Chane frowned. "You don't know where she's going."

"No… she should have turned north after leaving her village… or at least out of this land."

He offered this like a tidbit to a hungry dog, hoping to turn Chane's mind back onto their goal without telling him too much.

"I saw her speak to a soldier from the manor," Welstiel added. "Possibly the captain of the guard there. Did you ever assist your father in an interrogation?"

"Yes."

"On occasion, I helped mine, as well."

"Of course you did," Chane said bitterly. "One more thing we have in common."

Welstiel almost smiled.

Wynn had been given a room in the manor with a large bed and a down comforter. The rare privacy and the small luxuries of a window heavily draped against the cold and a table on which to set her scribe's instruments should have been a pleasure or at least a relief.

Beneath her short robe, breeches, and shirt, she wore a white cotton shift, which she normally managed to keep tucked in. Since leaving Bela, she had not abandoned her clothes to sleep in this loose cotton undergarment. Nights were too cold, and she was far too modest in company. The freedom to do so now, for this one night, should also have pleased her.

It did not.

She had written nothing in her journal concerning the undead sorcerer… or more of Magiere's nature, as Domin Tilswith would expect. She did not even warm up her crystal in the cold lamp on the bedside table. Instead, she closed her door tightly and crawled under the comforter, looking about the room's fixtures, so dim and normal in the low light of the single candle.

She had lied to Magiere, to Leesil, to the people here. She took credit for something she had not done… to save Chane… to keep Magiere from knowing he had followed them here.

There was a knock at the door, but Wynn did not wish to see anyone.

"It's me," Magiere said from outside. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," Wynn answered, but her voice was reluctant. She reached for the cold lamp, lifted its glass, and rubbed the crystal without removing it. Its light grew, brightening the room. As she replaced the glass, the door cracked open and Magiere entered.

She looked uncomfortable, hair down but uncombed, and wore only her loose white shirt and black breeches. A few cuts on her face were beginning to swell.

"Do you have any of the healing salve with you?" she asked.

More guilt for Wynn. She should have at least tended her companions' wounds before crawling into hiding.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I should have thought of that earlier. It's in the side of my pack."

Magiere shook her head. "Don't apologize. We're all tired."

Wynn rummaged out the small tin of salve, as well as a hairbrush. Guilt overwhelmed her discomfort at Magiere's presence.

"I can comb out your hair, if you like. It's full of burrs and twigs."

It wasn't that Wynn distrusted Magiere. She trusted the woman with her life, but the other half-the undead half- which even Magiere did not truly know or understand, weighed upon Wynn's fears. For the first time, Wynn felt resentful of her calling.

She loved the pursuit of "knowing." Nothing made her happier than gathering knowledge, but how could she document any of this as if it were some passing scholarly interest? The dark and dead half of Magiere frightened her as much as the pale woman's mysterious and bloody origin.

Magiere glanced at the brush, seemed about to refuse, and then sighed. "Yes, thank you."

Wynn poured water from a pitcher into a porcelain basin upon the table. There was a hand towel folded beside it, and Wynn dabbed its corner in the water. She settled on the bed's edge beside Magiere, forcing her hand not to waver as she cleaned Magiere's scratches and applied the salve. It was good for both healing and pain.

"Better," Magiere said.

Wynn climbed around behind Magiere and began combing out the tangles of black hair.

"How is Leesil?" she asked.

"Resting. All right, I think. I don't think Vordana took much from him in the fight, but we can't be sure. I'll make certain he eats well in the morning."

Wynn stopped brushing to gently pick at a burr with her fingertips.

"You have beautiful hair," she said, though its tendrils reminded her too much of the shadow ribbons in Magiere's essence. "Did Leesil tell you what he saw in the forest?"

Magiere turned about, and Wynn pulled her hands back a little too quickly. She folded them in her lap, holding on to the brush with both.

"No," Magiere answered. "Did he tell you?"

"He was incoherent, like you, but I think he saw his mother… dead. He said we were too late, and she was dead."

Magiere closed her eyes. "I should never have let Vordana trick me, never hesitated. If I'd cut that bastard down… Oh, Leesil. He's borne too much for me through all this."

She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, it was the last thing Wynn wanted to hear.

"What did you see tonight? What did you see in me that terrified you-hurt you?"

Wynn's mouth went dry. "You didn't hurt me, Magiere. It was not-"

'Tell me. I've nothing else but a chamber of bones in a decaying keep. So if you know something, tell me."

"It is not anything that I know," Wynn said, fumbling for a way to explain. "Only what I saw… felt."

Magiere sat waiting.

Wynn relented and told Magiere of the black shadow ribbons coiled in her spirit. Magiere barely reacted, gaze wandering the room to anywhere but Wynn's face. Perhaps she had accepted herself as part of the world's darkness. Wynn told her also of Chap, and how the second time she had seen him, he was not two images in her mantic sight, as was everything else. He was one clear luminous presence. When this distracted Magiere enough, Wynn told her of Leesil's sun-spark eyes amid the spirit mist of the world.

"I wish I'd seen him the way you did," Magiere said, and her expression softened. "I didn't really come here for the salve. I wanted to… to apologize for what I said back in Bela when you insisted on coming with us. I thought you'd be in the way, but your knowledge and skills have been so useful, and not just in dealing with Chap. Leesil and I, and even Chap, were outwitted tonight. If you hadn't been here, I don't know if either of us would still be alive. The townsfolk are going to give me the credit for this, and they won't understand anything else. And so I wanted to tell you this now and to thank you."

The words were so out of place for Magiere that Wynn's guilt grew again. For all they had learned of what Magiere was, she had no choice in that. She was trying to live a life beyond what had been forced upon her. Yet here she was, thanking Wynn, who was a liar and a secret observer.

Wynn had lied for Chane. Once such an enormous deception was spoken, there was no turning back. The truth would only abolish Magiere's trust, and possibly cost Chane his head.

"Let me finish your hair," Wynn whispered. "Then we should both get some sleep."

Magiere turned around, and Wynn worked the burr from her hair.

"And Wynn…" Magiere said, in her more usual abrupt manner, "no more magic for you."

Wynn sighed, nodding her head. "Agreed."