Barb Hendee - Through Stone and Sea

"Then delve into the texts yourself," Wynn returned. "Choose."

It was a bluff, and likely the elf knew it, but no one else did. If he called her on it in front of the others, it would simply be based on what everyone knew of her: that she would want the texts no matter what. If he succumbed to her conditions, the others might not think much of it, but Wynn would know what it meant.

Chuillyon knew less than he let on, or … he had more to hide with his deceptions than Wynn could guess.

She wasn't certain whether he suppressed a soft smile, but he just stood there watching her, not saying a word. Silence lingered so long that the duchess crept down behind him, a frown growing on her face. Still, Chuillyon stood poised with the staff resting lightly in his grip.

It was Cinder-Shard who finally answered, looking to the duchess.

"Have one of your men bring their gear. If they wish to survive, they will fight and do as they are told. I will take the sage to the texts … with your permission."

He waited upon her reply, as if all had to be in agreement. The texts belonged to the guild but were ultimately under the protection of the monarchy of Malourné. The Stonewalkers were merely guardians.

Reine appeared suddenly weary. "Do what you think best."

"Very well," Cinder-Shard replied, and without turning back, added, "and Ore-Locks will come. He will stay with the sage and watch her while we attend to other matters."

Wynn didn't care for that. There was no telling what private agenda Ore-Locks had—let alone that his superior appeared to know of the young Stonewalker's ancestor. Cinder-Shard stepped closer.

"You will share all you learn. When you finish, you will report such findings to the princess and myself."

Wynn glanced at Reine's poorly hidden distaste. Cinder-Shard wasn't making a request, but Wynn answered.

"Agreed."

Upon the landing, Wynn watched Cinder-Shard and Ore-Locks walk straight through the iron door. An instant later, its first outer panel began grinding open and another realization struck: Cinder-Shard had simply entered by walking through stone—or iron, as it were. Anything of the earth must submit to their passage. But that didn't explain the duchess's and Chuillyon's presence with the doors closed.

The innermost door slid away, and Cinder-Shard stood blocking the archway. He looked first at Chane.

"You and the wolf remain here until she finishes," he ordered. "I will leave the archway open if you swear to stay unless called."

Wynn glanced nervously at Chane.

His irises still lacked any trace of brown. Her shoulder was only scratched beneath the tears in her tunic, but she understood why he'd accidentally injured her. His hunger had returned, and it was growing. How many days had passed since she'd procured the goat's blood for him?

Worse, he swayed slightly, blinking slowly as he glared at Cinder-Shard. Was dawn approaching outside the mountain?

"It's all right," she told him. "I'm in no danger at present … you rest."

She thought he might argue, but he merely answered, "Remember what I told you."

The comment lost her at first. All he'd said to her since the duchess's arrival was one word— Lie. Then she understood, careful not to glance at Chuillyon, but getting Shade to wait as well was another matter.

The instant Wynn said, "Stay," Shade snarled. Wynn grabbed the dog's face, hoping no one asked what she was doing. She recalled memories of the long day in the guild's catacombs, when she'd first gained the codex and translations. She hoped Shade understood what she was going to do. She finished by saying, "Stay with Chane."

Shade curled her jowls, sneering at their captors, but she didn't try to leave. Or rather she dropped to her haunches, planting herself dead center in the archway. Shade licked her nose at Cinder-Shard.

Wynn stepped out to face the master Stonewalker.

"I'll send your packs and sword," she called to Chane, not taking her eyes off Cinder-Shard, "before I go anywhere else."

Cinder-Shard scowled at the insinuation. "Leave the staff. It cannot be taken where we go."

"I do not remember agreeing to return it!" Chuillyon sniped from somewhere behind Wynn.

"This is my agreement," Cinder-Shard growled.

Wynn heard the tall elf muttering as he pushed past her. When she glanced back, Chane held the staff, its crystal sheathed once more. She would've preferred to take it, but leaving it with him was the next best thing. At least their packs, weapons, and her companions would all be in the same place.

Cinder-Shard turned down the passage, but Ore-Locks stood waiting. Wynn didn't move. She wasn't having him at her back. With a derisive grunt, he headed off and she followed, Reine and Chuillyon falling in behind her.

When they reached the main cavern, Reine sent Wynn's dagger, Chane's packs, and his sword back with a female Stonewalker named Balsam. Reine then left, perhaps to look in on her husband.

Why had the Stonewalkers hidden the prince here? Had he gone mad, his death faked to hide the truth? If so, then why had they chosen a lie that so obviously implicated Reine?

Wynn had watched the prince sink beneath the pool. The people of the sea had done likewise in the tunnel. The chamber had filled with dull clicks and melodic tones rising from the water.

It seemed like he'd spoken with them.

"Take only what you need," Cinder-Shard said.

Wynn started from the distraction. He was holding out her pack, and again she wondered exactly where she was being taken. She dug out her elven quill and a wax-sealed vial of fresh ink. Though she rummaged to the pack's bottom, all of her journals, even a new blank one, were soaked. Wynn took the one from her day in the catacombs, with her notes from the translations. She looked up, prepared to ask for spare paper or parchment.

Cinder-Shard was staring at her hands.

"Where did you get that?" he demanded.

She looked down at the quill with its white metal tip. "A gift, during my travels among the elves of the eastern continent."

"So that is how you breached the tunnel," he growled.

She didn't understand what he meant, but she had more immediate concerns.

"I need paper or parchment," she said. "Something for notes."

Cinder-Shard sighed. "Chuillyon … is there anything of use in the prince's quarters?"

"No need," the elf answered, and began digging in his robe's deep pockets.

He pulled out a small multifold of paper stitched into a makeshift pamphlet slightly bigger than his palm. Chuillyon leafed through it, tore out two "pages" of markings, and handed over the remainder.

"Will this do?" he asked.

Wynn took it without answering. It wasn't much to write on, perhaps four sheets' worth of space all totaled. If she had to, she could write in her journal, hoping the ink didn't run too much.

Then her fear and excitement began to build again over what was to come. Not since the day she'd returned home had she held the texts themselves. Would she find the answers she needed?

Cinder-Shard was about to set her pack near the main passage's opening.

"Send it back with the rest," she said.

Irritation amplified the crags of his features.

"I will see to it," Chuillyon interceded.

"No!" Wynn snapped. She could just see him digging through her possessions and more of her journals vanishing.

"There is no one else," Cinder-Shard stated flatly. "Or would you rather leave it here?"

Wynn clenched her jaw. "Fine!"

Chuillyon offered an annoyed raise of one eyebrow as he took the pack and headed off. Cinder-Shard turned across the cavern, and Wynn followed.

Ore-Locks suddenly caught up, stepping in beside her. She had to force herself not to shrink away. The wraith wasn't the only minion here of some forgotten abomination, and she kept her eyes on Cinder-Shard's broad back.