by Joy Demorra
“It’s not like that.” Nathan said.
Miles snorted and drank deeply from his tankard. “Fine, be that way. Just don’t let Mum see you grinning like that. She’ll be writing wedding invitations quicker than you can blink.”
“Somehow I doubt it.” Nathan felt slightly hysterical at the thought. His mother would probably have kittens if she knew the truth.
Another loud crash sounded behind them, and Miles winced. “For Gods’ sakes, take it outside,” he barked.
Nathan watched as the twins and the rest of the little ones scarpered. “Bit harsh.”
Miles grunted, setting down his tankard as he helped himself to some of Nathan’s uneaten breakfast. “Bloody nuisances. Honestly, what were Ma and Da thinking of when they had more children?”
“Probably that they wanted more children.” Deciding that if Miles was going to abscond with his food then he could steal some of his brother’s ale, he took a large swig from Miles’s neglected tankard. The ale was warm with a familiar blend of spices in it that Nathan recognized as their father’s hangover cure. Hair of the wolf indeed.
“I swear they never allowed us to tear the place apart like that,” Miles muttered, claiming his drink back.
Nathan leaned back on his good arm. “That’s the curse of being the oldest. We crawled so the youngest could get away with bloody murder.”
Miles grunted again, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “I see the old wolf finally fixed the roof.” He nodded to a patch where fresh repairs were evident: the new plaster bone-white against the faded fresco of trees and wilderness Nathan had looked up at his whole youth without really seeing.
His eyes sought out the familiar lines of the Northland family crest nestled amidst the painted boughs of an old oak tree. An odd stylistic choice, Nathan had always thought, considering their Ancestral Tree was a yew. Nathan’s first thought was that Vlad would like it. He felt the letter burning a hole in his pocket. It wasn’t shame. Nathan was never ashamed of who he bedded, or how. But there was a certain sense of remorse in knowing he’d never be able to show the vampire this part of his life. And there was the regret that Vlad had been right. There was no way Nathan could tell his family about Vlad. At least, not in any meaningful sense that wouldn’t result in the mother of all rows. And Nathan wasn’t inclined to spoil his happiness with an argument, even if it meant not being able to share his joy with his family.
Sighing, his eyes fell on another family crest: the image of three wolves standing paw-to-paw to form a triad. “It’s going to be weird,” he said, “celebrating the solstice without the Howlzeins. They’re always here…”
Miles made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat, swallowing the rest of his ale. “Not anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean, he won’t be here anymore. Didn’t Dad tell you?”
Nathan shook his head.
“They argued,” Miles said as if that explained everything.
Except it didn’t. “Dad and Howlzein always argue.”
“Not like this,” Miles countered. “To hear Ma tell it, they’re broken for good.”
“What! What the hell happened?”
Miles shrugged unhelpfully. “Dunno. She muttered something about forests near Ingleton. I didn’t ask. Must have been awful, though, for Dad to ban Howlzein from the castle. They’re thick as thieves, those two. Or, well, they used to be.”
“He never said,” Nathan murmured, realizing now why Howlzein had acted so strangely when they’d bumped into each other in Ingleton.
Miles opened his mouth, then stopped, his head tilting to the side. “Do you hear that?”
“No,” Nathan replied honestly. He reached up to adjust the fit of his listening aid.
“Horses crossing the bridge. Two of them.”
“Must be our guests.” Nathan twisted around to regard the open door where the outline of the mountains and trees were visible. Fresh snow had fallen in the night, dusting the world in a thick blanket of white. “They’ve made good time, considering the weather.”
“Uncle Nathan! Uncle Nathan!” a tiny voice called, pursued by the patter of little feet as Gwen’s eldest, Nila, ran toward them. She faltered at the sight of Miles, but Nathan held a welcoming arm out to her.
“What is it, little one?” he asked as he scooped her into his lap and pressed an exaggerated kiss to the top of her dark head.
Nila giggled and shook him off. “Uncle Nathan, there’s a princess outside!”
“Is there now?” Nathan raised his eyebrows exaggeratedly, and Miles snorted. “Well, we’d best go look, hadn’t we?” Nathan climbed to his feet, his body protesting after sitting for so long.
“You move like an old man,” Miles informed him as he got up to follow them.
“Well, at least one of us acts our age.” He let Nila tug him outside. “Now, where’s this princess of yours?”
“Over there!” Nila pointed.
Nathan followed the line of her finger. His gaze landed on a regal figure of a woman draped in a fur-trimmed cloak, gazing around the courtyard. “Oh, wow.”
Nathan understood why Nila had mistaken her for a princess. She was, quite possibly, one of the most beautiful people he’d ever seen. Dwarfed by the mountain of the man beside her, the woman was stocky rather than slight, her heart-shaped face framed by a halo of windswept blonde ringlets that cascaded past her shoulders. Her skin was the color of burnished copper, but it was her eyes Nathan couldn’t stop staring at. Even from this distance he could see they were tawny, almost gold. Not the yellow of his father’s eyes, but gold. Brilliant, beautiful gold.
From beside him, Miles leaned over and murmured, “Gods, he’s a big fucker, isn’t he?” He nodded toward the werebear, presumably Alfbern Brandr, who was talking to their father and towering over him by at least a foot. “I bet we could take him, though.”
Nathan snorted. “We? What’s this ‘we’? You fight a werebear, you’re on your own.”
Miles gave him a reproachful nudge. “She’s a bit of all right, though,” he said, eyeing the young woman next to the werebear openly. “If you like that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing would that be? Stunningly gorgeous?”
Miles made a derisive sound in the back of his throat. “I wouldn’t go that far. She’s a little dark for my liking. But then I suppose you spent all that time slumming it in the desert, so you’re probably used to lowering your standards.”
Nathan was saved from trying to formulate a reply when Ivar appeared behind him, gripping Miles by the ear and twisting. “I know I didn’t just hear what I think I did,” the old wolf said in a low, dangerous growl that made Nathan want to roll over and show his belly. “Because no nephew of mine would ever say anything so repulsive. Later on, you and I are going to have a little chat. But for now, you are going to smile, you will be polite, and you will keep a civil head in your tongue and go greet our guests, or so help me, I will tan your hide like fucking leather and use your fur for boots. Do I make myself clear?” Ivar gave one last twist to Miles’s ear before shoving him down the steps.
Wincing, Miles mumbled, “Yessir.”
“And you…” He turned, clipping Nathan upside the back of the head.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“That’s for not calling him on his shit.”
“I was going to!” Nathan protested, rubbing at the sting.
“Were you? Because it looked to me like you were ignoring him, and you cannot do that, Nathan. A good Counsel doesn’t back down from his Laird. He corrects, and if necessary, challenges him. You cannot let remarks like that slide.”
“Why is it my job?” Nathan hissed, annoyed, even though he was keenly aware that everyone could probably hear them. That was the thing about being in a family of werewolves; very little went unheard, whether you wanted it to or not.
Looking around, Ivar pulled him back into the hall and pushed the door closed. “Nathan, you’re his nat
ural counter—”
“No, I’m not,” Nathan argued, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m just not an insufferable prick! Why am I responsible for him? Our whole lives, it’s been the same. He does something stupid, and I get in trouble for not stopping him. Why does no one else admit they just did a shitty job raising him?”
“Be that as it may.” Ivar pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are going to be his Counsel. And you need to balance him. You need to be the sense he hasn’t got. And not stand upwind gossiping about guests like an old fishwife on laundry day.”
“I wasn’t—”
“No, you weren’t. But Miles was, and you need to know when to stop him. Can you imagine what would happen if a man like Alfbern heard you talking about his niece like that?”
“She’s his niece?” Nathan asked, glancing reflexively toward the closed door. “How do you know that? I thought she was his ward?” The story kept changing.
“It’s my job to know such things,” Ivar said levelly. “Just like one day, it’ll be yours. Alfbern might be here under times of peace, and for all we know, he’s here seeking aid. But times weren’t always such. We need the alliance with the Bears. They’re one of the few werefolk clans left in the world.”
“I know.” Lowering his eyes to the ground, he rubbed at his arm. It was hard to imagine a world where werefolk were as common as bread in a bakery. Nevrond had once been full of them, from wolves to the crafty fox people who lived in the lowlands, and even some accounts of hardy northern sheep folk. But as the Nevrondian Empire grew, the world of the werefolk shrunk, until all that was left was the realm of wolves. And even that realm, Nathan knew, was not what it once had been. Large as The Very Nearly Complete History of the Northern Wereclans was, the ending, he felt, would be but a few slim pages.
Sighing, Ivar reached out to brace Nathan’s neck to give him a proper head bump. “I don’t want to lecture you, Nathan. I know you know these things. And I know you’re a good man. If I had my druthers, you’d be the one in Miles’s shoes.” Nathan opened his mouth in alarm, but Ivar carried on. “But you’re not. It’s the way of our clan that the eldest inherits, and for good or ill, Miles is the eldest. All I can do is hope that one day he’ll be ready. And you too. I’d like to retire, you know.” He smiled crookedly, the lines around his good eye creasing fondly. “Someday.”
Nathan grunted, returning the nudge. They both knew what retirement meant for Ivar, and it didn’t include sitting by the fire reading a book with his boots off. “I’ll try and keep him in check,” he murmured, still feeling surly about the need to babysit Miles but knowing it would make the old wolf happy.
“Good lad,” Ivar gave him another quick nudge and stepped back just in time for the double doors of the great hall to swing open. “Alfbern, you old rogue,” he greeted the massive bear of a man with a toothy grin. “It’s been far too long.”
“Lord Brandr,” Nathan’s father intoned formally, appearing from the other side of the room. “You know my Counsel, Ivar.” He tried and failed to stifle a cough with his fist.
The werebear nodded gripping Ivar by the arm. “It has been many moons,” the towering man agreed, his Imperial precise but heavily accented. He turned to face Nathan with a curt nod, and for the first time in a very long time, Nathan was forced to look up to meet someone’s eye. The werebear was old, incredibly old, that much was evident from the lines and crevices carved into his face, but his eyes were surprisingly bright. They tracked over Nathan with interest before turning back to Ivar. “I am surprised you are still alive; I thought by now they’d be using you for a rug.”
“Uncle Alfie, play nice,” a low, breathy voice chided.
Nathan glanced down into the face of sunshine personified. The woman was even more beautiful up close, her face dotted with freckles and highlighted with the same shimmery powder Lady Riya used to make her cheekbones sparkle. Her cheeks and nose were chapped pink from the cold, and a faint scar marred the delicate skin under her left eye. It looked almost like a claw-swipe; Nathan wondered how she’d come by it. Their eyes met, and a jolt of recognition skittered down his spine. Which was absurd because Nathan felt sure he would never have forgotten a face as pretty as hers.
“Ah, Lady Brandr,” Ivar said, stepping forward to take her hand. “You look just like your grandmother.”
“So people tell me,” she replied, her cheeks dimpling sweetly as she smiled.
Bowing formally over her hand, Ivar grinned through gritted teeth and said, “I’ll just bet they do.”
“And who is this?” She turned her attention to Nathan.
“My great nephew,” Ivar answered. He slapped Nathan on the shoulder and gave him a gentle shove forward. “Nathan.”
Her golden gaze flickered over him from top to toe, making Nathan acutely aware of his hungover state. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nathan. Please, call me Ursula.”
“Lady Ursula,” Nathan bowed; his fingers tingled as her slender hand slipped into his.
“Just Ursula will do.” She gave him a dazzling smile. “My, what interesting ears you have.” She stood on tiptoe to get a closer look at his listening aids, filling Nathan’s nose with the warm scent of sweet amber and orange blossom.
“Thank you,” he said. The words ‘a science-obsessed vampire and a totally-not-a-necromancer made them for me’ burned on the tip of his tongue.
“Shall we move out of the doorway?” Nathan’s mother asked loudly and pointedly, her eyes lingering on his father.
Chagrined, Nathan stepped to the side, bowing ever so slightly as Laird Brandr and the Lady Ursula stepped further into the warmth of the great hall. The two guests shed their winter cloaks into the waiting hands of castle staff. When he looked up, it was to find Ursula still watching him over her shoulder, a thoughtful look on her face.
“Roll your tongue back up into your head,” Ivar growled beside him.
Ears burning, Nathan promptly lowered his gaze. But not before he caught the flicker of her smile again: a sly quirk of her painted lips that told him all too clearly that she’d caught him staring and that she hadn’t minded one bit.
Part Three:
The Queen’s Gambit
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
“And this where you’ll be staying,” Lady Northland said.
Stepping into the room, Ursula looked around, taking in the brightly colored tapestries lining the stone walls and the large, comfortable-looking bed in front of the hearth. After months traveling via land and sea, it was the height of luxury. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s lovely.”
“I’ll have a bath and food sent up so you can rest before dinner. Do you have more luggage arriving?”
Ursula glanced at the meager pack roll under her arm, thinking of all the things she’d left behind in Obëria as well as everything, and everyone, she’d lost along the way. “No. We travel light.”
“I see,” Lady Northland said, her tone gentle. “Well, if you need anything, let me know. My girl Elayne’s about your size; I’m sure we could find some extra things for you while we get yours laundered. And mended.”
“You’re very generous.” Ursula inclined her head. Despite her best efforts to weave a glamour, the kindly gray-eyed wolf had noticed the fraying hems of her skirts. Gray and blue-eyed shifters were always harder to enchant, Ursula had found. They had too much of the old magic in them to be fooled by a disguise.
Satisfied that she’d done her duty as host for now, Lady Northland departed, closing the door behind her. Ursula waited approximately five seconds, then flumped onto the bed with an exhausted groan. It took every scrap of willpower she had left not to burrow under the covers, muddy boots and all.
A knock at the door roused her before she could slip off to sleep; Ursula rolled over to find Alfbern already entering her room.
Devoid of his armor, the old bear appeared haggard and drawn, his face pale behind the ruddy tangles of his beard. The journey had been hard on both of them, but Ursula could
already see the difference the forest made in him. It was the same change she felt in herself. Raw magic was everywhere here, bubbling up under her feet like a wellspring, begging her to take her boots off and bury her toes in the frozen earth.
“It’s different here,” Alfbern said.
Ursula inclined her head. “It is. I think whatever we’re chasing hasn’t reached here… yet.”
“May it never.” Alfbern shuddered. He sat down heavily in the vacant chair in front of the fire, resting his brow against the palm of his hand. News of the blights in Obëria had reached them the moment they’d set foot on the mainland, and Alfbern had been unusually quiet their entire journey North. Which was saying something for a man who could make statues look talkative.
“Does your head hurt?” Ursula asked tentatively while reaching for her pack roll and unfurling it across the bed. She still had some herbs and tinctures left, but she’d need to restock before they moved on.
Lifting his head with a hazy smile, the old bear waved her off. “It will pass. Save your vile concoctions for after dinner. We may need them after listening to the wolves yap at each other all night.”
Ursula snorted, rolling her eyes. “They don’t seem so bad.”
“No, they don’t,” Alfbern agreed, lapsing into Old Obërian as he spoke—a true sign of his exhaustion. “But even wolves may look friendly when hell is snapping at your heels.”
“An old proverb,” Ursula replied in the same tongue. “For an old bear.”
“Only as old as you’ve made me.”
Ursula glanced away, unable to laugh in the face of the truth. “I thought I would ask to visit the tree in the morning,” Ursula said as she pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sneak past Lady Northland tonight. She has eyes like a hawk.”
Alfbern huffed. “Saw through your glamour, did she?” he asked, and Ursula felt a pang when she realized she’d hidden herself from him too. She let the illusion of youth slide away; Alfbern’s features creased fondly in a rare smile. “I don’t know why you bother with any of that. You haven’t aged a day since the day we met.”
