Her chestnut hair hung loose, pushed back above each ear with a mother-of-pearl comb shaped like a foaming sea wave. She wasn't wearing a frontal-split gown, only her people's preferred riding boots and breeches along with a matching vestment over a white shirt of shimmering fabric. And a rider's saber hung upon her left hip from a white satin sash lashed about her waist. The effect made her look almost roguish and younger than her years.
"Captain," she greeted him. "Are you all right? You were not injured last night?"
"No, I'm well, Highness," he answered carefully, still wondering why he was here. "But I cannot say as much for my men."
Princess Âthelthryth glided in next, a sharp contrast to her sister-in-law.
Rodian had seen her only a few times in his life. Nearly as tall as him, she was as slender and upright as a young aspen tree. She shared the wheat-gold hair of the royal bloodline, as well as their aquamarine eyes, narrow features, and a blade-thin nose stretching down to a pale pink and thin-lipped mouth. Her pastel teal gown was simple and long-sleeved, but no one would ever mistake her for a minor noble. Where Reine always exuded an aura of quiet inner strength edging upon wildness, Âthelthryth filled any room with somber, intense reserve and detached awareness of everything.
Rodian dropped to one knee, bowing his head, and waited to be acknowledged.
"Captain," the princess said quietly, and he raised his head just enough to see the subtle tilt of her head.
"Come and sit," the duchess added. "We require a service from you."
Rodian rose as the duchess settled on a couch, pointing to another across from her. Then she stretched a hand up to the princess.
"Come, sister."
The royals and highest nobles always referred to the wives or husbands of brothers and sisters in this manner. It upheld the impression of unity before the people, a politically sound presence for the rulers of a nation. But as Âthelthryth approached, she lightly grasped and squeezed Reine's hand once, then took position standing behind the duchess like one of her family's Weardas, the Sentinels.
There was more than solidarity here. Rodian could see that the Âreskynna shared genuine affection with Reine. He settled on the couch across from them.
The tall elf closed the doors and took a place a few steps off from the two ladies of the royal house.
"We received a distressing report," the duchess began. "A young guild journeyor was involved in last night's tragedy."
Rodian blinked. What report, and from whom?
"She bears no guilt that I'm aware of," he answered carefully.
Reine sighed softly, but Âthelthryth's slight frown returned.
"We have heard this journeyor is making a personal claim," the duchess continued, "upon the texts she brought to the guild… even to taking it before the people's court. This would halt the guild's work on translation."
Rodian kept his expression placid. Only two of the guild knew of Wynn's claim—High-Tower and Sykion. And only the latter had direct contact with the royal family—"Lady" Tärtgyth Sykion, the duchess had called her.
Rodian's frustration began to mount.
"We have spoken with the high advocate," Princess Âthelthryth added. "It appears that Journeyor Hygeorht may have a legitimate claim. But if she takes full possession of these texts, there is no telling what might become of them… who might gain access to the contents. We are told the material is of a sensitive nature."
It took all of Rodian's effort to remain calm. What was the royal family fighting to protect—or at least keep hidden—to a degree that they would let their sages be murdered in the dark?
"The project must continue," the duchess said, leaning forward, "and thereby the texts must remain in guild hands. We wish you to go to Premin Sykion, as an unofficial arbiter, and seek a compromise."
"A compromise?" he repeated.
Âthelthryth took up where Reine left off. "We wish you to ask Premin Sykion to grant Journeyor Hygeorht access to all completed work—pages that have already been translated—but under controlled circumstances that will keep the texts protected from the public. If the journeyor will agree not to pursue full possession, she may see all translations since her return from the Farlands."
"We desire you to stop these murders," she said, "but keep the guild's project protected at the same time. If you can do this, we would be grateful… most grateful, Captain."
Rodian thought his heart stilled as he held his breath.
Her words were as close to an open admission as he might ever hear. The royal family wanted him to keep Wynn's ancient texts buried in secret. This veiled request left him caught between duty, faith, and ambition.
He knew lives depended upon him as the highest officer of the Shyldfälches, even the lives of these well-intended, if deluded, sages. But he also knew the rewards of royal gratitude.
Rodian took a slow breath. "I will not fail."
