castillion had not been spared. Chrism must have blood fed the keep staff and guards in secret, drafting all in some hidden manner. Perhaps in wine, perhaps in food. Afterward, they all went about their duties unaware that at a moment’s call all would be lost: their forms, their minds, their humanity.
Tylar felt no real sympathy for those who went willingly to the torch, but so many others had had no choice. He stared up and down the hall. Even the Hands had become puppets.
Everyone gathered again in the hall.
There was only one room left to be searched.
The golden doors to Chrism’s chambers stood closed, lit by the glow of the brazier before them.
Tylar stepped forward, flanked by Krevan and Kathryn. He clutched the Godsword in hand, fingers squeezing the throbbing hilt. The blade seemed to eat the light coming off the brazier and shone brighter for it.
He reached a hand toward the doors’ latch.
Their surface was plated in gold. If locked, it would take time to chop their way inside. Perhaps the closed doors were a ruse. To distract them, while Chrism made his true escape.
Tylar’s fingers touched the latch and the twin doors fell open on their own, swinging inside.
A lone figure stood at the threshold.
She was stunning, slim of waist, generous of curve and breast, auburn hair trailing in lazy curves over one shoulder and down to midback. She leaned slightly to one side, a palm resting on a hip, an inviting glint to her eyes.
“The godslayer,” she whispered, her lips, rouged red and full, barely moving. “Welcome to the High Wing.”
Tylar froze, transfixed-not so much by her beauty, but her nakedness. She stood unabashed, her nipples bared. Below her throat, no hair marred her smooth white skin.
But it was not unmarked.
Centered on her chest, a black handprint stood out starkly.
A twin to his own.
“They must be warned,” Delia insisted.
“I can send a cadre of knights,” a cloaked figure said, “but that would strip our defenses. I was ordered to keep you all under guard.”
Dart listened to the exchange from the shadow of the downed ship. She had related what she’d overheard in the High Wing, of a trap being set, but nothing was being done. Nothing but talking. Her fists balled up.
She glanced back out into the rain.
She spotted one hope to break this deadlock. She turned to Laurelle. “Can you distract those others?” She waved to Delia and the clutch of bantering knights.
Laurelle stirred, her brows frowned. “Why? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to strike for the castillion.”
Laurelle’s eyes widened. “Are you mad? What about what Ser Tylar said? To keep you and the sword apart?”
“There are two daemons up there.” Dart remembered the kiss she had witnessed in the Eldergardens between Mistress Naff and Chrism. She remembered the smoky darkness that linked the pair’s lips. “The godslayer will need more than one strike. I’m the only one who can help him.”
Laurelle wrung her hands, but she nodded, her eyes firming with the plan. “I’ll do my best here. But how are you going to get there?”
She reached and hugged Laurelle tight. “Pupp is not the only dog here.” With those words, she set off into the rain.
Laurelle waited a moment, then headed in the opposite direction.
Dart rushed through the pelting rain. It stung now like bee stings, whipped by the winds. But she pushed on. She reached her only hope.
“Tracker Lorr,” she said.
The wyldman seemed unsurprised by her sudden appearance but confused for the reason behind it. “Child?”
She spoke in a rush. “Can your hound carry me to the castillion? I heard before… when you came… that he could smell Castellan Vail.”
“Aye, the big kank can, but that’s not a trip for a mite like you.”
Dart grabbed the edge of his buckskin coat. “I must get there.”
“Because of the trap?” Lorr asked. “Best leave that to your elders.”
Dart sensed time passing too swiftly. She filled her voice with firm conviction. A wyld tracker’s senses were supposed to be acute enough to tell lie from truth. “All will be lost unless I can reach them in time. I know it. Now is not the moment for caution or half steps. I know it’s risky for me to go. But I’m the only one who can help. If we lose now, we lose everything.”
He stared down at her, his eyes slightly aglow.
Dart met his gaze. “I must go.”
A commotion rose by the flippercraft. Laurelle was sobbing, panicked and throwing herself among the knights. They gathered about her, concerned.
“Turning the other’s noses, I see,” Lorr asked.
Dart nodded. “I can’t let them stop me. If you won’t help, I’ll do it myself.” She stalked toward the mountain of dog flesh.
The beast turned its massive head toward her, tongue lolling. Standing full in the storm, he seemed oblivious to the wind and downpour. A pool of saliva had dripped between his paws. The matt of ivy at his feet had gone brown from the poisoned touch of his drool. Plainly the blood on the wind had the dog stirred mightily.
The bullhound shook his mane as she reached him, dousing her with dirty rainwater. The stench of wet fur welled.
Lorr came to her side and knelt down. His voice had grown gruffer, but somehow warmer, too. “I once knew a girl with your spirit.” He glanced to the others. His eyes seemed to fix on the woman Delia. “Back then I had been too cautious, taken half steps to stand up for her, to demand better for her. I knew better.” He shook his head. “I knew better.”
Lorr stood back up and turned to his bullhound. He grabbed him by the nose, pushed his face down, and stared into his eyes. A single nip could take off the tracker’s arm. But the bullhound responded to the dominant manner and dropped to his forepaws, submitting.
“Listen, you ol’ kank. You go find the mistress.” He leaned closer. Lorr’s eyes seemed to glow brighter. “Understand. Find Kathryn,” he said the name slowly. Lorr did not take his eyes from Barrin. “Child, climb on his back.”
Dart faced the hill of hound and balked. Even Pupp shied around the great beast, hackles raised.
“Hurry now,” the tracker urged. “Up on the bent knee, then over his withers. Before I change my mind.”
Goosed by his threat, Dart mounted the dog. It was like climbing a sopping rug. A growl flowed as she hooked a leg and pulled herself over. The rumble was felt in her belly.
“Quiet down, Barrin,” Lorr said firmly.
The growl lowered below hearing level, but Dart still felt it in the pit of her stomach.
“Grab his leather collar,” Lorr said. “And hold tight.”
Dart obeyed, clenching her fingers.
“All right, then.” Lorr backed, then dropped his arm. “Off with you! Find the mistress!”
Muscles surged under Dart. The hound leaped fully to his feet and bounded off. She was thrown high, hanging by her hands. She landed hard between the hound’s shoulders.
Barrin grunted and raced across the gardens.
Shouts erupted behind her.
Dart ignored them. She concentrated on her mount. Every one of her bones rattled, including her teeth, but the hound kept his gait even, allowing her at least to keep her seat. Dart pulled up enough to peer forward over the dog’s head. They raced through the gardens, splashing through shallow ponds, bounding over low shrubs. A hedgeline appeared, taller than she stood.
She lowered herself and closed her eyes.
