through his connection with her, and he had an urge to pound Stormbreaker into so many pieces of rain and wind. How could he hurt Dari like that?
A roiling wave of emotion rose through Aron like one of Stormbreaker’s lightning bursts, but he made himself contain it so he wouldn’t tax Dari further. Later, he told himself, glaring at Stormbreaker. Guild master or no, they would discuss how Stormbreaker treated Dari.
Lord Baldric shifted his focus to Aron. “Your mind-talents would be extremely useful to Stone in this situation, but if you can’t contain your graal, leave now, through my side door.”
“I can control myself, sir,” Aron said quietly, folding away his nervousness and discomfort like one of his apprentice tunics. He imagined himself tucking every bit of his emotion into a trunk like the one near his bed, and turning the lock and key. “I’m fine.”
Lord Baldric looked next to Dari, who nodded and seemed very focused on her duties to Aron and even to Stormbreaker.
“Well, then.” Lord Baldric seated them all at the table, then stalked toward the chamber door. “Let’s see what these bastards are up to now.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ARON
Aron tried to work out whether or not he should stand to greet the First High Master of Thorn. It would have been proper, yet no one at the table so much as stirred in their chair, so Aron kept his seat.
Lord Baldric jerked open his chamber door, grumbled a greeting, and admitted a tall man with Mab-blond hair turning ash at his temples. The man wore brown breeches, a brown tunic, and a brown traveler’s cloak with the hood pushed back. If it weren’t for his kinglike bearing, his dark blue eyes, and his benedets—crystalline tattoos of thorny rings in the same spots where Stormbreaker’s face boasted dark spirals—he might have succeeded in appearing nondescript and unimportant. As it was, Aron could well imagine him in cardinal robes, flashing the traditional winding silver arm bracelets associated with the Thorn Guild. He was a bit disappointed not to actually see those robes and bracelets, as he had been told the color of the cloth and the shine of the jewelry’s silver were vibrant enough to attract all the attention Stone’s gray robes sought to repel. Aron noted the deep lines at the corners of Falconer’s eyes and mouth, and realized that he might be much older than his appearance suggested.
Aron chanced a quick look at Stormbreaker, who seemed to have turned to a statue, back straight against his chair, arms pressed firmly into the table, palms down.
For a moment, Aron wondered if Falconer would like to grow any older. In the next moment, Stormbreaker’s discomfort seemed to wash over Aron.
What in all of Eyrie could make a man like Stormbreaker so rigid, so angry and fearful? Aron felt his guild master’s unrest like hot bursts of lightning stabbing into his throat and chest. It was enough to make his eyelids flutter, and he had to put his hands on the table, almost mimicking Stormbreaker’s posture.
Meanwhile, the Thorn Brother’s eyes moved from Dari to Aron to Terrick, and it took Aron a moment to realize Falconer seemed to have no interest in Lord Baldric, Stormbreaker, or Hasty.
Aron allowed his awareness to slide toward the edges of the Veil, hoping to heighten his understanding of Falconer’s motives and purpose, but he knew better than to risk slipping into that vulnerable state.
“Lord Baldric,” Falconer said, keeping his attention fully on the youngest people in the room. His voice was quiet, yet eerily resonant and powerful, and he pressed his hands together as he spoke, fingertip to wrist. Aron immediately thought of the few times he had seen rectors in their temples, and the deep timbre of their lectures and cautions. “The Lady Provost of Thorn sends her greetings through my presence.”
Falconer gave a quick bow, then rose and managed to look at the man he had supposedly come to see.
The harsh glint in Lord Baldric’s eyes suggested he was thinking of many responses other than the one he offered, which was an answering bow with a grudging, “Please give Lady Pravda my greetings upon your return.”
Stormbreaker’s fingers curled against the wood of the table, drawing Falconer’s attention. At first his appraisal of Stormbreaker was quick and cursory, but Aron saw the Thorn Brother pause as he at last registered Stormbreaker’s unusual hair and eyes.
Falconer’s brow furrowed. “Have we met, High Master? You have the look of a child of Dyn Vagrat.”
Moments passed. Then