draw off most of Stone’s would-be attackers. We’ll have what they seek, and they’ll believe you and Nic to be vulnerable.”
“Stormbreaker and Snakekiller should stay here.” Nic’s conviction overrode his fear of speaking his mind in such company. “Stone should spare us no escorts. Keep your people to defend your grounds and your sheltered, Lord Baldric.”
Lord Baldric laughed, but it was a dry, lifeless sound. “I can command Snakekiller about as easily as I can order Stone River to cease flowing.” He pointed to Stormbreaker. “He’s not much better. They’ll do as they see fit, Nic. Best you learn that now.”
“All of Stone’s High Masters can’t remain here.” Stormbreaker leveled his eerie green eyes on Nic and waited for Nic to understand. The implication of Stormbreaker’s statement sunk deep into Nic’s mind, and he saw Aron and Dari grasp it as well. By spreading their High Masters to different locations, Stone was hedging its odds that someone would survive the war to lead Triune, and rebuild the guild if their stronghold was destroyed.
“We are not an army,” Lord Baldric said to Aron, who was frowning at him.
“You could be.” Aron clenched his fists on the table until his knuckles brushed Eldin Falconer’s tarnished bracelets.
Lord Baldric’s response was surprisingly gentle. “Not and remain true to our charter, our vows, and our hearts.”
“Fine. Ignore the forces of Brailing and Altar and Mab. Take your fight to the Thorn Guild.” Aron’s tone edged toward desperation. “Make them accountable for murdering Vagrat’s lady and imprisoning her heir because the Vagrat nobles lived outside the Lady Provost’s beliefs.”
“Aron,” Stormbreaker said. “That’s far in the past.”
Aron’s face darkened. “What of their new crimes? The ridiculous, dangerous demands, the neglect of their guild duties, child-stealing, taking sides in a war, and the Brother only knows what else. If not Stone, then who is responsible for confronting the Lady Provost and ending Thorn’s treachery?”
Lord Baldric glared at Aron, but Nic noted that the man no longer seemed so broken and old. His big fists clenched on the table, too, dwarfing Aron’s, and for a moment, his brown eyes seemed bright with rage and determination.
Aron seemed about to say more, much more, but he left off. Still, he didn’t wither beneath the Lord Provost’s glowering disapproval. After a moment, he whispered, “Someone has to stop them, Lord Baldric. Someone has to stop her.”
“We have no proof that Falconer had you attacked at Lady Pravda’s command,” Lord Baldric said, then held up his hand as Aron sputtered and swore.
“But Falconer told me—”
“The word of a dead madman will carry little weight in a dynast court,” Lord Baldric continued, his voice rising over Aron’s. “If we’re to take on Thorn, we need much more evidence than that.”
Aron seemed too furious to speak, and Nic was relieved. He thought it was pointless, trying to draw Stone more directly into the war when Lord Baldric had so often made his position clear, and when Triune would be doing well just to protect its own battlements. If Aron kept fighting, he would get nothing but wounded feelings for his efforts.
“The stone drawing is this evening, after dinner,” Lord Baldric said to Aron, each word measured and tight. “Don’t be late.”
For some reason, the sight of the Lord Provost on edge put Nic at ease, as if this aspect of the universe had been restored to its rightful course.
Aron nodded and excused himself with Stormbreaker, who said he was taking Aron to get his robes. Dari announced she would go with them, and find her own way back to the Den. As soon as they left, Nic stood to leave Lord Baldric’s chambers, but Lord Ross stopped him by holding up one large hand.
“Wait a moment, if you would, Nic.” Lord Ross’s face reminded Nic of a ceremonial mask, etched in place with no hint of emotion to give him a clue what this request might entail.
Nic hesitated by his chair. It was a request, not a command, but he didn’t think his legs would move even if he wanted to flee. Which he did want to do.
Nic glanced at Lord Baldric and Lord Cobb, who both stated they had business elsewhere, and left quickly.
Too quickly, by Nic’s assessment.
All too soon, Nic found himself alone in the Lord Provost’s chambers, with possibly the most intimidating man in Eyrie.
“Sit,” Lord Ross said, gesturing to Nic’s chair.
Nic sat, feeling all at once like the hob-prince again, young and clumsy, and too soft for his own station in