Unlike the corporal, Nikolas’s brown hair was shot with streaks that were nearly pure white. Perhaps in spotting a fellow survivor, Lúcan hadn’t questioned this particular visitor as he might’ve any other.
“I thought you might be hungry,” Nikolas said, and the tray trembled slightly in his grip. “They told me I could bring you something.”
Such a small kindness in the middle of the night from two victims left in Wynn’s wake broke her defenses. She couldn’t stop the tears.
Nikolas’s constantly nervous eyes widened in alarm, and he looked up at the corporal.
“Can I go inside?” he asked.
Lúcan frowned, but he nodded. “I must leave the door open ... a little.”
Nikolas stepped in, taking the tray to the desk, and the corporal closed the door to a gap no wider than his hand. The pot of tea was steaming, and the plate held buttered bread, a bowl of soup, and a sliced apple. He’d even wrapped her utensils in a fresh cloth napkin.
“Thank you,” was all Wynn could get out. In spite of the corporal’s consideration, he was still a city guard standing within earshot outside her door.
Nikolas said nothing, though he glanced at the slightly open door and swallowed hard. She could tell he had something to say, but it never came.
“I’ll be back in a while to pick up the tray,” he finally got out.
Wynn studied his face. “All right ... thank you again.”
He turned and stepped out, closing the door, and Wynn dropped in the chair before her desk. Even those who offered her kindness couldn’t do much; they all had their duties and orders. Thirsty and hungry after a grueling, tense night, she poured some tea, nearly burned her mouth taking too large a swallow, and then picked up the napkin to unroll it for her spoon.
A small piece of paper fell out as the cloth unraveled. It slipped off the desk’s edge into her lap.
Wynn paused before picking it up and opening its one fold.
Let me know what I can do.
That was all that was written, but it had obviously come from Nikolas. However powerless he might be, at least Wynn had one true ally inside the guild.
Chapter 6
CHANE PACED IN HIS small attic room at Nattie’s inn as the consequences of his actions sank in, deeper and deeper. Shade lay on the bed, head on her paws, her eyes following him back and forth across the floor.
When he had agreed to leave Wynn, so she could stay within reach of the archives, neither he nor she knew the Shyldfälches would descend upon the guild. Nor had he any notion that Shade might abandon Wynn to protect the scroll. Worse still, Premin Hawes now possessed Chane’s precious muhkgean, anasgiah, and The Seven Leaves of Life.
Chane cursed himself for what he had done.
As he began pacing again, Shade let out a grumbling exhale.
The room was as shabby as he remembered, with its small, sagging bed and the slant of the ceiling with the building’s roof overhead. But no one would find him here except Wynn—if she were able. He suddenly remembered how Shade had stared at those metaologers in the courtyard, including Premin Hawes. Perhaps she knew more than he did.
“Did you catch any memories from those sages?”
Again, she looked at him, as if uncertain how to answer. Finally, she hopped off the bed and huffed three times.
“Not certain?” he returned. How could Shade not know if she had caught any memories from people directly in her line of sight?
Of all sagecraft orders, or anyone else, it made sense that metaologers would be highly disciplined, mentally or otherwise. Practitioners of any form or method of magic would not allow errant thoughts—especially unwanted memories—to break their focus. Perhaps Shade had seen or felt something she did not like or had not been able to grasp?
“Do you think Wynn may be in danger?”
Shade instantly huffed once for “yes.”
That was enough for Chane. He had been debating one possible course of action since they had arrived here.
Digging through one of his packs, he found a quill, ink, and paper. He penned a quick note, folded it up, and shoved it into his pocket. As he donned his cloak, pulling the hood forward as much as possible to hide his face, Shade looked expectantly at the door.
“You are too unique-looking,” he said, hoping she fully understood. “You would be noticed, even at night. I will be back soon.”
He headed for the door, fully expecting her to argue in her own way, as always. But when he gripped the door’s handle, she snarled and rushed him. He swung the pack off his shoulder to use as a shield and backed against the corner wall beside the door.
Shade did not come at him. Instead, she huffed angrily twice and growled as she clawed at the door.
Chane was not about to try to grab her and pull her away. She had bitten him more than once, and those bites had burned like nothing else, except Magiere’s falchion.
“Do you want to help Wynn?” he asked.
Shade stopped growling and eyed him, her jowls twitching.
“Then let me go alone. I might pass unnoticed ... but you cannot be spotted or you could give me away. I have an errand that might help Wynn.”
He waited for his words to sink in. Shade’s jowls curled back, baring teeth, but she reluctantly backed away.
Chane nodded to her, trying not to show relief, and slipped out and down the stairs to the inn’s back door. Once out in the night streets, he began jogging wherever the way was clear as he headed toward Calm Seatt’s great port.
Leesil worried about money as he led the way through the streets of Calm Seatt. They’d passed a few inns, but by their upscale exteriors, every one was far beyond affordable.
Years back, he’d lifted a heavily jeweled necklace from a vampire Magiere had beheaded. He sold it for less than it was worth, but its jewels had still garnered what some would call a small fortune. Certainly it was more than the hefty bounty they’d also been paid by the council of Bela back home. But in their travels across two continents, even a small fortune had its limits. The last year had eaten away nearly all of their funds.
He’d counted on the guild’s hospitality; that was certainly out of the question now. Usually, he was free enough with a coin—too free for Magiere’s penny-pinching, as she had once watched every groat or shil he spent. But there was a far cry between “cheap” and “short of funds.”
Yet even his worrying about it marked another way in which they’d traded places after what had occurred up in the Wastes. She had become the rash and impulsive one, while he was forced into greater caution and wariness. And now, their dwindling resources rarely occurred to Magiere, unless she actually saw him take out the coin pouch.
Leesil slowed in the street, forcing Chap to circle back.
“What?” Magiere asked, and he found her studying him. “I thought you wanted a room and something to eat.”
He started to bite his lower lip and then stopped.
What was wrong with him? Cunning people never let their worries show to anyone, even those they loved—especially those they loved. Wandering a foreign city was witless, as well, but he’d expected to be safely housed at the guild. It seemed he’d lost some of his edge in worrying about losing her ... to that other her, the one who had shown herself at the end of their journey into the northern Wastes.
Magiere’s hand closed on his arm. “Leesil?”
He took a deep breath to clear his head. “We need directions from someone who might know of a cheap inn ... and that someone is certainly not in this kind of neighborhood.”
But where else could they look? Maybe he’d have to ask someone here, but there were so few people out at night. He turned all ways before spotting a possible prospect.