Kathryn pushed toward the crowd.
Where was Tylar?
Worry had her shoving rudely, almost knocking over a woman rushing past with an empty bucket.
She searched the faces ahead, recognizing guards in the golds and umbers of Chrismferry, alongside several Hands of Chrismferry.
Finally, she reached an eddy in the chaos, an open space between the dockworkers and the gathering passengers who had disembarked. She stepped closer, ready with a thousand questions. But first she had to find Tylar.
From the skies, snow drifted down out of the darkening clouds. Winds buffeted the heavy flakes into thick swirls. The snowfall mixed with the smoke and began to settle over the ruin. It would take several days to clear the wreckage. Not the most auspicious arrival for the new regent.
One flake landed on Kathryn’s cheek.
The cold stung like the bite of a mud-wasp, but she wiped the flake away, too focused on her search to mind the cold. Still, she tugged up her masklin against the icy snowfall. After cinching the facecloth in place, she held out a hand for a moment. Flakes settled to her palm and melted.
She shook her head and stepped again toward the crowd around Argent. She could now hear his voice.
“Everyone head below! We’ll escort you to your rooms!”
The churn of the crowd shifted in her direction. She still had not spotted Tylar. Then motion near the flippercraft drew her eye. She saw Tylar stepping down the rear ramp. He was not alone. A young woman leaned close to him. The ship’s captain flanked his other side. Tylar was speaking to the man with some urgency.
The captain nodded and set off toward the flaming mekanicals.
Tylar stepped to the stones of Tashijan, the first time in a year. His eyes swept the crowd, as if counting heads.
Thank the gods, he appeared to be uninjured.
Tylar’s eyes narrowed when they settled upon Argent.
Kathryn headed toward him. Best to keep Tylar and Argent apart as much as possible, especially when Tylar’s blood was surely overheated already. The storm had ruined the welcome already. No need to make matters worse.
Kathryn recognized the color in Tylar’s cheeks and the narrow set to his lips. Now would not be a good time for anyone to challenge him. Best to get him to his room. Then the two could talk about what had happened here…and other matters.
Tylar turned, as if sensing her approach.
For the first time, Kathryn noted his hand clasped with the woman’s. It was Delia. Tylar’s Hand of blood. Also Argent’s estranged daughter.
Tylar leaned over to whisper something in his companion’s ear. Most likely to reassure the young woman. Kathryn recalled Tylar doing the same with her in the past, his warm breath on her neck, the way his voice could cut through to her heart and calm its beat.
She took a deep breath through her masklin and lifted an arm to catch his eye.
Delia shifted to face Tylar more fully.
For a moment, too quick for any but Kathryn to note, her lips brushed against his. Tylar’s palm slid along her arm. Then the two slipped back and faced the disembarked crowd of fellow passengers.
Kathryn lowered her half-raised arm. Unbidden, shadows drew around her more fully. She took a step away, withdrawing into them. Her heart pounded, and as the sun set into the growing storm, it suddenly went darker-and colder.
The storm would be a fierce one.
Off to the side, a cheer arose from those who fought the fires. The flames had finally been vanquished. All was secure again.
Kathryn retreated, lost in smoke and shadows.
Tylar turned in her direction-but she was already gone.
A SWORD OF STEEL
The blare of a trumpet, muffled and faint, reached Dart’s hiding place. Something had stirred the tower. She heard distant shouts, too.
But she dared not move.
Not yet.
She hid in an alcove down the hall from the central stairs and chewed one of her knuckles. She shared her hiding space with a gray marble statue. It depicted some famous knight, one who bore a raven on his shoulder, though its beak had been broken off some time in the distant past.
She shouldn’t be here. She knew better, but she could not help herself. She was supposed to be down in the library, learning the history of Tashijan, with her fellow pages. But she had begged off, claiming some urgent business with the castellan. With a disinterested wave, the owl-eyed archivist had dismissed her-though her subterfuge earned a rash of sneers from her peers. All would have liked an excuse to escape the tedious study of dates and endless lists of battles. Especially with all the excitement of late. For the past day, the entire Citadel had practically thrummed like a plucked bowstring. It was hard for any of them to sit still.
But worst of all for Dart.
She knew when the retinue from Oldenbrook was due. She had learned which rooms they were to occupy and had gone and found a vantage from which to spy on the outer hall. She had waited through two bells, but she was eventually rewarded by their arrival, led by a tall woman in a snowy fur who seemed as fresh as if she had just returned from a garden stroll. Dart recognized her as the mistress of tears. At her shoulder strode a man, a guardsman from the look of him, resplendent in finery that matched the mistress’s. His eyes remained on the fur-cloaked Hand, while she seemed oblivious to him, deep in conversation with Castellan Vail, talking animatedly.
Dart had pushed deeper into her alcove, fearing being spotted by the castellan. What excuse could she offer for hiding here? Pupp had no such worry. He had been curled at her feet, but the commotion of the arriving party revived him. He trotted out into the hallway.
Though none could see him, she hissed under her breath and waved him back to the alcove. He reluctantly obeyed. Still, his stubbed tail wagged with excitement.
Dart understood. Despite the risk, she could not help peeking out. Another two Hands followed the one in the snowy-furred cloak. A man and a woman. One thin, one wide. Then Dart’s attention shifted to a pair of massive guards-loam-giants from the size of them-who shouldered out of the stairwell. She gaped at them. They carried a crate slung between them.
As they stepped aside, a more familiar figure appeared behind them.
The bronze boy.
Dart’s heart trembled somewhere between relief and terror.
So he had come.
He was a year ahead of her at school, so she had never known him well, but after encountering him in Oldenbrook, she had sought to learn more. Including his name. Brant. She tested the name now, mouthing it. It somehow fit him.
Her former schoolmate stopped with the giants near the stairs, shrugged aside a heavy winter cloak, and pointed an arm. “The houndskeep lies past the bailey. Take them down, get them settled, but keep them under watch. None are to see them until the morning.”
The giants nodded and headed away.
Brant watched them for a breath. He looked somehow thinner, paler than when last she’d seen him-though as he turned back to the hall, a fire burnt in his manner. He tromped after his party. His eyes narrowed upon the mistress of tears and her tall escort. Plainly there was some trouble here.
Dart kept one eye peeked as Castellan Vail assigned rooms. The boy vanished into his own with barely a word to any of the others.
She maintained her post until the hall was empty. Even the escorts had vanished with their captain, gone to break bread. And test the Citadel’s ale, she imagined.
She dared tarry no longer. The regent’s flippercraft would be mooring soon. Still, as Dart stepped out, she had to bite back a desire to knock on Brant’s door. If she could swear him to her secret…then she’d have nothing to fear. Maybe they could even share a-