back against someone's chest.
The staff bucked in her hands under someone's grip.
'No, not yet!' she shouted, and then she heard il'Sänke murmuring near her ear.
Chane was still in the room, but was he fully covered?
A last raging howl from Shade hit Wynn's ears. Then a burning flash of light filtered suddenly through il'Sänke's hand, turned red-orange by his flesh.
'No!' she screamed.
Il'Sänke's voice faded as darkness winked in behind Wynn's closed eyes. When his hand lifted from her face, she thrashed free, searching for Chane. The wraith was gone, and the room was no longer filled by the blue-white of Spirit. Il'Sänke had taken away her mantic sight again. Chane was hunched on the floor, cloak hood pulled over his head.
For an instant she thought she saw thin trails like morning mist rising from his hunkered form, and then they were gone. He glanced up around the edge of his hood.
'Do not move!' il'Sänke hissed.
Wynn whipped around in fright.
Domin il'Sänke stood with one hand latched around the staff, just above her own grip. She knew only by the downward tilt of his head that he watched Chane—because she couldn't see his eyes.
He was wearing spectacles with a heavy pewter frame.
In place of clear lenses, these were so dark they hid his eyes. The lenses began to change, growing clearer, finally revealing his unblinking gaze locked on Chane.
Wynn rarely saw Domin il'Sänke truly angry. Even through lingering nausea, she winced at the cold expression on his face. Pounding ceased at the door, and Premin Sykion's voice rose from the other side.
'Quickly! We must break it down.'
Wynn tensed with dread at the thought of anyone else entering her room. Then puzzlement followed. The door didn't have a lock, so why would they need to break in? Il'Sänke had entered easily enough, so…
Wynn looked at the tall domin.
Il'Sänke quickly gestured for Chane to move up against the wall behind the door. Chane glanced once at Wynn.
She had to trust in whatever the domin was up to, or be left to explain Chane's presence.
'Do it!' she whispered.
Chane spun onto his knees and stood up, flattening against the wall.
Il'Sänke released the staff and pulled the strange spectacles from his face. As he tucked them in his robe, he passed his other hand in an arc before the door, never actually touching it. Then he opened it partway, holding it in place so that no one could step in.
'It is nothing,' il'Sänke said through the door's space, shaking his head with a half smile. 'A large cat got into the courtyard and began to mewl. It set the majay-hì off. In our efforts to quiet her, Wynn and I made quite a racket. I do apologize.'
Wynn couldn't see Premin Sykion outside, but she heard the head of the guild let out an impatient exhale.
'We shall speak further of this tomorrow.' Her tone was both annoyed and relieved.
'I will make certain everything is quiet,' il'Sänke assured her. 'You can send everyone back to bed, or we will all be useless in the morning.'
Il'Sänke closed the door. His false smile vanished as he turned toward Chane.
Always before, in any conflict involving Chane, Wynn feared for the safety of others. Watching il'Sänke, she suddenly felt the opposite.
'Do not hurt him. I… we need him,' she whispered to the domin, still fearing that anyone outside might hear.
'I assumed this was not some lovers' tryst,' il'Sänke answered disdainfully. 'And do not think I have forgotten him from your previous outing! I waited to see what you both might do… though this hardly meets my better expectations.'
Chane just stood tense and silent.
'Toying with the staff—and your sight, at the same time!' il'Sänke snapped. 'The growth of your stupidity is astounding.'
He shook his head slowly, and then snatched the staff from Wynn's hand.
'What drew that thing in here?' he demanded. 'Did you sneak any translations back to your room?'
'No,' Wynn answered. Just what was he implying? Before she could stop herself, she glanced down without thinking.
Her open journal and quill had been kicked against the wall on the door's other side—and the scroll as well. Fortunately no one had stepped on it amid the conflict. She went cold at the sight of ink all over the floor stones, for her small bottle had been kicked under the bed. But the splash of black hadn't traveled to the other items.
By the time Wynn looked up, in no more than a blink, il'Sänke had already followed her gaze. He leaned down and picked up the scroll, frowning suspiciously at its blackened surface.
'Is this what it came for?' he whispered.
'It is mine,' Chane rasped, reaching out. 'I will take it and go.'
'I do not recall dismissing you,' il'Sänke replied, though he didn't even look at Wynn's secret guest.
Wynn silently shook her head at Chane, and he held his place. She glanced down at his hand. The ring was there again on his left hand—it hadn't been when she'd looked for it with mantic sight. And she couldn't remember seeing him put it back on, let alone having taken it off.
Il'Sänke's gaze shifted to the journal and quill. He picked up the former, holding it open atop the scroll, and then his scrutiny returned to Chane.
That intense gaze made Chane fidget, and Wynn almost lunged when his grip tightened on his sword.
Il'Sänke cocked his head and frowned.
A strange instant of wary uncertainty washed over his dark features, as if he'd tried to read something in Chane's face and couldn't.
'We need him,' Wynn repeated. 'That
'You are leaping to conclusions,' il'Sänke said. 'After last night it could have simply been attacking you, as obviously this scroll is unreadable, except…'
He bent his head, peering down at the journal.
'What is this?' he asked—like a parent's accusation, who already knew what trouble a child had gotten into.
'A copy,' Wynn answered. 'But only what I could make out from the scroll—'
'— with your sight,' he finished for her, and then he turned to Chane. 'So… bearer, where did you get this scroll?'
Cold mistrust showed on Chane's burned features.
'From the same library where I found the ancient texts,' Wynn answered.
'Wynn!' Chane hissed.
'We cannot solve this alone!' she hissed back. 'He needs to know everything.'
And she turned back to il'Sänke.
'There is a poem under the coating, penned by one of the ancient undead among the trio who wrote the texts I brought back. I haven't been sure who to trust in this—but we must protect the guild and the texts. If I tell you everything we have learned, will you help us?'
Il'Sänke remained expressionless, but he tilted the staff's crystal toward Chane.
Chane instinctively flinched away.
'Who is he?' the doman asked.
'I've known Chane for some time,' she answered. 'He often came to our little branch in Bela, studying with myself and Domin Tilswith. He reads several languages from his region and has an interest in history. He… he
