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Tried.

Failed.

How had Enris traveled so far—so fast? How had he managed to be higher than other Om’ray? They’d all felt their world expand upward for part of a tenth, then regain its proper shape. Husni, dizzy, had sat abruptly on the floor.

Only she’d known for sure it was Enris, though doubtless several of the exiles guessed. They probably also guessed, as she did, that he’d been carried over the mountains in an aircar by the Oud or the strangers. She’d only Marcus’ word he wouldn’t approach other Om’ray; to the impulsive Human, Enris was almost a friend. As for the Oud? They’d shown unusual interest in the Tuana before. Had he been in trouble—been rescued? Not that help would be free of risk from either source.

Didn’t matter, she told herself. However he’d managed to fly, Enris was in Vyna.

Was it of stone or wood? Were there towering stalks of rastis and nekis, or the flat dreary—which Enris professed to love—land of the Tuana? Or was it more like Grona, stuck on the side of a mountain?

He’d have met his new Clan by now.

Were they welcoming? They’d be surprised, she thought. How many went there? They had to need new Om’ray. Someone of the Tuana’s quality had to be rare. He was skilled, accomplished, strong…

Annoying.

Aryl snuggled deeper into her nest of blankets. If they wanted to impress Enris, they’d best set a full table.

Were there Choosers?

Not what Enris sought, but she wished it for him. Someone bright and fun, who was interested in how things worked, who cared about other Om’ray. Someone who would laugh with him.

She missed his laugh…

Someone tugged the cover from her shoulder. “You have your share, Seru,” Aryl grumbled, pulling it back.

A touch. Help me.

Oswa? Aryl rolled over, instantly alert. The Chosen knelt beside her, hair lashing with distress. “It’s Yao.” So quietly she had to strain to hear.

The dreaming? With a pang of guilt, Aryl sat up. “I’m sorry, Oswa,” she whispered. “I meant to talk to—”

“She’s gone.”

How could a child be gone?

Instinctively, Aryl lowered her shields to reach. What she felt brought her rushing to her feet, running for her coat, Oswa stumbling alongside.

Yao was outside.

Not only outside, but moving away from Sona—from her mother. Too young to be farther than any Highknot climb Aryl knew. Too small and helpless to be out in truenight, let alone in a storm.

How could a child do that?

No wonder Oswa was distraught. Their bond, the tightest of all between Om’ray, must be a torment. She was amazed the mother had been able to make a sensible plan, to get help. “You did the right thing to wake me,” she praised. Boots, coat. “You shouldn’t go out in truenight alone.”

Others were throwing off blankets and called questions. “The little one’s playing a trick,” Aryl answered, afraid it was nothing of the kind. “I need a light.”

“Here.” A snap and flare as one was lit in front of her. Aryl squinted through the brightness at Haxel. “Rorn. Syb!” More lights were lit. Everyone was moving.

“Hurry!” Oswa grabbed the nearest coat; she didn’t bother with boots as she ran for the door. Her hair whipped its desperation; it carved red streaks across her face and neck, barely missed her eyes.

No point trying to stop her. Taking the light from Haxel, Aryl looked for the only one who could. She was shocked to find Hoyon seated on the bench, his back to them.

A question for later.

Rorn and Syb thundered mere steps behind as Aryl followed Oswa out the door and into truenight.

The storm she’d mocked to Bern had become a thick swirl of snowdrops, pushed this way and that by the bitter wind. They caught and stopped the light, making it impossible to see more than a few steps ahead. That didn’t slow Oswa Gethen. She wasn’t Yena, but her desperate need to reach her daughter kept her moving at a reckless pace. Aryl matched it. Rorn and Syb had drawn their longknives, the blades glinting in the lights they carried. What good they’d be against rock hunters, if any were out in the snow, she didn’t know. But she didn’t suggest they put them away.

“Why isn’t Yao coming back?”

Rorn was right. The child kept moving away. Aryl reached, lowering her shields.

CONFUSION/FEAR…MOTHERWHEREAREYOU!…WHEREAREYOUWHERE…

Wincing, she quickly raised them again.

How could the child not know where her mother was?

Over the wind and the muffled pound of feet through snow, she could hear the choked moan Oswa made with every breath. No matter her will, the weaker Om’ray was failing. Aryl tossed the light to the ground and took her arm as she staggered and slowed, sending strength through that contact. “Let us find Yao,” she pleaded. In answer, Oswa sagged heavily against her, mute and gasping. “Syb, go!”

Rorn stayed with them; Syb, freed to move at full speed, disappeared beyond the wall of snow with his light.

Rock hunters were the least of their fears now, Aryl knew. Unlikely the child had a light. If she made it through the ruins and treacherous footing, she would walk off the river’s bank.

If Yao stopped? The cold had grown deadly. In a warm coat and boots, every lungful made her shiver inside.

Boots.

“Rorn. Take her.” He came at once, holding Oswa with one arm, the other lifting the oillight.

“I have to find Yao…” the mother gasped, but couldn’t break his grip.

Oswa hadn’t stopped for boots. Aryl knelt. The thin cloth Grona wore on their feet was little more than shreds, the flesh beneath bloody and torn. Too much skin showed, all of it mottled with white. She sucked in a breath between her teeth. What would Yao’s feet be like?

They could only help one at a time. She took off her boot—too narrow. Rorn grunted and lifted his foot. “Use mine.” Oswa didn’t argue again, her relief muted by pain as her feet warmed.

Snow filled the air, collected on their heads and shoulders, softened the stone. They didn’t try to follow Syb; they couldn’t take Oswa back. As it was, the Grona mother sobbed quietly, her hair straining against her hood. Aryl couldn’t imagine the agony of being forced to wait, apart.

Surely Yao felt the same?

Oswa straightened in Rorn’s hold, snow sliding from her coat. “She’s coming!”

A heartbeat later, Aryl felt it, too. Yao, moving in their direction. Considerably faster, she thought with relief, than those little legs could travel in daylight, let alone the dark.

Syb carried her.

With a sigh of relief, she retrieved her light from the snow and relit its flame. “Go back. I’ll wait with Oswa,” she told Rorn. Though his feet were wrapped in a tough double layer of Yena gauze, they had to be numb by now. He didn’t argue, gesturing gratitude as he limped away.

Oswa stood on her own, now, as if her relief was a Power as potent as any Healer’s. Aryl could feel her joy—and something else. Apprehension.

Why? “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Why do you say that?” The Chosen’s voice came out thin and harsh. “There’s nothing wrong.”

Hardly the way to convince her, Aryl thought, but let it go. It wasn’t her place to question a mother, after all.

They stood together in the circle of light, eyes half shut against the sting of snowdrops that, in her opinion, aimed themselves at faces, and waited in silence.

The wall of snow brightened, revealed Syb, the child wrapped in his coat and held against his chest. She squirmed as they approached, her head popping out from its covering.

HEREHEREHEREHERE!!!

Syb exclaimed in pain. Aryl’s head pounded. The blissful sending dampened to bearable as Oswa’s shields extended around her daughter.