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.