Wynn slid down the door and patted the floor for Shade's attention. The dog just stared at her, so she held out her hands. Shade padded over, and Wynn took the dog's face in her hands, calling up memories of the temple. Before she even raised an image of the tram, Shade backpedaled out of reach, growling at her.
"I know it was awful," Wynn whispered, "but we have to go."
Chane still hadn't moved. Back at the guild, he'd slept in a bed in Domin il'Sänke's chambers, but she'd peeked in there only occasionally. So far in this journey, they'd arranged for separate rooms, and Wynn had never seen him in full dormancy before. The sight was unnerving, but at least the sun didn't matter inside the mountain.
If they started back now, the tram would arrive at Bay-Side by early night. They would reach the temple not long past supper—a good time to speak with Shirvêsh Mallet.
Trying to ignore her pounding head, Wynn crawled toward Chane.
She stopped near his shoulder and looked down at him, almost feeling as if she invaded his privacy. He might not like for her to study him like this—so dead and still upon the floor.
He was proud, but secretly this was one of the things she admired about him. She could not help thinking back to those distant nights in Bela, at the newly founded branch for the Guild of Sagecraft, when he visited and drank mint tea with her as they pored over historical parchments. A handsome young nobleman seeking out her company, of all people.
Then she'd learned the truth about him.
He was a vampire who drank blood to continue existing, and of course she'd shut him out of her life. But nearly every time her life was in danger, he'd appeared from nowhere to throw himself in front of her, to protect her at any cost. Once, when she'd been locked away by a brutish warlord, Chane had broken into the keep, killed several soldiers, and carried her out through an underwater tunnel.
Wynn didn't fully understand Chane's feelings for her. She knew they were strong, and she wasn't the sort of woman who normally inspired such in men. There had been only one other.
Osha, a young elf and an'Cróan had been in training to be an Anmaglâhk—an assassin—though he'd been ill-suited to such a pursuit. He was not handsome, even compared to a human, with a long, horselike face. Nor was he as brooding or intellectual as Chane. Osha's emotions were always so plain to see, but this made his wonder and kindness show as well, even when tainted by his people's hate and fear of other races. He was unflinching and steady, and had befriended Wynn when she'd needed one. And perhaps he had felt even more than friendship for her.
If Wynn had wanted to, she could have pulled him further toward her— but she hadn't. He'd had to return to his people, and she'd been told to return home as well. What could've been, couldn't be between them.
Sometimes, she missed him, thought of him. But when his face rose in her thoughts, somehow, Chane's always did so as well—even when she didn't want it to.
Wynn sat there on the floor, looking down at Chane's smooth, pale features and red-brown hair, wishing… .
Things could be different, if he weren't undead. But he was, and nothing could change that.
She finally reached out and touched his shoulder, stiff under her fingers.
"Chane," she said softly. "Wake up."
He didn't move. The sun's rhythm shouldn't affect him down here. Was something wrong? She grasped the side of his shirt, trying to shake him, and the effort made her stomach worse.
"Chane!"
His head lolled. That limp movement was almost frightening, as if he were truly dead … or no longer undead … dormant … whatever.
Chane's eyelids snapped wide.
Wynn jerked upright, but not before his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
"Oww! Stop!"
Before she pulled against his grip, he whirled over and pinned her to the floor.
"Chane, stop it!"
He sat halfway up, staring down at her, and then recognition spread across his twisted features. He rolled off of her in sudden shock and closed his eyes as he flattened onto his back again, as if exhausted.
Wynn sat up, watching him cautiously as she rubbed her wrist.
"Don't go back to sleep," she urged. "We need to catch the tram and return to Bay-Side."
This time, Chane opened his eyes and truly looked at her. "Wynn?"
"Of course," she answered, but the question left her worried about his state. "You have to get up. We've lost too much time already."
She felt as if they'd lost whole days because of her blundering.
"Tonight …" Chane slurred. "We can … go … tonight."
If they waited until dusk, it would be the middle of the night before they reached the temple. Mallet would be asleep, and she didn't know if anyone else would be up to let them in. Who could say when she might catch the shirvêsh at another opportune moment?
Wynn took hold of Chane's arm. "Get up! You can sleep on the tram."
"I do not … sleep!" he snarled. "That is for the living."
Wynn froze, but she didn't have time to ponder his strange comment. With a mix of coaxing and bullying, she got him on his feet, and they gathered their belongings.
Without Shade, Wynn didn't know how they would've managed. The dog's perfect memory led them back to the tram station, though in the end, Wynn had to wrestle a groggy Chane and a stubborn Shade on board. At least it distracted her from her own reluctance for the ride.
Chane collapsed on a bench, and Shade growled as Wynn shoved the dog's rump to get her into the tram. Wynn settled on the bench's end near the aisle.
The long ride back began, and soon, the sickness she'd felt upon waking became nothing compared to the return to Sea-Side. Somewhere along the way, she forgot everything but her misery.
The car was sparsely populated, and she leaned forward, bracing against the back of the next bench. She tried hard not to retch, but Shade lay under her bench making enough pathetic noises for both of them. Only Chane remained still and silent.
Time passed too slowly in the tram's endless rush. Trying to think of anything besides her suffering, Wynn found herself wondering …
Was there something more Chane had meant about sleep being "for the living"?
"Chane," she whispered with effort. "Do you … do Noble Dead dream … when they sleep … I mean, go dormant?"
At first he didn't answer. He finally twitched, straightened, and then fell back against the rail wall before catching himself.
"Wynn?" he rasped, his eyes half open in confusion. "Where are we? Are you all right?"
He seemed himself again, and in part, she was relieved to have him back. The sun must have set outside the mountain, though it was always dark as night in the tram tunnel. He frowned and reached for her, trying to help her sit back.
"No," she managed to say. "I'm not all right. Just let me lean here."
They returned to silence beneath the chatter of the tram's wheels in the tunnel's steel-lined ruts. Wynn was barely aware when those wheels began to screech and finally slowed.
Bright lights from huge crystals in the walls illuminated the Bay-Side station platforms.
Chane tried to help her up. She pulled away, grabbing her pack and staff.
"I can walk."
When they reached the market cavern, Wynn balked at the noise of lingering vendors and customers hammering at her aching head. She couldn't remember ever feeling this ill before, not even the morning after Magiere and Leesil's wedding feast. Chane led them out through the cavern's enormous mouth.
Wynn later remembered stepping into the cold night air and seeing the back side of the way station's crank house. She remembered Shade trotting up the street of great steaming orange crystals, and Chane taking hold of her to follow. But the rest remained a blur.
She forgot about speaking with Shirvêsh Mallet and barely recalled passing through the temple's tall brass arch bell and the wide marble doors. Even these details didn't come back until she found herself in a small room, dimly lit in red-orange, and she crumpled upon the hard bed. Chane pulled a blanket up around her chin.