Barb Hendee - Through Stone and Sea

What was a member of Malourné's royal family doing here?

"Master Cinder-Shard," the duchess called out. "Please wait."

And the leader of the Stonewalkers paused.

Wynn's mixed fears faded for an instant. The duchess had called the dark elder by a given name.

Duchess Reine had done everything possible to turn aside investigation into the murders surrounding the guild's translation project. In acting for the royal family, as well the domins and premins of the sages, she'd also tried within the law to keep the texts out of Wynn's reach. She could very well do so again, if she saw Wynn here.

Wynn leaned out a little farther, trying to see without being noticed behind Chane's tall form. The duchess had never seen Chane or Shade, and Wynn didn't wish to be spotted, not until she understood what was happening.

As the duchess's entourage reached the nearest steps, Reine walked lightly up onto the stage. The other Stonewalkers lowered the litter at her approach. She paused briefly before Cinder-Shard with a respectful bow of her head.

Duchess Reine peeled back the shimmering cloth and looked down upon Hammer-Stag's face.

Wynn couldn't see her expression, but it seemed the duchess froze for a long moment. Then she pulled off one glove and placed her bare hand upon the thänæ's—gripping the ax. She didn't look up as Cinder-Shard drew near, though she nodded.

Reine's hand slipped off of Hammer-Stag's. As she pulled the cloth back over his body, the stonewalkers hoisted Hammer-Stag again. The duchess, the white-clad elf, and all three Weardas followed as the Stonewalkers carried the litter toward the far exit at the stage's rear.

Shade's whine startled Wynn in the silence.

The dog watched her with questioning blue eyes, as if sensing Wynn's uncertainty. Wynn dropped to her knees. Touching heads with Shade, Wynn passed every memory she could summon of the duchess back in Calm Seatt. Hopefully Shade would understand some part of why Wynn had to keep out of sight. As she finished, Chane lowered his head, glancing down at her.

"We have to go … now!" he whispered.

"I can't," she whispered back, rising behind him.

What could she do? The Stonewalkers were leaving, and Ore-Locks with them, but Duchess Reine was in their company. Until she parted ways with the Stonewalkers, Wynn couldn't risk being seen.

One of the white-vested shirvêsh on the stage held up both hands.

"Hammer-Stag is taken into stone," he called. "The bones of our world will be strengthened by him."

Everyone in the amphitheater became still. Many bowed their heads with closed eyes.

Chane mimicked this, yet looked at Wynn in obvious urgency.

"I can't be seen by the duchess," she whispered.

"Then we keep back until she leaves," he answered. "But we will lose all of them if we do not go now!"

It was a terrible option, but for as little as Wynn had uncovered so far, she could see no other choice. She finally nodded, ready to send Shade ahead of them. Shade would be far better at sensing whether they got too close, yet still be able to track the Stonewalkers.

Wynn turned carefully about, her fingers still cinched tightly into Chane's cloak. But when she reached down with her other hand …

Shade was gone.

Duchess Reine Faunier-Âreskynna followed Master Cinder-Shard out of the stage's far exit. The passage widened enough for three, and Chuillyon and Captain Tristan stepped in beside her. Her other two Weardas guards, Danyel and Saln, came last, followed by five Stonewalkers bearing Hammer-Stag's remains.

No one spoke, and Reine kept her eyes on Cinder-Shard's large boots.

The official claim was that Hammer-Stag's heart had failed from strain, but other rumors had reached Reine at her inn in Sea-Side. Few details were forthcoming, and gossip and speculation varied too much. She inquired at a local clan's constabulary post but learned no more—other than that three more unexplained deaths—a Suman, and later two Northlanders—had been discovered less than a day before the thänæ's body was found.

This, as much as paying respects to an old savior, drove Reine to the final public ceremony. Now she dared not look back at the litter. Even so, she couldn't stop seeing Hammer-Stag's face in her mind—as he was now and when they'd last met, years ago.

Her husband had gone missing in a small sailing craft.

Hammer-Stag and two of his clan had brought Freädherich safely home. At that time, the thänæ's face had the mottled gray undertones of his people. Though venerable by human standards, he was of good age for a dwarf. He had strength and a spark of presence that could goad anyone out of worry and fear. When he sat with her and the royal family, assuring them that all was well with the young prince, his exaggeration still brought them momentary respite.

As the procession took another turn, Reine spotted a deep and broad arch halfway down the next passage's left wall. When they approached, she found wide double doors of iron set more than a yard deep. There was no latch or lock, no visible way to open them. Only a smooth seam showed where they separated. She looked about the archway for any mechanisms, and her attention caught briefly on the surrounding framing stones.

The vubrí of the five tribes and twenty-seven clans were engraved there. When she came to that of the Meerschaum clan, she turned to stare at Hammer-Stag's cloth-draped corpse.

When she'd stopped upon the stage, he'd looked ashen in death, and much too old. She couldn't be certain what it meant, not even after the deaths of the sages so recent in memory. A chill crept up her spine.

"Are you cold, my lady?" Chuillyon asked.

Reine looked up at his feathery eyebrows drawn together beneath his lined forehead.

"No," she whispered and closed her eyes.

She slipped back to one night, farther back than Hammer-Stag's kindness or even the first of her husband's disappearances, back to a happier time. It was a place in memory she often went that still connected her to a life of pretense and a reason for bearing loss.

The first time Reine met Freädherich—Frey—had been on her first visit to Calm Seatt, some seven years past… .

King Jacqui Amornon Faunier—or rather Uncle Jac—had been invited for another royal visit to Malourné. He was told to bring whomever he pleased among his family.

Reine's own parents had passed on long ago, and she'd inherited the duchy. It had never sat well with her. The weight of her station frustrated her, as did nobles sniffing about, circling in upon the unwed niece of a king. Uncle Jac hadn't once pressured her about this.

He politely dealt with all suitors, for any engagement to her had to be approved by him, and he would never consent unless she did. He handled Faunier's noble houses with great care whenever one sent a son, brother, or nephew seeking a royal alliance by marriage. Some were not so bad, but Reine had grown tired of being a desired acquisition.

And so, Uncle Jac insisted that his favorite niece—his only niece—join him on this visit with their nation's staunch ally. His wife, Evonné, would remain to oversee affairs of state, so he needed good feminine company, someone only half as wild as his two sons.

Reine didn't mind, nor was she fooled by his excuse. Uncle always had her happiness at heart, and she did love the freedom to be abroad at will. It was the way of the Faunier, horse people by ancestry.

She loved her homeland, especially the eastern granite steppes, where she could stand upon high stone ledges and look back across her native land. But a more distant excursion would take her beyond the reach of suitors, if only for a short while. She readily agreed to accompany her uncle for a chance to visit Calm Seatt.