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.
This messenger is a trusted friend to be protected by all means. Official representatives of the law have assumed control of my confinement, but I remain where I am.
Without formal charges made before the people’s High Advocate, my imprisonment may end soon enough. Give events another day and see what happens. If I haven’t regained access to what I need, it will be pointless to stay. Do nothing—either of you—until you hear from me again.
If you haven’t heard from me in two days, do what you must.
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.”