Barb Hendee - In Shade and Shadow

"You are free to go," he said.

Just like that. First he arrested her, locked her up, and questioned her concerning mostly obvious answers he never let her finish—almost none of which had anything to do with what mattered. And with a few condescending words from Sykion, she was being sent home to bed.

Wynn suddenly wondered what Magiere might say in this moment. Probably nothing, but both the captain and the premin would be bleeding by now. Magiere never backed down from anything. Beneath her derisive disinterest, always wishing to be left alone, she was furious when something got in her way or threatened those she cared for. And Leesil could be coldly vicious beneath his outer warmth and wit when it came to protecting his own. And Chap…

He'd always been manipulative, though usually for the best of reasons. He wasn't above putting people in a hard place to save them from themselves.

Wynn began to see that a bit of all of her wayward friends' attributes would be necessary here. She straightened.

"I apologize if I sound dense," she said. "But are we still embroiled in a murder investigation?"

"That was never your concern," High-Tower warned.

Premin Sykion reached for Wynn's arm. "Come, dear. You've been through enough, and none of us wishes you burdened any further."

Wynn pulled away, backing toward the office door.

"The captain failed tonight, and more people are dead… over the contents of a folio. I want access to the translation work, to see which passages are being sought."

"Not this again!" High-Tower growled in disbelief. "You have mucked things up enough!"

Wynn dropped her own voice to a low threat. "Perhaps you can't stomach that a mere journeyor discovered a treasure of history on her own. Are seven lives worth a little damage to your pride?"

Premin cize wo Sykion went pale, losing any crafted display of sympathy, and High-Tower flushed with rage.

But Rodian watched this exchange intently, his eyes shifting quickly among them.

"Wynn!" High-Tower rumbled. "This is no time or place for your nonsense. Tighten up your cloak. We are going home."

"Yes, my dear," Sykion added. "It is time to leave."

Wynn didn't budge. She'd heard all this before, and she no longer cared if they thought her addle-minded or even mad. There was only one option left, though it could end in her permanent dismissal from the guild.

"I want my journals from the Farlands returned," she said, not even acknowledging their evasions. "I want my property back… now ."

No one said a word. Even High-Tower's blusters faltered, but Premin Sykion's expression grew sterner than Wynn thought possible.

Rodian turned his eyes on Wynn, but he wasn't glaring or scowling anymore.

"You are a cathologer of the guild—" Sykion began, and the edge in her voice belied her dignified manner.

"Very well," Wynn interrupted, "then I'll file legal claim to have the texts returned to me. I found them. I brought them halfway across the world. I allowed the guild access to them… but they are mine, by right of discovery."

"Discoveries made in service!" High-Tower snarled, finally regaining his voice. "All you are, you are because of sagecraft… and thereby the texts belong to the guild by law."

"I know of no such law," Rodian said quietly.

Sykion turned her stricken expression toward the captain, and another dead silence followed. But Wynn found Rodian studying her with cold interest. Whether from duty or ambition or anger at his being stonewalled thus far, her gamble's hope was reflected in his intense eyes.

"Do I have a legitimate claim?" she asked him.

"Certainly not!" High-Tower cut in.

Rodian raised a hand for silence. "If a journeyman smith or leather-worker finds a new technique or technology, does it belong to the master to whom the journeyman has contracted? Or if he or she develops or obtains new knowledge in the craft, is it the master who takes credit?"

High-Tower took a heavy step toward the captain, his gaping mouth working hard. But he couldn't get out one word.

"Not by law," Rodian said, supplying the answer.

"This is different," Sykion countered.

"Wynn," High-Tower rasped. "You would not do this to—"

"Give me access," Wynn demanded. "Or I will go to the high advocate—and take the texts from you! And whether my claim against your unlawful seizure is upheld or c is winot… the texts will still be revealed for the judgment."

This time outrage flushed High Premin Sykion's face. It quickly faded, as fear overwhelmed the head of Wynn's order and the guild branch as a whole.

The following morning Rodian paced around a lavish sitting room in the royal castle overlooking the bay. He'd received a summons at the barracks and was now uncertain what to expect. Perhaps the royals wished for a personal report on his progress—or rather, his failure.

Three of his men were dead. The costs of repairs to a'Seatt's shop were growing, for apparently the roof and front counter had been damaged as well. A member of the royals' favored Guild of Sagecraft had been caught in his trap, but not the perpetrators. And all he had to add to this, concerning the actual investigation, was that at least one of the suspects possessed a mage's skills the like of which he'd never thought possible.

Rodian halted in place.

He had to plan out the most logical and succinct account of events. Certainly the royal family couldn't hold him accountable for facing down someone with rare arcane skill. He could redirect his account to restore confidence in his ability. And now he had a new chance to learn what all of this was about—the texts of the guild's translation project.

Wynn Hygeorht, troublesome as she was, had given him that much.

After he'd released her last night, the trio of sages went off together, none of them speaking to one another. He'd suffered a short sleepless night wondering what might come of Wynn's demand. Would Sykion, as head of the Premin Council, legally challenge Wynn's claim? Would the journeyor back down if the premin refused to concede?

More than anything else, Rodian hated uncertainty. Wynn's determined, angry face kept slipping into his thoughts, and he pushed it aside. He still had this meeting with the royal family to get through, and he began pacing again.

He barely noticed the thick carpets and deeply polished furnishings tended with great care. Some had likely been in the Âreskynna family for generations. Couches of walnut were upholstered in silks, refined or raw, mostly dyed in shimmering sea greens and cyans, and embroidered in variegated patterns. The plastered walls were painted a rich shade of cream offset by golden yellow curtains and draperies around the entrance. The double doors were carved with the large crest of the royal family—an upright longsword upon a wide square sail over a troubled sea.

This was a world far removed from the eastern grasslands and farms of his youth, and he'd clawed his way to his current position on ability and merit. He wasn't about to fall because of some mage murdering sages over bundles of old texts.

The ornate doors opened wide.

Rodian stared into the large amber eyes of an old elf in a white robe with poorly disguised contempt on his tan face. More than the elf's age, the robe bothered him. It was cut much like that of the sages, but white wasn't a color of any of the five orders.

"Princess Âthelthryth Âreskynna and Duchess Reine Faunier- cReidivÂreskynna," the elf announced, stepping in and to the side.

Rodian breathed quickly through his nose.

From the outer crossing passage, Duchess Reine rounded through the entrance first.

Her chestnut hair hung loose, pushed back above each ear with a mother-of-pearl comb shaped like a foaming sea wave. She wasn't wearing a frontal-split gown, only her people's preferred riding boots and breeches along with a matching vestment over a white shirt of shimmering fabric. And a rider's saber hung upon her left hip from a white satin sash lashed about her waist. The effect made her look almost roguish and younger than her years.