by Barb Hendee
“So now what? I’m not giving up on our life here.”
Leesil shook his head. “Me either. I overheard Tilswith talk about getting Wynn’s texts to his guild’s home, but he also mentioned plans for the new guild branch in Bela. I don’t think he’s going to deliver the texts himself.”
“You think he’s sending Wynn back?”
Leesil shrugged. “We’ll find out in the morning, but getting the orb off this continent would go a long way to masking our trail, wherever we end up.”
“We’ll have to catch a ship out of Bela,” Magiere added with a sigh.
Leesil nearly groaned at the notion of more seafaring. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of home lately.”
“And?”
“Home is just wherever you are.”
Magiere rose on her hands and knees, like some pale predator next to him, and looked him right in the eyes.
“No, it’s right here . . . where we want it!” She leaned so close that Leesil felt her breath on his mouth. “But it’ll have to wait . . . again.”
Magiere pressed her mouth hard over his.
Nine days later, Wynn stood beside Osha on the south end of Bela’s vast docks, and they watched the variety of ships throughout the harbor. They had all taken a schooner from Miiska to the king’s city, but Magiere, Leesil, and Chap had stayed behind at their inn.
Osha was going home, but not by any of the ships in the bay.
Wynn had asked few questions, and he only told her what he’d heard from Sgäile. Most Aged Father would have the nearest elven ship come, and Sgäile and Osha were to watch for it.
Far out off the harbor’s northern point, the glint of silken sails sprouted high above the waters. It was larger than any elven ship Wynn had ever seen, especially the one that had carried her south and died for it.
Somewhere out near the woods of the northern point, a skiff and crew would be waiting for Osha.
Wynn could not bear to say good-bye at the inn and just let him leave, so she had come down to the shore with him, but this was hardly easier. Gray-green hood up covering his head, she could still see his large slanted eyes, anxious and desperate. He did not wish to go, and yet he longed for his homeland.
Perhaps Osha feared what waited there, or hated it and was all the more eager to face it. His innocence had died with his teacher. But Wynn needed him to do one more thing when he got there.
She pulled out a small paper-wrapped package and held it out.
He looked down at it, and before he could ask, she was explaining.
“When you reach home, find Brot’an and give him this . . . to him and no one else.”
Osha’s eyes widened. Wynn had stayed up half the night in the inn, writing the small journal wrapped in that paper. It contained everything she had learned or guessed concerning what had happened on their journey.
“Do not let anyone else see this,” she warned. “If you cannot reach Brot’an, then take it to Nein’a and Gleann, as I think they may know how to find him. But never let it fall into anyone else’s hands . . . even if you have to destroy it before you find Brot’an.”
Osha slowly took the package, and Wynn understood his reluctance. What she asked leaned hard against his oath to his caste. She only hoped he had learned enough from Sgäile, his teacher.
Not of the ways of the Anmaglâhk, but rather the ways of his people that Sgäile had held dear above all else.
Osha nodded and tucked the paper bundle into his tunic.
Wynn wanted to embrace him but could not. “I will not forget you or all that you have done for us.”
“I . . . I . . .” Poor Osha had always had difficulty expressing himself with words.
“I know, it is all right,” she said. “Go.”
He turned, heading along the bustling docks toward the city’s north side.
Wynn watched until Osha was barely a tall spot of gray cowl above the heads of dockworkers, hawkers, and merchants too busy to notice him. And when the last glimpse of him vanished among the crowd, she panicked.
How many times had he come for her, stood between her and harm? Simple Osha was not so simple. Even next to Sgäile’s unshakable honor, only Osha among his kind and his people had learned to look at her for who she truly was—and not some savage human to be feared and hated.
Wynn broke into a run, shoving her way along the crowded dock. At the sight of swinging gray-green fabric, she reached out and grabbed hold.
Osha turned suddenly at the tension on his cloak and dropped his eyes.
Wynn clawed up to throw her arms around his high neck, and she buried her face in his shoulder as he crouched down.
“Do not forget me,” she whispered.
His long arms wrapped about her.
It was foolish, stupid, and something she could not stop. Magiere’s warning meant nothing against the pain. Wynn lifted her head and thrust her face into Osha’s.
Clumsy and awkward, she found his mouth with hers, and pressed hard.
Chane and Osha . . . and she would never see either again.
Wynn was crying before she pulled back and lost the wet warmth of Osha’s mouth. She could not even look at him as she fled. She ran away through the streets of Bela, but it was a long while before she returned to the inn.
Magiere faced into the wind as the captain called to leave harbor. Leesil was already hanging on the rail like a dying man. The seasickness was all in his head, since they hadn’t even set sail, and she knew the worst of it wouldn’t hit him until tomorrow.
The orb was locked away in their cabin below.
She was determined to protect it, but was still repulsed by its effect upon her. And Leesil would’ve been in his bunk already, but he didn’t want to be near it either.
Chap latched forepaws on the rail beside Wynn, and the two watched the bustling docks of Bela.
News that Wynn would return to Malourné had brought mixed feelings for them all, especially Chap. At least for now, the little sage remained under his protection. But nothing was predictable, and nothing stayed the same.
Magiere had no idea where she, Leesil, and Chap would take the orb. All they could do was get out of Most Aged Father’s reach. So parting from Wynn was inevitable—but not just yet.
Leesil staggered over to join Wynn and Chap as the ship slid away from the dock.
A rush of memories filled Magiere’s head, from the day she and Leesil had first set foot in Miiska, first saw the Sea Lion . . . to the first time in Bela when she’d felt Leesil’s mouth on hers.
She remembered Chap crouched beneath a table in the sage’s barracks, growling as Wynn pushed Elvish letters at him, trying to show that he was far more than just a dog.
She remembered Wynn once angrily facing her down, insisting that they give all their food to a village of starving peasants.
She remembered Chap running along a burning rail to throw himself at Leesil amid the fire aboard the elven ship.
She remembered Sgäile’s body under a willow tree.
And Leesil’s face at their wedding when he said, “I swear.”
Magiere turned from the wind to join her companions—and her husband. As she ran her fingers through the back of Leesil’s hair, she didn’t know what the future held—only that she had to protect the orb and trust in those she loved.
The ship sailed out toward open sea.
