The comment lost her at first. All he'd said to her since the duchess's arrival was one word—Lie. Then she understood, careful not to glance at Chuillyon, but getting Shade to wait as well was another matter.
The instant Wynn said, "Stay," Shade snarled. Wynn grabbed the dog's face, hoping no one asked what she was doing. She recalled memories of the long day in the guild's catacombs, when she'd first gained the codex and translations. She hoped Shade understood what she was going to do. She finished by saying, "Stay with Chane."
Shade curled her jowls, sneering at their captors, but she didn't try to leave. Or rather she dropped to her haunches, planting herself dead center in the archway. Shade licked her nose at Cinder-Shard.
Wynn stepped out to face the master Stonewalker.
"I'll send your packs and sword," she called to Chane, not taking her eyes off Cinder-Shard, "before I go anywhere else."
Cinder-Shard scowled at the insinuation. "Leave the staff. It cannot be taken where we go."
"I do not remember agreeing to return it!" Chuillyon sniped from somewhere behind Wynn.
"This is my agreement," Cinder-Shard growled.
Wynn heard the tall elf muttering as he pushed past her. When she glanced back, Chane held the staff, its crystal sheathed once more. She would've preferred to take it, but leaving it with him was the next best thing. At least their packs, weapons, and her companions would all be in the same place.
Cinder-Shard turned down the passage, but Ore-Locks stood waiting. Wynn didn't move. She wasn't having him at her back. With a derisive grunt, he headed off and she followed, Reine and Chuillyon falling in behind her.
When they reached the main cavern, Reine sent Wynn's dagger, Chane's packs, and his sword back with a female Stonewalker named Balsam. Reine then left, perhaps to look in on her husband.
Why had the Stonewalkers hidden the prince here? Had he gone mad, his death faked to hide the truth? If so, then why had they chosen a lie that so obviously implicated Reine?
Wynn had watched the prince sink beneath the pool. The people of the sea had done likewise in the tunnel. The chamber had filled with dull clicks and melodic tones rising from the water.
It seemed like he'd spoken with them.
"Take only what you need," Cinder-Shard said.
Wynn started from the distraction. He was holding out her pack, and again she wondered exactly where she was being taken. She dug out her elven quill and a wax-sealed vial of fresh ink. Though she rummaged to the pack's bottom, all of her journals, even a new blank one, were soaked. Wynn took the one from her day in the catacombs, with her notes from the translations. She looked up, prepared to ask for spare paper or parchment.
Cinder-Shard was staring at her hands.
"Where did you get that?" he demanded.
She looked down at the quill with its white metal tip. "A gift, during my travels among the elves of the eastern continent."
"So that is how you breached the tunnel," he growled.
She didn't understand what he meant, but she had more immediate concerns.
"I need paper or parchment," she said. "Something for notes."
Cinder-Shard sighed. "Chuillyon … is there anything of use in the prince's quarters?"
"No need," the elf answered, and began digging in his robe's deep pockets.
He pulled out a small multifold of paper stitched into a makeshift pamphlet slightly bigger than his palm. Chuillyon leafed through it, tore out two "pages" of markings, and handed over the remainder.
"Will this do?" he asked.
Wynn took it without answering. It wasn't much to write on, perhaps four sheets' worth of space all totaled. If she had to, she could write in her journal, hoping the ink didn't run too much.
Then her fear and excitement began to build again over what was to come. Not since the day she'd returned home had she held the texts themselves. Would she find the answers she needed?
Cinder-Shard was about to set her pack near the main passage's opening.
"Send it back with the rest," she said.
Irritation amplified the crags of his features.
"I will see to it," Chuillyon interceded.
"No!" Wynn snapped. She could just see him digging through her possessions and more of her journals vanishing.
"There is no one else," Cinder-Shard stated flatly. "Or would you rather leave it here?"
Wynn clenched her jaw. "Fine!"
Chuillyon offered an annoyed raise of one eyebrow as he took the pack and headed off. Cinder-Shard turned across the cavern, and Wynn followed.
Ore-Locks suddenly caught up, stepping in beside her. She had to force herself not to shrink away. The wraith wasn't the only minion here of some forgotten abomination, and she kept her eyes on Cinder-Shard's broad back.
The first time she'd seen these two was in the doorway of High-Tower's office. Did they share a bond beyond their calling, something deeper, fouler than with the others of their caste? No doubt Cinder-Shard knew what had brought Ore-Locks to "service," so was the master Stonewalker as corrupt as the outcast of the Iron-Braids?
"He is my mentor," Ore-Locks said. "He has taught me from my earliest days."
Wynn said nothing to this. Cinder-Shard didn't glance back, though he must have heard.
Ore-Locks's declaration only heightened Wynn's suspicion of his mentor. She'd become blindly entangled in unfolding events and couldn't abandon her path. In that moment, she almost wished she hadn't taken on this shadowy purpose—to halt the wraith, to learn the texts' secrets, to know for certain if the fears of Most Aged Father and others were true.
Was the Ancient Enemy returning soon? It appeared that its servants were already on the move. Cinder-Shard halted and turned to face her.
"We enter a place kept safe," he declared in warning. "You will swear never to speak of what you see … nor scribble about it."
Steel streaks in his black hair glinted like fire strands by the light of the walls' orange crystals.
Wynn flushed with fresh anger and swallowed hard. She was sick of this, always shackled by truth itself against the integrity she'd once thought the guild stood for.
"Agreed," she finally answered.
"Swear it … by your honor to the sages!"
His demand went against the very thing he expected her to swear by.
Truth through Knowledge … Knowledge through Understanding … Understanding through Truth … Wisdom's Eternal Cycle.
But how many times since she'd returned had she lied, manipulated, held what she knew like a tool, a weapon, or a chain upon others? Oh, she could always claim a reason to uncover what others refused to acknowledge and to save them from themselves. But even that seemed a hollow excuse sometimes.
Was she even a sage in anything more than title?
Yet there were still a few who'd put their faith in her, from Domin il'Sänke and perhaps Tärpodious, to young Nikolas Columsarn and others. Even High-Tower in his bitter way.
"I swear by the creed of my guild," she answered.
Cinder-Shard led the way into a new cavern. Wynn breathed in, held it as she followed—and then exhaled and scowled.
It was just another cavern. No orange crystals lit the space. By only the far wall's glimmer, she walked a wide, cleared path between calcified, shadowy columns. Here and there, thickened protrusions rose between those. Then she caught a looming shape in the corner of her sight.
Wynn sidestepped in reflex, glancing as she walked on.
A hulking stalagmite rose from the cavern floor, thick and fat all the way up to head-high. Its top joined the narrower end of a descending stalactite, but that faintly glistening bulk was too big to have formed from just drizzling, mineral-laden water. Some boulder or outcrop had once stood there, now buried beneath decades of buildup.