The room felt small and hot, though the fire had gone out. Rhysís, Én’nish, and Eywodan stood in uncomfortable silence.
“Where is Tavithê?” Fréthfâre continued, resting her head against the chair’s tall back and looking down her nose.
“Still on watch at the port,” Dänvârfij confirmed.
“So ... we are six now and have not a thing to show for it.”
Dänvârfij nodded, though only five were of active use. In the rest, Fréthfâre was not wrong. This mission had been a slowly escalating set of failures since the beginning, as Brot’ân’duivé shadowed them across the world, picking them off one by one. While Fréthfâre had made most decisions along the way, this night’s failure—and loss—rested on Dänvârfij alone.
Even with their numbers so diminished, the success of their purpose was all that mattered. She braced herself, not wishing to allow Fréthfâre any more of this self-righteous indulgence.
“We need to disperse and relocate our quarry,” Dänvârfij said, ignoring Fréthfâre’s last accusation. “And we cannot discount the guild. We cannot confirm whether they freed the sage.”
Her focused tone had the desired effect, drawing attention from Rhysís and Eywodan and even Én’nish. All appeared to welcome the prospect of new orders. None of them wished to stand here with Owain’s body lying only a few steps away and yet so far from their people’s ancestors. They would have no more idea how to address that than she did. But at least Owain would not be found by humans, and his weapons and belongings were safe among his own caste.
“Rhysís and I will watch the guild,” Dänvârfij continued. “For now, Tavithê remains on the port watch. Én’nish and Eywodan will begin covering areas with public lodging. Sweep the streets, as well, but keep hidden as much as possible. We will locate our quarry by process of elimination.”
“Should we not report?” Fréthfâre asked. “Most Aged Father will want to know our status. I’m sure I could manage to make my way out of the city to the nearest free trees.”
Dänvârfij glanced down at the crippled ex-Covârleasa. This was another problem they rarely spoke about.
The Shapers among their people had not produced any new word-wood for the Anmaglâhk, specifically made from Most Aged Father’s own tree home, so that his caste could communicate with him. Not one new word-wood had been finished since the death of the healer named Gleannéohkân’thva, leaving only one member of Sgäilsheilleache’s family: Leanâlhâm.
Word-wood was in short supply, so their group possessed only two. Dänvârfij had one, and Fréthfâre the other.
“It would be best if you remained here,” Dänvârfij said. “I will report to Most Aged Father at the first opportunity.”
Fréthfâre studied her for a moment. “Be sure you do.”
Chane paced his room at Nattie’s inn, uncertain what to do with himself. Shade lay near the door, and Ore-Locks stood restlessly nearby, likely wondering if he was still needed or if he should return to Dhredze Seatt.
Chane did not know the answer.
Ore-Locks shifted his weight for the fourth time, his expression thoughtful. “Where do you think those Lhoin’na might have taken her?”
“They are not Lhoin’na,” Chane answered. “They are an’Cróan, a separate elven people from—”
Shade leaped to her feet, whining and wriggling as she rushed the door. Almost instantly, Chane heard a soft knock outside.
“Chane, it’s me.”
Even via a whisper through the door, he knew Wynn’s voice. Nearly sick with relief that she’d managed to come somehow, Chane rushed the door as Shade scooted out of the way. When he jerked the door open, he did not have long to look upon Wynn. His gaze rose above her head, and he tensed.
Behind her stood someone incredibly tall and too broad-shouldered for his frame. Chane recognized that one’s clothing, for it was the same elf who had been with Leesil inside the guild’s keep. Now there was no face wrap inside the cloak’s deep hood. Lighter-colored scars in dark skin skipped over the elder an’Cróan’s left eye.
A canine head thrust forward around Wynn’s hip to snarl at Chane.
“Enough of that,” Wynn said, not even looking down at Chap.
Before Chane could move or speak, Shade tried pushing past him to get to Wynn. She stopped short at the sight of the tall, silver-gray dog in the hallway. Chane knew exactly how Shade felt.
How could Wynn expose them like this? And how could she bring Chap anywhere near him?
Shade began to rumble.
“No family squabbles, either!” Wynn ordered.
Shade went quiet, but Chane focused again on the tall stranger ... who was watching him in turn. The man’s face was still and emotionless, with eyes that never blinked.
“This is Brot’an,” Wynn said. “I promise it’s all right.”
Chane backed slowly out of the way.
Wynn hurried inside, pulling Shade with her. She dropped to the floor at the room’s center and gathered the dog in her arms.
“I missed you so much,” she said, and then looked up at Chane. “And you.”
At the moment, it humiliated Chane how much she affected him with two simple words. He stepped aside against the room’s wall, allowing the tall elf and Chap inside his room.
Ore-Locks stood watching all of this, though he had retrieved his iron staff and rested it on the floor in his hand.
“Brot’an ... Ore-Locks,” Wynn said in gesturing to each.
“Yes, we almost met a short while ago,” Ore-Locks replied, and the tall elf nodded politely.
“Wynn, what are they doing here?” Chane asked.
Chap had not settled and still rumbled slightly with each breath. The fur on the back of his neck bristled, but he kept looking between Chane and Shade. Shade shifted around Wynn’s other side, placing Wynn between herself and Chap.
That action left Chane wondering why. Was not Chap her sire?
“We need them,” Wynn answered.
Chane found her watching him purposefully.
“And they need us,” she continued, stroking Shade’s back one last time. “Lines are being drawn and may result in some unexpected alliances. You have the scroll?”
The question stunned him. “Wynn?”
“They know about the scroll,” she told him, “and I meant what I said. If we’re to locate the final orbs, we have to accept any allies with skills who can help. Both Chap and Brot’an have ... skills that are more than useful.”
Chane had already made up his mind to put his faith in her, but he had never imagined this. With Chap here, why had not Leesil and Magiere come at him, or had Wynn managed to keep his location secret from them until now? He glanced once at Chap, who bared his teeth slightly.
If Wynn wanted him to work with Chap and this elf, what could he say?
“We may have one more,” Chane said.
“One more what?”
“Ally ... at the guild ... perhaps.”
Wynn blinked, and Chane watched a flicker of hope instantly fade to worry upon her face.
“You mean Nikolas?”
“No. Premin Hawes.”
Wynn looked at him as if he were out of his mind, for Hawes was part of the council that had caused all of this trouble for her.
Ore-Locks added, “She told us if you needed help, we could send her word. When she spoke, I believed her.”
“As did I,” Chane added.
Wynn sat upright, as if panicked. But then, trembling, she sank back to kneel beside Shade. Chane could see her hesitation, followed by hope.