by Barb Hendee
“Take me!” she challenged. “And I’ll show you.”
“No!” Chane snarled, and his other hand clamped across her mouth.
Wynn lost her hold on Shade as Chane jerked her back. The dog lunged forward as Wynn’s eyes widened.
Still clutching the staff with one hand, she tried to pull Chane’s hand from her mouth without dropping the cold lamp crystal. Suddenly she was spinning away, her feet barely touching the tunnel floor. Someone grabbed her before she hit the tunnel wall.
Captain Tristan hefted her up. He tried to advance and join Chane, but Wynn blocked him with the staff, and then . . .
“Did you believe it was that easy to evade me?”
Wynn glanced at Chane’s back as he stood with Shade before the wraith. But the voice she’d heard wasn’t some hiss of wind. It couldn’t have been the wraith.
“I cannot move from place to place at a wish,” it went on, calm and light, almost mocking in tone. “But neither will you.”
Wynn took a step, raising the cold lamp crystal as the wraith twisted away toward the tunnel beyond it.
Around its black form, a flash of white showed up the tunnel. Chuillyon stood no more than a spear’s reach beyond the wraith, the barest smile upon his thin lips.
Chane lurched back toward Wynn as something came out of the wall beside him.
Cinder-Shard’s boots barely hit the tunnel floor before he lunged at the wraith’s exposed back. Another Stonewalker, the older female, came through the tunnel’s other side. Chane grabbed Shade, startling a snarl from the dog, and heaved her back.
Wynn saw Cinder-Shard’s thick fingers catch in the wraith’s cloak and she heard Chuillyon speaking softly.
“Chârmun . . . agh’alhtahk so. A’lhän am leagad chionns’gnajh.”
The wraith’s hiss turned to a shriek.
Wynn rushed in behind Chane. His right hand gripped his sword hilt in reflex, the same hand that he’d used to hold her waist. It was seared.
She wasn’t certain what to do, or whether to just stay out of the way. . . .
And yet another Stonewalker appeared. Their chant began drumming along the tunnel as the wraith tried to swipe back at Cinder- Shard. The elder Stonewalker snatched its wrist.
“I’ll make you a tomb, you dead dog!” he shouted. “Let Kêravägh try to find you then!”
Wynn couldn’t believe it would work. Too many times the wraith had slipped away, even from Chuillyon and the Stonewalkers. She couldn’t let it happen again, and jerked on Chane’s cloak.
“Take Shade and get the duchess out,” she whispered.
Cold fury glowed from his colorless eyes. “No!”
“Do it . . . please!”
She didn’t want him here when the sun crystal ignited again. She would burn it longer this time, and Chane had shown too little regard for his own safety.
Wynn grabbed Shade’s face, shoving the dog back.
“Go . . . guard!” she ordered, pointing at the duchess.
Shade went mad, snarling and snapping as she tried to get in front of Wynn.
Chane reached down and grabbed the dog, half shoving and throwing her back. He paused only an instant, glancing once toward the wraith and then at Wynn. He turned and ran, grabbing a shocked Reine around the waist before Tristan knew what was happening.
The captain ran after Chane and Shade.
Wynn shoved her glasses on and dropped the cold lamp crystal at her feet.
The wraith thrashed, swinging wildly in Cinder-Shard’s grip. Its one free black-cloth-wrapped hand passed through the master Stonewalker like shadows of no substance.
Chuillyon stood beyond them with hands clasped and his head slightly bowed as if in prayer. The other Stonewalkers’ chants built, and Cinder- Shard surged forward, pressing his captive into the tunnel’s floor.
“No!” Wynn shouted. “Lift it up!”
He glared once over his wide shoulder, the creases of his face deepened by fury. Wynn thrust out the sun crystal, already forming the shapes in her mind.
Cinder-Shard rose up, heaving the thrashing wraith high overhead.
Wynn finished brief utterances in thought only. She poured all of her will into those words as she thrust the sun crystal upward. Its light erupted—then winked out as it sank into the cowl’s dark space.
Her breath caught as sunlight exploded in the tunnel, and the glasses’ lenses blackened to shield her eyes. The Stonewalkers’ chant broke as several barked startled exclamations. The lenses began to clear as a shrieking wind filled the tunnel.
Wynn saw the long crystal burning brightly at the staff’s top. She stood fast, willing the wraith to die . . . and its form began to waver.
The shrieking wind grew louder.
The wraith’s cowl burst.
Its black cloak began to shred apart in Cinder-Shard’s great hands.
The shreds turned into smoke.
The thinning ring of smoke spread out around the crystal, dissipating as it splashed against the tunnel’s walls.
Everything went silent.
“Enough,” Cinder-Shard growled.
He’d retreated to one side, shielding his eyes, as had Chuillyon out ahead. Wynn quickly wiped the pattern from her mind, and the sun crystal went out. The glasses were too dark for only the cold lamp crystal at her feet. She pulled them off, and it took a moment before her eyes adjusted.
Chuillyon lowered his hand from his eyes. Likewise, Cinder-Shard stared up into the air where he’d held the wraith but a moment ago. Both had managed to hold it in place so it couldn’t escape.
Wynn gazed up wildly, her heart beating fast.
There was nothing to see in the air above the master Stonewalker. Had she finally done it? She’d burned the wraith from within, but had she finished it this time? Was it gone for good? She looked to Cinder-Shard.
He scowled, eyeing the staff’s crystal, and stepped to the spot where the wraith had appeared.
“Well?” Chuillyon asked, closing on him.
Wynn waited anxiously as Cinder-Shard turned about. He ran his hands down both walls, across the floor, and even looked to the ceiling.
“Nothing,” he whispered absently. “I . . . feel . . . nothing but our own honored dead.”
Chuillyon heaved deeply, letting out an overly dramatic sigh. “Well, that’s that . . . finally.”
It seemed so—Wynn hoped so—though she saw no pride or victory in Cinder-Shard’s face.
“Where is the prince?” he asked flatly.
Wynn faltered in guilt. “Gone,” she answered weakly. “Gone . . . with the sea people.”
Chuillyon’s old eyes widened as he sucked in air and then choked it out. He cringed, closing his eyes, and shook his head so slightly that his cowl didn’t shift.
Cinder-Shard’s cracked face, full of suppressed rage, seemed to break. He sagged in weariness, or loss, his gaze wandering. But then his eyes raised, glaring at Wynn as he pointed straight at her.
“Get out!” His loud voice echoed in the tunnel. “Leave . . . leave the seatt . . . and do not return!”
His manner struck Wynn harder than his words. She’d helped them destroy the wraith, and this was his response? But what should she expect, for all the damage she’d done? It was unlikely she would ever see the texts again.
Wynn went numb.
Dawn would come soon. Chane and Shade were waiting. And there were more preparations to make. Even more secrets than before waited to be unearthed.
Cinder-Shard turned away up the tunnel.
“See to the honored dead,” he told the others. “Return peace to their rest.”
He didn’t look back at her as he stepped through the tunnel’s stone wall. All of the other Stonewalkers followed likewise—all but one.
Ore-Locks stood just beyond Chuillyon, watching Wynn intently. Then he too vanished into stone.
Wynn was left alone with the tall, duplicitous elf, who stepped quietly toward her.
She stood her ground, wait
ing for whatever half- truth he might try this time. She was too weary and hollow to put up with anything from him. Everything had ended in loss. Even this final moment had come and gone so quickly.
Chuillyon merely passed her by, heading down the tunnel’s faint slope.
“Are you coming?” he asked.
Wynn picked up her cold lamp crystal and followed him toward the ocean shore.
CHAPTER 24
A whole day passed, and the sun had set.
Wynn climbed the boarding ramp of a two-masted Numan ship in Sea-Side’s lower port. The ship would leave at dawn and round the point below Dhredze Seatt into Beranlômr Bay, for the short journey back to Calm Seatt. She dropped all three packs near the rail.
So much had happened since Wynn had left the guild. Only bits and pieces lingered in her exhausted mind. She tried to push even these aside, to gain a moment’s respite from worries, mysteries, and guilt. But her thoughts slid back to the previous morning.
They had all stumbled from the tunnel’s mouth, wet and exhausted, with dawn approaching. Chuillyon offered passage to Calm Seatt. He seemed the only one to openly acknowledge that the duchess’s life had been saved by Chane’s decision to flee and Wynn’s hand in finishing the wraith.
But morning was not far off, and they headed quickly down the rocky shore toward the port.
Wynn had been forced to tell another lie, while asking Tristan to hold the ship another day. She had to get Chane inside as soon as possible and see to his hunger. Even a voyage belowdecks during the day wasn’t possible yet. She’d used the same excuse of a skin reaction to harsh sunlight as they had with the wagon driver on the way to Dhredze Seatt.
No one questioned her weak explanation. The captain recognized Chane’s efforts and did not press the matter. The duchess merely walked away toward the ship.
They hurried to the same inn Chane used during Shade’s extended search for the sea tunnel. Falling through the door, he’d collapsed into dormancy just barely before the sun rose. Wynn set aside trying to find him blood and fell into a deep sleep herself.
This evening, she’d awoken to see Chane crack open the little room’s door. He wore his cloak, with the hood pulled up. She’d sat up quickly.
“Where are you going?”
“I need . . . to purchase a new shirt . . . and some things for myself.”
Wynn knew better, and that he didn’t like to discuss it, but she wouldn’t let it pass.
“I can get you some blood,” she said, as if it were nothing extraordinary. “There might be a cold room or slaughterhouse here . . . before the meat is taken up to market.”
“No,” he answered. “I will see to it myself. Meet me on the ship.”
“Give me moment to dress, and I’ll come with you.”
He slipped out and shut the door.
“Chane, wait!”
By the time she’d reached the common room and stepped outside with Shade, he was gone.
Chane was in a bad state. She’d seen hunger in his face after they’d breached the sea tunnel’s many gates. It had only worsened from there. He’d faced down the wraith more than once, exchanging injuries with it that no one else could see—that no one else would’ve survived. He’d done it all on one urn of goat’s blood she’d bought in Bay-Side.
That act had caused him embarrassment, resentment, or maybe both.
Now he wanted to find a butcher and see to his need on his own. She understood and simply returned to the room and gathered their things. He would find her later. He always found her.
Now, aboard the ship, Shade padded out across the deck. As Wynn followed, she spotted Captain Tristan by the forward dockside rail. She thought he was looking at her but noticed his gaze was too high. Wynn followed it.
The duchess stood near the stern. By the slight turn of her shoulders, she was looking past the southern tip of the Isle of Wrêdelîd, and out to the open ocean.
Wynn leaned over the rail and scanned the shore for Chane, but the water-front was empty of any tall humans. Left with Shade for company, she couldn’t help glancing toward the duchess. It wasn’t a good idea, but she went aft, slowing cautiously in approach.
“May I join you?” she asked.
The duchess didn’t answer or even turn. Wynn settled on a storage trunk to the port side. Reine wasn’t wearing a cloak. Tendrils of chestnut hair quivered in the evening breeze, lashing across her profile and vacant expression.
“What happened to the prince?” Wynn asked suddenly.
Impertinent, especially for her hand in his loss, but she couldn’t help it. She already knew too much, as far as the duchess and her people were concerned. Yet her reasoning, her guesses about the youngest reskynna, needed confirmation in some small way.
“He went home,” Reine whispered.
It wasn’t an answer, but Wynn waited.
“Have you ever wondered how I know your premin?” Reine asked.
The sudden change of topic confused Wynn at first. “The royals have always had close ties to the guild.”
“Closer than you think,” Reine said, spite creeping into her voice. “I asked her to look into a certain matter . . . what might be known rather than rumored . . . concerning my new family. The reskynna told me what they knew, but it wasn’t enough . . . not nearly enough for me. I sought help from the guild.”
Wynn shifted to the trunk’s edge, her fingers clutching the edge of its lid.
“I learned nothing more than what the royal family told me,” the duchess continued quietly. “Lady Tärtgyth, your premin, found only hints that a marriage was arranged between a ‘lord of the waves’ and a forgotten female ancestor of King Hräthgar.”
Wynn’s mind was already filled with previous assumptions.
“You know that name?” the duchess asked.
“Yes . . . Hräthgar is attributed with uniting territorial factions in what later became the Numan Lands. Supposedly, he became the founder and first king of Malourné. It’s said that event marked the beginning of the Common Era, as measured on our calendar from the Lhoin’na. But how far back was this ancestor who married a—”
“A lord of the waves?” Reine cut in. “What a veiled reference to a Dunidæ, even from history.”
That quizzical reply, sharply edged, didn’t need a response. Even Wynn had never understood where the name reskynna—the Kin of the Ocean Waves—had come from. Not until she’d seen Freädherich.
“No one knows when she, this ancestor, lived,” Reine went on. “Perhaps even in the time of the sages’ Forgotten History . . . during or before the war. I pity her, whoever she was, being used for such an alliance . . . and I hate her for the legacy she left to Frey.”
Wynn understood the pity, but the hate would gain nothing.
“For all your learning, you couldn’t understand such things,” Reine added.
Oh, yes, Wynn could, though she wouldn’t say so to this woman. She had lost three friends, each oppressed by a heritage they hadn’t asked for. But she also wondered . . .
Why did the unique in this world always seem to suffer the most?
“But . . .” she began, struggling in hesitation. “But why Frey? Or do others of the royal family face this same affliction?”
Reine gripped the aft rail with both hands, taking long, hard breaths.
“They all suffer, but each generation, one is worse. That one feels it most . . . and can never be allowed to take the throne. Do you know of Hrädwyn, King Leofwin’s sister?”
Wynn nodded. “Yes, she succumbed to illness when she was young.”
“No!” Reine snapped. “She drowned herself . . . in that pool . . . after nine years of imprisonment.”
Wynn looked to the open ocean, suddenly as chilled as she’d been upon emerging from the tunnel. All she could think of was a prince’s desperate, pale features.
“Caught betwixt and between,” Reine went on, “unsettled on land and longing for the sea, that sickness drives . . . that one . . . to greater
desperation than the others. The tides began to change . . . him. I thought he had drowned that night, when he vanished from our boat. Something made him return to shore, where Hammer-Stag found him.”
Wynn knew why in watching Reine—watching Frey’s one reason to fight his heritage, his affliction . . . his taint, so much worse than Wynn’s own.
“Cinder-Shard came to me soon after,” Reine continued. “Even Frey’s deceased aunt wasn’t the first reskynna whom the Stonewalkers had taken in . . . though none before Frey had ever lived long enough to leave. But while alive, they were still necessary . . . to maintain a hold on some ancient blood-bound alliance! I stayed with Frey during the tides, especially the highest. I would’ve stayed always if my prolonged absence under the people’s suspicions would not have cast further doubts upon the family. And each year, Frey’s changes grew worse before they passed.”
She finally turned, and Wynn fell victim to Reine’s gaze.
“The terror of your wraith . . . and the Dunidæ’s persistence . . . forced his change too far!”
Reine’s voice broke. Though tears ran down her face, they didn’t match the cold anger in her features.
Wynn sat silenced, her thoughts filled with memories of half-breeds. So rare, even unique, yet they’d all come into her life. All had appeared within this generation, after a millennium, and in these new days of history.
Magiere . . . half mortal, half vampire, some would say, though it wasn’t accurate.
Leesil . . . half human, half elf, a wanderer outside of all peoples.
Chap . . . part Fay, though physically pure majay- hì, equally an outcast of eternity.
Then there was Shade, descended of a Fay-born father and majay-hì mother.
And now a prince of Wynn’s own land whom all had thought dead.
Why now? What did it mean? And how much ruin had she brought down upon the last?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Reine merely returned to staring across the water, until the wind dried all of her tears.
“What now, sage?” she asked. “For such a price . . . what have you gained?”
How could Wynn answer? Swirling questions wrapped in secrets hidden beneath myths already overwhelmed her. One place in the world had lain hidden for centuries in plain sight. Another had been lost beyond remembering. And a traitor, remembered by only a few who wished to forget him, had gained a worshipper in the dark among the honored dead.