In other rare cases, rumors fell slightly short of the truth—something Ghassan kept to himself.

To Nikolas's credit, he kept his seat. Impressive, but Ghassan had no interest in the young man—only in Wynn. In what she knew, what she might share, and what she would keep to herself. She looked pale this morning, as if she had not slept well, but her hair was cleanly pulled back into a tail.

"Would you care for bread with butter and honey?" Wynn asked. "I can go find some."

Her simple offer moved him. Then he hardened himself against sentiment.

She possessed a giving spirit, but under the present circumstances this was not a good thing. If only she were closed off and self-serving, then she would cause him less concern. He had often been forced into cold decisions, doing what was necessary, and regret was not something he could afford.

Ghassan shook his head politely at Wynn's offer. He was about to tell her that boiled oats would be fine when his attention shifted. High-Tower suddenly appeared from the smaller northeast entrance.

The old dwarf's mouth was set in an angry, determined grimace, and his cloak was tied tightly divtied tiabout his wide shoulders. He strode halfway through the hall toward the main wide arch and the passage to the double front doors.

Where was the dour domin going so early?

Symbols and lines of Ghassan's art appeared in his mind, lacing over the sight of High-Tower. He reached for the domin's mind, attempting to pick up surface thoughts.

A loud commotion rose out of the main archway, echoing from the outer main passage.

"Sir! Sir, you cannot go in there. You must have permission first!"

High-Tower came to a sudden halt as Captain Rodian strode in.

Everyone in the common hall looked up to see an initiate scurrying backward before the captain. But the captain's threatening gait quickly backed the boy into a nearby table.

"What do you think you are doing?" High-Tower growled.

Rodian locked eyes with the dwarf. "I assume you're heading out to Master Shilwise's scriptorium to demand your folio?"

The entire hall fell silent, and Ghassan tensed.

Rodian's growing involvement concerned him almost as much as Wynn did. If nothing else, the captain struck him as competent. Not at all what Ghassan needed.

"I'll save you the effort," Rodian said softly, though his voice carried clearly in the silence. "The folio is gone. Someone broke into Shilwise's shop last night, ransacked the place, and took it."

The captain closed another two steps on High-Tower.

"Now, would you care to go to your study," he continued, "and tell me what was in that folio? Or do I still need an order of the court or a decree from the royal family?"

Ghassan glanced at Wynn.

She seemed as taken aback as everyone else, watching the exchange in stunned silence. Nikolas, however, was staring at the captain, and the young man's brow glistened with a sudden cold sweat.

"More unfounded assumptions, Captain," said a calm reedy voice from the smaller north entrance.

All heads turned as High Premin Sykion entered, silver hair tied back and her long gray robe sweeping the floor.

Rodian did not even flinch. "Unfounded?"

"Do you have evidence that the thieves intentionally broke into Master Shilwise's scriptorium… for the sole purpose of taking our folio?"

"It's the only thing missing."

"You are certain, without a doubt, that nothing more was taken?"

"With respect," Rodian replied, "two of yours were murdered, and the folio they carried is missing. The following night another is stolen direcwas stolently from a scribe shop. My duty is to protect this city, including your guild… and even from itself. You will tell me exactly what was in—"

"Premin Sykion!"

The initiate who had been driven before Rodian came running back into the hall. Ghassan had not even noticed the boy leave.

"Forgive me, Premin, b-b-but…"

The boy looked anxiously about the hall, then hurried close to Sykion and whispered.

Ghassan focused upon the initiate, once again stroking the mental symbols and ciphers he needed. As Sykion leaned down, he slipped into the young one's thoughts and heard…

Duchess Reine is here! She asks to be admitted immediately.

Before Ghassan could try for the premin's thoughts, the captain whirled about, facing the archway. Nearer to Sykion, he had obviously overheard the boy.

Shifting a spell's focal point was not so easy once a connection to target was established. The captain appeared startled, and all anger and determination faded from his demeanor. By the time Ghassan grasped at the captain's thoughts, all he caught was…

Oh, Blessed Trinity! Why is she here—now, of all times?

Sykion straightened with a worried glance to High-Tower.

"Everyone out!" High-Tower shouted. "Any but domins, clear the room!"

Rodian glanced back, frustration plain on his face, but Premin Sykion relaxed where she stood, offering the captain a polite smile. Or was it an expression of relief?

The hall filled with the noise of rushing feet. Initiates, apprentices, and a handful of journeyors hurried for the exits. Some were diverted away to the northeast exit when they tried in confusion to leave through the main archway. Nikolas seemed reluctant, and Wynn pulled him up.

Rodian pointed at her. "You stay."

Wynn froze, staring at him. She gently pushed Nikolas after the others before taking her seat.

With so many in a frenzy about the hall, Ghassan was uncertain whose thoughts to reach for next. As the room cleared, Premin Sykion nodded to the messenger.

"Please show the duchess in."

Before the boy even moved, Duchess Reine Faunier-Âreskynna swept into the common hall with her full entourage.

Three female attendants in rich gowns of varied and dignified hues, and one tall elven male in a white robe, surrounded the duchess. Or rather princess, for that was her true title.

Duchess Reine was niece to the king of Faunier, one of Malourné's neighboring countries and a staunch ally. She had married Prince Freädherich of the Âreskynna, the royal family of Malourné—though he no longer lived. For sod wlived. me reason she preferred her original title rather than the one gained by marriage. And she was guarded by three of the Weardas.

These tall warriors in their polished steel helms, chain vestments, and long crimson tabards each wore a long sword sheathed upon a wide belt of engraved silver plates. They carried short spears with heads shaped more like a leaf-bladed short sword.

The leader, Captain Tristan, walked beside the duchess. An emotionless soldier, there were some rumors that he had trained with the Suman emperor's personal guard. But this was all Ghassan knew of the man.

And everyone in the entourage towered over Duchess Reine.

She was no taller than Wynn, perhaps less, with a tiny waist and slightly wide hips beneath a long sea-foam satin skirt. Her matching vestment scooped beneath her jutting bosom covered in a white linen shirt. In the common hall's somber and earthy colors, she stood out like an emerald tinted by a blue sky. Her dark chestnut tresses were pinned back on each side by twin combs of mother-of-pearl shaped like waves—the only jewelry adornments she wore.

By her early arrival and attire, Ghassan guessed the duchess had risen at dawn, putting her three attendants hard at work in order to achieve such a seemingly simple elegance.

Duchess Reine smiled warmly at Rodian and stretched out one hand.

"Captain Siweard Rodian… at your duties already. Do you never tire?"

Ghassan watched the pair carefully. He caught a flicker in those matched gazes. And as the captain took the duchess's hand with a slight bow, his formal—yet familiar—gesture suggested a connection between them. She was about five years Rodian's elder, something Ghassan had not noticed at first. Perhaps her diminutive stature conjured the illusion of youth.