“Oh, Uncle Drone would never lie,” Giogi said.
“But he told your family the thief was in the catacombs,” Cat pointed out with a skeptical smile.
“Actually, what he said was the would-be thief was stuck in the catacombs. He was right, wasn’t he?” the nobleman asked. He meant the question to be a chastisement, but he couldn’t help grinning at the mage.
Cat blushed with embarrassment and stared down at her lap.
“It’s possible,” Giogi admitted, “that Uncle Drone knew more about the real thief than he let on. I don’t see how he expected me to find the spur without telling me more about the thief, though,” he added irritably.
Cat looked back up at the nobleman. “He may have meant to include something more about the thief in his message, but it got cut off,” the mage conjectured.
“Cut off? What do you mean?” Giogi asked.
Cat repeated the message, holding up a finger for every word. “ ‘Giogi listen. The wyvern’s spur is your destiny. Steele mustn’t get it. You must find it first. Search for the thief.’ That’s twenty-one words. The spell he used to send the message only has magic enough to send twenty-five words. That leaves four words.”
“Four words,” Giogi mused. “He could have told me the thief’s name and city, at least. Why didn’t he?”
“He probably did, but he used four words at the beginning of the message, probably by accident. Remember?”
“ ‘Down, Spot. Naughty boy,’ ” Giogi said with a sigh. He looked at the tomcat chewing on his quill pen. “You are a naughty boy, too,” the noble said, pulling the feather from the cat’s mouth and setting it back up on the desk. “Well, that’s that.”
“A priest might be able to try speaking with his spirit,” Cat suggested.
“Aunt Dorath would never allow that. Not even to find the spur. We don’t disturb the dead in our family.”
“Then you’re back to scratch unless there’s anything else you can think of that your uncle might have mentioned. Is there?” the mage queried.
“He told me to watch my step, that my life could be in danger,” Giogi recalled.
“From whom?” Cat asked.
Giogi shook his head uncertainly. He considered Julia’s attempt to drug him at Steele’s request. Steele wouldn’t have killed me, he thought. The guardian would never harm a Wyvernspur, even if she is always talking about cracking bones. Uncle Drone wouldn’t have bothered to warn me about the disgusting stirges or the awful kobolds or the bugbears—he knew I already knew about them. The only other person down there was Cat.
Giogi looked at the lovely mage. Her face was still pale and drawn from exhaustion, but her green eyes glittered. She saved my life in the catacombs, he thought, so it couldn’t have been her that Uncle Drone meant. She must have been freezing down there, Giogi realized, noting the way the firelight shone through Cat’s shimmering robes, outlining her slender figure. Her long, shining copper hair would have kept her warmer than that foolish frock, he thought.
“Master Giogioni? Who are you thinking of? Who would want to kill you?” Cat asked, noting the faraway look in the young noble’s eyes.
Giogi snapped out of his reverie. “No one. I haven’t got any enemies.”
“Does the guardian know about your fate? Is that what she meant by ‘not long now’?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said before that you don’t want to know, I would want to know if it were my fate. Why don’t you want to know?”
Giogi shuddered. “Because it has something to do with dreaming about the death cry of prey, the taste of warm blood, and the crunch of bone.” The words just tumbled off his tongue before he could hold them back.
“Do you dream about those things?” Cat asked in an awed whisper. Her eyes widened with excitement.
“No,” Giogi said, then he amended, “not often.”
“How interesting,” the mage said. “What kind of prey?”
Giogi shuddered, a little shocked by Cat’s reaction. There was a knock at the parlor door. Giogi felt a flash of relief that the conversation was interrupted. “Come in,” the noble called.
Thomas stepped one pace into the room. “Luncheon is served, sir,” he announced, then he retreated hastily. The sight of the beautiful woman seated at his master’s feet flustered him. He withdrew from the parlor hurriedly.
Giogi rose and bent to help Cat stand. She placed her hand in his own and used it to steady herself as she stood. Her thankful smile warmed the young noble. He led her from the parlor and into the dining room.
Thomas had whipped up a simple meaclass="underline" cheese fondue, venison broth with noodles, fish poached in wine, and crepes with boysenberry jam. Cat seemed delighted with each course, which pleased Giogi, but the young man didn’t feel very hungry.
When I was younger, he thought, I had no trouble devouring a meal this size and asking how soon until tea. What’s happened to my appetite? he wondered.
Conversation was suspended briefly while they ate, but Cat resumed her questions as they finished off the lemon tea. “If I must be a Wyvernspur because the guardian let me pass, then the spur’s thief must be a Wyvernspur, too, right?” she asked.
Giogi nodded.
“How many of you are there?”
“Well, there’s me and Aunt Dorath and Uncle Drone and Frefford and Steele and Julia, oh, and Frefford’s wife and new baby daughter. That’s all that’s left of Gerrin Wyvernspur’s line—that’s old Paton’s grandson. There must be other lines of the family. Gerrin had a brother. I can’t remember his name, but, anyway, none of his descendants have kept in touch with the Immersea branch. We didn’t even know if there were any, but the real thief must be one of them. You must be one of them, too,” Giogi explained.
“I wouldn’t know,” Cat said with a disinterested shrug. “I’m an orphan,” she explained.
Giogi gave the mage a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Why should you be?” Cat asked sharply, annoyed by what she thought was pity.
“Well, it’s pretty awful being an orphan,” Giogi replied sincerely. “I know. I’m one myself. My father died when I was eight. My mother died a year later, of a broken heart, they say. I miss them both.”
The nobleman’s tenderheartedness disturbed the mage. She explained hastily, “I don’t remember my parents.” She stifled a yawn.
“I shouldn’t be keeping you from your nap,” Giogi said. “I’ll show you to your room.”
“What will you be doing this afternoon?” the mage asked.
“Well, I’d like to visit Frefford’s new daughter. Then—” Giogi hesitated, trying to decide what he could do. “I think I need to speak to someone who knows more about the spur.”
“Who’s that?” Cat asked, stifling another yawn.
“I don’t know,” Giogi replied. “There has to be somebody.”
10
Cat’s Master
From the journal of Giogioni Wyvernspur:
My Uncle Drone died this morning, apparently a victim of his own magic. No one will mourn his passing more deeply than I. Yet, I can’t help feeling cross with him at the same time. It seems apparent he was involved somehow in the theft of the wyvern’s spur. Since his very last message to me enjoined me to find the thief, however, I must assume he did not steal the spur himself.
It would have been an easy matter, though, for Uncle Drone to disengage the magical alarms that warn of intruders in the crypt, giving his accomplice the opportunity to sneak in.