only to explain himself or illustrate a point. He was an absolute contrast to Stormbreaker, vulnerable and open, and different from Aron, as well, without that ever-present menace of anger and well of misery. How had Nic been through so much, and emerged so affable? Dari thought she should take lessons from him, in both disposition and resilience.
“Aron’s had trouble with the Shrine,” Dari said, allowing herself to begin to enjoy the steadiness of Nic’s presence. “He’s had visions there, but none of us has ever found anything out of the ordinary.”
“Perhaps Aron has the stronger sight, at least where the Shrine is concerned.” Nic rubbed his jaw, sending Dari into a small frenzy of guilt.
“I can’t believe I hit you.” She put her hand on his arm. “I was distracted.”
“No worries. I can take a punch.” He caught her hand with his own. “Let’s pay the Shrine of the Mother a visit, for Aron’s sake.”
Dari found herself smiling despite her worry, and would have kept smiling if Triune’s bells hadn’t started to ring.
She and Nic stopped at the same moment, gripping each other’s arms.
Dari’s breath stopped, and she was certain she would hear the pattern announcing Aron’s death. Tears rose to her eyes so fast she couldn’t form even a meager defense. Sobs followed, fast and hard, and then Nic was holding her, soothing her, rubbing her shoulders as he said, “No, no, it’s not that. It’s visitors. Nobles. I haven’t learned all the patterns yet—but it’s not Aron, Dari. Look at me. That’s it. Look at me.”
Nic’s features seemed fuzzy through tears and moonslight. He stroked her cheek with two gnarled fingers, his touch as soft as a reed brushing across her skin. “It’s visitors,” he repeated, and slowly Dari understood what he was saying.
“Nobles,” she murmured. Then, “Nobles? Nic.” She gripped his shoulders. “You have to get back to the infirmary.” She was already shifting some of her awareness through the Veil, wrapping it around Nic’s essence and choking out the ruby hue that clung to him, announcing the strength of his Mab legacy.
Soft, running footfalls caught her attention, and instinct made her turn Nic loose and reach to her waist for a dagger that she didn’t have.
Tiamat Snakekiller charged into view, both hands on the hilts of her own blades. Her light hair hung loose at her shoulders, and her benedets gave her a wild, deadly look. Dari recognized the barely controlled panic in the other woman’s face, and knew she must care very deeply for Nic, after rescuing him and guarding him so closely, even to the point of almost giving her life for him.
“I’m trouble all around tonight,” Nic said as Snakekiller reached them. He bowed to Dari, adding, “Forgive me. I had intended for us to give each other comfort until Aron returned. Now it seems I’ll just cost you energy and effort, shielding my legacy.”
“Come.” Snakekiller didn’t spare Dari a glance. Tension was evident in every tight line of her face and neck. “We don’t know who’s approaching, or what treachery might be afoot.”
Nic acquiesced, following her away toward the infirmary, where Snakekiller would conceal and protect him until these visitors departed. For her part, Dari would maintain her own protections on Nic, for as long as she believed them to be needed.
Another figure approached at a rapid pace from the direction of the Den, and Dari recognized Stormbreaker. She saw him acknowledge his sister and nod to Nic, who waved once before disappearing with his guardian into the darkness of the road.
“You should return to safety yourself,” Stormbreaker said as he drew even with Dari, but she had no intention of retreating until she understood what kind of dangers Nic might be facing. Stormbreaker didn’t argue with her as he fell into step beside her. They didn’t speak to each other, and Dari couldn’t help noticing a tension that went beyond the stress of the moment.
Was Stormbreaker angry with her?
Not that he’d ever put his feelings into words, even if she asked.
Long minutes later, as they approached the main gate and keep, he slowed, and Dari noticed that he had pulled his robes aside to give himself easy access to his daggers and short sword. His longer blades, as always, were crossed on his back, and his hard, distant expression suggested that he would draw them on the smallest provocation.
As he tended to do, he took her arm for added safety as they crossed the moat. Below them, mocker-fish splashed and