Chane willed his hand down to his side. A flash of anger passed through him, growing upon the smoldering hunger. The innkeeper, as if suddenly aware she was alone with two strange men, turned to look at him.

"Where were they going?" Welstiel asked.

"How should I know?" she retorted. "I ain't no eavesdropper or peeper!"

"Of course not," Welstiel said apologetically and opened his purse again. "Perhaps you heard something in passing that might be helpful?"

Again she grunted. "The half-blood said something about resupplying in Bela, and the woman talked of the inland road around the gulf. That's all I remember."

Welstiel gave her another silver shil and put his hand on her shoulder. He steered her toward the door as Chane stepped out of her way.

"You have been most helpful, madam," Welstiel said. "If you could leave us, we will be on our way momentarily."

Two coins in hand, the innkeeper glanced at him once and did not argue. "Good night, sir," she said, as if remembering her manners.

"Good night," Welstiel answered, and closed the door behind her.

When the woman's footsteps faded down the hall, Chane turned on Welstiel.

"There is no one else here to sound an alarm. Who knows when we'll have a chance to feed again?"

Welstiel leaned threateningly toward Chane. "You will not leave a trail of torn bodies like some rabid animal. Control your urges or be gone."

Chane did not relish servitude to a new master now that he was free of Toret, but he remained silent. Hunger's heat faded too slowly for comfort, leaving his senses fully open to cast about the small room. The scent of life thinned in the old woman's absence, and something more subtle took its place.

Sweet, almost refreshing, it brought him the memory of quiet moments, ancient texts and scrolls, and a cold lamp gleaming brightly from a tabletop. He pictured Wynn sitting beside him and could almost smell the herbal aroma that followed her everywhere. But the fragrance was not hers.

"So, what now?" he asked, looking about the room at the disarrayed bed, the small stool, the bedside table with its half-melted candle and three mugs.

"We go into Bela and purchase horses," Welstiel replied. "Magiere is beginning a journey. I suspected but was uncertain until now. Purchasing supplies in a large city likely took until noon. They cannot be more than half a day ahead of us, and we might close the distance before sunrise. We must hurry to find a stable still open now that night has come."

Chane barely heard Welstiel's words as he fixated upon the three pottery mugs. He stepped closer to the bedside table, and the strange scent of memory surrounded him. Dread crept into him as he picked up one mug.

At its bottom was a single mint leaf among scant tea grounds.

It had been an evening at the guild barracks, filled with quiet company and the curiosity of a scroll from The Forgotten, the lost history, when Wynn had last offered him such a cup. Sage and scholar, she did not waste her precious existence in the drudgery of the masses, the cattle of the humanity. She was unique, a living treasure.

Wynn had come to Magiere and Leesil.

Had she joined them? It would be a delicate matter to play along until he could decide to take revenge upon Magiere or continue to serve Welstiel's vague agenda. What if Wynn were there, caught amidst all of it and unable to fend for herself?

His hand shook as he set down the mug, and he felt Welstiel's attention upon him.

"What is it?" Welstiel asked.

"Nothing."

The number of mugs was not lost on his companion, and Welstiel stepped closer to pick up the same one Chane had examined. Welstiel turned it slowly, studying the remains in its bottom.

"I doubt they shared tea with the dog. Who was the third person?"

Chane held up his open hands as if he had nothing to offer.

Welstiel returned the mug to its companions upon the table. "Shall we go?"

Chane's attention hung one moment longer upon the mug, with the scent of mint still filling his head.

The city of Bela had faded from sight, and Chap darted through the roadside brush in the dark chill air. Nightfall had passed, but Magiere still pressed them onward, as if half a day in the city had delayed their journey too long, and they needed to make up ground. Chap heard the wagon rolling along the road behind him.

His companions had purchased heavy winter cloaks, a few extra shirts, and ample supplies, though perhaps not enough of the smoked mutton that Chap had found in an open market. They were well stocked and back on the open road once again. It should have been a joyful change. He could not stop this journey, nor would he wish to if it would lead them to the answers they sought. But seeking Magiere's past was another matter.

Chap ran, feeling his body's strength and speed as wild grass pulled at his silver fur. He slowed to circle into a sparse grove, paws treading across the mulch floor of the small clearing therein.

A breeze lashed his coat, striking downward from the sky instead of through the trees. The answering hushed chatter of branches did not follow immediately. He heard the forest's whisper all around him.

Chap spun about with a low rumble in his throat.

The clearing was loosely walled with scattered spruce and beech trees grown tall from roots sunk deep into the earth. Branches reached out to one another, like interlacing a circle of sentinels holding hands. He peered between them into the dark woods beyond, searching, but there was nothing out of place. Yet the wall of trees thickened in places where he had looked away too long and back again. Movement within their branches made the limbs sway ever so slightly.

Fool… miscreant… betrayer!

Whispers lashed into his thoughts from all around, and Chap snarled, kicking up needles and leaves from the forest floor as he spun about.

Eyes glittered at him from dark shadows beneath the branches, like stars pulled from the sky and held captive amid the foliage. A flutter of wings passed overhead, and Chap ducked instinctively. Claws skittered on bark as some small creature raced up the trunk of the largest of the trees now ringing him in.

Chap turned toward the ancient sentinel with its gnarled bark and full spread of crooked limbs, not yet cowering under the shame rising inside him. The movement of unseen living creatures made the dark spaces between its branches open and close like mouths taking in breath to denounce him with every exhalation.

Fallen is our kin in his flesh. So distracted from purpose.

Chap shrank back with his eyes upon his accuser. He felt its sentiment echoed by unseen others all around him.

His kin gathered here.

All around in the forms of the forest they came. Within leaf and needle, branch and trunk, and small bright eyes peering out at him from the dark spaces. Even within the air and earth was the growing presence of them-of the Fay-until he felt them in the tingle of his skin beneath his thick fur.

The ring of woods about him thickened with their presence, and all attention was upon Chap alone.

He answered back. I have not failed yet.

The crackle of wood filled up the clearing. But you permit the child of the dead to wander the path you were sent to turn her from? Turn her aside!

Chap flinched, standing rigid before the old tree, and he dropped his head. How… What more could I do?

A flight of birds darker than the night broke from the tree limbs to dive at him. Chap leaped aside, and their screeching echoed well after they dispersed back into the woods.

Force her…, came the answer.

Chap backed away one step-No.

Charm her…

A low rumble escaped his throat as outrage washed away shame. He had been sent to keep Magiere from the past, from the truth of her origins, but his kin asked too much. He would not force Magiere's decision. He would not influence her mind.