out the archway.
“What is it?” she asked.
Shade pulled from Wynn’s arms, her pointed ears rising.
Duchess Reine, Chuillyon, and Captain Tristan strode down the passage toward the archway.
Wynn stood up beside Chane. Without even thinking, she took the staff and held it firmly, fearful it might be taken again.
“What have you learned?” the duchess demanded, still a few strides off.
Did she wish to hold this discussion from the passageway?
Chane wrapped his near hand around his sword’s sheath, just below the cross guard. He pocketed the ring, freeing his sword hand if needed.
Why had he taken the ring off? If the Stonewalkers, especially Cinder-Shard, could sense the wraith as an undead, would they sense him without the ring’s protection?
Chuillyon slowed, almost falling behind the other two. He arrived three steps after the duchess and the captain, eyeing Chane.
“Well?” the duchess asked more sharply.
“A little,” Wynn returned in kind. “Master Bulwark interrupted me too soon. I need more—”
“Do not play me!” The duchess took two rapid steps closer.
Wynn forced calm, though one bitter thought escaped. “It’s regrettable you were less interested back in Calm Seatt. Several people might still be alive.”
“Enough!” Chuillyon said, pulling back his cowl.
The passage’s orange light accentuated the lines around his eyes. Wynn couldn’t help wondering at his age.
“Please continue,” he instructed.
Wynn knew she had to share her meager findings but still hoped for more time with the texts.
“I didn’t uncover the wraith’s specific goal . . . yet,” she said. “But I believe I have his name . . . and something of the part he played in the war.”
“The war?” the duchess echoed with disdain.
“What name?” Chuillyon demanded.
“The Ancient Enemy had three distinct groups of followers,” Wynn began. She briefly recounted the Children, the Eaters of Silence, and lastly the Reverent, a religious caste. She left out what little she knew of a bargain with Beloved, adding only . . .
“His name was—is—Sau’ilahk, high priest of Cinder-Shard’s so-called Nightfaller.”
Chuillyon’s large eyes lost focus. His gaze dropped, staring at nothing, and then shifted erratically. Wynn wondered what thoughts came so quickly, one overwhelming the next.
“Liar!” Reine accused, pulling Wynn’s attention. “I’m sick of your schemes. To suggest that this mage has been around since—”
“Silence!” Chuillyon ordered.
The duchess spun on him. “You cannot possibly believe—”
“I have told you there’s no time to cling to disbelief!” He turned back to Wynn. “You learned nothing more . . . of what it wants . . . how to deal with it?”
Wynn hesitated at Chuillyon’s so quickly accepting her words without a shadow of the duchess’s doubt. She’d been dismissed so often, so few believing a grain of what she said, that his acceptance made her more suspicious. She had a very disturbing sense that he was looking for untried tactics, which would only mean . . .
Had he tried others, sometime before . . . in facing this monstrous spirit?
And there was one other thing the wraith might be searching for, just like her.
“It may be searching for—”
“The last locations of others among the Children,” Chane cut in.
Wynn regained her senses in shock. He never spoke to anyone but her of such matters. When he glanced down, she caught the slightest, almost imperceptible shake of his head. She’d told the duchess and Chuillyon nearly everything pertinent—except Sau’ilahk’s bargain for eternal life. She still wasn’t certain of her conclusions on that, and it would’ve only aggravated the duchess even more. So what else was there to hold back? Only one thing . . .
Chane wished her to keep silent about Bäalâle Seatt.
“Nothing more?” Chuillyon asked again.
“No,” Wynn answered. “I had too little time. Translation is painstaking work.”
“But it thinks you know something.” The captain’s sudden words were almost as out of place as Chane’s.
“Pardon?” Wynn asked.
“It must believe you know of what it’s after,” the captain said, calm and cold. “Or it wouldn’t have followed you.” He turned to Chuillyon. “She offers nothing of use, so we must fall back on Cinder-Shard’s plan. Let the Stonewalkers trap it . . . using the sage as bait.”
“I do not think so,” Chane hissed.
Wynn had to grab his arm, as both he and the captain reached for their swords.
“Journeyor!” the duchess snapped, and then briefly closed her eyes, as if struggling to regain composure. “In Calm Seatt, you and Captain Rodian seemed to have vanquished this . . . perpetrator . . . or in retrospect, at least injured it. How?”
Wynn studied Reine’s face, not as lovely as some, but fetching in its clean