Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

shrugged off his shirt and set it aside so he could wash more thoroughly. “I believe it was an attempt to unwork the spell holding your father.”
    Admiring the view, she said, “I thought that was what he was doing with his first spell?”
    Wolf shook his head. “No. He was checking to make certain your father was still alive.”
    She thought about that, frowning. “Why did his second spell bother you?”
    He wiped dry and took off his loose-fitting pants. “Because he didn’t examine the spell before he tried to unwork it.”
    “Which means?”
    “He knew what the spell was already.”
    She pulled back the cover from Wolf’s side of the bed and patted it in invitation. “You think that Kisrah cast it?”
    He joined her and spent a moment settling in. “Yes. I think that’s exactly what it means.”
    “Then why couldn’t he remove it?” she asked, scooting over until her head rested on his shoulder. “And why was he surprised by the baneshade’s presence?”
    “I think that another wizard has his hands in the brew. Remember, Kisrah asked about other wizards in the area.”
    Aralorn nodded. “So he can’t release the spell until he finds the other mage?”
    “Right.”
    “If he cast the spell with this other wizard, then why doesn’t he know who it is?”
    “Perhaps he set the spell in an amulet,” said Wolf, grunting even before she poked him. “Seriously, I don’t know.”
    “Nevyn,” she said with a sigh. “It must have been Nevyn. I’ve heard that poor Anasel can hardly feed himself.”
    But Wolf shook his head. “If it was Nevyn, I’d expect that Kisrah would know it. Kisrah was telling the truth when he said it wasn’t Nevyn—he’s a terrible liar.”
    She wriggled her toe in the covers for a minute, then she twisted around and braced her chin on Wolf’s chest. “So Kisrah decided that you and I had a hand in the former ae’Magi’s death. In a fit of vengeance, he uses black magic on Father to draw me, and therefore you, into coming here, where he could exact vengeance. Then another wizard steps in to add his two bits’ worth—I don’t buy it.”
    “That’s because you are trying to make whole cloth from unspun wool.”
    She grinned in the darkness. “You’ve been hanging around Lambshold too long. ‘Sheepish’ comments aside, I suppose, you’re probably right. Do you have a better idea?”
    “I have a suspicion, but I’ll wait until I’ve had a little more time to think on it.”
    She yawned and shifted into a more comfortable position. “I think I’ll sleep on it, too.”
    She really didn’t expect to gain any insight while she lay dreaming, but it was several hours before morning when she awoke with her heart pounding.
    “Wolf,” she said urgently.
    “Umpf,” he said inelegantly.
    She sat up, letting the chilly night air seep under the warm blankets. “I mean it, Wolf, wake up. I need your opinion.”
    “All right. I’m awake.” He pulled the covers snug around his neck.
    Almost hesitantly, she asked, “Did Kisrah look tired to you? I thought so, but I don’t know him very well.”
    “Yes. There are a lot of people around here who haven’t gotten enough sleep.” Sleep-roughened as it was, his voice was almost difficult to understand.
    Aralorn smoothed the covers as they lay over her lap, not at all certain her next question was important enough for the pain it would cause him. “When you saw her, the one time you saw her, did your mother have red hair?”
    He withdrew instantly without moving at all.
    “It’s not an idle question,” she told him. “I thought of something while I was telling stories tonight. I thought it was silly then, but now ...”
    “Yes,” he said shortly, “she had red hair.”
    “Was it long or short?”
    “Long,” he bit out after a short pause. “Long and filthy. It smelled of excrement and death.”
    “Wolf,” said Aralorn in a very small voice, looking at the bump her toes made under the quilts, “when you destroyed the tower, were you trying to kill yourself?”
    She felt the bed move as he shifted his weight.
    This question seemed to bother him less than the one about his mother. The biting tone was missing from his rough voice, and he sounded . . . intrigued. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
    She ran her hands through her hair. “I’m not sure how to tell you this without sounding like a madwoman. Just bear with me.”
    “Always.” There was a bit of long-suffering in his tone.
    She leaned back