Tylar’s jaw ached from biting back harsher words. The past bell had been a chaotic flurry of high-blown flattery and barely contained resentment, most of it voiced by the warden himself. But Tylar kept his tongue civil. Especially since beyond the warden stood representatives of all of Tashijan: Master Hesharian of the Council of Masters, various leaders of the shadowknights’ castes, even Keeper Ryngold, who oversaw the house staff and underfolk. They had all escorted Tylar’s party down to their rooms, which took up almost all of this level, an embarrassing generosity in such overcrowded conditions. Tylar was sure the warden had let it be known to all how well the regent was being accommodated.
“A private feast is scheduled at the next bell,” Argent finished, relinquishing his hand. “After you’ve all had a chance to refresh yourselves, I’ll send my man to escort you and your Hands down to the dining hall.”
“Most generous again,” Tylar choked out.
Argent turned with a nod of his head and waved the escort down the hall ahead of him. The remainder of the party from Chrismferry had already retired into their respective rooms. Delia had come close to slamming her door in her haste to escape her father’s stiff and false affection.
The only one left in the hall was Tylar’s ever-present shadow, the Wyr-mistress Eylan. She stood stoically, almost bored.
“Keep any ears from this door,” he instructed.
She gave him a barely perceptible nod.
Tylar closed the door behind him and leaned against it, glad for a moment’s peace. But he wasn’t alone. He turned to find four people arrayed near the back of the room, three maids and a manservant, resplendent in fine liveries. Their dress was a match to the room itself, as if their clothes had been cut from the heavy draperies. The remainder of the main chamber was equally grand, appointed in rich silks, tapestries, padded chairs, and a hearth tall enough to walk into upright, presently ablaze with a cheery fire.
The switch-thin servant bowed deeply, then straightened. “Welcome, your lordship. We’ve already discharged your bags. If you’ll show me which dress you’d like to wear to the feast, I shall do my best to freshen and brush them.”
Tylar waved them off. “That won’t be necessary. I’d prefer a few moments of solitude. If I need anything, I will send for you.”
“Ser, your bath has not been-”
“Not necessary,” he said with a bit of a snap. He was immediately ashamed at his harshness. He knew better than to vent his anger upon those who sought only to fulfill their duties. He calmed his voice. “Most welcome, but that will be all.”
With another bow, the manservant herded the maids amid much curtsying out a narrow door that led down to the staff quarters. A silk-wrapped pull-rope hung beside it, ready to summon assistance when needed. Tylar had no intention of tugging on it while here.
Once alone, Tylar sighed. Though his empty stomach growled, he had no great desire to attend the feast. His nose, though, did note the platter of hard cheeses and steaming bread set atop a table by the hearth, along with a silver flagon of spiced wine. Maybe there was some small gain in being a visiting regent.
He stepped toward the platter.
A knock on the door stopped him. He closed his eyes against yet another interruption. What now? Rubbing at the stubble on his chin, he turned from the hearth and crossed back to the door. Eylan surely would have blocked any stranger from disturbing him. Perhaps it was Delia, reappearing now that her father had vacated the halls.
He pulled open the door and found himself mistaken.
A knight in a damp shadowcloak stood at his threshold. “Tylar.”
He stepped back. “Kathryn.”
The castellan had been notably missing from the formalized greetings after the hard landing atop Stormwatch. And while Tylar had wondered at her absence, he was pleased at the exasperation it had caused in the warden. He lifted an arm, inviting her inside.
She brushed through the doorway, barely meeting his eye.
Tylar closed the door. He studied her as she crossed to the hearth. She looked paler than usual, but maybe it was the cold. She lifted both palms toward the fire. He noted meltwater dripping from the edge of her cloak. A few wet hairs had worked free from her riding braid and were pasted to her cheeks.
She spoke to the flames. “I have Gerrod and two of his fellow masters examining your flippercraft’s mekanicals. If there was any sabotage or misdeed, they should be able to discern it before you return to Chrismferry.”
Tylar relaxed the slight stiffness to his shoulders. So that was why she had been missing earlier. He had feared a part of her absence might be some discomfit with his arrival.
Relieved, he approached her. “The captain believed it was the stress of burning too much blood,” he said. “Or perhaps some weakness in the alchemies. Either way, the failure was most likely happenstance and not anything malicious-but it does warrant investigation.”
She nodded.
Tylar reached her side. The heat of the hearth finally drove her back a step. Or maybe it was his own nearness. She moved to one of the chairs and examined the platter of small fare with a bit too much intensity.
“Kathryn…?” he started softly.
She picked up a piece of cheese, then returned it to the plate. “I assume you know Rogger arrived two days ago. With the god’s skull.”
“I got your raven,” he confirmed, not pressing her. It seemed such topics were easier for the moment.
“Gerrod’s been examining it in secret and has already come up with some answers.”
“So soon?”
Kathryn frowned, as if the question somehow rankled her. “He has a mind like no other.”
“I have no doubt,” he said softly. “What has he discerned?”
Kathryn slowly outlined all that the master had discovered, sketching out his speculations. As she continued, Tylar’s interest drew him nearer to her, brows pinched in concern.
“Seersong?” he asked as she finished.
Kathryn glanced at him, meeting his eyes for the first time, as if testing an icy stream before jumping in. She spoke with a firmer voice. “That is what Gerrod suspects. An echo of some curse still trapped in the bone.”
“And Krevan came looking for the skull, too. Strange.”
“I suspect he’ll be back. But whatever has driven him here, he seemed reluctant to talk openly about it.”
Tylar shrugged. “Well, Krevan was never known to be garrulous.”
His words drew the faintest of smiles from her. It always amazed him how her entire face could soften with just the smallest of movements. He found himself staring a bit too long at her lips, reminded of a different life. It was now his turn to glance away.
“We’ll simply have to outwait Krevan,” he mumbled.
Remembering his empty stomach, he plucked up a bit of dry hardcrust and chewed an edge.
Kathryn studied the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Your Hands? They are settled into their rooms?”
“Indeed. Argent has given practically this entire level to house all of us. Why do you ask?”
Kathryn waved away his words, a bit brusquely. “No reason. It’s just…I’m sure Dart will be thrilled to see her friend Laurelle again. She’s still your Hand of tears, correct?”
Tylar nodded. “The girl practically filled the flippercraft’s hold with gifts and sweets for Dart. Insisted that her arrival be a surprise.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Where is the child, by the way? I thought she’d be at your side.”
“Off to class-though by now she might have returned to her garret off my hermitage. I should be returning to my rooms myself. To change for the feast.” She shook her head sourly and stepped toward the door. “This game we must play…”
Tylar suspected the game she referred to involved more than just the feast to come. He noted a trace of anger directed at him, but he was unsure how to assuage it. Sometimes women were as impenetrable as the most complex of alchemies.
Before Kathryn could reach the door, a knock sounded.
Kathryn glanced at him.
