She walked him to the sitting chamber's entrance and ushered him inside, but as she turned to leave, she hesitated. Spinning back, she grabbed his arm, jerked him toward her, and clenched the front of his shirt with both hands.
Reine pulled herself up and Frey down, until her mouth pressed firmly against his. When she let go, she kept her eyes shut until she'd turned away.
Danyel stood at full attention, his gaze averted.
As she neared the door, she whispered sharply, "Don't let him near the pool."
Danyel nodded once, seeming unaffected by all that had happened. It was difficult to shake the Weardas—the Sentinels of the royal family. Then he surprised her, asking, "Highness, what if the … others … return?"
He glanced toward the tunnel at the pool's rear.
In truth, Reine would've preferred leaving Chuillyon with Frey, but she needed him and Tristan at her side.
"They won't," she assured him. "Not until tomorrow's highest tide. I'll return before then."
"My lady?" someone called softly.
Chuillyon stood in the outer passage.
"We should go," he said. "I must speak with Cinder-Shard."
Reine sighed in exasperation and stepped out, shutting the door and locking Frey and Danyel inside.
"Do not antagonize Cinder-Shard," she warned as they headed off. "We are guests, and Prince Freädherich is their cherished ward. This new threat is all that upstart sage's doing!"
Even so, she hadn't forgotten Wynn trying to reclaim the staff. The sage had shouted for it, as if lives depended on that simple object. In retrospect, Reine began to wonder.
Who was this black figure that created fire from nothing and made it run at them like something alive? She trembled at a murderer with such skills learning of Frey's presence.
When she and Chuillyon reached the intersection with the main passage, Captain Tristan was waiting, his expression impassive. She'd rarely seen him without his cloak, and he carried his helm under his arm. His cropped hair made him appear more human than the coldly fierce leader of the Weardas.
"Highness," he said, gesturing ahead.
Reine strode past him. Once they reached the main cavern, she slowed, spotting Cinder-Shard near another of the cavern's openings. Bulwark, the other elder, stood with him, glaring suspiciously at the staff in Cinder-Shard's grip. A movement among the calcified columns pulled her eyes.
Balsam, one of the females, paced a winding path toward the pair. Her head thrown back, she studied the cavern's ceiling.
Reine glanced up but couldn't guess what she was looking for.
Balsam was less wide than her comrades, with straight brown hair and a nose a bit flattened yet smoothly fitted between her rounded cheeks. Reine found her refreshing. For a cloistered Stonewalker, Balsam tended toward action first, questions later. Stoic Master Cinder-Shard and acidic Master Bulwark were much harder to fathom.
"Why did you stop us from forming a barrier?" Balsam called, lowering her gaze. "Now it can attack again at any time."
"Better us than our people above," Cinder-Shard returned. "And because I failed, it may be loose among them. Guardian Thänæ and constabularies will not stop it with ax, rod, or sword."
Balsam took a breath through her nose, blatantly dissatisfied with her elder's answer.
Reine looked around the cavern. A total of six Stonewalkers lived here deep beneath Dhredze Seatt, but only three were present. She didn't see Ore-Locks anywhere.
It had all happened so fast. Perhaps Amaranth and Thorn-in-Wine couldn't reach the battle in time. Amaranth was the other female of the group—and a healer before she took up a greater calling in the underworld. She was probably busy tending to Saln. As to Thorn-in-Wine, he could be daunting, like a younger version of Cinder-Shard.
Reine wondered about the missing three, especially Ore-Locks. He had been here for the battle, so where was he now?
The murderer hadn't entered directly with Wynn Hygeorht, but it had gained the underworld undetected. The unanswered question remained, How? Rumors during the killings in Calm Seatt suggested that it could walk through walls—like a Stonewalker.
"Well, then," Chuillyon said pointedly, and pushed past into the cavern.
Reine's frustration sharpened. She rushed after his swishing white robe as he headed straight at Cinder-Shard.
"If you will not lock it out, then what do you intend?" the counselor demanded. "Do something, and soon, or I will."
Reine didn't know how Chuillyon had held off the black mage's racing fire. She knew little about him—even less about his sect among the Lhoin'na sages. Exactly what did the elder of the Pras'an je Chârmuna—the Order of Chârmun—think that he or Cinder-Shard could do about this mage?
"I did not say I would do nothing!" Cinder-Shard retorted.
He glanced at Reine and then jerked the leather sheath off the staff's top.
Chuillyon cocked a feathery eyebrow as Reine too peered at the exposed crystal. Its perfect long prisms were as clear as polished glass. Cinder-Shard leaned it out toward her.
"What is this?" he demanded. "Obviously a made thing … likely from the sages' furnaces. I can sense all forms of stone and earth … but nothing of this."
Reine shook her head. "I don't know, and I hesitate to ask. We can't give that sage more opportunity for manipulation. Domin High-Tower and Premin Sykion both implied she's irrational."
"I saw no madness in her face," Bulwark said, folding his thick arms over his scaled hauberk.
"Nor I," Balsam added, "and that thing was afraid of her wolf."
Chuillyon still studied the staff's crystal, but he rolled his large eyes. "Could we delay discussion of canines and contrivances … and return to plans?"
"What would you suggest?" Cinder-Shard growled back. "Do share, you sanctimonious jester!"
Another Stonewalker, Amaranth, approached through the cavern's columns, and Reine turned to greet her. For all of Cinder-Shard's and Chuillyon's sharpness, they were friends of old. It was best to leave them to their crucible of bickering until they extracted a solution.
"How is Saln?" Reine asked.
Amaranth was wider than Balsam, with heavy creases surrounding her eyes and mouth, though no gray showed in her sandy hair. She finished wiping her hands on a muslin square and tucked it into her stout belt.
"His burns are not as deep as I first believed," she answered. "But more blistering will come. If he ignores my instructions—and proper treatment—scarring and disability may occur."
Tristan stepped closer. "Can he stand for his duty?"
"I just said… ." Amaranth scowled and shook her head. "It is his wish, though I warn against it."
Reine glanced up at the captain towering over everyone except Chuillyon. A flicker passed across his face. Was it remorse, sorrow, or misguided shame?
The Sentinels numbered twenty-seven, almost always working in threes. She didn't know if hers were friends as well as comrades. It seemed strange that Tristan was disturbed by Saln's loss of duty more than the man's injuries. But at times, she knew duty was more precious than life.
Chuillyon's too-sharp whisper pulled Reine's attention.
"She already saw how you got your stubby fingers into that shadow!"
Cinder-Shard didn't lash back. His eyes flicked once toward Reine, and he quickly looked away.
What were they arguing about now—and what did it have to do with her?
"What shadow?" Reine demanded.
Chuillyon's sarcastic annoyance faded. He appeared to study her—assess her—before turning an accusing glance upon Cinder-Shard.
"I heard you shout," he said. "Do you or do you not believe it was a servant of—"
Cinder-Shard's eyes widened, and Chuillyon never finished. The old elf had almost said something the master Stonewalker disapproved of, but Reine didn't know what or why.