Between Their Worlds Read online

  “I will take first watch on the roof,” Brot’an pronounced. “Everyone else . . . eat and rest.”

  He pushed past Osha, and an instant later, he was gone out the window. Another awkward silence passed until Osha announced flatly that he would go in search of food. As Leesil settled on the bedside, Leanâlhâm retrieved a blanket to cover Magiere.

  Chap went to lie in the corner near Osha’s hidden sword. He had no intention of going to sleep. It was simply the best place from which to watch the door . . . and the window for Brot’an’s return.

  As Chane made his way through the dark streets toward Nattie’s inn, he could not escape his numerous worries. Every time he blinked, he saw an image of Wynn on the backs of his eyelids. She must be asleep by this time, or so he hoped. But she would wake in the morning to face . . . what?

  It troubled him—no, it ate at him—that he would lie dormant all day while events closed in on her. Even if she found a way to send him word, he would be beyond receiving it until dusk tomorrow night, unless . . .

  Once Chane reached the inn and his room, he opened the door slowly to let Shade see that it was him. She wrinkled her nose and growled softly, but appeared more frustrated than hostile. Likely she needed to be fed and let out for her “business,” as Wynn called it.

  He realized he had to start paying more attention to Shade’s needs if she was to remain his somewhat unwilling ally. His only ally, as of yet, and he would need her help. Perhaps she could even advise him on his notion.

  Chane dropped his second pack from his shoulder—the one Wynn would always think of as Welstiel’s pack—and set it down.

  “Shade,” he began, and then faltered, for though she comprehended spoken words, he was uncertain how much. “Outside, and then food. But first . . .”

  He hesitated, and Shade tilted her head, watching him. There was only one thing he could do: show her. He dug into his second pack.

  Chane pulled out a long velvet box and opened it to reveal the six glass vials that had carried a noxious violet concoction deadly to the living. It served another purpose for the undead, one that he had painstakingly—and painfully—unraveled for his own need. He was now running low on this concoction.

  The ingredients to make more were almost impossible to acquire, but one dose, less than a third of one vile, could stave off his dormancy for several days. Still, he hesitated to use it, for the side effects were horrible. He would remain awake during the day but trapped inside by the sun unless he donned his cloak, face mask, and the eyeglasses that could block out sunlight’s worst effects. Even then, he could tolerate direct sunlight for only a brief period, and he would be dressed like some abhorrent executioner. Anyone who saw him would stop and stare—and not forget the sight.

  The thought of being awake, trapped by the sun, locked in this shabby room all day was a torture Chane would rather avoid.

  “In here, I have a method . . .” he began, looking into Shade’s watchful eyes. “A way that will let me stay awake in daylight; but I still cannot go outside. Should I use it?”

  She glanced at the pack, at the door and the curtained window, and then back to him. Though she could be more expressive than any animal Chane had ever known, he could not tell what she was thinking.

  Shade huffed once for “yes.”

  “Very well,” Chane said, and he rose to open the door. “First we go out for food and ‘business’ . . . and be quick about it.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The next morning, Wynn awoke to sunlight spilling through her window. Everything felt normal, and she reached over the bedside for Shade. Her hand found nothing, though she reached all the way to the braided rug on the stone floor. She sat up, looking about, and her gaze came to rest on the far corner beside the door.

  Her sun-crystal staff was still gone. Shade was nowhere to be seen. She was still a prisoner inside her room.

  Wynn had so often believed that almost any situation looked better in the morning. Not now, not this time, sitting there alone.

  Grabbing her gray robe off the bed’s end, she pulled it on over her shift and leggings and smoothed out the wrinkles. A part of her was tempted to open the door, check the passage and see if Lúcan was still outside. Of course he would be, for nothing else had changed.

  A soft knock sounded at her door. It would only be Nikolas with her breakfast, but at least this made her feel less isolated. She stood up, prepared to let him in, but she had taken only a step when . . .

  “Journeyor? May I come in?”

  Wynn froze at the low voice coming from the other side of the door. She knew that voice, and it certainly didn’t belong to Nikolas. She had to respond in some fashion, so she just went and opened the door.

  There was Captain Rodian standing outside, with Lúcan at attention just left of the doorframe. The captain’s red tabard looked freshly pressed. His close beard was evenly trimmed, and his neck looked as if it had been shaved early that morning. But his expression was uncertain, and just a hint of dark rings encircled his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept well.

  Wynn remembered a night last autumn when Rodian had locked her in a cell at the second castle. He’d come later that same night, asking permission to enter, as well. Why even bother, since she had no choice? Even here, this wasn’t really her room anymore. Mild hysteria grew as she wondered what he’d do if she just told him to go away.

  When she didn’t speak, Rodian’s brow wrinkled. He glanced at Lúcan, who said nothing, and the captain whispered something to his corporal. Lúcan nodded and turned away, and Wynn heard him heading down the passage to the stairs.

  “Please,” Rodian said, still waiting in the passage.

  Wynn sighed, leaving the door open as she took a few steps back. He entered and then glanced back at the door, as if caught between leaving it open or not. Finally, he closed it, and they were alone.

  “Journeyor,” he said again, and then paused.

  This did not seem like a good thing to Wynn.

  Rodian had always struck her as almost comically determined to present a professional front, as if the scuffle with Chane last night and the sight of Dorian dragging her off had never occurred.

  Wynn had no idea what he was doing here. With no intention of helping him or offering any encouragement, she just stood there beside the bed, waiting.

  “Why has the council confined you?” he asked.

  “You’d have to ask them.”

  “I have.”

  “Well, then, you know more than I do.”

  His gaze was intense, and Wynn wavered. He’d sounded concerned, as if worried about her. If that was true, then why had he done everything the council asked of him, aside from taking over control of her confinement? Why had he locked down the guild grounds?

  Rodian shook his head and stepped closer. “You must have done something—or something must have happened connected to you—for the council to call me.” His patience suddenly vanished. “Wynn, talk to me! What happened here last night?”

  What could she tell him—that a dhampir, a half-elven ex-assassin, and a Fay-born majay-hì returned to her and panicked the Premin Council? And then she’d been forced to sneak out the vampire who’d been hiding in her room?

  Oh, yes, that would just fix everything.

  Even if Rodian believed any of it—if he didn’t ask a hundred more questions in turn—she didn’t believe those things had anything to do with why she’d been locked up.

  “I returned from a long journey south,” she finally answered. “While there, I went farther than ordered in my own exploration, without guild sanction or knowledge. I think now they know more than I realized, and they want me to admit everything . . . and I won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of dark comings they don’t want to acknowledge. And the more I tell them, the more they’ll be able to get in my way. You, of all people, should understand that.”

  “If you won’t give them what they want, then why haven’t they just dismi
ssed you, thrown you out?”

  Wynn smiled at him without a trace of humor. “Because they’d lose control over me.”

  Rodian rubbed his brow and turned a circle, as if wishing to pace but finding the small room too confining.

  “Are you going to keep on doing what they want?” she asked. “Keep on serving them in this?”

  She should’ve known better than to try turning all of this on him. He was now one of her obstacles.

  “Have they mentioned any formal charges to be made against you?” he asked.

  “Not to me. I wouldn’t know what they’ve mentioned to you.”

  Rodian didn’t respond to this. “There’s more to this than your errant mission,” he said. “Something happened here last night. Even if small events seem irrelevant, you need to tell me what led to—”

  The door slammed open, and High Premin Sykion stood in the opening, her wide eyes instantly fixed on Rodian.

  “Captain,” she said with surprising calm. “May I have a word with you . . . outside?”

  Rodian’s carefully constructed professionalism flickered.

  Wynn wondered if he might not drag Sykion into the room and demand answers here and now. But the flicker passed, and his staunch professionalism resurfaced.

  He nodded politely to the premin and then turned back to Wynn. “One of mine will be outside your door at all times. Should you ever find that this has changed without hearing from me first . . . do your best to let me know, if I do not hear of it myself in short order.”

  Sykion’s eyes narrowed with a twitch.

  Rodian spun about, facing the premin, but he didn’t move until she turned away down the passage. He followed the premin and shut the door.

  The truth of the situation struck Wynn in the face. Rodian had no respect for the Premin Council, only formal politeness and ethical conduct, and he didn’t care for sages in general. Their ways went against his spiritual beliefs and philosophy, yet he was faithful to his oath of service above all else.

  She had seen evidence of this more than once, though she hadn’t always understood it for what it was. Now he once again acquiesced to the council . . . or rather to others, as he had been pressured into two seasons ago when she had been hunting the wraith.

  This was not be the first time she had seen this contradiction in Rodian’s conduct—nor the first time someone else had intervened in favor of the Premin Council. That had to be the only answer.

  Captain Rodian was being pressured again by the royals of Malourné, perhaps Duchess Reine Faunier-reskynna directly. And the royals would protect the guild’s . . . protect Sykion’s interests at any cost.

  In spite of it all, and Rodian’s likely being pressed into actions that bent his oath of office, Wynn felt strangely bereft with the captain gone. What was her world coming to if she started thinking of the captain as even a tentative ally? Was she that alone now?

  She rushed to the door and pressed her ear against the wood, straining to hear whatever was taking place out in that passage. It seemed Sykion had moved them both too far down the passage toward the stairs. Wynn only picked up the muffled sounds of Rodian’s short, clipped words and Sykion’s longer, soft responses.

  Rodian’s voice grew suddenly sharp, and Wynn heard him bark, “As I see fit!” Silence followed that, though she remained pressed against the door in uncertainty.

  The captain had obviously disliked, rejected, whatever the premin had said. She’d somehow pushed him too hard, and he’d shoved her back. But he was clearly under pressure from more than just the guild. He wouldn’t bend completely to whatever Sykion had said, but neither was he willing to break loose from what the royal family expected. Until that latter part changed, Wynn could expect little help from Rodian.

  She abandoned all thoughts of him as an ally and hurried to her desk. No matter how she might feel, she wasn’t completely on her own, not so long as she had quill, ink, and paper. She scribbled a quick note and folded it up, but wrote no address on its outside. It wasn’t long before another knock came at her door. Either it was the captain returning for some reason or the one other person she expected.

  Crossing quickly, Wynn opened the door to find Nikolas standing there with her breakfast tray. There was a new city guard outside in place of Lúcan, and she didn’t even try to close the door after ushering Nikolas inside.

  “Anything good this morning?” she asked.

  “Porridge and tea,” he answered, “but I scavenged some honey, as well.”

  As he set the tray on the desk, she rounded him, glancing toward the open door. The angle from that side of the room was good, for the guard wouldn’t be able to see them unless he leaned around the doorframe’s edge.

  Wynn wanted to get this done now and not wait for Nikolas to return to collect the dishes. She grabbed the front of his robe, jerking him around between her and the door.

  Nikolas’s eyes instantly widened.

  “Thank you. The porridge still looks warm,” Wynn said a little loudly, and she held up the folded paper before him and slipped it into the front split of his robe.

  Nikolas stiffened, reflexively trying to glance toward the open door. Wynn jerked on his robe front again to keep him from doing so, though she did watch the doorway as she spoke.

  “Oh, the next time you stop by Nattie’s inn to visit that tall friend of yours, please give him my best.”

  Nikolas blinked in confusion.

  Frustrated, Wynn raised one hand high over her head to indicate greater height, and then mouthed my friend.

  Nikolas’s expression instantly shifted to its normal but nervous state.

  “I . . . I will,” he stuttered.

  She had to push him into motion toward the door. In the opening, he looked back once and swallowed hard.

  “I’ll be back . . . to pick up . . . the tray . . . later,” he added, his voice shaking. Then he closed the door.

  Rodian strode across the courtyard, determined not to let his frustration and fury show to his men. But Sykion’s needling still stung him.

  She’d politely expressed displeasure that he’d not only replaced her people with one of his guards at Wynn’s door, but that he’d visited Wynn alone without guild representation present—and that he’d closed the door. She’d even dared to suggest the latter might be construed as inappropriate. Then she’d reminded him that he and his men were here for reasons of guild security only.

  In turn, with teeth clenched, Rodian had informed her that if Wynn was under arrest, then she was under his jurisdiction. And none of this would last long unless formal charges were declared.

  Sykion’s answer still burned in his ears. “This is an internal guild matter, Captain, and you will only do what you are asked.”

  “Law enforcement is not a guild matter,” he pointed out. “I safeguard your people, and the law . . . as I see fit!”

  She had gone silent at that, for she knew exactly what he meant. But he realized he’d pushed back too hard. How soon would she go running to the royal family again?

  Lengthening his stride, Rodian headed for the gatehouse tunnel to check in with his men. He knew Sykion had gotten to him too much when Guardsman Jonah winced at the sight of him. He didn’t care anymore.

  “Report!” he barked.

  “All quiet, sir.”

  Trying to force calm, Rodian nodded, recalling Sykion’s final instructions.

  “Normal guild activities should resume—to a point,” he relayed. “Keep the portcullis closed, but any sages with business in the city should be allowed to enter and leave. If a wagon arrives with supplies, contact one of the sages in the gate tower for confirmation. As long as they clear the driver, let the wagon in. No strangers are allowed inside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Then light, hurried footsteps echoed down the gatehouse tunnel behind Rodian. He looked back to see a slender, gray-robed, slightly hunched form hurrying toward him. Recognition dawned, for he knew Nikolas Columsarn. After the young man
had been attacked by the wraith, Rodian had carried him back here for medical attention.

  Nikolas slowed, shuffling forward. He anxiously eyed the closed portcullis, perhaps purposefully to avoid the eyes of those watching him. Then again, he always looked nervous. He was also an acquaintance of Wynn’s. When he finally looked up and met Rodian’s gaze, he froze like a rabbit afield that had spotted a fox.

  “Yes?” Rodian asked.

  Nikolas opened his mouth, closed it again, and glanced at the portcullis.

  “I need to go out,” he said, barely above a whisper.