The Silvered

by Tanya Huff

  * * *

  Tomas frowned. He could smell blood. “Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t…” A rustle of cloth. She was probably raising her arm. It was so dark in the old den, he couldn’t even see gradations of black. “It’s a scrape. From the rock. It’s nothing.”

  He knew the Imperials hadn’t hurt her. Not the way soldiers took what they wanted from the conquered. Not even Best, who’d clearly despised her. He’d have been able to smell the evidence if they’d forced her and then he’d have killed them. She wouldn’t have been able to stop him no matter how much sense it made not to risk four-to-one odds and silver shot.

  His shoulder ached, but the itching told him he’d healed.

  “You shouldn’t scratch at it.”

  Fingers flexed over the scar, he froze. “What?”

  “I can hear you scratching at it. It’ll scar.”

  “It’s already scarred. And it’s not my first.”

  She sighed, the gust of breath warm against his chest. This close, this enclosed, her scent was intoxicating, and he felt himself begin to respond physically. By the time he realized he was leaning forward, his face was almost tucked in the curve between her shoulder and neck.

  “I don’t think you should…”

  He snapped upright, his fingers pressed against her mouth. When her teeth touched his skin, he leaned back in, mouth against the curve of her ear, not even wondering how he could find the curve of her ear so effortlessly in the dark, and said, “They’re close.”

  * * *

  “Anything?”

  “No, sir. I’ve lost them.”

  Lost her, Reiter corrected silently. They still had no proof Chard’s creature was with her. They could barely see broken branches and crushed greenery; it was far too dark to see actual tracks and the tangle hanging off his finger gave no indication she was near. “She’s probably heading back to the border.”

  “The beast could be leading her,” Best acknowledged thoughtfully.

  “She’s a mage.”

  “Yes, sir.” Clearly, in Best’s mind, a potential beast outweighed an actual mage.

  “Let’s head back. We’ll try again at first light. She’s exhausted, she can’t have gone far.” If she’d collapsed under a bush, or in a hollow behind a fallen branch, they’d never find her in the dark. Once she’d stopped moving, they’d had very little chance. Even given the small amount of time he’d spent with her, he should have known she’d keep her head and not flail about in panic, allowing herself to be recaptured.

  He checked his compass bearing—the dot of luminescence on the magnetic needle proof Imperial army scientists weren’t completely useless—and led the way back to the camp. As he slipped the compass into his tunic pocket, his fingers touched the strand of hair he’d pulled from the tangle.

  * * *

  “They’re gone.” Tomas kept his fingers pressed against her mouth for a moment longer, withdrew them hurriedly when her lips began to draw back. She wasn’t Pack, but that was a Pack reaction and even blunted teeth hurt. Given her previous reactions, he had no doubt she’d bite if he pushed. He guessed he liked that about her although she’d be easier to rescue were she more compliant. “We’ll rest here until dawn. Even if they keep hunting, they’ll never find us. Not in the dark and probably not in the light.” The lingering scent of its previous occupant had led him to the cave; no one in the Imperial army had any kind of a nose.

  He could hear her breathing. She didn’t sound panicked, or shocky. She sounded tired.

  “I’ll escort you back to Aydori in the morning,” he continued when it became clear she wasn’t going to speak. As soon as she was safe, he’d pick up the trail of the four Imperials and hunt them in turn. They were the enemy. They were part of the army who’d destroyed the Hunt Pack, killed his brother, and forced their way over the border into Aydori. They were only alive now because the girl needed him.

  The girl who smelled so, so good.

  He inhaled the scent along the soft curve of her neck, nuzzled into the hollow of her jaw, rutted once against her leg, unable to stop himself and…

  …and…

  “I’m moving outside air in through the bottom part of the entrance and pushing inside air out the top. Better?”

  It hadn’t been bad. His skin so hot he knew he had to be flushing a deep red, Tomas shuffled back until they were as far apart as the small cave allowed. Unfortunately, that wasn’t far. If she hadn’t been able to disperse the scent, he was horribly afraid he wouldn’t have been able to control himself. “My apologies. I’ll…It might be better if I…” He changed and curled up into a miserable ball, trying not to think about Ryder’s opinion of such an appalling lapse into instinct. Willing to take the cuff he deserved if only to be able to hear Ryder call him an unthinking cub one more time.

  * * *

  Mirian eased herself down onto the floor of the cave until she lay curved around Tomas, her head on her folded arm, her other hand resting on thick fur near where she’d removed the piece of silver. Stretching out her thumb, she could feel the scar. The Pack healed quickly.

  He wasn’t asleep.

  If she had to guess, given how rigidly he held himself, she’d say he was too embarrassed to sleep. She supposed she should be embarrassed as well, after all, a young man she’d never been formally introduced to had just gotten intimate with her thigh, but after a moment’s consideration, she realized she didn’t feel embarrassed. Exhausted, in varying amounts of pain, emotionally stretched to the point where kindness would bring involuntary tears, but not embarrassed. After the day she’d had, she was almost grateful to have a problem so easy to deal with. Lady Hagen had adjusted the airflow to ease the Pack response to the promenade at the opera, so Mirian had done the same. She may have been stuck at first level, but air moved when she used mage-craft to blow out a candle, so, logically, she knew how to move air. In order for Tomas to regain reason and stop thinking with his nose, she did nothing more than move a little more air than usual. And if she had to visualize a candle to do it, no one needed to know.

  Mirian flushed, becoming aware she’d been stroking the soft fur on Tomas’ shoulder in time with the rhythm of her thoughts. Although she stopped the motion—she didn’t have the excuse of instinct for her lack of manners—she left her hand where it was, needing the contact. Society could just cope.

  Tomas continued to hold himself stiffly, painfully stiffly if she had to hazard a guess. Almost as though he were afraid to relax. Afraid of what might happen if he let go. Mirian knew that feeling.

  And, maybe, his emotional state had nothing to do with her at all. Tomas Hagen had been in the battle that had destroyed the rest of the Hunt Pack, had run from the border to report to the Pack Leader, and then had run back to fight in another battle today.

  Today.

  Just this morning, she’d listened to the 2nd Aydori Volunteers sing as they marched toward the border. It seemed like a lifetime ago. There’d been a battle fought today and Tomas had been in it. She had no idea of what he’d seen. No idea of what kind of day he’d had before he’d appeared by the soldiers’ fire. Given the silver she’d pulled from his flesh, only an idiot would think he’d had a good day.

  But she had no idea of how to ask him what had happened, or even if she should.

  “I was looking for your brother.” Her jaw hurt so she spoke softly, her lips barely parted. He hadn’t asked either, but Tomas had to have wondered why she’d been taken by the soldiers.

  Taken might not have been the best word, Mirian realized, her mouth gone dry and a sudden sweat beading out all over her body. She wasn’t a child. She knew how some men chose to prove they held power.

  How long before Chard’s harmless interest became something darker? Or Best’s disdain found a physical outlet? Armin might do as the others did or he might turn his back, but he wouldn’t choose her over men he fought beside. Would Captain Reiter have allowed it? He seemed to be an honorable man, but all she knew of me
n were bankers and boys.

  A quiet growl and she opened her fingers, releasing a tufted handful of Tomas’ fur.

  “Sorry.” Forcing herself to stop panting, Mirian drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Things were bad enough; why borrow from the list of things that hadn’t happened.

  “Those four men,” she continued, when she was certain she’d regained control of her voice, “they were part of a group of Imperial soldiers who ambushed Lady Hagen’s carriage on the Trouge Road. They killed Lady Berin and someone I didn’t know. She was gold; her fur was gold.” Beautiful, golden, sprawled on the road, bleeding. “They used the nets to control the Mage-pack and they intend to take Lady Hagen and four others back to the emperor. My parents’ carriage had stopped just up the road, so when I heard the shots, I went back and saw…” She paused and tried to untangle the story. “I already told you what I saw, didn’t I? When I heard they were being taken to the emperor, I ran to tell the Pack Leader what had happened. Bercarit was farther away than I realized, so when I reached the city, I remembered that the river came to the border and found a boat. I didn’t know about the rapids. I jumped out before I reached them and…” And nearly drowned, but, again, from the list of things that hadn’t happened. “…and they captured me on the shore. They thought I was Mage-pack, but I’m not.”

  Even if just this morning Jaspyr Hagen had told her that promises made before a battle brought bad luck.

  When silence was the only response, when that silence grew, and lengthened until it couldn’t be called a pause, when it had gone on long enough it was clear Tomas wasn’t going to respond, Mirian shifted into as close to a comfortable position as she could find and sighed. The younger Lord Hagen wasn’t her sister, having crossed the hall to her bedroom so they could share confidences in the dark. He wasn’t even a friend. They’d been thrown together by circumstance, and she had no right to resent his silence.

  Then the fur shifted under her hand, flesh and bone changed—not quite instantly, she realized, this time not distracted by the visuals—and she cupped a bare shoulder, the skin cool and slightly damp.

  “My brother…” Mirian felt his ribs rise and fall, as though he fought his own bones to breathe deeply enough for what he had to say. “My brother,” he tried again, “is dead. Killed by the weapon that destroyed the Hunt Pack. It was new. More power and a greater range. When we reached the battle lines today, I found it and destroyed it. Too late. I found…” Another deep breath. Mirian rubbed small circles on pebbling flesh as though he were many years younger, instead of just the one. “It exploded, the weapon exploded, and I was knocked out. By the time I woke, the battle had moved on, but I found…Ryder was…he was in pieces. Dead.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Her mother’s belief denied; the Pack Leader would not be saving them. A tear dripped off the bridge of her nose and fell to join the rest dampening her sleeve. Dead. The Pack Leader was dead. What happened now?

  “The battle had moved inland. But Ryder…I didn’t know what to do and then I saw them with you on the riverbank. I knew I had to rescue you.”

  “Rescue me?” Mirian heard her voice rise, bouncing around the inside of the cave, and quickly lowered it in case Captain Reiter had doubled back. He was smart. It was the sort of thing he might do. She rubbed her nose against her sleeve. “I kept you from getting shot.”

  “I untied you and I found this cave.”

  “I took the piece of silver out so you could change.”

  “I’m going to take you back to Aydori.”

  “That’s tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” he repeated. “Tomorrow, I’m going after Danika. She’s carrying my brother’s baby.”

  Mirian frowned as she tried to remember Lady Hagen’s profile and failed to remember any indication of a pregnancy. She thought about arguing that the baby was decidedly as much Lady Hagen’s as his brother’s, but his brother was dead and he was grieving, so all she said was, “I didn’t know that.”

  “Why would you?” He sounded angry, but even as emotionally flailed as she was, Mirian knew he wasn’t angry at her. “All I have left of my brother is the two of them. I have to save them.”

  With the net off, Lady Hagen could easily deal with a few Imperial soldiers. With any luck, those soldiers would be on the edge of a cliff and she could blow them off it. All Tomas would have to do to save her, was remove the net.

  Mirian rubbed at a sore spot on her head, felt dried blood under her fingertips where a clump of hair had been pulled out, and thought about her own tomorrow. Back in Aydori, whether Becarit had fallen or still stood, she’d have to get to Trouge. Her mother would want to know about Jaspyr Hagen. She wanted to know about Jaspyr Hagen, but was afraid to ask. As long as she didn’t know, he might be alive. And even if Mirian left out the river and the soldiers and Tomas Hagen, her mother would see the loss of the Mage-pack as a social opening. Mirian didn’t think she could stand that.

  “Who is Pack Leader now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” After a moment, “I don’t care.”

  “Shouldn’t you…”

  “No!” His teeth snapped together. Biting at the air. Biting at denial. Mirian could hear the quaver in his breath. “I’m getting Danika and the baby back. And the others,” he added after a moment. “All of them.”

  All right.

  “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you’re not.” He shifted position. It was obvious he wanted to turn and face her. She was darkly amused that even with the breeze moving her scent from the cave, he didn’t trust himself enough.

  “Alone you’re either a stray dog—and Best isn’t the only one out there who takes shots at stray dogs—or you’re a naked young man.” She used her most reasonable tone. Exhaustion helped. “I can act as your owner and keep you from getting shot, and I can carry your clothes. You won’t get far without me.”

  “You’re a Soothsayer?” She could hear the curl in his lip.

  “No, I’m sensible. If those soldiers are still hunting me, they’ll never think to look for me going toward the empire. If you want to keep me safe, that’s the best way to do it, and if you want to travel on four feet, it won’t seem strange to see a young woman with such a big dog for protection.”

  After a moment, he snorted. “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Your family…”

  “They didn’t stop me from trying to reach your brother.” Granted, she hadn’t given them the chance, but her mother had told her time and again not to ask questions when she already knew the answers. “They’ll be thrilled I’m going after Lady Hagen.” They’d be thrilled she was with a Hagen.

  With a Hagen…If they ever found out she’d spent a night with Tomas Hagen, skin to skin—however little skin was involved—they’d be planning the wedding. Even if he’d stayed in fur the entire time, she’d never make them believe it. There’d be petitions to the Pack, speculations in the papers, arch looks over a hundred tea tables. And she did not want to go home to that.

  Besides, the Mage-pack needed help, and it seemed there were only the two of them to provide it. Mirian couldn’t walk away from that now any more than she’d been able to up on the road.

  She’d wanted her life to have a purpose.

  Now it did.

  “You’re warm.”

  “What?”

  “You’re warm. Your clothes were wet from the river and you should be freezing, but you’re warm. And mostly dry. The damp bits…” The heavy facing of her jacket pressed against his bare back. “…the damp bits are warm, too. It’s mage-craft, right? If you’re going to accompany me, I need to know what you’re capable of.”

  She could hear the junior officer in his voice, feel it in the stiff line of his shoulders, recognized a retreat to what he was sure of. “First level healing. Body equilibrium.”

  “You had to have been raising your body temperature all along. The net wasn’t stopping you, but you sa
id it stopped Danika and the others.”

  “Lady Hagen warned me. Well, not me specifically, but she sent words on a breeze, the net comes from above. I twisted my hair up with pine gum and twigs and then it got wet; my hair gets thatchy when it’s wet and…” Lord and Lady, she was babbling. “…and I guess it didn’t stop me because it couldn’t reach my head.”

  “So a hat could stop it?”

  “I wondered the same thing.”

  They wondered together for a moment.

  “You should’ve brought the net with you,” Tomas said at last.

  “We should’ve brought the net with us,” Mirian told him. “Your fingers weren’t broken.”

  It sounded like he’d picked up one of the twigs—or bones—and was fiddling with it. “One of us should have picked up the net.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Putting that soldier to sleep?”

  Mirian blinked. Eyes open, eyes closed, there was no change in the darkness. “I don’t understand the question.”

  “What put the soldier to sleep?”

  “Second level healing.” She blinked again. Second level. Sleep gives our bodies and minds time to restore and renew. Sometimes the greatest gift a Healer-mage can grant a patient is the gift of sleep. Mirian had known what to do, she’d just never been able to do it. Perhaps all she’d needed was the possibility of having a Pack member shot with silver and herself recaptured by Imperial enemies—although, should she be given the chance, she didn’t think she’d mention that to the Healer-master.

  “Your eyes have no gold.”

  “Trust me, I’m aware of that.”

  She heard him yawn. Yawned in response. She’d slept tied to a tree; she could sleep here.

  “You smell amazing.” He sounded as though sleep had come on him suddenly and he hadn’t yet realized he was falling.

  “Tomas…”

  “What’s your name?” Another yawn. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Mirian Maylan.”

  “I mean, really amazing.” He shifted, pushed back against her, and began to turn over.