Adwyn knew it was mistaken, but sense was sense.


    Inquirer, and you refused to let us accompany you!”  The smaller orange drake glanced away.  “Something is up.”


    must see Mlaen.  Surely you aren’t holding that up?”


    reflected.


    asking.


    accept it, to acknowledge what couldn’t be denied, to move past?  Adwyn couldn’t tell you it wouldn’t work.  Couldn’t tell you some half of him didn’t want it.  Logic, rationality, philosophy, the disciplines of order and sundry, they all had come as easy to him as everything else.


    Adwyn had to know.


    puzzle, to see their true face, to scry their true motive.  The Return of Dwylla?  The human demonhunters?  The old pillars of Gwymr/Frina?


    Do not inform the faer.


    Adwyn would care about its future.


    report this?”


    secrets at the heart of Gwymr/Frina.”


    uninvolved.  Why, you could certainly stand to make my life easier, less complicated.  That should not go unnoticed.”


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    Adwyn paused a moment to see the paintings.  Cynfe’s work.  They smelt oddly of ink, and had the glow of the finest oils.  Forms seemed to struggle to life, shadows sinking away and highlights popping.  One painting stared out over the red distance of the land of glass and secrets, as it was known from its highest peaks.  A land crossed and riveled deep with serpent-like gullies and ravines and gorges, with blooms of green or black life scattered all around.  The suns neared colorfully the horizon, and thunderous storm-clouds weighed high above.


    dragons.  He had to sift the walls to find it, tucked away in a corner.  The one painting, with a dragon, was of Mlaen.  A portrait.  It could have???—??should have???—??been one of the centerpieces, but Adwyn knew why it wasn’t.  The Mlaen dwelling in this painting regarded kindly, softness in her cheeks, a smile.  As Adwyn looked longer into her painting, he felt a voyeur’s shame ride up on him, the sense that in this painting was a moment, someone’s moment, and it wasn’t his.


    glassheaded plan to stir trouble in the pits, and she wants you to take this so she doesn’t dew when you ground yourself.”


    targeted listening in service to some scheme.”


    but my mistress said she would make me strong and confident and not like sp–spineless whelps like him.  I–I haven’t talked to him in a???—??while.”


    she worries about.”


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    Behind them the Berwem gate crashed close.  It was a plunge???—??tangible progress toward the pits, a visceral separation from the civil into the wilds.  The lamps had turned to red, and the catwalks thinned.


    implored him to stop, let them rest their wings for a spell.  He should have left them then.


    secretary, and no guard.”


    not even tend close to smelling those things again.


    something has to be said.  This quiet’s getting on my nerves.”


    Why?  I find it peaceful, natural.”


    do.  But that hinges on her handling what she gets herself into.  I’ll simply observe how this turns out for her.”


    * * *