Of Truth and Beasts

“This should suffice, if you are frugal.” Then he dug in his robe’s outer pocket and handed over a folded slip of millet paper. “A voucher for your return passage from Chathburh. Any Numan vessel will honor the guild seal, possibly even some Suman, but stay off vessels coming out of the free ports ... like Drist!”

She took the voucher and the pouch. By its weight, the council hadn’t given her much for anything but basic needs. Certainly it wouldn’t be enough for further sea passage, but it didn’t matter. In truth, this was more than she’d dared hope: guild approval and some financial assistance. Once she was out of their sight, there were other options to consider.

“I’ll deliver both messages,” she said, and turned away without thanking him.

“Wynn ... ?”

She slowed to glance back, and he looked uncomfortable, as if he had something to ask that was difficult to get out. She offered him no help and stood waiting.

“Have you,” he started, and then paused. “Ore-Locks has not been seen since you left Dhredze Seatt. Do you know of his whereabouts?”

Another strange state of events in an odd maze of connections—Ore-Locks was Domin High-Tower’s brother. But why in the world would he think she knew anything of Ore-Locks?

“No,” she lied.

Her response had nothing to do with loyalty. She didn’t want anything to do with Ore-Locks, but she wasn’t about to give High-Tower any more information than she had to.

He kept studying her, perhaps uncertain if he believed her or not, then scowled and looked away.

“Then go. I am sick to death of your deceptions.”

This was the last thing he should’ve ever said to her.

“My deceptions?” she returned. “While I was trying to keep sages from dying in the streets, you swore to show me all the translations and the codex. But it was Master Cinder-Shard who gave me access to the texts—all of them—while I was with the Stonewalkers.”

“You mean you gave him no choice, considering what followed you there! You used that to get what you wanted in the first place!”

His face resembled a dull beet, likely at the thought that she’d once more gotten around him and the guild.

“I saw the second codex,” she said, her voice rising. “The one you wrote and kept from me, along with any texts or translations not listed in the first one! Or did you and Premin Sykion keep it from others, as well? Don’t you lecture me about deception.”

He uttered no further counter, for what could he have said? He had lied to her. They’d all deceived her, holding back anything they could.

“And what of your tall companion?” High-Tower asked.

The shift threw Wynn off. “What about him?”

Chane had kept to himself here. No one could say he’d been any kind of inconvenience.

High-Tower rounded the desk an instant after Shade began growling in warning. He slowed, though he didn’t glance once at Shade.

“Your friend left a little something behind when you were all thrown out of the seatt,” he said. “A shirvêsh at the temple was cleaning his room. What use would he have for a large urn full of blood?”

Wynn went still. She’d arranged for the goat’s blood so Chane could feed. The fact that she’d forgotten about the urn—and it had been found—should’ve been the first thing to fear. But it wasn’t.

“Full?” she repeated without thinking.

High-Tower’s eyes narrowed.

It was too late to cover her slip, though he wouldn’t understand her exact meaning.

“Yes, full,” he repeated.

High-Tower was the enemy here, not Chane.

“It was probably for some dish from his homeland,” she lied, shrugging. “I saw his people make blood puddings and sausages, just the same as yours. We were in a seatt, after all.”

She tried hard to be outwardly disdainful as she turned for the door and gripped its handle. After a slow breath, she glanced back. “When does our ship leave?”

“Tomorrow. At dusk.”

They weren’t giving her much time, but sooner was better, especially now.

Opening the door, Wynn stepped out, and she jumped at a flash of brown in the corner of her sight.

Regina Melliny’s bony form stood just behind the opened door. Shade pushed past, bumping Wynn against the doorframe, and Regina instantly backed away.

“What are you doing here?” Wynn asked.

Regina was an apprentice in the Order of Naturology, and she’d recently made Wynn’s life miserable. No doubt the nickname of “Witless” Wynn had been Regina’s doing.

“As if that’s any of your business,” Regina answered haughtily, but with a nervous twitch of her eyes toward Shade.

“But it is mine, apprentice,” High-Tower growled, his voice close behind Wynn.

Regina’s gaze shifted as the venom drained from her expression.

“I was just ... I was up above,” she faltered, “taking my study time on the tower roof, sir.”

“In late autumn?” High-Tower asked. “Not wise or healthy ... Miss Melliny.”

That he hadn’t called her “apprentice” this time didn’t escape Wynn’s notice—or Regina’s. It was clearly a warning. Regina spun and scurried down the tower’s stairwell.

“Off with you, as well,” High-Tower said, his voice now somewhere farther across the study.