Hygeorht access to all completed work—pages that have already been translated—but under controlled circumstances that will keep the texts protected from the public. If the journeyor will agree not to pursue full possession, she may see all translations since her return from the Farlands.'
'We desire you to stop these murders,' she said, 'but keep the guild's project protected at the same time. If you can do this, we would be grateful… most grateful, Captain.'
Rodian thought his heart stilled as he held his breath.
Her words were as close to an open admission as he might ever hear. The royal family wanted him to keep Wynn's ancient texts buried in secret. This veiled request left him caught between duty, faith, and ambition.
He knew lives depended upon him as the highest officer of the Shyldfälches, even the lives of these well-intended, if deluded, sages. But he also knew the rewards of royal gratitude.
Rodian took a slow breath. 'I will not fail.'
By late morning Wynn still lay in bed. Drained by last night's turmoil, she'd drifted in and out, but true sleep never came. Finally she swung her legs over the bedside, her small feet settling on the cold stone floor.
What had she done with her meddling and threats?
Certainly she'd jeopardized her place in the guild. Neither Sykion nor High-Tower spoke a word to her on the walk home. Since returning from the Farlands she hadn't been happy here, but life as a sage was all she knew. What would she do if she were dismissed and cast out?
Still, the thought of lives lost, the persistent denials of her superiors, and what her wayward friends might've done in her place convinced her there was no other choice than the one she'd made.
But at a soft knock on her door, Wynn shrank in apprehension. She had to force herself up to go crack open the door.
Domin il'Sänke stood in the outer passage. The wrinkle of his dark brow might've been worry—or scorn, if he'd already heard what she'd done.
'Get dressed,' he said. 'The Premin Council has called a general assembly.'
Wynn's throat tightened. Was she to be cast out in front of everyone?
It didn't matter. She would still go after the texts by whatever means necessary.
Il'Sänke shook his head once. 'I do not believe this concerns you,' he said, perhaps reading the worry on her face.
Wynn realized she was standing there in her night shift—not that he seemed to notice. She held up a finger, telling him to wait, and closed the door to dress. Without bothering to brush or tie back her hair, she hurried out to join him. She found him staring intently down the hall.
Wynn glanced along his sight line. The passage was empty all the way to the landing above the stairs to the courtyard door.
'I'm ready,' she said.
Il'Sänke started like someone interrupted from listening closely to a nearby conversation. He nodded, and she followed him to the stairs. When they finally reached the common hall, a surprising sight awaited Wynn.
The place was nearly bursting at the seams.
Every initiate, apprentice, journeyor, master, and domin in residence had been summoned. All five premins of the orders stood before the massive hearth, facing the gathered assembly. But more puzzling was the presence of scribe masters or shopowners from every scriptorium hired within the past half year—the Gild and Ink, the Inkwell, the Feather & Parchment, and Four Scribes in House. They all stood closest among the crowd before the council, all except for those of the Upright Quill.
Masters Pawl a'Seatt and Teagan stood off at the hearth's left end.
Wynn continued scanning. Anyone not a robed sage stood out in the mass. Captain Rodian stood near the hall's back, close to the wide entrance archway. As she crept in beside il'Sänke, the captain turned, arms crossed over his red surcoat, and his gaze briefly met hers. Then it locked on il'Sänke, and his expression hardened.
Last night in the cell the captain had specifically asked about il'Sänke's whereabouts. But why hadn't Rodian asked about anyone else?
Premin Sykion raised her hands to quell the buzz in the hall from too many speculating discussions. She stepped up on the hearth's frontal ledge. Domin High-Tower stood nearby, below on her right.
'After much consideration,' she began in a clear voice, 'regarding recent events, the council is forced to make changes that will affect those involved in the translation project… and indeed everyone residing at the guild.'
She paused and looked around the quiet hall.
'We wish no speculation to cloud our intent, so we have called this gathering. It has been decided that no further folios, nor any work related to the project, will leave these grounds for any reason. Therefore, we will engage scribes from only one shop to come each day to accomplish their contracted work… here within our walls.'
Soft whispers grew to murmurs among the crowd, until Wynn couldn't hear the hearth fire's crackle. Relief showed on many faces, but a rumble among the scribe masters began to rise above the noise.
'Which shop?' demanded Master Calisus of the Feather & Parchment.
Premin Sykion cleared her throat. 'We have engaged Master a'Seatt's staff of the Upright Quill. In a recent attempt to assist the city guard his shop was damaged, and we feel partially responsible.'
'My shop was ransacked before his!' shouted Master Shilwise of the Gild and Ink. 'And far worse, from what I've heard. But I don't see the guild offering me compensation.'
'All scriptoriums have done worthy service for the guild,' Sykion returned, 'but Master a'Seatt's kept the best schedule and often provided additional assistance… beyond the commonly shared high standards you have all shown.'
'Standards be damned!' Shilwise snapped, and even discontented Calisus appeared startled by his vehemence. 'I've put aside too much other work trying to meet the guild's requirements and schedules—and you still have a contract with my shop! I won't be pushed out like this. My scribes should be brought in as well.'
At this, Calisus and the other two scribe masters chimed in with a cacophony of demands and accusations. Sykion put narrow fingers to her temple and had to shout over them.
'All scriptoriums have performed well in their task. We intend no slight by this decision, and you will be compensated for the sudden change.'
'Not good enough!' Shilwise returned. 'There's more than just coin involved—my shop's reputation is at stake.'
'Your reputation is why you were originally chosen,' Sykion responded.
'We've put other customers' needs second to the guild's,' Shilwise shouted back. 'On top of that, what happens when word gets out that a'Seatt is your favorite? I demand you fulfill your contract… or I'll see you in court, Sykion!'
Several of the premins pushed in around Sykion, all whispering to her. Sykion tried to wave them off and fixed her full attention on Master Shilwise. Her voice shock cer kioed the hall's air, startlingly loud for her tactful nature and frail stature.
'Compensation will be offered as promised. The matter is closed!'
At this, the master of Four Scribes in House tried to pull Shilwise back. But Shilwise shoved the stout man off, casting a seething glare to the hearth's far left end.
Pawl a'Seatt stood silent and unaffected, his heavy cloak and wide-brimmed hat in hand. Stooped old Master Teagan pushed round spectacles up his beaked nose, and he wrinkled that nose at Shilwise. But then he glanced nervously up at his employer.
Shilwise shoved through his competitors and strode out between the crowded tables and bystanders. He headed straight for the hall's main archway.
As he passed, Wynn saw his glistening face.
Master Shilwise had broken out in a sudden sweat. The owner of the Gild and Ink seemed more panicked than outraged as he rushed out. Wynn turned back but stopped halfway, her awareness catching on Domin il'Sänke.
