Wynn froze in disbelief.

"Domin il'Sänke must have told Domin High-Tower what happened," he rushed on. "So how could he send more of us out?"

"Nikolas!" Wynn said. "Calm down."

"I don't want to go!" he half shouted, and ended in stuttering whimpers. "But if I refuse I will… seem unhelpful."

Pity mixed with Wynn's frustration. The one thing an apprentice never wished to be called was «unhelpful» — a thinly veiled euphemism for «lazy» or "incapable." But in spite of two deaths, a ransacked scriptorium, and an account of two messengers being followed, her superiors remained insistent that these events were unconnected and had nothing to do with the translation project.

Nikolas stared at her expectantly, as if she had the power to save him.

"I cannot change their minds," she said bitterly. "And I can't go with you. They won't allow me anywhere near the translation work."

Nikolas seemed on the verge of tears as his lips began quivering.

"But I can do something," she said, returning to her table.

Wynn tore a blank page from her journal and scribbled a quick note. She held it out for Nikolas to read with her.

"I'll have an initiate run this to the captain," she said. "He wants no more trouble over the folios. I'm certain he'll send guards to protect you."

Nikolas's brown eyes flooded with relief. "Thank you, Wynn… Wait, what if Domin High-Tower finds out? He's already angry with you over that day you returned home with the captain."

"I don't care," Wynn answered coldly. "All that matters is that the three of you come back."

If her instincts were correct and the killer was a Noble Dead, Rodian's men might not be able to stop it. But it had always struck when no one was watching, perhaps wishing to remain unseen. The sight of a few city guards might give it pause, and any vampire would think twice about engaging multiple armed soldiers.

Nikolas dropped his gaze to the floor. "I should've thought of this myself. Elias would have. He always knew what to do."

Wynn patted his arm. "Go get ready, and I'll find a messenger."

Nikolas nodded quickly, and they both le Kd ter.ft the room. As he took off across the inner courtyard, Wynn's ire at her superiors sharpened. But so did her concern for any innocent sage caught in harm's way.

The premins and domins were denying the plain facts before their eyes—and it made less sense every night. Rodian left the barracks that evening with Lieutenant Garrogh. They headed for supper at a favored local inn called Mother's.

Its founder was long dead, and her grandson now ran the establishment. Close by, with modest prices and good basic food, it was popular among the forces of the second castle. Sooner or later most of the city guards and regulars, and even some of the cavalry, stepped across its threshold. Though the barracks boasted a full cooking staff, and the food was healthy and plentiful, sometimes it felt good to eat elsewhere than the meal hall.

Tonight Rodian picked at a bowl of thick seafood stew with his spoon while Garrogh shoveled in mouthfuls. The lieutenant stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

"Don't you like it?"

"It's fine," Rodian answered, glancing idly about.

A group of his city guard sat at a nearby table, though he saw few regular soldiers tonight. The place was packed, just the same. Aside from price and quality, people were more at ease anywhere they saw the city guard—the People's Shield—take their rest. All around, private citizens and red surcoated Shyldfälches ate and drank with boisterous chatter.

The noise was beginning to bother Rodian.

He'd spent a restless day trying to focus on neglected duties. But his thoughts had kept wandering to dead sages, a ransacked scriptorium, the faces of Wynn Hygeorht and Duchess Reine… and Domin High-Tower's determined glare. As if the guild's murder investigation were his only duty to attend to.

It wasn't. Aside from reviewing reports filed by his men, he had his own to write for the minister of city affairs. Why did the sages continually impede his investigation? And why were Duchess Reine and the royal family shielding them from his inquiries?

"You're thinking on those sages again," Garrogh said, and took a gulp of ale.

Rodian returned his companion a hard look. He needed no reminder of his continuing failure. He sighed and dropped his spoon, all appetite gone.

"I don't like having my hands tied," he answered.

"I know you don't," Garrogh grumbled under his breath. He leaned over to clean his bowl, and strands of his unwashed hair dangled in the stew's gravy.

Rodian grimaced. Though trustworthy and attentive, Garrogh's personal manners were appalling.

"If you're finished, we should head back," Rodian said. "I still have work to do, and it's getting late."

He dropped several coins on the table, and they exited into the pools of lantern light along the street. They untied their horses, then decided to walk rather than ride. Snowbird didn't need to be led Kneeern, and followed.

"You're certain nothing but the folio was taken from Shilwise's shop?" Rodian asked.

This time Garrogh shot him a hard look. "You read my report."

"I'm not suggesting…" Rodian began, and then faltered. "I'm just trying to decide what to do next."

He'd received written statements from all requested parties regarding the alibis of Selwyn Midton and Jason Twynam on the night of the murders. That left only the razor-thin possibility that one of them had hired an outsider. But in his gut Rodian knew pursuing either of those lines was a waste of time.

He and Garrogh entered the second castle's courtyard, handed off their mounts to the stable warden, and turned toward Rodian's office and room. The only useful option left was to press the sages yet again, but the duchess had publicly asked him not to.

"Captain!"

Rodian turned around as Lúcan, one of his men, jogged across the courtyard.

"What now?"

"Sir, a boy from the guild arrived just before dusk, but you'd already left. He has a message for you, but the little whelp wouldn't give it to me."

"Where is he?"

"He's been waiting outside your office the whole time."

Rodian broke into a trot. He burst through the barracks' side door, looking down the wood-planked corridor. A boy of eleven or twelve in a tan robe fidgeted before the office door. He was clutching a folded scrap of paper in one hand.

"Give me the message!" Rodian called, hand already out as he strode down the corridor.

The boy jumped slightly. "You are Captain Rodian?"

"Of course," Rodian barked. He closed on the initiate with Garrogh right behind him.

The boy swallowed hard and thrust out the folded slip. "Journeyor Hygeorht said I must give this only to you."

Rodian hesitated before snatching the message. Why would Wynn send a note for his eyes only? He snapped the sheet open and scanned the contents—and his half-full stomach rolled.

Last night's folio messengers had been followed, and High-Tower had still sent out more this night.

Rodian whirled about, face-to-face with a puzzled Garrogh.

"Get four men and our horses… now!"

Once Nikolas, Miriam, and Dâgmund had left, Wynn couldn't bear waiting in her room. She went and volunteered to help serve supper, hoping time would pass more quickly. No doubt the captain would send someone to protect the messengers. But her thoughts also wandered to the sun crystal.