the Anmaglâhk—not even Brot’an—would ever find those orbs or learn their whereabouts.
“Magiere should rest,” Leanâlhâm said quietly, and her fear had waned, for she held Magiere’s hand. “Léshil says she will need food. Can we not eat and rest for one night? Not speak of these things?”
The girl dropped her head.
Leesil’s expression became shadowed for an instant. As badly as Chap wanted answers, cueing Leesil with memories to ask the right questions would not get him anywhere in this moment.
“I will take first watch on the roof,” Brot’an pronounced. “Everyone else ... eat and rest.”
He pushed past Osha, and an instant later, he was gone out the window. Another awkward silence passed until Osha announced flatly that he would go in search of food. As Leesil settled on the bedside, Leanâlhâm retrieved a blanket to cover Magiere.
Chap went to lie in the corner near Osha’s hidden sword. He had no intention of going to sleep. It was simply the best place from which to watch the door ... and the window for Brot’an’s return.
As Chane made his way through the dark streets toward Nattie’s inn, he could not escape his numerous worries. Every time he blinked, he saw an image of Wynn on the backs of his eyelids. She must be asleep by this time, or so he hoped. But she would wake in the morning to face ... what?
It troubled him—no, it ate at him—that he would lie dormant all day while events closed in on her. Even if she found a way to send him word, he would be beyond receiving it until dusk tomorrow night, unless ...
Once Chane reached the inn and his room, he opened the door slowly to let Shade see that it was him. She wrinkled her nose and growled softly, but appeared more frustrated than hostile. Likely she needed to be fed and let out for her “business,” as Wynn called it.
He realized he had to start paying more attention to Shade’s needs if she was to remain his somewhat unwilling ally. His only ally, as of yet, and he would need her help. Perhaps she could even advise him on his notion.
Chane dropped his second pack from his shoulder—the one Wynn would always think of as Welstiel’s pack—and set it down.
“Shade,” he began, and then faltered, for though she comprehended spoken words, he was uncertain how much. “Outside, and then food. But first ...”
He hesitated, and Shade tilted her head, watching him. There was only one thing he could do: show her. He dug into his second pack.
Chane pulled out a long velvet box and opened it to reveal the six glass vials that had carried a noxious violet concoction deadly to the living. It served another purpose for the undead, one that he had painstakingly—and painfully—unraveled for his own need. He was now running low on this concoction.
The ingredients to make more were almost impossible to acquire, but one dose, less than a third of one vile, could stave off his dormancy for several days. Still, he hesitated to use it, for the side effects were horrible. He would remain awake during the day but trapped inside by the sun unless he donned his cloak, face mask, and the eyeglasses that could block out sunlight’s worst effects. Even then, he could tolerate direct sunlight for only a brief period, and he would be dressed like some abhorrent executioner. Anyone who saw him would stop and stare—and not forget the sight.
The thought of being awake, trapped by the sun, locked in this shabby room all day was a torture Chane would rather avoid.
“In here, I have a method ...” he began, looking into Shade’s watchful eyes. “A way that will let me stay awake in daylight; but I still cannot go outside. Should I use it?”
She glanced at the pack, at the door and the curtained window, and then back to him. Though she could be more expressive than any animal Chane had ever known, he could not tell what she was thinking.
Shade huffed once for “yes.”
“Very well,” Chane said, and he rose to open the door. “First we go out for food and ‘business’ ... and be quick about it.”
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.