Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

was usually kept bolted, so at least she didn’t have to run halfway around the keep. She heard a few people stirring, awakened by the commotion by the stable, but she didn’t see anyone as she came upon the door to her rooms.
    She should stop and get Wolf for backup. She stopped before the door and put a hand on it. Wolf could handle Nevyn if Aralorn couldn’t persuade him with her words.
    Unfortunately, she was under no illusion about what Wolf would do to anyone who tried to hurt her. If she gave him some time to cool down, to understand—if there was something to understand—then he would act as reason dictated. But in the heat of the initial discovery . . . it was safer for everyone if she went at this alone.
    She took her hand off the door and continued on.
    Nevyn and Freya had rooms a floor above the hall where she’d found Gerem. Aralorn didn’t bother to knock as she walked in.
    The first thing she saw was Freya sleeping soundly on the bed, her peaceful features revealed by the flickering light of the fireplace.
    The sound of the door opening hadn’t disturbed Nevyn either: He was waiting for her in a chair on the opposite side of the fireplace from the bed. The firelight illuminated one side of his face clearly, while the other lay in shadows.
    “I thought you might come,” he said softly. Then, seeing her glance at her sleeping sister, he said, “Don’t worry, she’s sleeping until morning.”
    The sound of his voice sent a chill of unease coursing through her veins. Nevyn spoke Rethian with a thick Darranian accent she’d never heard him use.
    “Let Gerem go, Nevyn,” she said.
    “You aren’t beautiful,” he said, as if she had never spoken at all. “What magic do you work that holds a man to you like that? Ten years, and the thought of seeing you was more important than punishing him for killing Geoffrey. Geoffrey, who was my teacher, my creator—giving me life and understanding when Nevyn would have seen me dead.”
    “Punishing Wolf?” she asked.
    He nodded jerkily. Even in the dimly lit room, Aralorn could see the flush that swept up his cheeks as he abruptly leaned forward, every muscle in his body tightening. His voice, in stark contrast to his posture, was soft and slow. “How could you take up with him ? We waited and waited for you to come home. Then Geoffrey died, and I found out you’d taken his killer as your lover.”
    “How did you find out?” she asked.
    Nevyn took a deep breath in through his nose. “Geoffrey told me when he told me that Cain killed him. Cain is evil, don’t you understand?”
    He could have found out about her relationship with Cain while he was dreamwalking, she thought.
    “Cain did not kill Geoffrey,” Aralorn told him. “What he knows about black magic, Geoffrey taught him—as he taught you.”
    Nevyn shook his head. “No. Geoffrey was good . He helped me. It was Cain . . . in the night while Nevyn slept. I saw—I saw it all. Night after night, he called me to perform for me and to teach me . . . I showed you it all, I gave you dreams so that you would know what he was. What I did.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “What he forced me to do.”
    “I don’t remember,” she said. “I only dreamed of Wolf.” But after she said it, she wondered if it was really true. The story, Nevyn’s story, had come to her so completely while she was riding back from Ridane’s temple—could she have come up with it from some half-remembered dreams?
    “You only kept dreams of him ,” said Nevyn, his voice dark and ugly. “You’re just a shapeshifting, magic-tainted whore. I’ve told him and told him, but he loves you. Loves you when he hates his magic, hates me because he can’t quit using his magic, can’t give me up altogether.”
    He laughed slyly. “But you ruined it the first time he saw the two of you together. It took him a long time to realize that your wolf was Cain—but then, Nevyn was always a little slow.”
    “You are Nevyn,” she said, but he ignored her.
    “He sent the howlaa then, on impulse. Then he worried and worried until it was killed. Stupid sod forgot that he needs Cain to free the Lyon. If the Lyon is harmed, he’ll never believe it wasn’t his fault.”
    “You knew enough about black magic to set the spell,” she said, changing the subject, because it didn’t seem helpful to try to argue with this shade of Nevyn about Nevyn’s guilt or innocence. “Why can’t you unwork it yourself?”
    “If he’d