there.”
Pym shook his head. “I generally stay as far as I can from the quarrels of other men—and twice as far from the quarrels of angels.”
“Not angels. Immortals.”
“Danger, they are, either one.” Pym fingered the hilt of a dagger that hung at his side. “But if it’s Benasin in trouble …”
Melaia peeked out the stable door. Lord Rejius strutted along the top of the palace steps, directing the search. A guard headed to the stables, and she shrank into the shadows. “Is there another way out?”
Pym motioned for her to follow. They slipped past the stalls to the north side of the stables, where a door opened into a smaller courtyard. Keeping to the shadows, they crossed the yard and ducked into the palace through the servants’ entrance.
“We’d best act like we know where we’re going,” whispered Pym. “Do you know the way?”
“East tower.” Melaia strode ahead. “Front of the palace.” She hoped shewas going the right direction. All the hallways looked the same. Then she heard voices and flattened her back to the wall.
Trevin and Dwin emerged from a stairwell ahead and trudged the opposite direction. “We can’t just leave him up there,” said Trevin. “He may still be alive.”
“He’ll be dead by the time the guards come to take his body,” said Dwin. “I can’t believe the lady outran you. You should have let me take the chase. You’re as slow as a hobbled mule.” Their bickering faded with their footsteps.
Melaia dashed to the stairs and headed up with Pym right behind her. She edged into the aerie, which was deathly silent. One lamp burned low. All the draks were gone. The harp was gone. But Benasin lay in one corner, burned and bleeding. Melaia could see his spirit bordering his body.
“He
is
alive!” She ran to him and knelt. “We can carry him to the stables. Then when it’s clear, the temple.”
“How, lady?” asked Pym. “We can hardly move unnoticed as it is, much less bearing a wounded man.”
She slipped her arms under Benasin and strained to lift him to his feet. Pym added his support, but they only succeeded in dragging him a short distance.
“Pym. Mellie. Leave me,” Benasin groaned. “Let me lie.” They laid him down.
Melaia watched his spirit in its death struggle. “I thought you were immortal,” she said.
Benasin’s eyes were closed, but the corner of his mouth twitched up. “Immortal. Yes.”
“What do you need?” asked Melaia. “How can I help?”
He made no answer as he struggled to breathe.
She couldn’t see him clearly through her tears. As she pulled his cloak around him the way she had done for the Erielyon, his spirit pooled around her wrists, not with the aloof vibration of a stranger’s spirit, but with the intimateembrace of a friend. She began to hum a song of comfort, her throat so swollen she could hardly keep the tune.
Hoofbeats sounded in the courtyard, and Pym peered out the window. “Talonmasters. They’re malevolents. If I may say so, lady, we’d best not be caught up here.”
Benasin’s hand abruptly grabbed Melaia’s wrist. She gasped and jerked back, but his hand was a metal-cold shackle as his spirit rose and swirled around her like a mist, breathing.
The book. Get it
.
“Dreia’s book?” She blinked back tears. With her free hand she searched Benasin for a journey bag, a pouch, but Lord Rejius had taken everything. Even his staff. “It’s gone,” she whispered. She stroked his hair away from his bloody, sweat-beaded forehead. His spirit would return, wouldn’t it? He wasn’t supposed to die.
Get the book
, his spirit breathed.
Open—
“Live, Benasin,” she pleaded. “Live. Then you can get the book.” His grip was uncomfortably tight, but when she tried prying his hand from her wrist, it only tightened.
You. Get it
.
Her hand throbbed. In an effort to reassure him, she nodded. “All right. I’ll get it. Just live.”
Pym touched her shoulder. “The draks will be coming
Pym shook his head. “I generally stay as far as I can from the quarrels of other men—and twice as far from the quarrels of angels.”
“Not angels. Immortals.”
“Danger, they are, either one.” Pym fingered the hilt of a dagger that hung at his side. “But if it’s Benasin in trouble …”
Melaia peeked out the stable door. Lord Rejius strutted along the top of the palace steps, directing the search. A guard headed to the stables, and she shrank into the shadows. “Is there another way out?”
Pym motioned for her to follow. They slipped past the stalls to the north side of the stables, where a door opened into a smaller courtyard. Keeping to the shadows, they crossed the yard and ducked into the palace through the servants’ entrance.
“We’d best act like we know where we’re going,” whispered Pym. “Do you know the way?”
“East tower.” Melaia strode ahead. “Front of the palace.” She hoped shewas going the right direction. All the hallways looked the same. Then she heard voices and flattened her back to the wall.
Trevin and Dwin emerged from a stairwell ahead and trudged the opposite direction. “We can’t just leave him up there,” said Trevin. “He may still be alive.”
“He’ll be dead by the time the guards come to take his body,” said Dwin. “I can’t believe the lady outran you. You should have let me take the chase. You’re as slow as a hobbled mule.” Their bickering faded with their footsteps.
Melaia dashed to the stairs and headed up with Pym right behind her. She edged into the aerie, which was deathly silent. One lamp burned low. All the draks were gone. The harp was gone. But Benasin lay in one corner, burned and bleeding. Melaia could see his spirit bordering his body.
“He
is
alive!” She ran to him and knelt. “We can carry him to the stables. Then when it’s clear, the temple.”
“How, lady?” asked Pym. “We can hardly move unnoticed as it is, much less bearing a wounded man.”
She slipped her arms under Benasin and strained to lift him to his feet. Pym added his support, but they only succeeded in dragging him a short distance.
“Pym. Mellie. Leave me,” Benasin groaned. “Let me lie.” They laid him down.
Melaia watched his spirit in its death struggle. “I thought you were immortal,” she said.
Benasin’s eyes were closed, but the corner of his mouth twitched up. “Immortal. Yes.”
“What do you need?” asked Melaia. “How can I help?”
He made no answer as he struggled to breathe.
She couldn’t see him clearly through her tears. As she pulled his cloak around him the way she had done for the Erielyon, his spirit pooled around her wrists, not with the aloof vibration of a stranger’s spirit, but with the intimateembrace of a friend. She began to hum a song of comfort, her throat so swollen she could hardly keep the tune.
Hoofbeats sounded in the courtyard, and Pym peered out the window. “Talonmasters. They’re malevolents. If I may say so, lady, we’d best not be caught up here.”
Benasin’s hand abruptly grabbed Melaia’s wrist. She gasped and jerked back, but his hand was a metal-cold shackle as his spirit rose and swirled around her like a mist, breathing.
The book. Get it
.
“Dreia’s book?” She blinked back tears. With her free hand she searched Benasin for a journey bag, a pouch, but Lord Rejius had taken everything. Even his staff. “It’s gone,” she whispered. She stroked his hair away from his bloody, sweat-beaded forehead. His spirit would return, wouldn’t it? He wasn’t supposed to die.
Get the book
, his spirit breathed.
Open—
“Live, Benasin,” she pleaded. “Live. Then you can get the book.” His grip was uncomfortably tight, but when she tried prying his hand from her wrist, it only tightened.
You. Get it
.
Her hand throbbed. In an effort to reassure him, she nodded. “All right. I’ll get it. Just live.”
Pym touched her shoulder. “The draks will be coming
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