The shadows of a side aisle in the stable provided Aralt with the camouflage he desired.

Knowing Lian, he wouldn’t go undetected for long, but given the animated conversation he now overheard, the boy clearly did not expect an interruption. All the better. Tycho’s calico esri stood between them, a creature as gaudy as its master’s turquoise, ornamental scabbard, and despite Alira’s care, equally weather-beaten. It was dark on the forehand, its long, ribbed back and widely set hindquarters the color of cream. Brown and black egg-shaped spots splashed over his rump, blurring downward into stripes on its rear legs. One blue eye and one brown opened at Aralt’s stealthy approach, but the esri was too content with two grooms to do more than just look at him and yawn.

“I won’t let you walk away again,” Lian said. “We stay together this time.”

“No, arjha. You should remain here, with these people. With him. Let him guide you.”

“Let him guide me how? He doesn’t even want to be here. I mean, he wants to be here with Alira Alwynn, but not with me. He doesn’t understand—”

“In time, he will. You must consider what time has wrought for both of you. Lian?”

A pregnant pause followed before Tycho said the boy’s name again, forcefully. Words in Shirahnyn followed, rapid as a stream, too slippery for Aralt to comprehend. He sounded annoyed.

“I know, it’s just…”

“You’ve found your kervallyn. That has been our goal since—” Whatever he had been going to say was left unsaid when Pzak dove from the rafters and went screeching over Aralt’s head. “Syr Tremayne.”

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he told them, shooing Pzak away when the bird swooped again. Fool! He should have calculated for the ravenjay. They were natural tell tales, and thus valuable messengers when trained well. His father and Endru Kynsei had used them to communicate. “As you were saying? Since…?”

“Since the beginning,” Tycho said smoothly. He whistled sharply for the bird. It settled on the saddle slung over the nearest stall gate.

“Young man,” Veryl addressed him, following Aralt out of the shadows. Young Camryn grinned, obviously enjoying the show about to begin. “What’s this? Despite Aralt’s misgivings about you, I have given you leave to wander freely. I did not give you leave to depart.”

Tycho touched his hands to his forehead and bowed. “You have been most kind, jhernani. I meant no disrespect. As my services as a physician are no longer required and it seemed my presence here was only barely being tolerated by your…esteemed guest…I thought it prudent I take my leave.”

“And I’m going with him,” Lian announced.

Cheeky! He balled up his fist to keep from wagging a finger at his kervallys. Lian was too old to be scolded thus and he felt more the fool every time he did it. But his words betrayed him. “The only place you’re going is back into the house. Under guard.”

Veryl scowled. “Does it say ‘nincompoop’ on my forehead?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Am I still the talyn here?”

“Aye. Of course, but…”

Camryn whistled, sobering only slightly when his father glared at him. Veryl cleared his throat when Aralt opened his mouth to speak again. He displayed his hands in mute apology. Chain of command, Wolf. You aren’t in charge here, no matter how much you want to be.

“Neither of you are going anywhere until supper. Then you—we—will all go to supper!”

“I’m not hungry and I’m still not staying here,” Lian grumbled, crossing his arms. Adolescent insolence dragged his face into a frown. Aralt half-expected his next words to be you can’t make me, but Lian was never one to say the expected. “Everyone will die.”

“Kavistra?” Veryl gasped.

Lian’s groan turned into a roar as he slid open the latch on his esri’s stall and led Keyva out. “Please stop calling me that. My brother is kavistra, not me.”

“Your brother isn’t here,” Aralt said flatly, maneuvering the animal back into the stall. “More to the point, we have no reason to think Devailyn is even alive.” It seemed cruel to remind Lian of that, but the boy was being entirely too unreasonable. Again. He slid the latch closed. Lian opened it. He slammed it down. Keyva’s ears flicked with each motion, then the esri walked as far away from them as the space would allow.

Lian glowered. “Let me go with Tycho. As long as I am here, everyone is in danger. Everyone is going to die.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“He can,” Tycho argued, “but he doesn’t. He is being difficult. You are being difficult.”

“I do know. You haven’t seen my dreams.” He glanced at Aralt. “But you have. Tell me you’ve slept well since coming to Faerkirke and I’ll call you a liar. You just won’t pay attention to what you know is happening.”

Tycho reprimanded him. “Lian Kynsei, for shame.”

Aralt glared at the Shirahnyn. “I really don’t need your help here.”

“You need my help if you’re going to survive the journey to Askierran.”

“Who says we are going to Askierran? The Alwynns have offered…” His words trailed off, and he turned away from Tycho and toward Lian. “The Alwynns have offered you a place here. A permanent place. At least for the foreseeable future. You need to see reason about this.”

Lian’s countenance softened, his dark eyes moving from Veryl to Camryn. The younger boy nodded in earnest, but Lian looked stricken by the notion. “Don’t you see? The j’thirrin were summoned to the Weeping Wall. They followed us nearly to Kinara’s Landing. Do you really think they aren’t here? That he won’t come here?”

“Here?” Veryl asked, face flushed with anger. “In my city? They wouldn’t dare.”

“Aralt, you have to make him understand. Tycho? Please make him understand why I can’t stay here.”

“I’d do that for you if I understood it myself,” Aralt said. Veryl was in a state by then. Four guards had converged on their location, their faces full of questions no one was answering. Aralt cleared his throat and tried a diplomatic approach. “You’re not expressing your misgivings well, kavsa Lian.”

“K’talyn,” Lian said, drawing himself up to his minimal height. “Let me be plain. They will come. It is only a matter of time until they make these skies their own.”

“These are our skies!” Veryl thundered, face red as a sunset. Camryn drew closer, steading his father by the elbow.

“And you will defend them,” Aralt reassured the old man. “Do you have an ounce of tact, lad? I’m beginning to see why everyone keeps foisting the idea of becoming ksathra on me. You couldn’t lead a parade, let alone a country. That ship was blown across the fjord. She probably went down. There hasn’t been any sign of it for weeks. Veryl, sit down. Breathe.”

“Just because we saw it leave doesn’t mean it won’t come back,” Lian told them. “Or come alone.”

“Just who are you expecting?” Veryl fingered the letters he had put into his pocket. He patted Camryn on the shoulder, age-creased hand shaking. “Are we expecting someone?”

“I don’t know, Father. Are we?”

“You could say that.”

Aralt glared at Lian. “You need to stop it.”

“I’m trying to warn you. You said to warn you next time. It’s next time.”

“Who’s next? Thunder and lightning! Not more shadow assassins?”

“Worse,” Lian said, voice low. “I didn’t realize it until after we left Kinara’s Landing. I should have known. I should have realized.”

“What’s worse than a ship full of Shirahnyn assassins?” Camryn wanted to know. “Do you mean a fleet of them? Is that possible this far north?”

Aralt was not willing to predict one way or the other. Not anymore.

“Not them,” Tycho said slowly, touching the boy’s dark hair with a graceful stroke of his hand. It made Aralt’s skin crawl every time he did it, but he forced himself not to react. “Nightmares. The ones that rise from the dusk, come to make good on a thousand cursed promises. That’s what you’ve seen, isn’t it? Looking in ways you should not. Your soul—”

“Is secure,” Lian assured him, gripping his hand. “You worry too much.”

Aralt bit back another warning. Those nasty things his imagination had birthed before gibbered and shrieked for recognition. Jealousy, Alira called it. More like pure hatred. Tycho’s left forefinger ended in a stump. He wondered if the younger man would care for a matched set.

“The dusk,” Aralt repeated, concentrating on Tycho’s words. “You mean the setting sun.”

Tycho nodded. “Just so.”

And the sun set across the fjord, swallowed by the legendary mountain of fire in whose shadow the denizens of that fell place made their home. “Naharasii.” He might well have breathed fire for all the word scorched those within hearing. “You’re talking about another Horror, aren’t you?”

“Naharasii?” Camryn’s face, still winter-pale save a band of color across his nose, went all the more white under curling auburn locks. “Sweet Creator, they’re glisterning cannibals!”

“Where did that mouth come from?” Veryl admonished his son.

“Um, you, sir.”

“Aye, well…well. Aye. But I still don’t approve.” Before any further conjecture, Veryl snapped his fingers and pointed at the boys in turn and then toward the door. Camryn motioned for Lian to button his lip and led him away. Veryl caught Aralt’s arm before he could follow. “Let them go.”

“He’ll be halfway to the next domain by sunset, thinking he can lure them away.”

“He won’t leave without you or Tycho, and Tycho is going to wash up for supper.”

“Sir—”

“Esri, in. You, wash up.”

“As you say, jhernani.” Tycho bowed once again before taking his leave.

Aralt paced the long aisle. “You need to keep watch over him. We have no idea what his true motives are. You saw for yourself that Lian was going to go with him.”

“Aralt, I’m telling you; he won’t leave the city. He’s just angry.”

“At me?”

“Who else would he be angry at? Of course, you. Get used to it. But he won’t leave.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Fatherhood.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Me, too. Now, where are my guards? Ah. You there!” Veryl hailed one of the armsmen that had been shadowing Lian and Camryn all afternoon. “I want my ranking Swords. As many of them as can be here by nightfall. And Scanlin Ross. So much for a day of rest for the man. We need ships in the air. And six guards to follow Lian Kynsei. And ships. And I need to speak to all my Swords. Well? Don’t just stand there.” Aralt caught the old man’s elbow when his attempt to stand failed and he sank heavily back onto a bale of hay. “I’m too old for this. I should have stayed at Kinara’s Landing.”

Aralt was beginning to feel the same way.