The Warden

Chapter 15

Maybe he isn't the one, thought Kyla. May Werold forgive me for the very idea.

One slap, one slight tap, had doused that glorious rage that she had seen flare to life within the Domrae boy. One tiny slap and he was as tame as the obsequious grass bending to the fickle wind. Didn't he still want to avenge his family? Surely, he could not have forgotten so easily. Just like every other boy she had ever come across, one snap and snarl from a larger male sent him scampering with his tail between his legs.

Then again and to be fair, Kyla had to concede that while Masis might have given his word to Skinner and had kept it with all the honor of a newly deposed duke, that had not stopped him from gathering as much information about night wights as he could. So, his mild encounter with the tall man must not have entirely snuffed out his angry, infant tinder.

Masis had used his father's name, he went from person to person or group to group, blending in as well as a duke's son could, to collect what tidbits he could from each individual, much like a raucous raven drawn from one carcass to the next to gather whatever scrap each had to offer. Skinner had watched him and Masis had kept Skinner always in the corner of his eye. Kyla had to admit that Masis had some redeeming qualities. He just didn't have enough.

So much work to do, she thought, an appraisal ever constant in her mind.

Her bare toes worked into the soil. The perpetually moist grass rested over the top of her feet. The blades threatened to tickle her exposed skin. Kyla refused to be tickled. A tickle was a distraction and distractions equaled death and death would not do.

She shifted her weight over the balls of her feet. Good ground. Solid.

All my ground is good. Werold's voice thrummed in her head. It reminded Kyla of sturdy oak trees and of sun-toasted wheat fields.

"Not all of it is good for running," said Kyla aloud. She braced for the emotions that always accompanied Werold.

A few soft notes of laughter bubbled up in her brain.

You might be right, said Werold.

What do you want? thought Kyla. She shook off the chuckle that never would be hers. She reached down and adjusted her winingas. Her hand snagged a few strands of grass as she straightened.

No need to pull my hair, child. Werold's voice was still warm with levity. You might have had dealings with my youngest, Manu, but you didn't give yourself entirely to her. Thankfully.

"What do you want?" asked Kyla. "You don't normally pop into my head for a quick chat." Her eyes roved over the ring of lean-tos, while both her ears and nose tracked the Domrae boy.

I was just seeing how you and Masis are faring.

You hardly need to talk to me to know that, thought Kyla.

She had prowled the perimeter of the Shadow colony for a fortnight now, noting every mundane detail. The communal meals and their contents. Not fresh fish or anything for that matter. The general demeanor of the habitants. Mostly, as docile as a flock of sheep. The success of Masis' information gathering. Little snippets that held little to no truth. Jarl, that opportunistic sadist, his comings and goings. Luckily, not a hint or whiff of night wights.

With only three fingers of daylight left, Kyla turned her back on the colony to peer at Wilo sinking into Werold's green embrace. She scratched behind her ear. Being this close to where night wights might make an appearance any night made her itchy.

Perhaps, I just like to talk to my children, said Werold, an unseen smile colored the words.

A memory, unsought, awakened before Kyla's eyes, a memory of her son, of her holding and cooing over him, of tender kisses on cheeks, of tickles and giggles and shenanigans. A warm smile perked her lips. Another memory murdered the pleasant one. Again, she held her son in her arms, but an older, more mature version of him. His body slackened. Life evacuated his eyes. No tears had been in her eyes that night.