“That’s unlikely. Aron’s more Stone than Brailing now, and you’ll be present to make sure he keeps his graal concealed. Lord Altar has no reason to be searching for Aron, least of all in the heart of Lord Baldric’s study, under his very nose. The need outweighs the risk.”
There was truth in that assertion that Dari couldn’t deny, even though she wished to find some reasonable objection. If Lord Altar had made the journey to Triune, the Stone Guild needed all the assistance they could recruit to determine his true purpose, and the level of danger his interest posed.
“We’ll keep you safe,” Stormbreaker said. “Windblown and I will serve as your protectors in Blath’s absence. Lord Altar will think nothing of two High Masters being present for this meeting.”
Dari’s jaw clenched, then set, and she knew she was starting to glare. Not this again. Not Stormbreaker treating her like some fragile bit of flower in need of a pair of swordsmen to defend her.
Did he not see her for what she was—for all she was?
The tears that had been gathering behind her eyes all morning finally spilled over, but she swept past Stormbreaker before he could see her emotion, out of her chamber, and into the hallway.
“See to finding Aron, and ensuring his safety,” she called over her shoulder as she stormed toward the steps that led down to the Den entrance. “I can take care of myself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
DARI
Dari seated herself on the hearth of a dormant fireplace and assumed the posture of a dedicated servant, a Ross pigeon in attendance simply to be certain no souls needed dispatching from Lord Baldric’s chamber this day. His rooms were cool but well lit, with the shutters open, and the air still smelled of the cedar logs he had burned for warmth in the winter. Dari breathed deeply of the comforting smell as she fingered the knitted sock in her palm, grateful that some seamstress had already finished the project. Lord Baldric, who was pacing in front of her, had given her some needles and yarn to toy with—as if she had any idea how to make a proper stitch. Sewing had been Kate’s province, not hers. She preferred daggers to needles.
“Lift it here,” Lord Baldric grumbled as he stopped his frenetic walking, gesturing to a spot midway on his own chest, as if he might have knitted the sock in Dari’s hands himself. The image made her smile, but Lord Baldric didn’t return her expression. The depth of his frown was matched only by the rusty red flush outlining his cheeks. He stalked to his formidable desk and took a seat in his wood and leather chair. He made for quite an imposing figure, bedecked in his own ceremonial gray robes, but Dari thought at any moment the many benedets marking his face would crawl right off his skin. The two of them were alone, awaiting the arrival of Stormbreaker, Windblown, and Aron. Once everyone had arrived, Lord Baldric would summon Lord Altar.
“I’m weary with so many visits.” Lord Baldric leaned against his chair so hard the wood creaked. “So many requests. Every messenger purports to carry tidings of Stone’s best interests, but it’s the interests of the writers that will be most truly served if I comply with any of them.”
Dari knew better than to make a comment. Lord Baldric had vowed many times, with increasing volume and vitriol, that Stone would in no way be drawn into the war.
“This bastard, he’ll be wanting some assurance or promise or the other, mark my words.” Lord Baldric’s voice grew louder with each word. One of his big fists rested atop the desk, and Dari thought he might have been more comfortable if he could have held a throwing knife in his tight grip.
The door to the chamber opened, and Stormbreaker hurried in, leading Windblown, Aron, and Zed. Dari glanced at Stormbreaker’s worried expression, but it was Aron’s appearance that gave her a jolt.
It wasn’t so much his pallor or the circles beneath his earnest sapphire eyes, but other changes that drew her attention. Changes Blath had alluded to, but that Dari had somehow failed to notice. As her heart skipped from the shock of her realizations, she had to acknowledge that Aron had indeed grown as tall as Stormbreaker and Zed now, though he kept a lean, lanky awkwardness. His face, though—it was no child’s face. Not anymore. There was a sharpness to the powerful line of his jaw, and his