“I found some ancient journals that may explain how to send the Nightrender back to Winterfast Tower,” Dayle went on. “We’ll know more after the restorers have finished repairing them.”
Rune just nodded and made another note as to how Dawnbreaker training should work. Of course, it seemed unlikely there would be time for training before they were asked to help stop this Incursion (assuming the Nightrender ever returned, and assuming he could even raise the men), but one day, when he was king of Caberwill (assuming he lived long enough), he intended to restore the practice of Dawnbreaker trials. The next time she awakened, there would be an army waiting for her.
“I don’t suppose you have any news from the council?” Rune asked as casually as he could.
“Oh, plenty of news, but none of it good.” Dayle started to smile, but then a loud thump sounded on the reading room balcony.
Rune’s heart lifted into his throat. Slowly, he unsheathed his sword, which had been lying on one end of the table. John’s blade was out, too, as he came into the room.
The knob turned, but when the door swung open, she was on the other side. The Nightrender.
Her hair was tangled, and streaks of soot and blood and other…substances were smeared across her armor. She looked angry, but it didn’t seem directed at him—this time.
Rune lowered his sword and let himself breathe again. “You’re back.”
“Nightrender.” Dayle gave a respectful bow.
John didn’t say anything, and he didn’t lower his sword.
“What happened?” Rune laid his sword on the table and took a halting step toward her.
She clenched her jaw and, without speaking, dropped a sack onto the floor. Out spilled a smooth silver bowl and three pouches of black silk, and a stench that made the backs of Rune’s eyes itch. Acrid like fire but ancient and rotting. Malice.
“You brought me a gift.” Rune coughed into the crook of his arm. “That was very nice of you.”
“It isn’t a gift.”
“I know. I was—” He shook his head, feeling foolish. They were, as far as he was aware, still having a fight. Joking wasn’t acceptable yet. “Sit,” he said, “if you like.”
“All right.” She stepped over the spilled-open sack and took in the sight of the reading room, all warm wooden furniture and globes of chemical light. There were plenty of places to sit, but most of the chairs were generously cushioned and richly upholstered, and she was covered with unspeakable substances. She was not human, but also not unaware that she would cause someone additional work if she sat on something absorbent.
Quickly, Rune pulled a wooden chair from the table. “Here.”
“Please don’t touch the books,” Dayle said. “They’ve already been through so much.”
The Nightrender shot him a narrow-eyed glare as she perched on the edge of the offered chair, arranging her wings just so. There was a stiffness to the way she held herself, as though compensating for a bone-deep weariness. “I know the value of these tomes as well as you do.”
Dayle cringed. “Of course.”
“John, it’s all right.” Rune looked at his guard. “You can put your sword away. She’s not here to hurt me. Are you?” He glanced over his shoulder.
The Nightrender gave a faint shake of her head.
“As you command.” John sheathed his sword, but he didn’t look happy about it.
“I would like to speak with you alone, Prince Rune.” The Nightrender scowled at John. “I promise I will not harm him.”
Rune nodded to John, who frowned deeply, and then Dayle, who looked faintly offended.
“I’d very much like to know about these items,” Dayle said. “Please.”
“The prince may tell you later if he wishes. I do not wish to tell you.”
“I’ll tell you,” Rune said to Dayle. “Now, please.”
The guard and the grand priest went out into the hall, and the door swung shut behind them.
“Dayle will definitely listen at the door,” Rune said as he went to the sideboard and poured a glass of water from the pitcher there. “Just so you know. He says he’s too old for shame.”
She heaved a sigh. “Mortals.”
Rune brought the glass of water to the Nightrender. “I’m glad you’ve returned. I’ve been hoping you might give me a chance to apologize.”
“That isn’t why I came here.” She removed her gauntlets, tucked them into her belt, and then accepted the water.
“Oh.” Rune swallowed hard and tried a different approach. “Can I order something for you? Coffee? Food?”
“No.” The word came out sharp, but then she exhaled slowly. “Yes, please. I don’t remember the last time I ate.”
He gazed down at her a moment, watching the careful way she sipped her water, and searched himself for the courage to say aloud how relieved he was to see her. He went to the door instead, and made a quick request of the two men lurking out there.
When he shut the door again, the Nightrender’s glass was empty.
“More?” he asked.
She handed him the glass, which he refilled and gave back.
Suddenly unsure what to do with himself, Rune sat in the chair next to her, questions crowding his throat. He settled on the least offensive.
“What is all that?” He nodded toward the spilled-open sack, still lying in front of the balcony door.
“They are the materials one would need to summon a rancor.”
A chill forced its way through Rune, and when he blinked, he saw its face not a breath from his. He could hear its terrible voice and smell the stink of nightmares….
He shook himself. The rancor was dead. He’d watched her kill it.
“I found these things while cleansing an ever-burning forest.”
So she had been clearing malsites. That was a good sign. But this…
“Who would summon a rancor?” The words felt wrong in his mouth, like sounds his tongue hadn’t learned how to shape. “Why would anyone do that?”
The Nightrender shuddered. Shuddered. It was such a human response, something he hadn’t expected from her. “There have always been cults that worship the rancor, Prince Rune. They are dark and secret things, not meant for eyes like yours.”
Eyes like his? What did that mean? What kind of eyes did he have?
“But why would someone worship the rancor?” he pressed. “The Numina—”