“Any proof of that?” Dunstan asked.
“Tales from the elders.” Ean shrugged, taking to the air once again.
“Just like that stupid one about the queen? Or the one about the six?” Wynnie was back to her old self. “Definitelyaccurate information you’ve brought us tonight.”
“How strong is the wall created by the veil?” Burke posed.
“I dinnae ken,” Ean replied, breezing up toward the star-painted ceiling. “But it’s strong. I think the veil might be an amalgamation of sensory magic, mixed with somethin’ else that allows it to work almost intelligently, without human interaction.”
“Did we break him?” Dunstan inquired.
“The faerie, or the earl?” Burke joked to groans. He couldn’t change who he was.
George let out a whimper, prompting Wynnie to hop up and stand behind her, two small hands coming to rest on her shoulders. She gulped a breath, steadying herself before she looked around. “Let me be clear,” she began, her tone firm, “you didn’t break anyone. Gianis and Marinos did.”
“And wedefinitelybroke them,” Burke intoned.
“We can’t say for sure what the veil did, but you think it’s possible that if Isahn can somehow chip away at the bricks in his mind, hecouldregain his memories?” Dunstan summarized and asked the elf for confirmation.
Ean nodded. “Aye. I’m not done looking for information. But I think that’s a start.”
“It happenedrightat the end of the veil,” Wynnie reiterated a fact they’d all heard a hundred times over the past week. “Maybe the magic wasn’t as strong then? Maybe it won’t be permanent?”
“I think that’s entirely possible. Did I not make that clear?” Ean asked.
“No, not at all,” George grumbled.
“Sorry, P Georgie. I think because the magic hit him late, the wall may be weaker, thinner, maybe patchy.”
A tiny spark of hope kindled in her chest. “I’ll write to Hildy. Keep looking for information, everyone.” George stood from her chair. “You’re welcome to stay out here as long as you like.” Wine in hand, she slipped into her bedroom. With her back against the door, a sigh slipped from her sad mouth. Rolling her shoulders back and giving her head a shake, she stalked off to find parchment and write some letters.
twenty-seven
Isahn is on a mission.
Thepeacefulsoundsofbirdsong and a rolling stream—plus the buzzing of an inordinately loud insect near his left ear—woke Isahn from an already fitful sleep. With bleary eyes and a sneer, he looked around the shitty room at the shoddy inn where he’d stayed the night with Hill. His traveling companion leaned with her back against the closed door, picking her teeth with the tip of her knife.
“Please don’t do that,” he grumbled. “It’s scary and disgusting.”
Hill shrugged. “Up and at ’em. We need to get going if we’re going to stay ahead of your uncle and find somewhere to stay the night.”
“Fine. What time is it? Is the sun even up?”
Mel Hill shrugged again. “It’s a gray day. The weather really sucks the farther south we travel.”
“It’s springtime... right?” He still wasn’t entirely sure how much time he’d lost to the damned mindmages who’d jailed him.
“Mid-spring.”
“Well, that’s a shitty time in Selwas. I’m not surprised this part of Gramenia is about the same.”
“Get out of bed.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Struggling to his feet, he rubbed sleep from his eyes. He’d been unbearably exhausted of late, like his mind was busy through the wee hours while he tossed and turned.
Last night’s dream was of a woman with ruddy skin and fine brown hair; she looked like that jailor who’d questioned him the night he escaped. But she had strange eyes of deep umber that bored into his very soul. Instead of a guard’s attire, she wore a pale gray dress with flowing sleeves. Her voluptuous body didn’t match the fine-haired jailor’s head.
“You all right there?” Hill’s voice cut through Isahn’s thoughts.
