from the hall outside, heard through the crack.
Kathryn turned as someone rapped hard on her door. It creaked farther open with the impact. Penni blocked it with a toe.
“Castellan Vail!” a familiar voice called.
It was Lowl, manservant to the warden. Kathryn turned to Krevan-but the leader of the Black Flaggers was gone from her side. She twisted around. He had vanished into the shadows and away. She noted a slight waft to the heavy drapery over the windows that opened onto her private balcony.
She knew that if she yanked back the drapes, she’d find nothing but a window cracked open and the balcony just as empty.
Krevan was gone.
Through the open window, shouts echoed, coming from the top of Stormwatch. Kathryn pictured the high docks that surmounted the tower. Only one flippercraft had still been expected this day.
Another trumpet blast reverberated, sounding strident and panicked.
“Castellan Vail!”
Kathryn returned her attention to the door and waved Penni to open it. The maid removed her foot and tugged on the latch.
Lowl stood at her threshold, flanked by guards who shifted uneasily, glancing down the hall toward the center stairs. Lowl stood wide-eyed, tall and spindly-limbed. He shook all over. Kathryn expected to hear his bones rattle.
“What has happened?” she asked.
“Warden Fields sent me to fetch you! Word had come that the flippercraft from Chrismferry had been spotted in the skies, outrunning the coming storm, arriving early.” He winced from another trumpet blast. “He-Warden Fields wanted you in attendance above. For-for the welcome.”
Plainly the manservant had been sent before whatever mishap had befallen that same arrival. Kathryn rushed to the door. She would get no answers from the man.
She pushed through the guards, fellow shadowknights with crimson stitching on the shoulders of their cloaks. The Fiery Cross. Argent’s men.
Lowl called to her. “Warden Fields asked that you present yourself in attire most fitting for the occasion and to-”
Kathryn ignored the man and drew power to her cloak from the shadows, increasing her pace. She sped down the hall to the central stair. The steps were packed with other knights, drawn by the commotion. She shed her cloak enough to let her diadem shine.
“Clear the way for the castellan!” she boomed.
The black sea of cloaks parted. She raced upward through them. Near the top, she saw men and women, mostly lineworkers and dock laborers, rushing by with buckets. A large cistern occupied this level, kept always full for just such a crisis.
She followed a burly man in heavy boots, slogging with a bucket in each fist. He plowed a path for her to follow. The door appeared ahead, propped open against a gusting wind that pushed down at them, as if warding them back.
Kathryn smelled the smoke-then she was through the door and out onto the high dock.
The chill struck her first, frigid enough to pierce her fevered panic. She wrapped the tattered shadows around her, pulling her cloak tight. One hand pulled her hood up against the wind.
She then stepped clear of the chaos, allowing the workers to battle the flames. But it appeared the worst was already over. Smoke churned into the twilight murk as the sun set to the west, already lost in heavy clouds.
A few patches of fire rose from the crushed belly of the flippercraft. It had landed on the cradle, but it had come in too hard, cracking the supports and smashing to the stone. Flames licked from a few cracks in the bottom-most planks, coming from the housing that sheltered the craft’s main mekanicals and reservoirs of alchemy.
Through the smoke, Kathryn smelled the acrid yet oddly sweet tang of burnt blood. The entire mekanicals must have combusted with the crash. Kathryn imagined the ship had come in already overheated, mekanicals under full roil. Now the flames were consuming all.
She edged around toward the far side. She spotted the open rear door to the flippercraft. Men and women were gathered there, churning a bit in confusion. Kathryn spotted Argent ser Fields. He stood head-high above the others, atop a crate. He was shouting something, but the wind took his words.
Kathryn pushed toward the crowd.
Where was Tylar?
Worry had her shoving rudely, almost knocking over a woman rushing past with an empty bucket.
She searched the faces ahead, recognizing guards in the golds and umbers of Chrismferry, alongside several Hands of Chrismferry.
Finally, she reached an eddy in the chaos, an open space between the dockworkers and the gathering passengers who had disembarked. She stepped closer, ready with a thousand questions. But first she had to find Tylar.
From the skies, snow drifted down out of the darkening clouds. Winds buffeted the heavy flakes into thick swirls. The snowfall mixed with the smoke and began to settle over the ruin. It would take several days to clear the wreckage. Not the most auspicious arrival for the new regent.
One flake landed on Kathryn’s cheek.
The cold stung like the bite of a mud-wasp, but she wiped the flake away, too focused on her search to mind the cold. Still, she tugged up her masklin against the icy snowfall. After cinching the facecloth in place, she held out a hand for a moment. Flakes settled to her palm and melted.
She shook her head and stepped again toward the crowd around Argent. She could now hear his voice.
“Everyone head below! We’ll escort you to your rooms!”
The churn of the crowd shifted in her direction. She still had not spotted Tylar. Then motion near the flippercraft drew her eye. She saw Tylar stepping down the rear ramp. He was not alone. A young woman leaned close to him. The ship’s captain flanked his other side. Tylar was speaking to the man with some urgency.
The captain nodded and set off toward the flaming mekanicals.
Tylar stepped to the stones of Tashijan, the first time in a year. His eyes swept the crowd, as if counting heads.
Thank the gods, he appeared to be uninjured.
Tylar’s eyes narrowed when they settled upon Argent.
Kathryn headed toward him. Best to keep Tylar and Argent apart as much as possible, especially when Tylar’s blood was surely overheated already. The storm had ruined the welcome already. No need to make matters worse.
Kathryn recognized the color in Tylar’s cheeks and the narrow set to his lips. Now would not be a good time for anyone to challenge him. Best to get him to his room. Then the two could talk about what had happened here… and other matters.
Tylar turned, as if sensing her approach.
For the first time, Kathryn noted his hand clasped with the woman’s. It was Delia. Tylar’s Hand of blood. Also Argent’s estranged daughter.
Tylar leaned over to whisper something in his companion’s ear. Most likely to reassure the young woman. Kathryn recalled Tylar doing the same with her in the past, his warm breath on her neck, the way his voice could cut through to her heart and calm its beat.
She took a deep breath through her masklin and lifted an arm to catch his eye.
Delia shifted to face Tylar more fully.
For a moment, too quick for any but Kathryn to note, her lips brushed against his. Tylar’s palm slid along her arm. Then the two slipped back and faced the disembarked crowd of fellow passengers.
Kathryn lowered her half-raised arm. Unbidden, shadows drew around her more fully. She took a step away, withdrawing into them. Her heart pounded, and as the sun set into the growing storm, it suddenly went darker-and colder.
