“All right. If we have Hawes, that changes some things,” Wynn said.
“Who is this Hawes?” Brot’an asked.
“A premin of metaology, highly placed in my guild,” Wynn answered, looking at him, “with access to ... resources I can no longer get near. She can help us—me—with translating the rest of the scroll.”
Chane did not care for her familiarity with this an’Cróan. She obviously knew him from before this night.
Wynn suddenly winced and held up one hand. “Chap, stop! Too fast. I don’t know.... We’ll need to get her a message.”
Chap was fully focused on Wynn, and Shade snarled at him.
Chane stepped rapidly to Wynn, and Chap’s focus shifted instantly to him.
“What is happening?” Chane asked.
“Chap wants to know how we’ll contact Hawes,” Wynn answered, rubbing her temple. “He has ... many questions. Too many at once.”
Wynn had told Chane about this odd method of communication, how Chap’s mental voice was far more sophisticated and direct than Shade’s. Chane did not like hearing only one side of the conversation where Chap was concerned.
“He’s not wrong,” Wynn continued. “If we are to find the last two orbs, we must get the rest of the poem translated.”
“Last two?” Ore-Locks asked sharply. “You mean last three.”
Wynn winced again. “Chap, stop it!”
She put her palm on the floor to support herself. Shade ducked around Wynn, growling in Chap’s face, and of all unexpected things, Chap flinched.
Chane felt almost completely in the dark as to what was going on here—and he did not like that, either.
Wynn pushed Shade back and spoke directly to Chap. “They need to know!” She then looked up at Chane. “Magiere, Leesil, and Chap recovered a third orb in the northern wastes. Chap has hidden it ... along with the orb of Water.”
That made no sense at all, for Chane had seen the first orb in the ice-bound castle. How could a majay-hì hide two, each so large that even he or Ore-Locks would have difficulty carrying one? The dog could not have dragged two off on his own.
“That leaves two for us to find,” Wynn said. “We have to locate them as quickly as possible.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Chane was uncertain how to feel at this abrupt knowledge, but in truth, the news was not unwelcome. If a third orb had been recovered, then Magiere, Leesil, and Chap had proven themselves useful. He had imagined himself, Wynn, and Shade having to find the last three—with all three endeavors placing Wynn in growing danger. He could not care less what became of Magiere, Leesil, or Chap, but perhaps Wynn was correct. Their assistance might end this dangerous exploit more quickly, and keep Wynn a little farther out of harm’s way.
“Then we need to contact this Hawes,” Brot’an said. “I assume she wishes to keep her willingness to help a secret?”
“Yes,” Chane answered. “We cannot risk exposing her, or she can do nothing.”
“I may know a way,” Wynn said, though her brow creased. “Nikolas has a friend at the Upright Quill, and I believe that shop is still delivering work to the guild. If this friend can get a message to Nikolas, he can get it to Hawes.”
She stood up with an expression of firm purpose. “Chane, do you have some paper?”
“You are not considering going yourself?” he asked, incredulous.
“Why not?”
“Because half the city guard could be looking for you! Or me ... or Shade. She was the distraction, right in front of the guild, that let Ore-Locks and me get inside.”
Chane could feel an argument coming and braced himself.
“No one saw me,” Ore-Locks said quietly. “I will take the message.”
“What?” Wynn turned to him.
“No one but the premin saw me,” Ore-Locks continued. “My people are common enough here that few would give me notice. I am the only choice among us.” He looked at Brot’an. “I believe you would stand out, and up, far too much. No offense intended.”
“No offense at all,” the elf answered. “It is sensible.”
Chane studied Brot’an. Though he would never trust this stranger, the tall elf appeared to lean toward the side of reason. That counted for something.
“Then it is settled,” Chane said.
Wynn sighed. “Very well.”
Once again, Rodian waited in the luxurious sitting room at the royal castle, with its walnut-legged couches and dyed silks of shimmering seafoam green and cyan. Upon arrival earlier, two of the Weardas had escorted him here and then left. The double doors were closed, and he was alone.
Although worried—perhaps more than worried—he refused to leap to conclusions. Sykion couldn’t have sent word this quickly, so the summons couldn’t possibly involve this night’s events. Yet here he was.
The double doors opened.
Captain Tristan stood in the opening. “His highness, Prince Leäfrich Âreskynna.”
Rodian refrained from a whispered expletive. He would be forced to deal with the prince again, at least in part, depending on who else might appear. His discomfort grew as Prince Leäfrich strode in by himself, without his sister, Âthelthryth, a white-robed elf, or even Duchess Reine. Dressed in loose breeches and an untucked linen shirt, the prince halted before Rodian and then glanced back.
“Close the doors,” he ordered.
Tristan backed out and obeyed, leaving Rodian alone with Leäfrich.
“We were informed of trouble at the guild,” the prince said without preamble.
Rodian hesitated, not entirely certain what had been related. “If I may ask, by whom?”
“You may not. Explain yourself.”
The discomfort growing in Rodian’s chest turned to wariness. “There was an infiltration, possibly from several points of entrance. Four of my men were injured, but not critically. Journeyor Hygeorht escaped.”
“You mean she was taken? You allowed one of our sages to be abducted.”
Of all the ambushes Rodian had considered, this was not one of them.
“No, highness,” he replied. “She had been locked up, illegally, by the Premin Council, and she took part in her own escape.”
“She was stolen from her home, and you allowed it,” the prince retorted. “You will begin a search immediately. You will put every able Shyldfälche into the streets, and you will recover her.”
Therein was the slip—“recover,” not “rescue.”
“And if I locate the journeyor and she does not wish to go back?” Rodian asked.
“Your duty is to recover her.” Leäfrich came closer. “I do not see how I can make myself clearer.”
The skin over his narrow features was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
“Your fitness of duty is now in question,” the prince continued, “and you are being given one chance to answer for your negligence.”
Rodian stiffened, but his reaction came from more than just the threat. No one of the royal family had ever spoken to him like this. Perhaps his secret ambitions had crept too high at times, but he was still the commander of Shyldfälches.
“Pardon, highness,” he said slowly. “But I would like to know how Princess Âthelthryth or your father prefer this matter to be handled. I am accustomed to taking orders from them, and as this issue involves the guild, either the king or the heir should be informed.”
“What makes you assume they are not?” Leäfrich asked quietly. “My father is unwell, and my sister is at his side. They are kept fully informed, and at present I carry out their wishes. I have the power to rescind appointments at the highest levels until they say otherwise.”
Leäfrich paused, no doubt to let his last statement sink in. “You allowed one of our sages to be stolen from her bed. If she is not safely recovered within four days, I will put Lieutenant Branwell in charge of the search.”