Upon arriving at the barracks, he'd gone to his room and looked in a mirror. A few thin strands of light gray ran through his hair, and more laced his trim beard. Remembering what had happened to Nikolas, Rodian wondered how he was still even conscious and on his feet. Perhaps the brief touch he'd received was less than what the young sage had suffered.
And now he sat poised with quill in hand, trying to find words to explain it all to the royal family, via the minister of city affairs. The threat to the guild was over. The murderer had been destroyed. Yet what could he possibly say of the details?
What would the minister think upon reading of a black spirit that killed by touch as it sought out texts supposedly written by other undead? And all of it concerned a war that most believed never happened. Indeed, what would the duchess or Princess thelthryth have to say if he wrote such words? They trusted him to maintain order, peace... and sanity.
Rodian choked on a dry throat and sipped some water.
Garrogh was dead, and young Lcan was unconscious in the infirmary with a fractured leg, looking little better than young Nikolas. They deserved to have the truth told, even if it would never be believed.
"Come," il'Snke whispered, and on their way out he locked the door.
After Shade finished her morning business in the bailey's northern grove, they headed straight to the keep's main doors. The council chamber was on the third floor, and Wynn led the way in silence. Whatever might happen this morning, she had already grown certain of her path for the future.
She was tired of submission, obediently waiting until others allowed her answers.
They reached the double doors of the council's chamber, but before Wynn could knock, il'Snke rapped lightly on the wood with one knuckle.
"You may enter," Premin Sykion called from inside.
Wynn shoved the doors open, stepping in first. This stone chamber had once been the master bedroom of the king and queen when the ancestors of the royals had resided in the first castle. In place of any large bed, chests, or wardrobes, only a long, stout table sat before the room's far end. It was surrounded on the far side and two ends by plain high-backed chairs, all of which were filled with the five members of the Premin Council.
Wynn was barely halfway into the room when her determination faltered.
Premin Adlam, in the sienna robe of naturology, sat at the table's left end. He was turned a bit away, speaking in a low voice to portly Premin Renld of sentiology, robed in cerulean, who sat on High Premin Sykion's left. And Sykion, head of the council, seated at the table's center, was studying a document.
On her right, Premin Jacque of conamology had his elbows on the table. With both hands laced together, his forehead rested against them, hiding his face. The sleeves of his teal robe had slipped down, exposing muscular forearms.
Last, at the table's right end, sat Premin Hawes of metaology. She glanced sidelong at the visitors, and the cowl of midnight blue revealed hazel eyes almost the yesat color of the wall's stones. Her stern glaze slipped coldly from Wynn to il'Snke as the domin stepped forward in his like-colored robe. Then she glanced down at Shade, but her expression didn't change.
And Wynn was startled at the sight of one last person in the room.
Domin High-Tower stood near a window behind the council.
He wasn't looking outside or at the council or even at her. His head hung forward, beard flattened against his broad chest. He seemed almost cowed, or something well beyond weary.
Had he also been called before the council?
As much as il'Snke and High-Tower didn't care for each other, their paranoia over involving outsiders had led to several ill-conceived ploys. Miriam and Dgmund had lost their lives, and Nikolas was a mental invalid.
Wynn swallowed hard.
The council could do no worse to her than what she'd already suffered since her return home.
Premin Jacque raised his head. His blockish features filled with sadness as Premin Sykion began.
"We recognize your good intentions in what happened last night, but soundness of judgment has been... lacking in conduct. Our actions should not be driven by fear, or our security is sacrificed in such ill-conceived attempts to protect it."
High-Tower turned fully away toward the window.
"However," Sykion added, "as the cause of our great losses has finally been put to rest, we can move forward."
High Premin Sykion settled back. She carefully folded her hands in her lap, out of sight.
"Domin il'Snke, you have been invaluable in our efforts. Our sibling guild branch in the Suman Empire should take pride in you. Having fulfilled our need, your stay should not be further drawn out. You are free to return home to family and friends."
Wynn squeezed her eyes closed. She heard not a sound from il'Snke at those delicately phrased words. Her one confidant within these walls was politely being told to get out. Had they done the same to High-Tower? No, he wouldn't have remained if that had happened.
"Journeyor Hygeorht..."
Wynn's eyes snapped open, but Premin Sykion faltered with a sad frown. Wynn's resolve waned again in the dead silence.
"Considering your exploits in the Farlands," the premin finally continued, "you have accomplished much more than most journeyors in such a short time. But there is still concern over your well-being."
Wynn's anger returned. After all that had happened, and here in private where no one else could see or hear, she was still treated as mentally unfit. The lie was perpetuated, regardless that they knew the truth of what she'd told them all along.
"We wish you to take Domin Trpod ke theious as your new master," Sykion said.
Wynn's mind went blank. She wasn't being cast out?
"As he is a close friend of your former master, Domin Tilswith," Sykion continued, "Trpodious's tutelage would further shorten your steps to master's status in the guild. Your experience in far cultures, with new languages and knowledge, would be a great"
"No!" Wynn cut in loudly.
Premin Sykion's eyes fixed upon her as High-Tower spun about. The worry on his face confirmed Wynn's suspicion.
"What are you doing?" il'Snke whispered. "Do not give them a reason to be rid of you!"
He didn't see what this was really about, but Wynn did.
They offered her a new journeyor's assignment, to continue her training. To sweeten it further, they dangled a carrot before her, hinting that she might achieve master at a younger age than any before her. But there was a price.
Stuck in the archives, cataloguing and referencing with old Trpodious, she would be well out of sight, with no need to ever leave the guild grounds. They could keep her under watchful eyes, controlling everything she did... everything she had access to.
"I'm interested only in the texts," Wynn said. "Where are they?"
Premin Jacque exhaled heavily, leaning his head on his hands once again.
Premin Hawes's hazel eyes narrowed as if in warning. "This will never work," she snapped.
"The debate is over," Adlam responded. "Leave it alone!"
Hawes leaned on the table, glaring along its length at Adlam. Sykion raised a hand before either spit another barb, but her gaze had never left Wynn.
"The texts are not your concern," Sykion answered. "Captain Rodian has assured usagainthat no charges will be brought against you for your interference. But if seeking suit to regain the texts is still your intention, it will do you no good, considering"
"That the texts are not even here?" Wynn finished.
Sadness washed from High-Tower's face. His dark pellet eyes fixed on her. He was always so stern and self-possessed, but Wynn could swear she saw fright in his stony expression.
"Your lack of good judgment is reason enough," Sykion said.
That wasn't an answer to her question. And along with High-Tower's reaction, it confirmed Wynn's belief: What she wanted wasn't even being kept inside the guild.