“You heard about the ambush?” Gyre said.

She nodded sourly. “I knew they’d find that place eventually.”

“Your back door worked nicely,” Gyre said. “But we got stuck hiding in the tunnels when the Auxies came after us. It took this long to get away from them.”

“And what is she doing here?” Lynnia turned to Kit. “I assume this is your mysterious benefactor.”

“Kitsraea Doomseeker,” Kit said with a slight bow. “By your temper, I’m guessing you’re Lynnia Sharptongue?”

“Ooooh,” the old woman said with a dangerous smile. “Gyre’s been telling stories, has he?”

“I have not,” Gyre snapped. “And, yes. I thought it would be safer for Kit here until we figure out what tipped off the dux.” He hesitated. “Have you heard anything from Yora?”

“Got a note an hour ago,” Lynnia admitted. “She and most of the others got away clean. She says the plan is still on schedule.”

“That’s something,” Gyre said.

Kit’s expression had gone thoughtful. “I need to send some messages.”

Lynnia sniffed. “I imagine you’ll also be wanting a bath and a change of clothes.”

“And something to eat,” Kit said brightly.

The alchemist snorted. “Of course. Be my guest. Since you apparently are.” She glanced at Gyre. “Will she be needing the spare bedroom?”

“Yes,” Kit said, one eyebrow raised. “For the moment.”

“Right.” Lynnia shoved the chair back and stood. “Come on, then.”

She clomped up the stairs, with Kit just behind her. Gyre rolled his eye, said a silent prayer for safety, and followed.

Chapter 11

The sun also rose late in mountain-shrouded Deepfire, which under the circumstances was probably for the best. Maya opened her eyes and groaned.

She lay on the big bed but had apparently twisted sideways during the night, drawing the sheets around her like a cocoon. The sun coming in through the bedroom windows felt too bright, even through a layer of thin curtain, and her throat felt like she’d swallowed a plaguespawn. After a few seconds frantically fighting her way free of her silken binding, she wormed off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom, halting in front of the sink as the first wave of the headache hit.

Chosen defend. She closed her eyes, one hand on the Thing, and focused on breathing. Ow, ow, ow.

Eventually, the pain subsided to the point where she could fill a pitcher with cold water, and she guzzled it greedily. She washed her face, wincing at the icy cold. It seemed to help, a little.