He seemed to feel her eyes on him and straightened, still studying the female.
"Like any who have worked on the translations," he said, "I have read some of your journals."
Wynn was almost relieved. She didn't care for any more mysteries at the moment. Not that she would ever see her journals again, after last night.
"Now sit," il'Sänke commanded.
The young majay-hì remained on all fours.
"I meant you," he added, looking at Wynn.
She settled on the bed's edge. He came to her, laying his tanned palm upon her forehead as he closed his eyes. In that moment of silence, more questions popped into Wynn's head.
She wasn't the only one who'd broken Sykion's curfew. What was
Domin il'Sänke opened his eyes with a muffled grunt. "You are well enough. The remaining backwash you suffer should fade in a day or two."
Wynn studied his dark brown eyes. Well enough for what? His right eyebrow arched as he watched her in turn.
"Yes?" he asked.
"You saw it," she said, challenging him to deny this. "The black-robed figure in the street, so silent in movement. I'm not losing my wits!"
"I never said you were." Il'Sänke's mouth tightened, and he nodded with an answer. "Only for an instant, before the crystal flashed."
"Do you know what it is?" she blurted out. "Rodian insists it is some malevolent mage, after seeing it walk through the scriptorium's wall. Maybe it is, but it's more than that. He is just seeking a rational explanation for the royals."
The domin turned away, gazing at the floor, and laced his fingers together in his lap.
"I am not certain. Its abilities are a serious concern, and in that, the captain may be partially correct, but that does not account for the way in which our young ones have died."
Wynn's mind reeled. Not only was he admitting that the killer could be unnatural, but it seemed he knew more than he said.
"Even in folktales, I've never heard of any mage who could walk through walls," she rushed on. "Let alone one that could let a sword pass through him and then tear out a man's chest."
"Yes, yes." And il'Sänke held up a hand before she continued. "Such skill seems difficult to accept, but I will not make conjectures based on a few moments of what anyone has seen."
He paused, and his expression hardened.
"And not a word of this to anyone, Wynn. No more wild rumors without substantiation. It might yet cut you off from what you have been waiting to see."
Wynn tensed, afraid to grow hopeful.
"And I trust," il'Sänke went on, rising and heading for the door, "that you will use equal discretion regarding anything you find? This knowledge must be protected. Now get dressed. I will wait outside."
He grabbed the latch and opened the door, but Wynn couldn't budge.
"Well?" he said. "Are you coming or not? Your precious translations and codex will not sprout legs and come to you."
"But…" she started.
Domin il'Sänke turned halfway, with the barest hint of a smile beneath his sly eyes.
"No one knows either of us was out. Now put some clothes on!"
The door thumped shut. Wynn didn't care how he'd done this. She snatched up her robe, struggling to get it on in a hurry. As the robe's neck finally cleared her head, she found the majay-hì standing before her.
The young female tilted her head with only one ear raised. She stared with wide unblinking eyes, as if trying to figure out what Wynn was doing.
The dog—the female… the charcoal colored majay-hì… Chap's daughter. None of these seemed right for a being that Wynn knew was as sentient as herself in its own way.
The an'Cróan elves of the Farlands had an aversion to forcing a name upon another sentient being. Even their children eventually went before their ancestral spirits for what they called "name-taking." By whatever vision was gained there, they chose a name of their own in place of the one given at birth. And still…
"What am I going to call you?" Wynn asked, though she wouldn't get an answer.
As she gathered her elven quill, a bottle of ink, and a journal, stuffing these in a satchel, she thought of other dogs she'd known, aside from Chap or Lily. She slung the satchel's strap over her shoulder, but when she reached for the door's latch, a cascade of images flickered through her mind.
Chap alone—then with Lily, their heads touching—and finally a hazy secondhand memory of the old wolfhound.
"I know who your parents are," she said. "It doesn't help."
She wasn't certain what those raised memories truly meant. When she opened the door, the majay-hì trotted out before Wynn could stop her.
"Wynn… what are you doing?" il'Sänke asked, an edge of warning in his voice as he glared at Chap's daughter.
"She stays with me," Wynn answered.
"And how will you explain a wolf's sudden company amid curfew?" he asked. "Do you want your outing to be discovered?"
Yes, that was another matter, as well as how il'Sänke had managed to conceal it.
