“The last part, anyway,” Zanna admitted.
“You probably missed all the best bits then—he’s been at me ever since Aurian arrived.” Tarnal groaned, and went to pour himself a cup of wine. “Gods, but my poor head is ringing....”
A prickle of unease crawled across Zanna’s skin. “Tarnal, do you think he’ll really leave?”
“The Gods only know, love. If he does or if he doesn’t—I don’t know which will cause us more trouble.”
The white dog accompanied Grince and Emmie. When they entered the woman’s chambers it vanished purposefully behind a curtain at the far side of the room, which clearly concealed a further room, or rooms, beyond. Having not yet seen a Nightrunner living chamber, the thief looked around him curiously as Emmie went to stoke the fire.
Emmie’s rooms were pleasant and homely—not like living in a cave at all, Grince thought, though like all the accommodations in this place, the suite of chambers had been hollowed out of solid rock. But thick, gay, woven rugs covered the floor, and the walls were warmed by colorful hangings. Small lamps burned brightly in wall niches or were suspended from chains bolted into the uneven stone ceilings, and though there was no fireplace, a sturdy iron stove burned driftwood, a pile of which was stored in a basket nearby. The furnishings were simply and rustically constructed from a mixture of smooth planed wood and driftwood whose fluid, curving shapes added interest and character. There were wooden shelves, cupboards and chests for storage, and the chairs were padded with cushions stuffed fat with dried grass and fragrant herbs.
“This calls for a celebration.” Emmie took a bottle of wine and two cups from the cupboard, and laid out the pasties on the table.
It was the best meal of Grince’s life. As they ate, Emmie told him of her escape from Nexis, the night that Pendral’s men had attacked with such tragic and destructive results. “There was so much to do when I got here that I ended up just staying on, when the rest of the Nexians went home,” she told the thief. “There was a place for me here—the Nightrunners lacked a healer and Remana needed my help more and more. When she died last year, I took over completely. Then there was Yanis.” To his surprise, Grince saw her blushing.
“Well, he’s a good man—his heart’s in the right place and the Gods only know, he needed a wife to look after him.” Emmie shrugged. “What could I do? He pestered and pestered me so much that I finally said yes. But what about you, Grince? I was so sure you were dead. What happened to you that night? How did you manage to escape?”
Reluctantly at first, Grince began to tell her. He had never spoken to anyone of that dreadful night, but to his surprise, once he had started, the words seemed to flow from him with increasing ease. He wept when he told her of his mother’s death, and the horrors he had seen in the burning stockade. His tears began afresh when he told her of Warrior, and how the beloved white dog had perished—ironically, at the hands of Lord Pendral’s soldiers once more. Emmie held him like the child he had been when they first met and shared his grief, and when his tears were over, Grince felt transformed. It was as though he had been carrying a festering wound within him for half his life, and tonight, the poison had been drained.
The thief pulled away at last, and blew his nose on the handkerchief that Emmie had thoughtfully provided. He gave her an unsteady smile. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No, you needed that.” Emmie smiled warmly. “You’ve been saving up all that grief for too long a time, Grince—not only for your mother but for poor Warrior too.” She sighed. “I know how that feels. When I lost Storm, his mother, two years ago, I thought I’d never get over it. ... Some folks would say it was ridiculous, really—I had already lost a husband and two children—yet here I was, grieving so deeply over just a dog.”
“Ah, but she wasn’t just a dog,” Grince put in softly. “She was your friend.”
Emmie nodded. “That’s right—she was. And a better friend no one ever had. At least I was luckier than you, Grince. Storm died peacefully of a ripe old age, right here in this room—and I had Snowsilver, her daughter, to comfort me. You know, it was strange—she was the only one of Storm’s offspring that ever bred true to her mother, and she was one of Storm’s last litter. It was almost as though Storm had left me a gift, for when she had gone....” A sudden smile lit Emmie’s face. She thrust her chair back with a jarring scrape and leapt to her feet. “Grince, come with me. I have something to show you.”
Burning with curiosity, the thief followed Emmie as she pulled back the curtain at the far end of the room. Beyond was a short corridor with three doors leading off at intervals.
The single door on the right was slightly ajar, and Emmie pushed it open then stood back and gestured for him to precede her. “I think there’s someone in there who may want to meet you,” she said. Grince saw the twinkle in her eye, and wondered. His stomach felt hollow with a sudden, inexplicable surge of excitement as he went through the door.
The small, cozy chamber was some kind of study or workroom. A cluster of quills stood in a small pot on the desk, and the shelves were stacked with volumes and scrolls. A cabinet, two big chests, two hard chairs, and a low wooden couch completed the furnishings. Another stove, unlit, squatted in one corner, and the ceiling lamp was turned down low.
Every one of these details was blotted from Grince’s mind by the occupants of the couch. There, curled up on the cushions, was Emmie’s dog Snowsilver—and beside her sat a young dog who was the living image of Warrior.
Grince stood as if stricken, lost in memories of a young boy and a puppy who had been forced to make their way alone in a hard and dangerous world. The young dog looked at him and barked once on a high, clear note. It scrambled down from the couch and ran toward him, wagging an unruly tail, and as Grince squatted down it leapt up and put its paws on his shoulders, licking his ear until he laughed.
“Amazing. He likes you, and he doesn’t take to many folk.” Emmie’s voice came softly from behind the thief. “He’s five months old—the only one left of the last litter. I decided to keep him myself, because he looked so like Storm.—His name is Frost—and if you want him, Grince, he’s yours.”
It had been a long time since Aurian had last healed a wing. She’d been forced to examine the healthy one first, taking its structure as her example and trying to make its injured fellow match it as best she could. Finally she straightened from her cramped position, stretched her spine, and rubbed her eyes. “There—how does that feel?” she asked Linnet.
“Better, I think.” Carefully, the girl opened her wing, stretching the great feathered span out as far as the confines of her bedchamber would allow. “Why, yes.” Her face brightened in a smile. “I can move it again. It feels as good as new!”
“Well, not quite,” the Mage told her. “You’ll need those flight feathers back before you can get airborne again, and I can’t fix them, I’m afraid. You’ll have to wait till new ones grow.” Looking down at the winged girl, she shook her head.
“You took an awful chance, you know. You’re extremely lucky not to have been killed. What was so desperately important that you had to risk your life to come here?”
Linnet shrugged—always a rash exercise for one of the Skyfolk in a cramped space. A cup went spinning from the table, caught by a sweeping wingtip, and Aurian caught it just before it hit the floor. The winged girl took no notice.
“I had to come—it was our only chance,” the girl explained.
Aurian frowned. “But surely Queen Raven would have more sense than to send you
. ..”
“There is no Queen Raven....”
“What?”
Linnet flinched. “No, it’s all right. I mean, she’s all right—or she was when I left. It’s just that she isn’t Queen of Aerillia anymore.”
“And why is that?” The Mage’s voice was dangerously quiet.