Through Stone and Sea - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,106

though the dog ignored him. Perhaps she understood his intention, if not his words. It should have been a small relief, but it only made Chane warier.

What else did Shade know or understand?

Wynn returned to her room after making certain that Duchess Reine had retired for the night. Alone for the first time since Chane had reentered her life, Wynn crawled into bed early and slept hard. She needed to be up and alert by dawn, if she was to follow Reine’s movements by day. In the morning, as the innkeeper’s knock came at the door, she awoke feeling more herself.

She wasn’t certain why, but there was something liberating about awaking in the day, even in a world without sunlight. As she rolled out of bed, stretching sore muscles from another night on a hard dwarven mattress, she wondered how to begin. She was worried about Shade—and Chane—but there was no way to know whether they’d arrived safely and acquired lodging.

Wynn looked at her gray robe lying across the bed’s corner. Anyone in the duchess’s entourage would spot her in an instant wearing that. But her yellow and umber elven clothing on a short human would attract as much attention. A notion came to her.

She donned the clothing, pulled the robe on as well, and then wandered out toward the inn’s front room. Perhaps she could trade for or borrow something more from the dwarven innkeeper? She could then spend the day blending in with the locals—and watching for the duchess.

“Yes,” she said softly to herself. “A dwarven disguise.”

That night, just past dusk, Chane awoke in the portside inn. Shade sat poised at the door, watching him, as if she had done so all day. Chane scowled at her.

If Shade was as intelligent as Wynn claimed, did the dog find it strange—suspicious—that he slept all day? Young as she was, and aside from protecting Wynn, how much could Shade really know of the undead?

He rolled from bed and began dressing in salt-stiffened clothes.

The previous night they had scouted the rocky shore. Time had passed too quickly, and he had grown fearful. When he sensed dawn’s approach, they backtracked to the inn, both of them soaked with sea spray. He procured a dry blanket for Shade before removing his wet clothing.

The blanket still lay in the room’s far corner, only a little damp from the dog.

Shade growled and scratched at the door.

“A moment,” he muttered.

An entire night now awaited them. Chane had to find the tunnel entrance—or be certain it did not exist within reach.

Wynn blamed herself for their failures, but he had not been much help to her. In truth, what little success they counted was mostly Shade’s doing, ferreting out secrets from the memories of others. For the first time since reaching Dhredze Seatt, Chane was in a position to do something.

Between an undead and a majay- hì, he hoped the gap might not be so wide. Perhaps Wynn was enough common ground for Shade to put aside natural instinct, should she learn anything certain of what he truly was.

His clothes were not completely dry, but he would be soaked again soon enough. He donned his cloak, pulled up the hood, and wished he did not have to carry two packs. But he was not about to leave them behind.

Shade scratched the door again.

“I am coming,” he said.

Opening the door, he followed as she trotted out. When they reached the common room, he paused to purchase a slat of smoked fish. He fed this to Shade as they traversed the port, passed the last pier, and climbed out onto the northward rocky shore.

It was a guess, considering he had no idea which direction was adjacent to the grate-covered tunnel of Shade’s stolen memory. But north seemed more likely, by estimate of Off-Breach Market’s position above in Sea-Side. It was a while before they reached where they had left off the night before.

Shade led the way, her eyes half-closed against wind that did little to ruffle her salt-stiffened fur. Soon enough, sea spray dampened them both. Chane carefully examined every inch they crossed while Shade nosed ahead.

They were utterly alone. No one else had reason to scramble across the sheer, barren edge between stone and sea. Often he had to climb or crawl on all fours over outcrops and through crags in their slow progress. His cloak grew heavy as it soaked in more spray.

When he pushed back his sagging hood and peered up, the waning moon, barely a sliver