Wynn hurried on with Shade and Chane. Had someone come from the guild, perhaps Premin Sykion or another as equally opposed to her pursuits? She couldn't imagine the duchess had tracked her down. But when she reached the meal hall's entrance, she stopped, hand still on the framing stones. The woman waiting was the last she whom Wynn could've expected.
Sliver sat at one long table.
Grim and dark as the last time, she had her arms folded tightly. She barely turned her head at Wynn's appearance and glared in silence. Wynn wasn't even sure what to say, though Shade growled softly as she inched into the hall.
Wynn grabbed the dog's tail, halting her, though Chane stepped in as well and stood there, tense and watchful. Wynn brushed him back as she approached her visitor.
"My apology for the other night," she blurted out. "To learn your home's location, I had to trade stories in a cheag'anâkst. And … with all the ale, I wasn't myself."
"Save your excuses," Sliver growled, and looked away, staring at the tabletop. "I am here at my mother's insistence. I will have words with you … alone!"
"Your mother sent you?"
Sliver said nothing more, but she cast a challenging glare at Chane.
"I have some fine mint tea in my room," Wynn told him. "Would you please get it for us? And send for hot water."
Chane's jaw twitched. "No."
"Please," she whispered. "I'll be all right."
"Then Shade stays," he said loudly enough for Sliver to hear.
"I care nothing about a wolf," Sliver returned disdainfully.
Wynn glanced back. There were moments when she kept forgetting the way other people saw Shade, rather than as the intelligent creature she was.
Chane pursed his lips and left.
Wynn sighed once in relief before returning to Sliver. Shade immediately inched in behind her, watching them both.
"He'll be back with some tea," Wynn said.
"I will not be here that long. My mother wishes to know why you seek my brother."
Wynn settled on the bench across from the smith. Looking into Sliver's angry, pain-filled face, she gave up on any further polite conversation.
"That is a guild matter. But it is important."
"Have you learned anything for your guild?" Sliver snarled.
"I mean him no harm. But you would know a good deal more about him than I."
"I do not."
Wynn fell silent at that. It raised questions she wasn't sure were safe to ask.
"No one does," Sliver finally said, her voice turning weak and tired. "The Hassäg'kreigi are little known to anyone. When one of our people joins them … is called to their service … all other ties are broken."
Wynn shook her head. "I don't understand. Heritage is everything here. Even your Eternals are considered ‘ancestors' to your people as a whole."
"And that is where their devotion lies! Nothing else means more to them. Do you not know that the honored dead, such as Hammer-Stag, are where we get our … Bäynæ?"
The last word made her mouth twist like a vile taste.
"I've heard this," Wynn answered, "but I don't fully understand how it comes to pass."
"Then you are not alone, Numan," Sliver spit. "No one does."
She looked about the meal hall, and the skin around her eyes crinkled. The smith almost fidgeted and shuddered, as if this temple—any temple—were a vile place. And Wynn began to understand just a little.
Sliver had lost one of two wayward brothers to a secret order little known to her own kind, one entrenched in dwarven mysteries. To Sliver, Ore-Locks had chosen their spiritual patrons over devotion to his own flesh and blood.
"My father passed over," Sliver continued. "For a while, Ore-Locks felt duty-bound to visit my mother … to do what he might. Even that fell beneath his devotions. He stopped coming at all, years ago. And … as you know … High-Tower left his own, his people, to live with your kind."
Wynn struggled to listen beneath Sliver's bitter words, to see the pictures Sliver painted.
Her mother would be elderly if her father had already died, yet Sliver was young for her kind; strange, since dwarves didn't usually bear children late in life. Both her brothers had abandoned the family to seek their own paths, leaving her to support their aging mother in the poorest depths of Sea-Side.
More reason for bitterness.
"What do you want from me?" Wynn asked bluntly. It seemed the only way to get anywhere with the daughter of the Iron-Braids.
Sliver's mouth twisted several times, until she spit out the words.
"My mother clings to foolish hope! She goes to temple, any she can reach, and prays for word of her eldest son. Then she heard you, the night you came!"
Wynn flinched, already fearful of where this was headed.
"She thinks the Eternals have answered her by sending you," Sliver accused. "You know one of her sons … and now you come seeking the other. She requests that you share anything you learn, for pity's sake."
One word Sliver had spoken stuck in Wynn's head.
"Eldest?" she repeated in surprise. "But Ore-Locks looks much younger than High-Tower."
Sliver was silent for a few breaths. She planted her wide hands upon the table, leaning forward.
"You will share all you learn of my brother … with me," Sliver whispered. "That is not a request!"
Wynn couldn't help leaning back under Sliver's glare. Shade began to rumble, the sound increasing to a growl, but the smith never glanced away. Wynn reached down to wave Shade closer.
None of this was helpful and only complicated finding the texts. But if managed carefully, Sliver's reluctant need might still be useful.
"Of course," Wynn answered as calmly and coldly as she could. "Tell your mother I would be honored to help her."
Sliver didn't even acknowledge the words. She rose instantly and headed for the meal hall's main entrance. She was gone before Shade finally quieted. Wynn's hand shook as she settled it upon Shade's back.
Sliver clearly clung to the last of her pride, as the last of her remaining family was coming apart. Asking, demanding help from some interloper—and a noisy scribbler of words, no less—was a final humiliation.
Wynn could barely imagine what Sliver's life must be like.
Dwarven marriages were often arranged by the families and clans, based on benefits either the bride or groom might provide. Yes, there was love, and it was considered, but if at odds with what was best, it was sacrificed. If the Iron-Braids were part of a clan, its leaders had clearly forgotten Sliver.
She had no one to speak for her, no family name of honor to offer, and no father or siblings with skills or community influence her clan might value. She possessed only a small smithy in a depressed underside and an elderly mother clinging to faith.
The more Wynn thought on this, the more depression overwhelmed fear and frustration. But she had to push aside sympathy.
Chane returned, carrying a pot of hot water, two mugs, and her small tin of mint tea leaves. He hesitated in the entrance and scanned the room once.
"Where is she?" he asked.
"Gone."
"What did she want?"
"Information—about her brother."
"Information … from us?" he scoffed.
Wynn didn't find the irony humorous.
"Should I fix you some tea?" Chane asked.
Wynn sighed. "No … no, thank you."
Something terrible was coming. She was certain of this from all she had seen and learned in company with Magiere, Leesil, and Chap—and afterward with Shade and Chane. There were larger issues at stake—the world might well be at stake. If she had to manipulate Sliver, she would.