allowed up here. He’d be stopped by the gates.”
“The gates don’t work on him,” Solander admitted, and Velyn now stared as if told that the world around here was all merely
a figment of her imagination.
“What are you talking about?”
“He can walk right through them. They go off, but the wards don’t touch him.”
“Does your father know? Do any of the Dragons know?”
“No,” Solander said, “and I don’t want them to. Wraith is going to let me try to figure out how he does what he does, which
is going to get me into the Academy in a top slot. In exchange, he and his friend are going to live here. But you have to
help me.” Solander leaned forward and stared into her eyes, willing her to realize how desperately he needed her help. “This
is important, Velyn. Maybe the most important thing I’ll ever have a chance to do in my life.”
She nodded. “Yes. Yes.” She closed her eyes, rubbed her temples, frowned. “I could get an aircar with a universal pass from
one of Keer Perald’s subalterns, perhaps, or one of your father’s—but for that I’d have to get into the restricted lot, and
I’d owe …” Her voice faded, and Solander saw her lower her lashes and angle her glance toward Wraith for just an instant.
She glanced away so quickly Solander could almost have thought he imagined the look; he did think he imagined the context
of it. Could his wild, rebellious cousin be looking at Wraith, at that scrawny Warrener
boy,
with interest? Attraction? Surely not.
And Velyn straightened, and rubbed her hands together, and said, “Yes. I can, I think, get the necessary aircar after all.
And we can get the papers, but you’re going to have to have someplace down in the Belows to hide the two of them for a few
days while all the papers are made. I know absolutely that they’re going to have to be present before any of the real work
is done. They’ll have to give some of their blood, and have their images spelled into the disks, and there’s no way to do
that in advance.”
Solander glanced at Wraith. “We can wait a few days to get you up here.”
“We can,” Wraith agreed. “But we can’t wait at all to get Jess out of the Warrens. The guards could inspect the basement where
we hide at any time—or just do a house-to-house sweep and take people away, and get her when they get the Sleepers.”
“A house-to-house sweep?” Solander felt a little sick to his stomach. “What are you talking about?”
“A couple of times a month, the guards bring a truck, go into one of the buildings, and take away most of the people who live
there.” Wraith shrugged. “Then, a few days later, they bring in people who aren’t Sleepers, and lock them in the house until
the Way-fare has had time to work.”
Solander could not believe Wraith was describing reality when he spoke of this; in no way could taking people from their homes
be something that happened under the watchful eyes of the Dragons, in the benevolent world to which the Hars Ticlarim had
given birth. Wraith’s friend had seen something that he hadn’t understood, or …
Solander shuddered. The little hairs on the back of his neck kept trying to stand up, and his belly tightened of its own accord,
as if he were facing an examination from his father for which he had neither read his texts nor studied his practicals. Wraith
couldn’t be right. But if for some reason there was some truth in what he was saying, then Solander could lose the one person
whose very existence flew in the face of everything he’d learned about the workings and applications of magic; the one person
who promised a look into a universe with a different set of rules, or into facets of his own universe which no one before
him had ever suspected.
He turned to Velyn and said, “Could you get that aircar today?”
Velyn bit her lip and avoided looking at Wraith at all. “If I’m to be the one to drive it, I’m going
“The gates don’t work on him,” Solander admitted, and Velyn now stared as if told that the world around here was all merely
a figment of her imagination.
“What are you talking about?”
“He can walk right through them. They go off, but the wards don’t touch him.”
“Does your father know? Do any of the Dragons know?”
“No,” Solander said, “and I don’t want them to. Wraith is going to let me try to figure out how he does what he does, which
is going to get me into the Academy in a top slot. In exchange, he and his friend are going to live here. But you have to
help me.” Solander leaned forward and stared into her eyes, willing her to realize how desperately he needed her help. “This
is important, Velyn. Maybe the most important thing I’ll ever have a chance to do in my life.”
She nodded. “Yes. Yes.” She closed her eyes, rubbed her temples, frowned. “I could get an aircar with a universal pass from
one of Keer Perald’s subalterns, perhaps, or one of your father’s—but for that I’d have to get into the restricted lot, and
I’d owe …” Her voice faded, and Solander saw her lower her lashes and angle her glance toward Wraith for just an instant.
She glanced away so quickly Solander could almost have thought he imagined the look; he did think he imagined the context
of it. Could his wild, rebellious cousin be looking at Wraith, at that scrawny Warrener
boy,
with interest? Attraction? Surely not.
And Velyn straightened, and rubbed her hands together, and said, “Yes. I can, I think, get the necessary aircar after all.
And we can get the papers, but you’re going to have to have someplace down in the Belows to hide the two of them for a few
days while all the papers are made. I know absolutely that they’re going to have to be present before any of the real work
is done. They’ll have to give some of their blood, and have their images spelled into the disks, and there’s no way to do
that in advance.”
Solander glanced at Wraith. “We can wait a few days to get you up here.”
“We can,” Wraith agreed. “But we can’t wait at all to get Jess out of the Warrens. The guards could inspect the basement where
we hide at any time—or just do a house-to-house sweep and take people away, and get her when they get the Sleepers.”
“A house-to-house sweep?” Solander felt a little sick to his stomach. “What are you talking about?”
“A couple of times a month, the guards bring a truck, go into one of the buildings, and take away most of the people who live
there.” Wraith shrugged. “Then, a few days later, they bring in people who aren’t Sleepers, and lock them in the house until
the Way-fare has had time to work.”
Solander could not believe Wraith was describing reality when he spoke of this; in no way could taking people from their homes
be something that happened under the watchful eyes of the Dragons, in the benevolent world to which the Hars Ticlarim had
given birth. Wraith’s friend had seen something that he hadn’t understood, or …
Solander shuddered. The little hairs on the back of his neck kept trying to stand up, and his belly tightened of its own accord,
as if he were facing an examination from his father for which he had neither read his texts nor studied his practicals. Wraith
couldn’t be right. But if for some reason there was some truth in what he was saying, then Solander could lose the one person
whose very existence flew in the face of everything he’d learned about the workings and applications of magic; the one person
who promised a look into a universe with a different set of rules, or into facets of his own universe which no one before
him had ever suspected.
He turned to Velyn and said, “Could you get that aircar today?”
Velyn bit her lip and avoided looking at Wraith at all. “If I’m to be the one to drive it, I’m going
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