truly guarded the texts, had Wynn just hinted too much concerning her true goal?
Chane slipped a hand beneath his cloak to his sword’s hilt. He did not dare step in front of Wynn and cause this whole standoff to suddenly crumble. Beneath the duchess’s suspicion, he saw discomfort and uncertainty surface. It was not hard to guess what troubled her.
If the duchess believed Wynn at all but did nothing to help, there could be repercussions with the guild. But if the duchess even suspected Wynn was lying . . .
Chane’s gaze slipped to the saber’s hilt protruding from the duchess’s cloak.
It was not the weapon that troubled him but rather the way it hung, not high near the belt, dangling like the ornament of a royal. It was slung low, raked back, loose on its suspension strap.
Duchess Reine knew how to use it—or at least how to set it for a smooth draw. If something went wrong, she could be on Wynn as the guards came at him. Even if he broke Wynn free, they would be running with no hope of ever getting near the texts.
The captain watched him, never seeming to blink, but Chane ignored the man. He shut out everything, even Wynn, waiting for the duchess to speak again.
“Surely, even for a family crisis,” the duchess began, “High- Tower would have faith in the royal family. He would trust my discretion, as we have always trusted his.”
Chane caught no deception beneath those words—he felt nothing at all. Why could he not tell truth from lies when it mattered? Why did such warnings only come when he was not focused on trying to listen for deception?
The duchess shifted weight between her feet. She was obviously disturbed by Wynn’s sudden appearance. But that was all Chane could discern.
“I can’t break my word,” Wynn insisted. “I’m allowed to speak only with Ore-Locks.”
“And I cannot take you to him,” Reine answered flatly.
Again, Chane could not tell if that was a lie. Wynn took a step forward, and he tensed.
“This is urgent, Highness,” she pleaded. “Domin High-Tower assured me you would help.”
“Of course I will,” Reine answered sharply, and then sighed. “There may be a way.”
All amusement washed from the tall elf’s lined face. “My lady,” he warned.
“I know, Chuillyon,” she answered, and then studied Wynn. “Come with me.”
As the duchess turned away, Wynn advanced, but Shade did not. Chane found the dog standing tense, eyes locked on the duchess’s back. Was Shade trying to catch the woman’s memories?
“Shade?”
The dog shook herself, peered up at him, and then padded after Wynn. Chane hurried onward, still dumbfounded at the risks Wynn took.
The duchess could detain them and send an inquiry to High-Tower, uncovering Wynn’s deception. Wynn had already related that Duchess Reine, acting for Malourné’s royals, had used her influence to keep the texts in the hands of guild premins. The Stonewalkers’ involvement was still only an educated guess, but Chane was certain of two things.
First, Duchess Reine was hiding something, and second, she was only playing Wynn’s polite game for now.
Wynn inhaled a sharp breath an instant before he stepped through the opening. His attention immediately fixed on what he saw there, even as he heard the bodyguards enter behind him.
At the back of a hidden stone room was another pair of iron doors, just like the ones at the amphitheater of Old-Seatt. But these doors were guarded.
A dwarf in plated leather armor stood to either side, and both held iron staves. Both wore sashes, one of russet with green lines and the other of pure plum. Embroidered emblems on each were different, so their clans were not the same. But both were obviously constabulary.
Chane’s frustration grew.
A hidden door behind a hidden opening in a deep lonely passage—and guarded as well. The only other difference was a recessed iron panel behind the guard with the plum-colored sash.
“Now, please,” the duchess said.
The dwarf turned, grasping the panel’s handle, and then paused and glanced back. Duchess Reine turned to face Wynn.
“You and yours will turn around, until told otherwise.”
Wynn pivoted, and Chane saw her dejected frown before he turned as well.
He heard the panel slide open.
A series of steady scrapes followed, like honed metal sliding on smooth stone. He could only guess at some set of rods being pressed or pulled, like the ones Wynn had described beyond the amphitheater’s iron doors. It made him wonder why that other door’s lock had been on the inside.
A louder grinding began—once, twice, and three times.
Chane shook