"These two can stay," she said, stroking Tomato's ears. "Chap will not mind."
Chap cocked his head with a whine, then belly-crawled to her pack, where the talking hide was stored.
Wynn ignored him as she scratched Potato's stomach. "We will talk later."
Chap growled and dropped his head on his paws.
"You're right about Byrd," Magiere said where she sat on the floor. "A character for certain, but you didn't mention he could cook.
"Don't let him tool you," Leesil warned. "He's skilled in putting people at ease, as was my father."
"And you," Wynn added.
Leesil glanced at her. He had many faces, and Wynn had not forgotten his blood-streaked hair and empty eyes when he came in from killing at the Stravinan border.
One of Wynn's tasks for the Guild of Sagecraft was recording all she learned of Magiere, the only dhampir known outside of folklore. Wynn had done so faithfully, including what was uncovered of Magiere's bloody heritage at the keep above Chemestuk, deep in Droevinka. She had gone so far as to steal bones from the corpses of the five Uirishg found there. These she included in her last package to Domin Tilswith, as proof that the other three races, besides the dwarves and elves, were more than myth. Somehow one of each had been found and sacrificed to make Magiere's birth possible. What this meant, Wynn could not guess, and Magiere knew nothing of Wynn's careful records. Wynn had no intention of telling her.
But Leesil? Wynn watched him settle on the floor beside Magiere and place one hand on her thigh.
Leesil had been a friend on this long journey. In the nights following Chane's death, he had brought Wynn tea, covered her with blankets, and assured her the world would seem brighter again, someday. Wynn would not forget these small acts-even for what she had seen at the border stream.
He was the only half-elf she had ever heard of. In her own land, the elves were known to mate only among their own kind. Secretive and shamed by his own life, Leesil had told her of himself and his parents in confidence. There were moments she considered recording details of him as well as Magiere, but she did not. It felt too much like betrayal.
Magiere never willingly told Wynn anything and reluctantly allowed her to follow on this journey.
"Do you have thoughts on our first step tomorrow?" Wynn asked.
"What about Byrd's comment?" Magiere replied first, and hesitated as she looked to Leesil. "Why would your parents run for the keep?"
Leesil shook his head, rubbing one temple with a finger.
"They weren't fools and must have had a strong reason, but it makes no sense." He glanced at Chap before raising his eyes to Wynn. "Translate for Chap. He lived with me and my parents long enough that he might know something."
Wynn plopped Tomato and Potato on the bed, pulled out the talking hide, and dropped down to the floor to unroll it.
"You know what I'm after," Leesil said to Chap.
Chap stood and began pawing out words upon the hide.
"Noticed how he's changed since Droevinka?" Magiere said, lifting her chin toward Chap. "He practically threw himself in front of the wagon to stop us from finding my past."
Leesil nodded but made no other reply.
Wynn scowled but kept her attention fixed on Chap's touches upon the elvish symbols. He finished, and Wynn pursed her lips for a moment.
"He does not know why your parents went to the keep, but he remembers the word 'down' that-"
"Yes," Leesil interrupted. "They were seen heading down below the main floor."
"Chap suggests they might have known of something in the lower levels to help them escape." Wynn tried not to sound reluctant. "So, we search another keep?"
Leesil raised his eyes to Wynn with a disapproving glare. "I don't think so! There's no bolt-hole to sneak through, and we'd be dead before we crossed the bridge. Even if it were possible, none of you are going near Darmouth."
"What about Byrd?" Magiere suggested. "Couldn't he seek an audience, then look about the keep as much as is safe?"
"People like Byrd don't speak directly with Darmouth," Leesil answered. "Byrd is one set of eyes among many. Neither he nor Darmouth wants that known to anyone without reason. Besides, whatever informants Byrd has couldn't tell him much, so there's little he'd gain by nosing about himself."
"If he told us all he heard," Magiere added.
"Yes," Leesil agreed. "There is that."
This time Wynn grudgingly acknowledged Magiere's habitual suspicion. "Then we start with any city records we can gain access to. Perhaps military logs of death warrants or…' She bit her lip as Leesil winced. "I did not mean… we must at least look, verify that your parents were not legally executed before we go further."
"Warlords don't care about records," Leesil said, and got up. "Some pretense of protocol exists, simply for justification-or it used to. Byrd might be able to help with that, but I'm too tired. We'll leave it until morning."
This was Wynn's hint to leave. It had been a long day for Leesil and not a hopeful one in the least.
She rolled up the hide, shouldered her pack, and was about to call Chap when she noticed how tangled his fur had become. He was a mess. She had not groomed him since the night before the border skirmish. When she looked at him, she could still hear the buzz of a leaf-wing in memory and saw the image of his blood-covered face as he crouched beneath the table in the Stravinan barracks.
"Come, Chap," she said weakly, then scooped up Tomato and Potato. "They can sleep with us."
Chap groaned as he followed her out.
Wynn set down the kittens in the hallway. Potato dropped on his haunches, staring up at her in wide-eyed confusion. Tomato trotted after her, much to Chap's rumbling distaste, and Potato finally waddled along behind.
As Wynn opened her room's door and the kittens scurried in, she heard voices drift up the stairs from below. One was Byrd's deep baritone, and the other's strange cadence was oddly familiar.
The accent was not right for the Belaskian tongue spoken most places in the north of this continent. The speaker clipped his words and syllables with strange pauses, his speech lyrical and guttural all at once.
Eavesdropping was impolite, but when they had all retired, no one else had come to the inn. Who would come by so late for a chat?
Wynn closed the door, keeping Tomato and Potato in her room, and crept to the top of the stairs. She crouched there to peek through the banister's railings. Chap shoved his head in under her arm, startling her.
Byrd stood by the bar, but unlike his relaxed demeanor at dinner, his shoulders were straight and square. He was tensely poised at the visitor's presence.
His visitor was tall, with a cowled head that nearly brushed the low rafters of the common-room ceiling. Solid in build, he wore a long gray-green cloak that hid his form and features. Only his hands were visible, and they were dark-skinned and narrow-boned.
Again the visitor's lyrical accent drifted up to Wynn's ears.
"My source tells me the lady wishes urgently to see you. Await her behind the Bronze Bell Inn. She will come soon, so do not delay."
Wynn swallowed hard.
The strange accent was one she had heard in her faraway homeland of Malourne.
Byrd's night visitor was an elf.
Chap tensed at the sight of an elf below in the common room. And not just an elf.
He had seen the forest-gray cloak and cowl more than once. The last time was in Bela. An elf called Sgailsheilleache-Sgaile-invaded the sages' barracks, intent upon killing Leesil. Below in the common room was another of their kind.
Anmaglahk. An elven assassin had come to the very inn where Leesil stayed.
"She wants to meet outside at night?" Byrd asked of his visitor. "Alone?"