“Yes, just about,” Nocren answered. “Though I had to promise the Renstown Watch’s constable that you would send copies of the final report.”
“Me,” Malek’ko said, a thousand sighs held in the single word. He scraped a hand over his balding pate. He hadn’t lost any more of his wiry hair kept shorn close to the scalp, despite the stress of the Storage Shed incident. But he had possibly gone grayer, his mustache now completely white. It stood out in stark contrast to his dark brown skin, lending no help whatsoever in masking the disgruntled look that crossed his face.
“It was the only way I could convince her to let me claim any rights to the contents,” Nocren said. Then, with a wince, he added, “The Coalition delegates didn’t take it well. They refused to meet with me after they’d been cleared.”
“We’ve already received notice demanding your removal from any negotiations,” Malek’ko said quietly. “That is, if they resume.”
Guilt and frustration churned in Nocren’s gut. He refused to look in Calya’s direction. Didn’t want to know what expression she wore. Indifference would only further annoy him, and anything like chagrin was unlikely.
Fortunately, Malek’ko continued on, turning to Calya as he said, “Which is why I asked Miss Helm to meet with us. We may have an alternative for getting to Desmond’s Landing.”
“What?” Nocren said in disbelief.
“Nevin is ready to test some prototypes of the healing tea,” Malek’ko said, naming the ranger-turned-horticulture-professor at Sylveren University.
Ollas Nevin hadn’t been an active Sentinel in half a dozen years. And, though he was a good sort, Nocren had always been of the opinion that the younger man was a better gardener than he was a ranger. Seemed to prefer it, too. He and his partner had grown a plant and, through a mix of luck and hard work, produced a remedy that could cleanse the poison devastating Rhell if caught before it became embedded in a body. It still wasn’t a cure for the poison outright, couldn’t reverse the blight where it had already taken hold in the ground. But it was something. Finally, Rhell had a way to contain the poison and keep its people alive.
“Will you have issues from the Rhellians?” Calya asked. “I imagine they aren’t thrilled to be sharing a remedy that’s still so scarce.”
Nocren didn’t admit to it out loud, but he agreed with Calya. It only made sense that the precious few batches of this miracle tea imbued with the strength of the Valley would go to Rhell. The Eyllic poison was singular in its purpose, seeking only the Rhellian wellspring of magic. Graelynd, being neither Rhell nor possessing a wellspring of its own, should have no use for it.
“Most of it will go north, but Nevin said they have a few leftovers to spare.” Malek’ko unrolled a map covering the lower half of the Valley of Sylveren and upper Graelynd. He tapped his finger against a penciled circle surrounding the small dot that marked Desmond’s Landing far out on Graelynd’s northeastern coast. “Nevin said you did some checking up on the Coalition for him?”
Nocren nodded. “They were sending reports on his class to some project out in the Landing. It didn’t amount to anything.”
“Is there a chance they need the tea for a real threat?” Calya asked.
Malek’ko shrugged. “We haven’t heard anything to suggest it, but whoever wanted Nevin’s work out there might be interested in how the protection magic in the tea works. That’s our excuse for getting to the Landing. We go under the stated reason of transporting the tea, since it’s high value.”
“I’ll go,” Nocren said. “I’ve researched the area plenty for the Coalition deal.”
“And I plan to send you.” Malek’ko’s eyes went to Calya. “Which is where Miss Helm comes in. The enchantment in the tea is delicate and can’t be refreshed at sea. It needs to get to the Landing as quickly as possible.”
Calya clasped her hands in front of her. “Helm Naval’s ships are in the area often enough. Adding an additional stop for one of our windrunners shouldn’t be much trouble.”
They began to negotiate, a discussion that required only intermittent comments from Nocren, affirmations of the routes and approximate schedules he’d been working on with the Coalition. When the conversation moved on to departure times and other logistics, Nocren’s mind wandered.
He didn’t know a lot about Calya’s family’s shipping company, Helm Naval Engineering, beyond it being one of the more prominent businesses in the maritime world. How fortunate for the Sentinels that the heir apparent to the Helm Naval enterprise would offer up space on one of her ships.
But at what price?
“I’ll send word once I have a sailing date,” Calya said, standing up. “We have ships large enough to accommodate a contingent of your rangers, but my father’s trustee will push back against your inclusion without a solid reason warranting it.”
“Our relationship with the university may help. I’ll have the necessary details for you in time,” Malek’ko vowed.
“I’ll walk Miss Helm out,” Nocren heard himself say.
Calya’s eyes went to his, an unreadable expression brief upon her face before she smiled sweetly. “Very generous of you, Mr. Lowe.”
She followed him out to the headquarters’ front steps, pausing under the covered entryway as she pulled on her cloak. A furrow marred her otherwise unlined brow as she gave the gray sky a baleful look.
A trickle of wind licked around her, hardly enough to draw Calya’s attention. But to Nocren, for a brief yet undeniable moment, it was a gale to his senses. An echoey feeling of Important and Dramatic and Change rattled around his head, the impressions carried by the wind as he stared at her and tried to ignore how his magic buzzed along his fingers. Calya might as well have been limned in gold for how unsubtle the wind was with its intent. Usually, it wasn’t so forthcoming, giving him only snippets of possibilities and moving on, the epitome of temporality unless he leaned on the arcane to ask for more.
The urge to give in to his magic clamored against the bitterness of her recent conduct. So far, when the wind and Calya mixed, it brought nothing but complications to his life. Left his objectivity in tatters. He knew better than to go down that road.
Calya gave him a sidelong glance. “You seem to have something on your mind.”
Everything about her pulled at him. Made Nocren want to know who she was and why the wind would show him visions of a virtual stranger. Made him want to know her. Learn what it took to make her give such a declarative statement. I’ll never. The unspoken challenge in her gaze—in the brief image from the wind, in the way she looked at him now—it made him want to know if her words were meant for him.
