Then Laurelle heard it, too. The approach of two others. She was able to make out their words, spoken with little regard to who might hear, so confident in their positions that they did not bother to blunt their rudeness.

"I can't believe the regent's sellwench squirmed her way into my shadow," Liannora hissed. "She's certain to be favored by the warden, what with her being Fields's daughter. I'll be ignored."

Her companion consoled her. "Who can ignore you? You shine brighter than the sun when you enter a room."

"Oh, Sten, you can be so simple sometimes. I see how the warden watches her when that grubbing Hand isn't looking. There's no outshining family." Liannora sniffed with disdain. "If only she stepped down or was made to step downa"

Sten's voice lowered to a whisper, but by now they were passing the door to Brant's room. "Missteps do happen. It is easy to trip on a stair. To break a legaor even a neck."

Liannora responded in equally low tones, but by then they had moved on down the hall. A bit of laughter carried back, then after another moment, silence.

Laurelle pulled her ear from the door. "Kytt, did you hear what that ice queen said? Were they merely speaking tall or were they serious?"

Kytt shook his head. "Even my ears are only so sharp. Her lips must have been at his ear."

"I must find Delia."

"What about the cubbies?" he asked.

She nodded. "We'll move them first. Like we were planning. Then I'll seek out Delia and warn her."

Kytt strode toward the cubbies, sensing her urgency. "You take the boy. I'll take the girl."

Laurelle nodded. They had a pair of roughspun carryalls, meant to sling babies across a woman's chest. They would each take one whelping. The plan was to abscond with the wolf cubbies and carry them up to Lorr's abandoned rooms. Kytt had heard talk among the Oldenbrook guards that some harm was intended them, and as the wyld tracker was not of their realm, he had no real authority to stop them. The wolves remained the retinue's property.

So the plan was to get them somewhere safe.

But thievery was beyond either of their skills. They didn't know how anyone from Oldenbrook might respond, so they intended to make the move without any eyes about. The cubbies had escaped once already. It would be easy to explain away another disappearance.

Laurelle gathered up her carryall and lured the smaller of the two cubbies, the boy, notable for the extra white on the tips of his black ears, with a piece of dried mutton. She had the cubbie quickly bundled and contentedly chewing the salted meat. A low growling flowed as she slung the carryall over one shoulder and cradled the wolf across her chest.

Kytt had his cubbie, too. He held her back from the door, leaned his ear, listened for another couple of breaths, then nodded.

Barrin was already on his paws, ready to follow.

Kytt opened the door and led the way out. Laurelle followed. The bullhound padded after them.

The hallway was empty, except for one of the knights at the level's landing. They moved quickly. A door opened behind them. Voices carried. Guards.

Ducking down, hidden by the bulk of the bullhound, Laurelle heard Sten, captain of the guard, call brusquely toward them. "Who goes there?"

Kytt shrugged off his carryall and slid it over to Laurelle. He motioned for her to continue. Barrin's form filled the hall. With care, she should be able to reach the stairs without the guards seeing her.

She squeezed Kytt's hand, then sidled low to the floor, close to one wall. Kytt straightened behind her, edged past Barrin, and signaled by hand for the bullhound to keep his place.

The wyld tracker called to the guards. "It is only I," he said, though surely the guards knew Kytt. Who else traveled with a bullhound? Plainly they only sought amusement by hassling the young tracker.

Laurelle reached the stairs, laden with two squirming cubbies, both arguing in low growls through the roughspun at one another. She thanked the gods of the aether that neither of the two barked. The knight at the landing glanced to her above his masklin. She nodded and slipped around to the stairs.

Behind her, Kytt spoke with exaggerated loudness. "I was just seeing to the cubbies. Making sure they had fresh milk and feed."

"A duty you won't need much longer," one of the guards said.

Laughter followed Laurelle out to the stair.

"Especially with the regent turning arse-end and running," another said. "No need any longer for two cubbies."

"And Liannora definitely could use a warm muff to match her new cloak."

"Now that's a muff I wouldn't mind slippin' a hand into," one whispered.

"Don't let Sten hear you say that."

More rough laughter chased Laurelle round the stairs. She climbed, her heart thumping and a fire building in her chest.

"Off with you, then," the guards barked to Kytt. "Before that dog of yours shites all over our hall."

"Or he does!" his companion said. "Look at that nose on the boy. I wonder if trackers use it to sniff each other's arses."

Kytt appeared below, rounding up with Barrin. His face blushed through his tanned skin. He quickly joined her and accepted his burden back. Together, they climbed the seven levels to the floor where Lorr kept his rooms.

In short order, they had the cubbies behind doors and a fire burning in the cold hearth, and Barrin was again sprawled and already snoring.

"I should be returning to my rooms." Laurelle rose from where she had been scratching one of the whelpings on the belly.

"They are calm with you," Kytt said, nodding to the cubbie.

She warmed more than she should have at his generous word. "Dribbling milk over my fingers for the past three mornings and nights was what truly won them over. We had a houndskeep backaback home in Weldon Springs. That's off near Chagda Falls."

"I know where Weldon Springs lies," he mumbled.

"Of course you do." She shook her head at herself. Kytt's own realm, Idlewyld, lay on the opposite coast of the Fifth Land from Weldon.

"Rich country," he said. "Well-forested."

"My father owns a thousand tracks. He baited bears and boars with the hounds. I used to sneak off to play with their cubbies."

Laurelle shied away from that memory. She had mostly snuck off silently to the cubbies when her father had been beating her mother. Her family did not speak of such matters. Bruises and welts were hid under powder or behind lace.

Laurelle brushed a hand through her hair. "I should find Delia. Real or not, she should know of the threat we overheard."

Kytt stepped to the door. "I will accompany you back to your floor."

"I know my way."

"Of course you do," he said, mimicking back her own words from a moment ago.

She glanced to him and noted a ghost of a smile. She returned the same. It was rare to hear any ribbing from the young man.

"Best you have an escort." He grumbled a bit, glancing away as shyness overcame him again. "Barrin can watch over the little ones."

"Thank you. I would appreciate that."

Laurelle gathered her things and the two set out. Lorr's floor was only two above hers. The walk was shorter than she would have preferred. She even found her steps slowing. Too soon, they reached the level that housed Chrismferry's Hands.

The hall was empty, all locked away or about their own concerns. The diminutive Master Munchcryden, the regent's Hand of yellow bile, had a preference for wagered games, whether played with die or board, while the shaven-headed twins, Master Tre and his sister Fairland, seldom left their rooms, preferring the company of books and private reflection.

But such privacies were harder to come by now.

The warden could not indulge an entire floor for the regent's company any longer. Especially with Tylar fled. The vacant rooms had been filled with a goodly number of the masters who had been chased out of their subterranean levels. The halls now reeked of strange alchemies, and the occasional muffled blast would echo down the hall from some combination gone bad.

Laurelle led the way. Her room was not far off the landing. It was a small blessing, as the deeper halls were clogged even heavier with alchemical vapors, but it meant stepping away from Kytt sooner than she would have liked.

"I'll see you at the seventh evening bell," Laurelle said as they neared her door.

"The whelpings always enjoy your visits."

"Just the whelpings?" She lifted an eyebrow.

Kytt shuffled his feeta"but he was saved from answering by a sharp outburst off by the stairs.

"The skull is gone! Why do you harp so on the matter?"

It was Master Hesharian.

Laurelle quickly freed her key and unlocked her door. Kytt stared back at the stairs. Once her door was open, she tugged the tracker inside with her. She leaned the door closed, but she kept a crack open to peer out.

Master Hesharian entered the hall with his usual dog in tow, the milky-eyed ancient master.

"Leave it go, Orquell," the head of the Council groused. "My midmorning meal awaits, and I'd prefer my breads were still warm."

A reedy voice argued. "But I spoke with Master Rothkild. He related how he had cored samples from the skull. Even a tooth. He had them stored within glass flutes in alchemical baths."

"And I heard the same. He insists the mixtures had rendered any Grace down to dregs. Nothing that could prove useful."

"Master Rothkild does not have my experience with Dark Grace. There is much I can discern if I could retrieve those bits of bone."

"The warden will not allow another trip down to the Masterlevels. Whatever lurks below remains quiet, and he wisely does not wish to stir it anew. With the regent gone, there may be a chance the storm will blow away and afterward our levels could be cleansed with fire. Then you can collect those bits of skull." Hesharian sniffed. "So let the matter die for now. I've my meal to attend and am near to famished."

The pair passed Laurelle's room. Master Orquell glanced in their direction as he passed. She and Kytt pulled back. Neither wanted that gaze to discover them hiding and spying.

"Then I'll leave you to your meal," Orquell said. "There is a matter I wish to attend anyway."

"Very good. You attend. I'll see you in the fieldroom at the next bell."

They continued down the hall.

Laurelle met Kytt's eye. "Can you track that one?"

"Who?"

"Master Orquell. I'd like to see what he's about when he's not in Hesharian's shadow. It is seldom the two are apart. This may be our only opportunity."

Kytt looked hesitant.

Laurelle pulled her door wider. "It will not take long. You heard. No more than a bell. Then Orquell will need to return to the maps and plottings in the fieldroom, falling once again into Hesharian's shadow. As privy as that new master is to what is discussed in that room, I'd like to see what matters he attends when alone."

Kytt nodded reluctantly.

Laurelle waited until the two masters were out of sight, then led Kytt back into the hall. Together they headed off after their prey. With Kytt's keen senses, they could keep well back. They passed Hesharian's room. His voice carried out, haranguing some scullery about the state of his jam.

They continued past.

At a crossing of passageways, Kytt stopped and sniffed. Laurelle did the same, but all she smelled was burnt alchemies. They stung her nose, and she felt sorry for Kytt.

But he did not complaina"though his eyes watered slightly. He pointed the correct path, and they continued their hunt.

Master Orquell's pace was surprisingly fast for one of his age and thinness of limb. He led them on a crisscrossing trail into the dustier regions of the level. The ceiling lowered and bits of fractured stone littered the floor. As this level had been intended only for Tylar's retinue, the underfolk had not cleared these back spaces very well.

Laurelle began to grow concerned as the path grew more abandoned. Rooms here were not habitable without the shoring of rafters. The path grew darker, lined by doors rotted and crooked-hinged. Off in corners, she caught glimpses of tiny red eyes and heard the telltale scurry of small claws.

She began to wonder at the wisdom of this adventure. She had believed the warden had all of Tashijan ablaze, placing much security in the abundant flames. But now they had ventured beyond lamp and torch.

Her feet slowed.

Now it was Kytt's determination that dragged her forward, their roles reversed. He straightened from examining a scuff in the dust and waved her to follow.

Turning a corner, they saw flickering light, fiery and welcome.

Kytt warned her to proceed cautiously. He pointed to his eyes, then down to his footprints in the dust. He wanted her to step where he stepped, so as not to alert their quarry.

But as they slipped closer, it was plain that Master Orquell was lost to all but the flames he had stoked in a cold hearth in an empty room. From down the hallway, they caught glimpses of him through a broken door, limned in firelight, features aglow.

He sat on his knees, rocking back and forth.

One arm reached out and sprinkled something across the flames. Sparks flew higher and a sound escaped with them, not unlike the flutter of a raven's wings. Laurelle wrinkled her nose at the stench of the smoke in the hall. She caught a whiff of something rotted and foul behind the woodsmoke. Perhaps brimstone.

Then Orquell's voice reached her as he rocked.

"Your will is my own, mistress. Show me what I must see."

Laurelle shifted. Orquell leaned near the flames, close enough that she was surprised the old man's eyes didn't boil in their sockets. He stared longa"then a keening wail escaped his throat.

"Noa"

She reached out and found Kytt's hand. He clasped hers tight.

Orquell finally rocked back away from the fire again, almost falling in a panicked scramble. He tossed a fistful of something at the fire, and the flames instantly doused.