Of Truth and Beasts

Wynn shut the door without looking back. She had no time for Regina’s spiteful antics. But High-Tower’s mention of the urn—the full urn—still confused her. She started down the stairs with Shade, but by the time they reached the bottom, she’d begun worrying more about money.

There wouldn’t be enough for anything other than what the council had planned for her, and she didn’t possess anything worth selling. Did Chane? Even so, they had little time to go off bartering his possessions. So how could she get more coin or something worth selling later?

An awful notion occurred to Wynn. It was almost sacrilegious, but it was all she could think of for the best profit anywhere, at any time.

She and Shade passed quickly through the main floor and out into the courtyard. The sun hadn’t yet dipped, and she looked toward the northwest building, the one with Chane’s guest quarters.

And below that were the guild’s laboratories.

“Come on, Shade,” Wynn said. “One more stop before supper.”

Chuillyon’s white robe swished about his felt boots as he strolled through an open archway and into the royal castle’s manicured garden copse.

The second and final loss of Prince Freädherich Âreskynna still weighed heavily upon him, as well as the renewed grief of the prince’s wife, Duchess Reine. There had been little he could do to console her or himself.

With his cowl down, a chill shift of air blew his faded and streaked golden brown locks across his narrow mouth. Prominent creases lined the corners of his large amber eyes set around a narrow nose a bit long, even for an elf.

Late autumn, when fiery colors began to fade and fall, was to him the saddest time of each year, making his mood much worse. He did not like it. Even the wispy white of snow and glistening icicles were better than this. He strolled on through hedges and past one rose bush still bearing dead buds that would never birth light blue petals before winter came. The royal family always preferred blues and aquamarines.

The garden was empty, with no sign of the one he had come here to meet in private.

Nearly four centuries past, before Calm Seatt could truly be called a city, the first of the Âreskynna, rulers of Malourné, had resided in a much smaller castle. In a few more generations, they had embarked on plans for a new and greater residence. The royal family moved in, and the first castle became the barracks for the nation’s armed forces. Two centuries more, and Queen Âlfwine II—the “Elf Friend”—desired something new yet again. Scholars thought she had preferred a more lavish residence, suitable for a monarch. Others claimed that like her descendants, she hungered for a view of the bay.

To Chuillyon, the latter was obviously correct. Any in the bloodline of the Âreskynna—Kin of the Ocean Waves—had always shown strange affinities for the open sea.

Âlfwine II oversaw designs of this very castle. The nation’s armed forces, including the newly established city guard contingent, moved to the vacated second one. The first castle, by far the oldest and smallest, was given over to the Guild of Sagecraft. Or, rather, to its founding Numan branch.

It had been long years, decades that Chuillyon served discreetly as counselor to the Âreskynna. He spent so much time here as to have rooms of his own. But he preferred this garden, even in the sadness of late autumn ... and what had come to pass in Dhredze Seatt.

He strolled among elaborate obelisk trellises of thinning ivy and between sculpted evergreens and half-denuded oaks and maple trees.

“Psssst! Here, sir!”

Chuillyon slowed at that too-loud whisper, took a deep breath, and assumed his most serene demeanor. This was not a meeting he relished, but it was necessary all the same. He turned slowly, facing a large myrtle shrub clipped into the form of a conch shell. A flash of brown slipped around it, and a bony girl in a brown robe stepped into view.

Regina Melliny bowed briefly, too much eagerness in her small human eyes.

“I have heard that your Premin Council held a short private meeting today,” he said. “Was there anything of import?”

She looked him over, trying to be proper, but the more she tried to hide her glee, the more obvious it became. She knew nothing of his true position or the reach of his influence—only that he served the royal family. And the Âreskynna held sway and favor with the guild.

“Wynn Hygeorht leaves tomorrow night,” she said.

“Leaves?” he returned, and then waved her to silence before she confirmed it.

He had hoped Wynn might stay put, at least long enough that preparations could be made.

Chuillyon suppressed disdain at Regina’s lust for his favor. He had spotted her one day while visiting the guild with Duchess Reine. By her frustrated and spiteful demeanor, he had instantly spotted a pair of willing eyes within the guild’s Numan branch. Arranging a quiet chat with her had been effortless.

“Continue,” he said.

Regina stepped forward, nervously smoothing the front of her brown robe.