"How long ago did High-Tower leave?" Wynn asked.
Sliver paused, considering. "Thirty-seven summers."
Wynn accidentally tore the next slice of bread.
She had no idea of the domin's age, but dwarves often lived to two hundred years or a bit more. High-Tower was at least middle-aged, and yet Ore-Locks appeared in his prime.
"My girl?" a thin voice called.
It came from beyond the left curtained doorway at the room's rear, and Sliver rose from tending the fire.
"Here, Mother," she called. "Come have some bread. Supper will follow soon."
The curtain pulled back, and Mother Iron-Braid shuffled out. Upon spotting someone else present, she squinted her old milky eyes.
"Young sage?" she asked, and then her voice turned manic. "Have you reached Ore-Locks?"
Wynn wasn't certain how to answer. Should she admit that she'd spoken with him? Was Sliver ready to hear of a banished brother who might appear this night?
The hearth room's door swung inward, and for an instant, Wynn was relieved by the interruption.
Ore-Locks stood in the doorway.
He still wore only char-gray breeches and a shirt in place of his traditional attire. But the thôrhk of a Stonewalker hung around his neck.
"Mother?" he asked. "Are you all right?"
Then he spotted Wynn.
Time crawled as Chane stood behind a weaver's booth, a quarter of the way around the market from the tunnel to the Stonewalkers' hidden passage. Half of the vendors had closed or packed up their stalls. Once the rest were finished, how long before a constabulary passed by on rounds and spotted him lurking about?
Chane tensed as a flash of white caught his eye.
Around the cavern's back, Duchess Reine and her elf and guards came out of the tunnel. They headed directly across the nearly empty market for the passage to Breach Mainway.
Chane bent down and rounded the market's back wall, keeping out of sight behind scant booths and the tall, painted columns. Once he had obtained a position behind the duchess's group, he pulled up his hood and quietly closed in.
The elf spoke in hushed tones as the group neared the exit, and the duchess paused and turned.
Chane ducked behind a column and peered carefully along its side.
She looked up at her elven companion, her features stiff and unreadable. Some lingering shock or long fatigue had left her numb. But her arms were empty, the breeches and shirt gone, and no one else carried them. Barely a stone's toss behind them, Chane fully widened his senses.
A thin scent began to fill his nose.
The duchess's hair was a bit out of place. One loose tendril hung against her left temple and cheek. The sea-wave comb on that side was askew, as if removed and replaced without a mirror's aid. And her boots and cloak's hem were dark, perhaps soaked.
Chane sniffed cautiously. The scent of seawater lingered from the duchess's passing.
She never replied to the elf, and Chane never caught what the advisor said. The duchess turned and resumed her journey without any change in her withdrawn expression.
Chane crept onward, keeping Reine in his sight.
Ore-Locks's intense gaze pierced Wynn as he whispered, "You!"
Sliver stared at her brother, perhaps too shocked for outrage.
But Mother Iron-Braid nearly toppled her stool in a rush across the room.
"My son!" she wailed, grabbing Ore-Locks's shirtfront. "My son, oh, Eternals, thank you."
Ore-Locks took her shoulders, steadying her. He stood in tense discomfort, watching Wynn over the top of his stooped mother.
"You said my brother sent you," he said, "that my family was in crisis."
"What?" Sliver gasped.
Wynn stiffened. She was in it now, up to her neck in her own lies.
"Do they look well to you?" she challenged Ore-Locks.
"You already spoke to him?" Sliver demanded. "You brought him here and told me nothing?"
Ore-Locks ignored his sister, glaring only at Wynn. "Did High-Tower send you … or not?"
She had no lies left to cover her others. "No, I came on my own. I needed to speak with you. It's vital."
"Then you lied to the princess as well," he returned.
Willful deceit was notable among dwarven vices; doing so to Princess—Duchess—Reine was just that much worse. And there was little she could do to amend it.
"Only about High-Tower," she answered. "Look around. I brought the food. Sliver works too hard and long to go to market, and your mother is too—"
"No, no," Mother Iron-Braid cut in, petting her son's chest. "We are well enough, and you have come back." She turned her head a little toward Wynn. "Do not speak so, or you will drive him away!"
Ore-Locks winced at this. He carefully took his mother's hands and cast a not-so-gentle glance at Sliver. Hers in turn was even less kind for him.
Wynn knew nothing of the Stonewalkers' ways or their lives apart from their people. But she had some notion of what it had cost Ore-Locks to come home.
"Sit and rest," he said, guiding his mother toward the table.
As yet, Sliver hadn't greeted him. Instead, she intercepted him and gripped her mother's shoulders.
"Get your hands off her!" she hissed.
Ore-Locks backstepped, and Sliver settled her mother in the only chair.
The sight of his family clearly pained Ore-Locks, as if this were the last place in the world he wished to be. He glanced once at the door. Sliver crossed her arms, daring him to leave. Ore-Locks remained. Even as Mother Iron-Braid reached for his hand, he fixed his gaze on Wynn again. She couldn't help fidgeting under his scrutiny.
"I never introduced my …" she began. "I am—"
"I know who you are," he answered.
A chill sank straight through Wynn. The duchess had told him—perhaps all the Stonewalkers—about her. They knew exactly who she was and had been warned against her.
"Yes, I'm the one who … brought those texts back," she confirmed. "I'm responsible for the translation project, the one you and Master Cinder-Shard warned High-Tower to stop."
Ore-Locks carefully pulled from his mother's clinging grip and backed toward the door.
"Forgive me, Mother," he said. "There is great treachery here, and I cannot stay."
"Treachery?" Sliver echoed, glancing at Wynn. "From her?"
Mother Iron-Braid frantically turned from one to the next. "What is this … ? What are you all talking—"
"No!" Wynn snapped at Ore-Locks. "I simply need to see the texts, for all our sakes. Just listen—"
"Enough from you!" Sliver shouted, then lunged one step at her brother. "You speak of treachery? Look to yourself! We have suffered enough without you bringing your false ancestor among us!"
Ore-Locks didn't wince this time, but he didn't quite meet his sister's eyes.
"We want no part of you … or it," she went on. "I will not let you taint us further. Get out!"
Wynn was confused by this exchange.
"I never imagined High-Tower would leave," Ore-Locks whispered. "But deny our past all you want. It changes nothing. One of ours, long gone before us, called me to serve … and I am no longer part of this world."
Ore-Locks stepped out into the dim workshop, and his mother let out a mournful wail.
Wynn panicked, rushing for the doorway. "Ore-Locks, stop!"
He'd already reached the outer door and didn't turn. Wynn tried desperately to think of something to halt him. He wouldn't speak of the texts, but there must be something to give him pause, even for an instant.
"Who is Thallûhearag?" she called.
Ore-Locks paused.
"No, daughter!" Mother Iron Braid shouted.