“Chiringee?” Molin crooned, rubbing a free finger under her chin as he got to
his feet, his long robe wrinkled, twisted, and revealing the naked, muscular
thighs of an experienced soldier and brawler. “So eager, are you?” He squared
his shoulders, the weighted hem dropped, and he resumed his perfect lifelong
disguise as priest and court functionary. “Well, let us go to the nursery then
and let you meet the little ones you’ll be guarding.”
Randal followed, blotting his wounds with his sleeve.
The nursery was more a chaotic phenomenon of palace society than a physical
location. Its denizens were moved from dungeons to rooftops, from the depths of
the Beysib enclave to the warmth and abundance of the kitchens as the fears and
influence of its overlords shifted. For three days a cavern-ceilinged hall known
as the Ilsig Bedchamber had managed to contain it to everyone’s satisfaction.
Protocol demanded that no one pass the guards without careful inspection. Molin,
Randal, and Chiringee waited until Jihan pushed her way through the doors. She
accepted the men in an eyeblink but stared hard at the mongoose, drawing on the
arcane intuitions she possessed as Froth Daughter to archetypal Stormbringer
only temporarily in mortal form.
“So this is the unnatural creature who is supposed to protect the children
better than I? It smells of Wizardwall magic.”
“Well, she is larger and more intelligent than she should be. It was an
unexpected benefit from the transition-“
Randal had more to say, but Molin took command again, leading their way into the