… by the priest's jealousy of us … prayers like begging … with Beloved's three-edged boon … the joy of his petty vanity …
It was the closest she could translate, though she could be wrong. From Domin il'Sänke's comments concerning the scroll, it might be Pärpa'äsea rather than Iyindu, or even some other tongue. But it seemed that one of the Reverent had made a bargain with his Beloved to fulfill a vain wish.
What could an ancient Noble Dead have that anyone would envy for the sake of vanity? And why had Häs'saun claimed the boon was "three-edged"?
The metaphor of "two-edged" was part of almost any culture. It referred to a benefit that could be a downfall as well. "Three-edged" implied something worse, as if deficit outweighed any gain twofold.
… by beauty … frail the high priest was and is … his wish fulfilled … cheated with eternal life …
Wynn went cold in the pit of her stomach.
Not just one of the Reverent, but their very leader had asked for and received eternal life, but it didn't make sense. How could one be "cheated" by such a gift? And the Children were not alive; they were undead, Noble Dead.
And "was and is"? When had Häs'saun written this? How could he know what had happened, or would happen, to Beloved's high priest, considering Häs'saun had gone off with Li'kän, Volyno, and the orb?
… not mortal … not in young eternity …
Wynn sighed. That translation couldn't be right. She closed her eyes, reworking the phrases in her mind.
… never immortal … never eternally young …
"Three-edged" and a high priest's "vanity" began to connect. He hadn't just been after eternal life but eternal beauty. So why wouldn't eternal life provide that?
… Beloved's vain first [something] knew not what he would lose …
Whatever trick had been played on the high priest hadn't come to pass at the time of the siege.
… eternal being, Sau'ilahk shall never be …
Wynn came to a frantic halt.
She had found the name of the tricked priest, the last one among those identified as part of the Reverent. But it wasn't enough, and the rest of the page wasn't readable. She flipped to the next, but it started with an account of something else. There was no mention of Beloved's high priest.
"Eternal being but never be … what?" she whispered.
Or was that all there was to it? No eternal youth, no immortality, but eternal life just the same. What was the result of such a mistake in Sau'ilahk's shallow longing for beauty?
Wynn knew the answer, slowly rising to her feet.
"Ore-Locks," she said slowly, "I think I know who the wraith—"
"Someone comes," he cut in.
Wynn turned to find him facing the cave's far wall. She backstepped at the sight of a hulking figure emerging from stone and grew wary as it took form.
It wasn't Cinder-Shard.
"Master Bulwark," Ore-Locks said in equal surprise.
Wynn recognized his bony features and gray-blond hair. Her crystal's light glinted on the steel tips of his black-scaled hauberk.
Master Bulwark appeared equally surprised, then angrily suspicious. He glanced once at the guardian in the pool as he strode forward.
"I could not believe Cinder-Shard sent you here with the sage!" His eyes narrowed on Ore-Locks. "What have you been doing?"
"What I was told," Ore-Locks returned, though resentment leaked into his voice. "To wait until the sage finished and then notify Master Cinder-Shard to retrieve her."
Wynn took only a grain of comfort in the exchange. Bulwark didn't trust Ore-Locks. Perhaps he didn't even approve of Cinder-Shard taking in the outcast of the Iron-Braids. Did Bulwark know something about Ore-Locks's connection to Thallûhearag? Had Ore-Locks ever come to this cave before, trying to delve into the texts on his own?
The elder Stonewalker glowered at Ore-Locks and stepped past toward Wynn.
"Have you discovered anything useful?" he demanded.
"What?" Wynn sputtered. "Possibly … but I've barely begun. I need more time."
"The day has passed. Night has come again," he said. "You will return to your companions, as Ore-Locks is needed elsewhere. If you have something to report, I will inform the duchess, and she will come to you."
Wynn backed away. Apparently Bulwark was second only to Cinder-Shard. He was going to pull her through stone whether she wanted to go or not. She had little to tell, so little that she might never see the texts again.
"I can tell the duchess what I've learned," Wynn bluffed. "But she will want to know more once she hears it … as will Cinder-Shard."
Ore-Locks was already packing the texts away with great care. Bulwark merely stood waiting, speaking only to Ore-Locks.
"You may go. Find Amaranth and assist her until you are called."
As Ore-locks turned across the cave, Wynn sagged. She crouched to gather her things, never seeing him step into stone. One desperate notion struck her.
The wet journal she'd brought lay within reach of five more—her older ones, from her time in the Farlands. Travel-worn as they were, they couldn't be mistaken for part of the ancient texts. Bulwark wouldn't know what she had brought with her or what she found here.
Wynn closed the wet journal, sliding it onto the top of the other five.
Deceptions and lies, threats and coercion—now she could add thievery to the lot—but these were hers, stolen from her in the first place.
Wynn snatched up her quill and ink, and shoved these with her crystal into her pocket. With all six journals bundled under one arm, she rose in the cave's near darkness. Master Bulwark grasped her other wrist and dragged her toward the wall.
Wynn quickly sucked in a breath for what would come next.
Chapter 22
Reine reclined numbly on the sitting chamber's couch while Frey rested in the adjoining bedchamber. Chuillyon stood before the stone bookshelves, but he wasn't looking for something to read.
Reine knew the family relied on him for more than wisdom and insight; whenever possible, he accompanied any who left the royal grounds. But until the black mage had appeared, she hadn't fully understood why. Seeing Chuillyon halt the racing fire left her wondering who and what he really was. But she started from contemplation when Tristan appeared at the sitting chamber's opening.
Beyond the captain, Danyel stepped back out into the passage, closing the pool chamber's outer door. Strangely, she was relieved to see Tristan again. He was like her homeland's eastern stone steppes, immovable and permanent. He was the heart of the Weardas … he was the Sentinel.
"Were you able to assist Thorn-in-Wine?" she asked.
"Uncertain," he answered. "A Stonewalker appearing before clan leaders overrode most doubt or disbelief. Word was sent to other settlements. Six warriors guard all portals to the underworld. More patrol Sea-Side, keeping people inside. The display of numbers may give the black mage pause."
His passivity might've fooled others, but Reine knew better. What could he or any of them do against an assailant who could appear anywhere? Even here, in the pool's chambers, Frey wouldn't be safe until it died.
Tristan exchanged glances with Chuillyon. The captain subtly shifted his weight from one foot to the other—very uncharacteristic—and Chuillyon cleared his throat.
Reine didn't like these signs.
"My lady," he began, "the captain feels it's best that he stay with the prince. Danyel and I will take you—"
"No," she cut in.
"Highness," Tristan tried in turn, "I can protect the prince from himself. Your safety matters. The family cannot afford to lose—"