Wynn turned toward the keep's main doors, rather than heading on to il'Sänke's quarters. She had one more stop to make.
When she reached the hospice, Nikolas was reclined against the bed's headboard. He gazed up, perhaps at the ceiling or at nothing at all. At the sight of his lost eyes, Wynn almost wished she'd just slipped away instead. But she couldn't be so cruel, and she had something important to tell him.
Shade trotted in on her heels, and thankfully, Domi «haningn Bitworth wasn't present.
"Your color is better," she said.
Nikolas rolled his head toward her, only then realizing someone was there, and he half smiled.
"Do I still have gray streaks in my hair?"
She pulled over a stool and sat beside him. "You may be stuck with those, but they make you look distinguished."
Then he noticed her clothing and the pack, and any hint of happiness drained from his fragile features.
"You're leaving?"
"Yes, I have an assignment," she lied. "I just came to say good-bye… and that I'm glad to have your friendship."
He rolled his head back and focused on the ceiling again. What else could she say? This poor young man had more demons in his past than the memory of the black-robed wraith. His few friends here had either died or left him.
"Nikolas, listen to me," she said. "Look at me. If anything like this ever happens again…"
She grabbed his hand.
"If something… unnatural ever plagues you or the guild, don't waste time going to Sykion or High-Tower or even Captain Rodian. They cannot help."
At this Nikolas's brown eyes filled with confusion.
"Go to Master a'Seatt," she insisted, "at the Upright Quill. Tell him everything. He will know what to do."
Nikolas blinked and then nodded once as he squeezed her hand.
"I have to get going," she said, and stood up, shouldering her pack.
"But you'll come back?" he asked quickly.
Wynn glanced back from the doorway. "When I can."
She hoped that wasn't a lie as she headed outside into the courtyard with Shade.
Wynn blindly made her way through the northwest door, down the hallway through the storage house, and into the workshop building. She had barely rounded the hallway's end and climbed the stairs, pulling out the key to the quarters, when she spotted il'Sänke in the upper passage.
"Where have you been?" he shouted.
The domin's dark-skinned face glistened with perspiration. His eyes looked wild with panic instead of the anger in his voice. He looked her up and down, taking in her pack and traveling attire, then shook his head.
"You… you idiot!" He rushed at her.
Shade snarled in warning, and Wynn had to grab her.
Il'Sänke snatched the key from Wynn's hand and turned back to unlock his quarters. He slamme «teriv d the door inward with his palm.
"Get in here!"
Wynn still felt shamed for what had happened to him before the council. But she'd just had a horrible revelation, and she was sick of being told what to do. She just stood in the passage, returning his glare in silence.
"You do not even know what you have done," he hissed. "How much danger your dramatic gesture could bring you. Nor what you might have done instead!"
And Wynn grew so very confused.
"Inside," he said, and this too was not a request.
Wynn slipped silently past il'Sänke into the study, with Shade rumbling all the way.
Domin il'Sänke tossed the key onto his desk. His robe's hood fell back as he ran both hands through his dark brown hair. Then he jammed one hand into his pocket and pulled out a cold lamp crystal.
"Take this back!" he demanded, and thrust it out.
Wynn looked at her crystal and shook her head.
"I cannot," she said. "I won't be shut away, left to do nothing, while they do little more than that."
"Why let them?" he said. "You can choose not to."
There was something in il'Sänke's gaze that unsettled her, as if her next denial might make him more outraged or frightened or both. Thundering footsteps rolled down the passage outside, and Domin High-Tower barreled through the open door, his bushy red hair disheveled.
"Wynn," the dwarf exhaled. "Think, girl! You have pushed things to the limit, but do not throw away all you have—"
"She does not have to," il'Sänke snarled over his shoulder. "You… and your council gave her all she needs to see to that."
Wynn looked up, at il'Sänke. "Make some sense… please!" she said.
He shook his head, gritting his teeth. "Can you not see it for yourself? Any rope they try to bind you with can be pulled on both ways."
"The guild does not play at politics!" High-Tower snapped.
"Oh, spare me!" il'Sänke spit back. "This is all about politics, the politics of fear." And he fixed on Wynn. "You can choose your own assignment and still remain one of us. In the end, the council will have no choice but to accept this."
Wynn barely grasped what he was getting at. When she glanced at High-Tower, the dwarf's face was flushed, but he remained silent. That was strangest of all, that he didn't even try to cut il'Sänke off. As if he wanted her to hear this but dared not say it himself.
"They are afraid of you," il'Sänke added, "with all you know… stepping beyond their reach. They fear what you might reveal to others, once free of your oath to the guild. They need a hold on you, or at least that is what they want you to believe."
Il'Sänke shook his head, and the hint of a smile spread on his face. Somehow it wasn't comforting.
"You can do anything you want," he added.
"The council will never agree," High-Tower said, but it seemed weak and less than a true denial.
"Then do something, you dried-out mound of mud!" il'Sänke countered. "Or I will. I have no doubt I can procure her a place in my branch the moment I arrive there."
"I'm not going to the Suman Empire!" Wynn cut in.
High-Tower sighed. "She must present a proposal for approval… if she wishes to request her own assignment."
"Then write it yourself," il'Sänke returned. "And sign it! Tell the council she has changed her mind about resigning. They will agree to anything in that event."
"The specific assignment has to be outlined."
"No, it does not," il'Sänke answered.
High-Tower closed his eyes, and il'Sänke held out the crystal once more.
Wynn's head was spinning as if she stared at these two through her mantic sight. But the nausea in her stomach was now from fear that this small hope might not be real. She reached out and quickly snatched the crystal before it might vanish.
Il'Sänke slumped in exhaustion, bracing a hand on the desk.
Wynn still had no idea why the foreign domin was so frightened by the idea of her resignation, as if her action might force him to do something horrible.
"I will need funding," she said.
"You will get it," he assured her. "If not from them, then through my branch… and no, you will not have to go to the Suman Empire."
Wynn gazed down at the crystal in her palm.
She was still a sage.
Near midnight, Wynn sat on the second bench of a hired wagon with Chane. He carried the scroll in one of his packs, along with Wynn's brief translations, and she held on to the sun crystal's staff. The driver, paid double for the three-night journey, steered a course along the bay road as they headed for the far peninsula peak of Dhredze Seatt.
In truth, Wynn didn't care how they traveled, so long as this search led to answers—and the texts.
Glancing back at Shade stretched out in the wagon's bed, Wynn knew that someday, possibly soon, Shade would discover that Chane was undead. The ensuing scene would be unpredictable—probably ugly—but she would leave that until it came.