[See @graceintheshadows for part 2 and @lordaeronslost for part 1]
“What is taking so long?”
Wyn cut a look toward Tyr, frowning. “Just relax. They should be here soon.”
The medic glowered, his limp growing heavier with each step. Soon he’d have to actually use the cane in his hand instead of pretending it didn’t exist. “I don’t understand why it would take so long for you to get this information. You’d think that it’d be routed through the Order and you’d be able to lay hands on it at the Hall.”
“Bold of you to assume that the information you’re looking for is ready to sift down beyond the highest levels,” Wyn said, crossing her arms. “You could have asked Sol to lay hands on this for you, you know.”
“No one can find Sol right now, not even his wife.” Tyr stopped, squinting at her. “Do you know where he is?”
“You think that I’d have an idea if Kal doesn’t?” She shook her head. “He’d tell Radi before he told me.” Her eyes scanned over the sun-splashed expanse of the Exchange, looking for the expected courier. While her brother had his fingers tangled in the threads of part of their mother’s web, she had hers in others—including a few well-placed in the Magistry. Still, it was a delicate dance, getting information from them, especially when one was looking for information that was being spoken of in whispers and rumors and exaggerations more than fact.
Part of her was more than half certain the details remained unknown. Another was already contemplating what the response might be, if even half the rumors that had begun to fly in the city were true. Who had been there when it happened? Who would be among the first wave to respond—if anyone at all?
What, exactly, were they about to face, how many of them would it take, and how many would not come home?
“Something destroyed an entire city,” Tyr muttered, following her gaze out over the Exchange as he slumped against the wall beside her. “You would think everyone would be on the highest alert.”
“Perhaps we just don’t know enough about the circumstances yet.” She glanced toward him with a faintly furrowed brow. “Did you ever...?”
“No,” he whispered. “Nothing—nothing solid enough for me to want to give it voice.”
“But you wrote it down?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “Yes.”
Wyn nodded in return and looked back out at the crowds milling along the Exchange, straightening from her lean as she caught a glimpse of the expected courier. “Wait here.”
For a second, she thought he might protest, but after a second Tyr simply nodded, sagging a little more against the wall with a faint frown. She held his gaze for a moment before she slipped off into the crowds. The courier caught her eye a moment later and they both stopped in the shade of one of the Exchange’s awnings.
“Lady Iltyhrii,” the courier murmured.
Wyn inclined her head, turning a hand with a pair of gold crowns and something bundled in a bit of silk toward the courier, who took them in exchange for an envelope and a small trinket. “Thank you.”
“Always a pleasure, m’lady,” the courier murmured, lingering a few moments more before they stepped away and back into the crowd. For the span of a few heartbeats, Wyn lingered behind, watching people come and go before she started to make her way back to Tyr. The medic was frowning at something as she approached, his gaze—and thoughts—seemingly elsewhere. It wasn’t until she laid a hand on his arm that he startled back to himself, blinking.
“Never mind,” she said, brow furrowing. “What were you seeing?”
“Nothing that made sense,” he admitted. “At least not yet. Did you...?”
She nodded. “Yes. Come on.” She started walking, trusting him to follow as she wended her way toward an old hole-in-the-wall they’d frequented in another life, back when both had been playing pretend at being anything other than what they really were—or perhaps discovering who they were really meant to be. Tyr fell in behind her, silent, frowning.
“Where are we—?” he stopped himself and shook his head. “Why there?”
“Because at least there I’ll have a chance to get in front of you if you decide to go off fully cocked about something,” she muttered. “And we won’t be reading this in the middle of the Exchange.”
“No, we’ll be tucked away in the Row where we both know that you’re like to become a walking target in that armor.”
“Not where we’re going,” she muttered. “Take a breath, Tyr.”
“How can I when...when we’re still not sure what happened, only that something did.” He kept close as she ducked down a narrow lane that twisted down toward the shadows of Murder Row. “Wyn, please.”
She simply gave him a level look and opened a door mostly hidden behind a tail of cloth and some crates. “In, Tyr. We’ll read it in the old corner and decide what to do about it.”
“Somebody destroyed Dalaran, Wyn,” he whispered as he passed her and ducked through the door, leaving her to follow. “And no one in the city seems to be doing anything about it.”
“Likely to prevent some kind of panic,” she said, shucking a gauntlet as she followed him down the narrow passage. It opened up behind a curtain and into a tiny tavern and inn, one remarkably clean and snug given its locale. Wyn flipped a coin to the barkeep and ushered her friend to a corner where they’d spent more than a few hours in times now long gone. Wordless, Tyr dropped into an overstuffed chair, leaving her to perch on the edge of a low table as she slid her thumb beneath the envelope’s plain seal. The sheaf of papers inside was thick, thick enough to make her heart stutter for a moment in her chest.
What had they gotten their hands on?
The first page was in the familiar scrawl of one of her mother’s oldest contacts, sketching what was known in broad strokes. She read it once, then again, then handed it to Tyr.
“Aethas Sunreaver is among the missing, along with three dozen highly ranked mages,” she said, her voice grave as she started to thumb through the documents—casualty lists, carefully duplicated reports. “No one has solid word on what’s happened—some reports suggest he survived, others say he perished along with most of his host. At least one report suggests that the city was destroyed by some kind of void explosion.”
“Void,” Tyr echoed. “What would—?”
“I don’t know,” she said, still thumbing through the rest of the pages. “But I imagine that the reason why the city doesn’t know anything is because they’re waiting for final word on the archmage and whether or not he’s alive. And deciding what we’re going to do about it.”
“Will have opinions. I know. So will the Farstriders and the Order. One way or another, we’ll figure out what’s what.” Her lips thinned as she watched him reading over that first page. “Whoever it was—they more than certainly just wiped out at least half the Kirin Tor, Tyr. And who knows how much magical knowledge and—” she broke off, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Suddenly her thoughts went to Juden, who—if not for pure happenstance and a lack of final decisions made—might have been there. Might have been among a generation of fledging mages devastated by whatever had just occurred.
Tyr grasped her hand and squeezed hard. “I know,” he whispered. “I tried, Wyn. I tried.”
“I know,” she echoed, squeezing back. “All we can do is—is hope. At least for now.”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We have...we have other work. But who knows who they’ll call up. Who knows what the response will be.”
“You think there will be one?” he asked, taking the rest of the papers from her and starting to thumb through them slowly. He’d return them to her before they left—she knew that. “That they’ll risk...?”
“I don’t know what it will be, but there will be something,” she said softly. “One way or another, we’re about to send people to war. I just don’t know what it is yet.”
“Nor I,” Tyr said, then sighed. “But as you said. We have our own.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “We do.”
