"I don't want to go!" he half shouted, and ended in stuttering whimpers. "But if I refuse I will… seem unhelpful."
Pity mixed with Wynn's frustration. The one thing an apprentice never wished to be called was «unhelpful» — a thinly veiled euphemism for «lazy» or "incapable." But in spite of two deaths, a ransacked scriptorium, and an account of two messengers being followed, her superiors remained insistent that these events were unconnected and had nothing to do with the translation project.
Nikolas stared at her expectantly, as if she had the power to save him.
"I cannot change their minds," she said bitterly. "And I can't go with you. They won't allow me anywhere near the translation work."
Nikolas seemed on the verge of tears as his lips began quivering.
"But I can do something," she said, returning to her table.
Wynn tore a blank page from her journal and scribbled a quick note. She held it out for Nikolas to read with her.
"I'll have an initiate run this to the captain," she said. "He wants no more trouble over the folios. I'm certain he'll send guards to protect you."
Nikolas's brown eyes flooded with relief. "Thank you, Wynn… Wait, what if Domin High-Tower finds out? He's already angry with you over that day you returned home with the captain."
"I don't care," Wynn answered coldly. "All that matters is that the three of you come back."
If her instincts were correct and the killer was a Noble Dead, Rodian's men might not be able to stop it. But it had always struck when no one was watching, perhaps wishing to remain unseen. The sight of a few city guards might give it pause, and any vampire would think twice about engaging multiple armed soldiers.
Nikolas dropped his gaze to the floor. "I should've thought of this myself. Elias would have. He always knew what to do."
Wynn patted his arm. "Go get ready, and I'll find a messenger."
Nikolas nodded quickly, and they both le Kd ter.ft the room. As he took off across the inner courtyard, Wynn's ire at her superiors sharpened. But so did her concern for any innocent sage caught in harm's way.
The premins and domins were denying the plain facts before their eyes—and it made less sense every night. Rodian left the barracks that evening with Lieutenant Garrogh. They headed for supper at a favored local inn called Mother's.
Its founder was long dead, and her grandson now ran the establishment. Close by, with modest prices and good basic food, it was popular among the forces of the second castle. Sooner or later most of the city guards and regulars, and even some of the cavalry, stepped across its threshold. Though the barracks boasted a full cooking staff, and the food was healthy and plentiful, sometimes it felt good to eat elsewhere than the meal hall.
Tonight Rodian picked at a bowl of thick seafood stew with his spoon while Garrogh shoveled in mouthfuls. The lieutenant stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth.
"Don't you like it?"
"It's fine," Rodian answered, glancing idly about.
A group of his city guard sat at a nearby table, though he saw few regular soldiers tonight. The place was packed, just the same. Aside from price and quality, people were more at ease anywhere they saw the city guard—the People's Shield—take their rest. All around, private citizens and red surcoated Shyldfälches ate and drank with boisterous chatter.
The noise was beginning to bother Rodian.
He'd spent a restless day trying to focus on neglected duties. But his thoughts had kept wandering to dead sages, a ransacked scriptorium, the faces of Wynn Hygeorht and Duchess Reine… and Domin High-Tower's determined glare. As if the guild's murder investigation were his only duty to attend to.
It wasn't. Aside from reviewing reports filed by his men, he had his own to write for the minister of city affairs. Why did the sages continually impede his investigation? And why were Duchess Reine and the royal family shielding them from his inquiries?
"You're thinking on those sages again," Garrogh said, and took a gulp of ale.
Rodian returned his companion a hard look. He needed no reminder of his continuing failure. He sighed and dropped his spoon, all appetite gone.
"I don't like having my hands tied," he answered.
