“Why is Calya a threat to you?” he asked.
Avenor stared at him as if digesting the words. Then, abruptly, he sprang up—“Thanks for the reading”—and strode quickly toward the stairs. He didn’t seem to hear Nocren calling after him.
Nocren was forced to watch helplessly, his mind churning, as he walked away.
“Fuck.”
One of the papers Calya had seen Brint reading earlier that morning was in the tinderbox. What was left of it, anyway. A corner of the paper, though scorched, was still intact enough for her to make out entire words.
* * *
…tion steady, but ward prot is
…50% at best. W/o Song you must
…ur lies. Help us, or I
* * *
The letter was signed simply M.
Calya’s fingers shook. The slanted handwriting matched that of the other notes she’d found. The scribbly ‘M’ of Matthias. Reporting to Brint. Making demands of him. The mention of wards. Could it be Anadae’s missing ones? And Song could only mean Bioon.
Calya chewed her lip. Matthias had been the one to contact the Sentinels—before he’d suddenly changed his tune. If Froley believed Matthias to be “one of the good ones,” perhaps the tonal shift had been against his will.
And now he was gone. Hidden away wherever Bioon’s-now-Brint’s secret project was held?
Pocketing the fragment, Calya dug through the tiny stove for any more clues but came up with nothing. Still, her find was huge. It was confirmation that Brint and the Coalition’s mages were lying. The wards had arrived, were being used in some manner.
Calya frowned. Memories of the contaminated dirt she’d found with Lowe and Zhenya’s reluctant acknowledgment of “similarities” to the Eyllic poison rose up. But no matter; she’d theorize with the others later. Her time with the master key was long since up, and she’d promised that nothing?—
Heavy, urgent footsteps grew louder as they marched up the corridor. Toward Brint’s door. They were already upon her. No chance of escaping without notice, the room being the last one in the hall.
At least, if she went out the same way she’d come in.
His room was situated such that it looked out on the pier on one side and the forested hills on the other. Calya chose the hill-facing window; it wouldn’t do for her to have an audience to her rooftop escapades.
She hurried to the window and pushed it open, grateful that the storm covered the groan of the hinges, and even more grateful for its dormer-style design. She scrambled through, easing it shut and pressing herself into the crevice behind the shutters.
Not a moment too soon. Brint’s door opened, light flaring as he turned up the lamps. The door closed with a slam Calya felt in her bones.
But she’d made it outside, with the noise of the storm providing needed cover. Less welcome was the onslaught of rain. The roof wasn’t meant to be used as a pathway, and Calya’s progress mincing along the gutter was painfully slow.
Faintly, she heard Brint’s footsteps as he stomped across the floor. She inched farther along, heart racing. Another window sat between her and freedom. Gods all break, what if the room was occupied?
Focus, she ordered her spinning mind. Her clothes clung to her skin, her fingers going numb as she clung to the shingles. The sound of Brint throwing open his harbor-side window so hard that it banged against the inn’s siding nearly made her slip.
Faster, Calya!
She was nearly past the awning of the adjacent room’s window. If she could get to the other side, she could find cover around the frame so Brint wouldn’t see her if he gave his forest-facing window the same treatment.
Almost there.
The gutter creaked as she took another step, wobbling and beginning to crumple as her weight settled. Calya leaned forward as far as she could, fingers outstretched for the shutter.
The gutter’s complaint went from a creak to a groan. She’d have to jump. Launch herself the remaining few feet and hope she could grab hold of the shutter—not plummet to her death or, at best, grievous injury. She had a bitter feeling that, when it came to landings, she’d used up all her luck for the day.
The window beside her slid open. Calya startled, feet slipping on the unstable gutter. She began to fall, the only sound she could make a small, horrified gasp.
