"Are you not returning to the market as well?" Wynn asked.
The duchess looked her up and down, then turned away to join her elven advisor and Ore-Locks.
Chane looked down questioningly at Wynn as she exited with Shade, but he kept silent.
Captain Tristan pointed up the passage for the long walk back.
Wynn was seething by the time the escort unceremoniously showed her, Chane, and Shade into the market. It was late, and the place was nearly empty. Many of the stalls were closed or gone. But only when the Weardas turned back into the tunnel were they free to speak.
"What is the duchess doing here?" Chane immediately asked.
"Clearly more than paying respects," Wynn answered. "There are too many implied connections between the royals and the Stonewalkers … not to mention Ore-Locks's previous visit to High-Tower."
"Yes, the guild is involved as well," Chane agreed. "That is a trio of powerful factions in our way."
"And the duchess has gone to the Stonewalkers. I suppose we could hide here, wait until she comes out, and try to follow her."
"If she comes out," Chane countered. "Likely she did go with them after the funeral. She may be staying with them."
Wynn wasn't so sure. "Why shop in the market for clothes she wouldn't need and didn't fit her? She may be welcome among them, but I hardly think a royal would take quarters in the underworld. No, she's here for something else."
Shade whined loudly, and Wynn looked down.
The dog scratched the flagstones with one paw and barked.
"Shush," Wynn said, but knelt to grip Shade's face with both hands.
Everything blurred in Wynn's vision as a dark image overtook her mind.
She was walking down a damp tunnel. Mineral-glazed walls of natural rock glistened, faintly phosphorescent, though the floor beneath her feet felt level and smooth. She could smell … seawater.
The tunnel was narrow, barely wide enough for two to walk abreast, or one dwarf. The rough walls were calcified, as if the path had been created long ago. For some reason, no one had seen fit to finish them smoothly.
Near the path's end was an iron door, slightly mottled by rust.
The memory wavered.
Wynn suddenly stood before the door, looking down. She glimpsed the long hem of a deep green cloak around high riding boots—those of the memory's owner. Then her attention caught on a palm-size shining oval on the door where a lock's keyhole should've been.
There was no mistaking that silvery white—more Chein'âs metal.
Wynn felt herself reach up into her hair, pulling something out. When her hand lowered, she held a pearly sea-wave comb in her palm, and she knew the memory's owner.
Duchess Reine took the comb and pressed its concave side to the door's oval.
Wynn heard the scrape of metal sliding.
She passed the comb to someone behind her and pushed the door open. Its hinges squeaked lightly. As she stepped through, no other footsteps followed, though someone shut the door. She stood in a dark chamber of natural stone where the smell of the sea permeated the air.
Just beyond a near ledge, Wynn spotted a pool filling most of the chamber's floor. An iron grate in the back wall was half-submerged in its water. Beyond that was a dark tunnel half-filled as well, though she couldn't see more than a few yards down it. She suddenly turned left.
A rough opening led to another chamber, but it was too dark to see what lay there, and she didn't even approach. Dim light came from somewhere, but Wynn wasn't certain of its source. The sight of the opening became misty, blurred… and her eyes began to sting.
There were tears running down her cheeks.
Something wet slapped stone, the sound echoing from that next chamber.
Something moved in there.
She began to feel dizzy, trapped between her own fears and the grief welling from within the duchess's memory. And then everything winked black.
Wynn was shaking as she looked into Shade's crystal blue, yellow-flecked irises. She crumpled on the market's flagstones.
"Wynn?" Chane said in alarm, crouching beside her.
While she'd been tangled in a failing scheme inside the white portal's domed chamber, Shade had been quite busy. Wynn took a long, shaky breath and pressed her cheek against Shade's as she closed her eyes. The dog was clearly trying to tell her something, but she wanted—needed—more than what she'd seen.
"Wynn?" Chane insisted. "Say something!"
"An underground room … a pool in its floor … and an iron grated tunnel," Wynn whispered, still trying to make sense of it.
"Whose memory?"
"The duchess … she started crying."
"Why would Shade show you this?"
"I don't know."
Without warning, another flash surged upon her.
She sat at the table in the Iron-Braids' back room. At first, she thought it was her own memory of just a short while ago. But Chane and Shade weren't present.
The table was laden with roasted venison, fresh sliced bread, and baked apples, all served in plain clay bowls. Mother Iron-Braid hobbled about, setting out bleached wooden plates and tin forks and knives as she babbled away with shining joy on her face. But Wynn was staring across the table at Sliver, who sat glaring back. Unlike her mother, the smith didn't care for …
Whom did this memory belong to?
Mother Iron-Braid rounded the table, reaching out a gnarled hand to lay it on Wynn's cheek.
"It is so good to see you again, my son," she whispered.
Wynn shivered, her fingers closing in Shade's neck fur. The spoken words were much clearer this time than anything Shade had shared with her before.
It was Ore-Locks's memory.
Everything winked black for an instant.
Wynn stood in a dark passage where orange crystals were few. It looked familiar, like someplace she'd walked herself at some recent time. At the sound of heavy footfalls behind, she paused and turned.
There was Sliver again, following her.
"No more," the smith hissed in Dwarvish. "No more of you … and your twisted calling! No more of your shame and hidden sin upon us. Mother does not know what you are, what really took you—and I will keep it that way."
"I was called," Wynn answered—in Ore-Locks's deep voice. "Called by one that so few remember … and none know for the truth. But I hold that truth."
"You hold a lie!" Sliver nearly screamed back. "And if it calls you, then faith itself is a plague—and you are nothing but its carrier. Is it not enough that we've fallen so low that you try to infect us with its horror? Follow it alone and keep away! Do not come again!"
Sliver backed up the passage as she began to shake—as she had upon Wynn's visit when the smith first uttered Ore-Locks's name.
"Stay away from us!" she shouted. "Go to your fall … alone!"
The memory faded, and again Wynn looked into Shade's eyes.
Whatever called Ore-Locks to service among the Stonewalkers horrified Sliver, and perhaps High-Tower as well. Was that why the domin had nearly denounced his brother in that one secret visit to the guild?
Shade had been very … very busy, indeed. Wynn sat astonished, now realizing just how intelligent the majay-hì were as a whole—or Shade for her youth.
"Did you see more?" Chane asked. "Did she show you anything that would help us locate the texts?"
Wynn shook her head. "No, it was Ore-Locks's this time. I'm not certain, but I may have gotten to him. I'll tell you more later. Right now, I need you to stay and watch for the duchess, while I go back to the Iron-Braids'."
Chane frowned. "I do not like that plan."