With a nod of thanks Parno accepted a steaming mug from an older man with a Steward’s badge in the Tenebro colors.

Dhulyn pulled her wet shirt over her head and handed it to a waiting page, accepting a large towel in exchange. She must have felt Parno’s eye on her, for she looked over at him, lifting one blood-red brow.

“I saw a Racha bird,” she said.

Karlyn nodded, caught the Steward’s attention, and waited as the man gathered up his helpers with a gesture of his hand and left the room. “I’ve much to tell you, the chief of which is that Cullen is here, with us.”

“Why?” Parno said, just as Dhulyn said, “Where?”

Karlyn held up his hands. “He regained his senses, and as the Racha accepted him, and his eyes were normal, we felt he must be clean. Even so, Zelianora Tarkina felt he would be safest with us. If there is any chance the Shadow is with him, we are the only people equipped to both recognize and deal with it.”

Dhulyn looked up from toweling her hair as dry as it would get while still in braids. “There’s merit in that idea, much as I wish she hadn’t thought of it,” she said. “Now we’ll have to spend precious time watching to make sure he isn’t trying to escape.” She exchanged a look with Parno. In it was the knowledge that so long as they did not know for certain where the Green Shadow was, they would all be at risk, and they could trust no one.

Parno set his cup down. “What else is there to tell us?”

Karlyn had been leaning against the edge of the table near Parno, arms crossed. Now he looked down at the floor, chewing his upper lip.

“Out with it, man,” Parno told him. “What could be worse than knowing we might have the Shadow with us?”

“We had not time, before, to wonder how it was the Shadow returned to the Tarkin.”

Parno stopped in the act of pulling off his own tunic. “And now?”

Karlyn looked at Parno without raising his head. He shot a glance at Dhulyn, but his eyes did not linger. “The Mesticha Stone came.”

Dhulyn finished pulling on the dry breeches she’d taken from her saddlebag, secured the waist, and strode toward Karlyn-Tan. The towel she’d been using was slung over her shoulders like a cloak, not out of modesty, Parno knew, but out of the habit that made her cover the marks of the whip on her back, when they might be seen by strangers.

“The orders to bring it directly to the Tarkin upon its arrival had never been changed,” Karlyn said, looking directly at Dhulyn. “And so it was brought to him.”

“And Cullen?”

“Saw the Tarkin in the hallway, heading for the gates, he thought, and chased him into the throne room.”

“Or so he says,” Parno said.

“Or so he says,” Karlyn agreed. “Either way, the Mesticha Stone was not found in the bedchamber when it was looked for afterward.”

Dhulyn turned aside, tossed her towel across the back of a chair near the brazier, and took a vest made of dozens of strips of supple leather out of her saddlebag, shrugged it on, and began fastening it shut. “The Shadow was in the Tarkin,” she said. “It must have been ‘visiting’ him, as we suspected it might. When the Stone arrived, it seized its opportunity.”

“It was the last piece,” Parno said. “It’s at its full strength now.”

Dhulyn looked up from her laces. “And the Racha seems content?”

“As far as any of us can tell,” Karlyn said. “Nor does the Cloudman object to riding bound, if we prefer it.”

“Well, he wouldn’t, would he?”

“What is it you’re thinking, my heart?”

Parno looked from Dhulyn to Karlyn and back again. “He’d want to come with us, don’t you think?” He held up one finger. “We’ve got the only Seer he knows of, and,” he held up a second finger, “we’ve got a Finder.” A third finger. “We’re going to the only place we can be sure there are other Marks. What more does he want? He can let us do his work for him.”

Dhulyn had taken breath to answer him when Karlyn spoke.

“So we’re safe enough on the journey,” he said. “If the Shadow’s with us, it won’t do any harm until we arrive.”

“Us?”

“Under the circumstances, I’d better come with you, don’t you think?”

He kept his eyes down and his face animated. Now that he was whole again-he stifled the shape’s attempt to retch-he remembered more. He knew better how to hide himself. He had done it in the past. Instead of ignoring the shape’s own occupant, pushing its consciousness away once its knowledge had been shifted, he had to wear it as he wore the shape, occupy it as he occupied the shape. With care, he could bide his time. With patience he could deal with the Seer. Patience could lead him to the Lens.

Twenty-six

“THERE IS A SHADOW hanging over us all, a Shadow with green eyes.”

Koba the Racha bird eyed Dhulyn from his perch near the fire as Yaro of Trevel gestured her into a seat, hooked the heavy kettle of water on the andiron, and swung it into the fireplace until it rested closer to the flames. As Dhulyn took up her tale, telling what they knew, what they thought, and what they hoped, Yaro watched the kettle, waiting for the water to come to a boil.

When Dhulyn had been silent a moment or two, the woman who was once Yaro Hawkwing the Cloud, Mercenary Brother, tossed a handful of leaves into the now boiling water and, pulling the kettle away from the fire with a heavy cloth, set it on a small iron stand to one side of the hearth. The room began to smell of bee balm.

“I know why you’ve come to me,” Yaro said. She stood a few moments longer, looking into the flames, before turning to face Dhulyn. When their eyes met, the older woman reached up and touched the feathers tattooed on her face. “You would ask of Cullen.”

Yaro turned away to take two thick earthenware mugs from a small shelf to the left of the fireplace and set them down on the table between them. She picked up the cloth she’d used to shield her hand from the kettle’s handle, but, instead of turning to the fire, stood still, the cloth hanging from her hand, her eyes staring into a distance of time and space.

“If Cullen is not in his body, then Disha would not fly.” And as if the words released her, she was able to turn to the hearth, pick up the kettle, and pour out the strong-smelling brew into the mugs on the table. When she had set the kettle down once again on the hearth, she took the stool across from Dhulyn, wrapped her hands around the mug in front of her, and studied the surface of the tea.

“But if the Shadow is in Cullen’s body, would it not be in Disha’s as well? Could Disha not fly then?”

Yaro opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head once more. “I do not know if I can make you see. You told me that Tek-aKet Tarkin was gone from his body until the Scholar Found him?”

“In his own words,” Dhulyn said, remembering, “he said that at first he had been pushed out, then allowed to return, but as a passenger. Later, when I struck the Shadow, Tek-aKet was lost. As though the body lived, but he was not in it.”

Yaro tapped the tabletop with her index finger. “Without Healer or Mender, in the moment, however short, that the Shadow pushed Cullen from his body, Disha would fall.”

“But you-”

“Had a two-month bond, no more, and as it was, only one of us survived. Cullen and Disha have been more than half their lives one being. If they were severed, even for an instant, even for a time so short that the mind cannot conceive of it, they would die.” Yaro placed both hands palm down on the table, one to each side of her empty mug. “It is as I say, Dhulyn Wolfshead, my Brother. If Disha still flies, Cullen is free of the Shadow.” She breathed deeply in through her nose and, blinking, raised her mug to her lips.

Dhulyn nodded, slowly. There must be such a moment, however short, in which the Shadow did move. What Yaro said made sense-but Dhulyn was aware that it was also what she wanted to hear, and therefore suspect. It was clear that Yaro spoke what she thought to be the truth, and Dhulyn believed her. But was that enough? It seemed a small thread from which to hang the fate of the world. Dhulyn rose to her feet, touched her forehead with her fingertips.