"Now!" Rodian snapped.

Lúcan jolted into motion and ran down the alley.

"Who would do this, and how?" Garrogh whispered softly.

Rodian found his second staring over one shoulder at the dead girl.

"What did…?" Rodian began, and then faltered.

He doubted his own senses and the memory of what he'd seen.

"What did you see?" he finally asked. "When you came in behind me?"

"A man," Garrogh answered, his brows gathering. "A tall man in a black cloak. Why?"

Rodian quickly hefted the surviving young sage. Holding his charge carefully, he strode down the alley toward the cart. His anger flared as he stepped over the girl's body.

The royal family valued its misguided sages. Now two more were dead, and another might soon follow. But no matter who had done this, High-Tower and Sykion were responsible. They'd refused to acknowledge the danger and sent more of their own out in the night.

This time Rodian would drag the truth from them.

Wynn still waited in the common hall, but too much time had passed. Only a few others were still about, either reading or writing or chatting softly. She fretted over some way to look occupied.

If she just sat doing nothing, and Domin High-Tower or Premin Sykion came by, either would surely comment. They never missed an opportunity to note any odd behavior on her part. But she dared not leave even long enough to fetch a journal or book from her room.

Supper was finished, and still the messengers hadn't returned. What was taking them so long?

Wynn's dilemma ended as a slam from the keep's front doors echoed down the outer passage into the common hall. She lunged off the bench, racing to the main archway to meet Nikolas, Miriam, and Dâgmund.

But instead, Domin il'Sänke appeared, pulling back his cowl.

"Wynn," he said, and his slight smile seemed forced. "You look disappointed to see me."

"Where have you been?" she asked bluntly.

His smile faded. "I ate supper early in the kitchens, perhaps too much. At my age, one needs to walk off such a meal before turning to other matters."

"Sorry," she said, feeling foolish for her urgency. "Nikolas, Miriam, and Dâgmund have not returned. After what happened last night…"

She trailed off as his expression changed again. His left eye twitched, and he licked his lips.

"The folios are not your concern," he said, barely above a whisper.

Wynn clenched her jaw so tightly her teeth ached. Now il'Sänke reminded her the texts were no longer her business—as if she needed to be told that again. And she'd thought he was her only ally in this place.

"Pardon," he muttered, and his gaze suddenly fixed elsewhere in the hall. "It has been a long day, and I have one more thing to K modon attend to."

Wynn turned her head.

Domin High-Tower stood in the narrower side archway, not looking at her but beyond her, perhaps at il'Sänke. He seemed expectant, even in his usually dour state, but his expression suddenly changed.

High-Tower's wide features slackened in some shock.

Wynn saw his chest expand in a deep breath and one exhale. Then he sagged. By the time Wynn looked back to il'Sänke, the elder Suman was stone-faced. She was left wondering what had just passed silently between these two, who had always been plain regarding their irritation with each other.

And a thunderous boom echoed down the main passage beyond the archway.

Wynn heard one of the keep's front doors recoil sharply off a wall. She made for the archway to go see who forced such a hurried entrance.

Il'Sänke raised an arm in her way.

She barely glanced up, finding his gaze turned toward the outer passage, and then Captain Rodian came around the turn.

His face tight with anger, he carried the limp form of Nikolas Columsarn.

Rodian's hard gaze settled on il'Sänke as the first sage of rank in his sight.

"Get one of your physicians," he barked over heavy, exhausted breaths.

Il'Sänke was already reaching out. "Here, Captain, let me take him."

The tall Suman lifted Nikolas from the captain's arms and headed for the nearest table.

"Where are Miriam and Dâgmund?" Wynn asked.

Rodian ignored her, looking about the hall. "Where's High-Tower… and Sykion?"

As il'Sänke carefully laid Nikolas on a table, others in the hall rose from benches and chairs, drawing nearer.

"Here," High-Tower answered.

His gaze locked on Nikolas as he closed on the table's far side. Il'Sänke put a hand on the young sage's chest and leaned down to listen at Nikolas's slack mouth. He glanced up at High-Tower, nodded once, and the dwarven domin breathed a sigh of relief.

Wynn exhaled, not realizing she'd held her breath in that moment. "Where are Miriam and Dâgmund?" she repeated.

Rodian didn't even look at her. He kept his angry eyes on High-Tower.

"Dead," he said sharply, "in an alley near the Feather and Parchment."

All the warmth drained from Wynn's flesh.

Il'Sänke grabbed the sleeve of a female apprentice in brown. "Get Premin Adlam or Master Bitworth… or any elder in the hospice. Quickly, girl!"

Rodian kept his eyes on High-Tower. "And your folio is gone as well," he hissed.

High-Tower finally looked up, but he didn't appear surprised.

Wynn went to the table, pushing aside others in her way. Nikolas's eyes were closed, and his skin was pallid. Strands of hair down the left side of his head were grayed. There was not a mark on him that she could see, and she glanced back at Rodian.

"The others," she whispered, "the same, like Jeremy and Elias?"

He closed on the gathering at the table. "Yes… or one of them."

Wynn hesitated at the answer, looking again at Nikolas's ashen features. If they both died, but only one in this way, then how…?

"Someone is killing for your folios," Rodian snarled at High-Tower. "And you're going to tell me why." Without looking away from High-Tower, he jabbed a finger at Wynn. "What is in those texts she brought back?"

Wynn flinched as too many eyes turned her way among the initiates and apprentices gathered around. High-Tower's iron-pellet irises fixed on the captain.

"Chlâyard… do not!" il'Sänke whispered.

For an instant Wynn was lost by that one word, though she knew what it meant—the high tower.

It had been so long since she'd heard anyone utter the domin's name in Dwarvish, and her gaze flickered between High-Tower and il'Sänke. What was happening between these two?

"What's in those texts?" Rodian shouted, and his voice echoed about the still hall. "Why do you throw away more lives in your denial and ignorance… and deceit?"

High-Tower's face flushed within his red beard and hair.

"Captain!"

Wynn turned at the sharp female voice. Duchess Reine and three of the Weardas stood in the main archway.

"I heard—and came straightaway," she said more softly.

She wasn't dressed in her split gown this time. Beneath the sea green cloak of the royal family she wore a leather vest over a stark cotton shirt, and leather breeches tucked into high riding boots. She looked far more like one of her own, the horse people of Faunier, than a member of the Âreskynna family. Her gaze drifted to settle upon Nikolas's frail form.

How had she learned of this tragedy so quickly?

Rodian's jaw tightened, and he looked baffled by the sight of the duchess.

"Highness," he said, with only a curt half bow. "How…?"

Wynn sensed a battle of wills about to smother all else.

"We must get Nikolas to the ward," she urged. "There's no time to waste"

High-Tower's hands were tightened into fists the size of sledgehammers, but he seemed to hear the sense in her words. He quickly dispersed the cluster of apprentices and initiates.

"Get the boy proper help!" Rodian spit. "Then you and I will talk."