Dart waited until they all stood. “What about Lorr?”
Kytt spoke stolidly. “A wyld tracker knows how to hide a trail.”
Dart wished she had as much confidence, but she had no other choice. Together, they fled through the dusty chamber and found a large mound blocking the door.
Barrin lifted his head from his paws. He lay sprawled across the opening. He shoved up to his haunches, then to his legs. Kytt went to get the bullhound moving out into the hall.
Dart smelled blackleaf smoke and discovered its source. The two loam-giants flanked the threshold on either side, leaning against the wall. They shared a single pipe, blackened from years of use. Smoke palled the air.
“Master Brant, there you are! Thought maybe I’d have to cram Dral here through that tiny mouse hole of yours.”
Dralmarfillneer straightened and puffed out a perfect ring of smoke. “Would have to be me. That wide arse of yours barely fits through most barndoors.”
Brant hefted up his bundled cloak. “I have the whelpings.”
Dralmarfillneer’s eyes widenened. “Ock! Masterful, Master Brant!”
Malthumalbaen clapped the young man on the shoulder, almost dropping him to his knees.
“Enough,” Brant said harshly. “Take the cubbies up to my room. Don’t let any of the house staff tell you otherwise.”
The giant brothers responded to Brant’s tone, faces growing hard with worry, nodding.
“It will be done,” Malthumalbaen said.
Brant passed them the pair of whelpings. Both giants got bit, but neither complained. Freed of the wolves, Brant turned to Dart. “I’ll go with you to see the castellan.”
Dart was relieved. It was a long climb. She would appreciate someone at her side, but she needed to be discreet.
Kytt stood with Barrin, ready to follow, but Dart knew that the bullhound would draw too many eyes.
“Best you stay,” Dart told the tracker. “Watch for Lorr?”
Kytt frowned.
“Barrin knows his master,” she pressed. “Search deeper through the Masterlevels for him. None of the masters will bother you-not with Barrin at your side. Once Lorr shows his face, fetch him up to the castellan’s.”
Kytt nodded his head.
With matters settled, Dart led the giants and Brant toward the stairs. She had to take the central staircase. It was the only one that connected the masters’ subterranean domain to the knights’ Citadel. Once above, she could slip into less-well-traveled passages and stairs.
As they climbed, Dart kept to the shadows of the giants, allowing the large men to draw attention. No one was looking for a company that included giants. Brant took the lead, too, assuming a commanding posture. Dart kept her shape small behind them all, playing servitor, just a page guiding one of Tashijan’s new guests.
And for once, Dart was happy to find the crowd on the stairs. Their group was jostled and pummeled. But the giants forged through them, moving their group steadily out of the Masterlevels and into Tashijan’s upper floors.
Dart allowed herself to breathe easier once they had cleared the logjam at the crossroads between the Masterlevels and the Citadel. They continued onward, climbing higher. Another floor up and Dart knew a quieter path. Though it was more circuitous, there would be fewer eyes.
She increased their pace.
Pupp bounded at her side, plowing through cloaks and legs.
Then disaster-
“Dart!” A shout of glee rose ahead.
She glanced up, recognizing the voice. A tallish girl resplendent in silver loose blouse, half coat, and billowing dress rushed down the steps. A flag of ebony hair flounced as she flew down the four steps and drew Dart into a firm hug.
Dart returned the affection, if not without a sinking of her stomach. “Laurelle! What are you doing here?”
Laurelle was the regent’s Hand of tears. The last Dart had heard, Laurelle was unable to attend the knighting ceremony, though her excuses now in hindsight seemed trivial. It had been a ruse.
“Isn’t it a wonderful surprise?” Laurelle said. “I wanted it to be a delight! Is it not?”
Dart might have appreciated the sudden appearance of her friend from school if not for the poor moment of its revelation. Others noted Laurelle’s outburst. And though only a year older, Laurelle had filled out more fully into a woman. Her figure’s always generous curves had deepened. Several of the young knights must have been already trailing her heels, like the boys had at school.
Those same eyes discovered Dart.
She heard the murmurs-at first uncertain, then more solid.
“It’s the castellan’s page!”
“It’s her!”
A knight in full cloak stood at the next landing, arm pointed at her. “Hold her! By order of the warden!”
Behind her, arms reached and grabbed: elbow, shoulders, back of her neck. Their grips were iron hard.
She was torn from Laurelle’s shocked embrace.
“Dart…?”
Plainly her friend had yet to hear the talk of daemons-or maybe she had but had not associated it with Dart. Either way, Laurelle’s ire was piqued.
“Unhand her!” she said with an imperious authority.
The grips on Dart loosened.
Then the knight from the landing drew up to them. “She is the one we seek!” he said, sweeping out his cloak. He wore the Fiery Cross stitched at his shoulder. “Warden Fields has ordered her apprehension.”
Laurelle attempted to protest, but she was ignored.
Pupp ran about the stairs in a molten panic.
Dart remained calm, though her knees threatened to weaken. She caught Brant’s eye. He stood to the side with the giants. None seemed to notice him or be aware of his complicity. But judging by the dark set to his lips, he was weighing coming to her aid, calling upon the strength of his twin companions. That must not happen.
“Castellan Vail,” she mouthed to him. Word had to reach the hermitage. Dart also gave a half nod in Laurelle’s direction.
Brant understood and stepped forward to touch her friend’s arm, drawing her attention. Laurelle opened her mouth, then suddenly recognized the young man from school. He whispered into her momentary confusion.
“Leave her to the knights. Come with me. We can help your friend better above.”
Laurelle glanced to Dart, ready to protest.
Dart nodded. Go with him.
Laurelle took a shuddering breath and composed herself by shifting a stray lock of ebony hair from her cheek. It was a familiar resiliency that Dart envied. Her friend stared up at the knight in charge, meeting his gaze without flinching.
“I am the regent’s Hand of tears. Where are you taking her?”
The knight seemed abashed to be so confronted, but Laurelle held her step, blocking him. He would have to knock her aside to proceed. But even a member of the Fiery Cross was reluctant to assault someone who shared the High Wing of Chrismferry with the new regent.
“Under the warden’s sigil, she is to be taken to be soothed.”
“Where?” Laurelle asked again.
“To the adjudicator’s main chambers. Soothmancers are already testing the word of her accusers.”
Dart scowled. Squire Pyllor and his ilk.
“Mistress,” the knight continued, “even you cannot countermand the warden’s orders.” He seemed to draw strength from that, blustering his cloak more broadly.
Laurelle bowed her head. It was toward Dart, but the knight mistook it as resigned acquiescence. Especially since Laurelle stepped aside.
Dart was dragged up to the landing and off the stairs. The last she saw of her two friends, they were already heading up, flanked by the giants.
Laurelle caught her eye, her expression ripe with guilt.
It seemed the surprise was on the both of them.
Brant paused at the landing of the level where the retinue from Oldenbrook was housed. “Take the whelpings to my room,” he ordered the twin giants. “Keep them protected.”