Pawl a'Seatt had come to escort his staff home from working all day in the guild. But had they already left, or were they still inside? Either way, what Wynn had in mind was a gamble. She hoped none of the guards outside had ever seen her before.
Wynn pocketed the crystal, smothering its light, and crouched before Shade.
She didn't know how to explain with memories that Shade needed to keep quiet. She reached out carefully for Shade's noseagain hoping she didn't get bittenand clamped her hand over the dog's muzzle. She quickly covered her own mouth in like fashion.
Shade let out a brief grumble and fell silent. Wynn hoped that meant the dog understood.
She headed down the gatehouse tunnel with Shade padding behind her. Before she was close enough to touch the closed portcullis, someone shifted beyond it.
In the light of the outer torches, a bearded face leaned close between the stout bars. He wore the red tabard of Rodian's men and held the shaft of a polearm in one hand.
"What's this?" the man demanded. "It's after dark... orders are that no one goes out."
"Do I look like a sage?" Wynn answered, trying to sound indignant. "I'm with Master a'Seatt, from the Upright Quill."
The man lifted his head, looking away, and Wynn lost sight of his face.
"He already left," another voice outside answered.
The first guard peered in again. "Where were you?"
"Domin High-Tower had a fit about some mislaid notes," Wynn answered, and sighed as deeply as she could. "I got stuck finding them for him."
The bearded guard scowled, but he appeared more annoyed than suspicious.
"Open the damn gate!" Wynn snapped.
His eyes widened. "Girl, you'd better"
"Come on!" Wynn cut in. "I'm tired, I haven't had supper, and I've been dealing with stuffy, petty little scholars all day. Or do you want to tell my employerand your captainwhy I was stuck in here all night?"
The guard let out a long hissing breath and vanished from the space in the portcullis.
Wynn's stomach clenched. She was stuck. They were just going to ignore her.
"Take it up!" someone shouted.
The gatehouse tunnel filled with the racket of chains and gears as the portcullis began to rise. Wynn tried to remain still and not duck under and bolt out. She stepped onward only when the way was fully open.
"What is that?" one guard barked.
She was only three steps down the outer path to the bailey gate when she had to stop and look back. Both guards had their long halberds lowered, the wide head blades aimed at Shade.
"A wolf?" one guard uttered.
The only thing Wynn could think of was another insult.
"Oh, good, you've got eyes... very useful, since you're standing watch."
"Watch your little tongue!" the second guard warned. "What's a wolf doing inside the guild?"
"Domin Parisean said it was supposed to walk with me," Wynn countered, "since I missed my escort."
"A wolf? What do you take me for?"
"What do you expect?" Wynn snarled back. "All the nonsense in there, you wouldn't believe it... I don't! But you think I'm gonna argue?"
With that she turned away, walking steadily down the path as Shade trotted out ahead. But Wynn didn't feel steady.
She was shaking, waiting to be grabbed from behind. She was still shaking when she reached the gate and stepped out onto the Old Bailey Road.
And no one followed.
Wynn ran a hand over Shade's silky ears as they set out for the Graylands Empire. How she would get both of them back inside the guild was something she didn't care to think about just yet.
Cringing in bed, Chane cursed his weakness, and another wave of anxiety choked him.
Pain had beaten him down, and he could not banish it. He had finally succumbed and sent a message to Wynn.
Slipping it along with two silver pennies under the innkeeper's door, he had then rushed back to his room before he was seen. Not long after, the reality of what he had done caught up to him. And fear became companion to the pain.
How could he have drawn Wynn out alone into the night? Or would she just send a reply? No, she would come.
"You coward!" he hissed at himself.
If he sent another message telling her not to come, it might not reach her in time. And he needed to know if she had recovered from whatever had made her collapse. There were also questions about the Suman who had appeared from nowhere to carry her off.
Chane sat up, groaned, and struck the sulfur stick on the stool to light his one candle.
He had fed on a blacksmith working late the night before, but that one fresh life had not been enough to fully heal him. The burns on his hands were still severe, though he had carefully peeled away flecks of charred skin. The ones on his face felt worse. If not for the cloak's hood shielding his hair, he would have lost some of that as well.
His shirtsleeves and one side of his cloak had caught fire from his own flesh. Tearing charred cloth from his forearms had been excruciating. He had an extra shirt, though he was not wearing it. The touch of the cloth on his wounds was too much. But he possessed no other cloak. Without one he could not hunt effectively, as the sight of him would shock his prey into flight and cries before he could close for a kill.
Chane had never been in such a state, never needed help like thisand he had no one to trust except Wynn.
A soft knock sounded at his door.
Chane could not separate shame, relief, and fear.
"Wynn?" he whispered.
"Yes. The innkeeper sent me up."
Shame and fear grewone for calling her here and the other at the thought of her looking upon him. But he was no longer alone in his suffering.
He lunged for the door and whimpered as he gripped the handle with his burned hand. When he cracked the door, he saw the charcoal-colored majay-h.
Wynn pushed in past him, and the dog followed. Chane quickly shut the door, retreating to the wall beyond it and lowering his head. The one candle barely lit the room from the other end near the bed. It was enough for Chane to see, with his sight opened wide, but he cowered back as far as he could from its light.
Wynn whipped off one cloak and tossed it on the bed, along with a staff, its upper end covered in a leather sheath. She glanced at him, about to untie a second cloak beneath the first, but her fingers stopped with the strings pulled out straight.
A shudder ran through her when she peered at him.
"Oh," she whispered. "I... ah, no!"
He must look worse than he realized.
"It will pass," he rasped, and then cringed. He had become accustomed to the sound of his maimed voice, but hearing it when he spoke to her made him hate it more.
"I should not have asked you to come," he whispered.
The majay-h began sniffing sharply, watching him. Its jowls curled.
"Stop it," Wynn said, sweeping a hand before the dog's nose.
When she looked back to Chane, her mouth opened. A frown passed briefly over her face, and her lips closed, possibly in some abandoned question she decided not to ask.
She pointed to the bed. "Sit down."
Chane stepped closer, and the dog did growl. Wynn flinched at a clearer sight of him, and a flicker of fright rose as her gaze shifted rapidly between him and the dog. He settled on the bed's edge, loathing himself for the relief her presence brought him.
Wynn gasped softly. "Your back! Did that happen last night?"
It took an instant before he understood. She had never seen him without a shirt, and his back was covered in white scars.