by Ann Aguirre
“If you can stomach it, we should move forward. Our losses will be incalculable if we have no one we can rely on for reinforcements, if the worst comes to pass.”
No invaders had set foot in Pine Ridge for…well, he didn’t even know how long. He’d have to delve into the archives, but he guessed it would’ve been during the territorial wars after the humans ceded the north. It seemed unlikely that the cats or bears would go on the offensive and use the chaos to gain more ground, but without treaties in place, he couldn’t risk the rest of his pack on accumulated goodwill.
“Must I put on my good pants and record a reply?”
“It would be polite, especially if you want to impress the princess with your attention to detail.”
He grinned. “We both know that’s not my style.”
Now he had Korin’s full attention. “You’re going to make my life worse, aren’t you?”
“That’s not my intention, but it may be the result.”
“Just tell me what you’re planning,” she demanded.
Raff uncoiled from his chair without answering. As he’d known she would, Korin followed him as he strode through the complex toward his personal quarters. Purposely, he quickened his pace so Korin had to chase him, which she hated. This provocation was purposeful, meant to shake her out of the depression that had gripped her since Hallowell. She’d taken the loss of their people hard; Raff did as well, but Korin saw it as a personal failure. Talking wouldn’t help her. Only time could.
“Raff!” she called, as he closed the door in her face.
Magda was lounging in his favorite chair when he stepped into the sitting room. Few people saw his inner sanctum, and many would be surprised at how shabby it was: worn sofa and chairs, the brown fabric pilled and unraveling at the seams. The paintings on the wall were terrible, all originals by his grandfather, who had styled himself as an artist, usually to lure potential lovers to his bedchamber.
Raff came from a long line of rogues.
“You’re leaving,” Magda said.
She was the chief of security at Ash Valley, and she’d chosen to come with him to Pine Ridge—he’d hoped it meant the start of a wondrously entertaining liaison—but the woman was formidable and intrinsically gifted at shutting him down. Instead, she spent most of her time digging through his video files, searching his drone records for a clue related to their second’s disappearance. Mags had been friends with Slay for a long time, so she wouldn’t give up on him easily, though Raff privately thought the bastard had absconded the minute his backdoor deal with Talfayen went south. He wasn’t dumb enough to say it out loud. His stomach still remembered the impact of Magda’s fist from the last time he pissed her off.
“You can tell that from the way I’m putting clothes in a bag? Marvelous. I see why they put you in charge of security.”
“You’re such an ass,” she said without rancor.
“Guilty. I suspect you already have your own sources inside Pine Ridge, however, and are merely testing whether I’ll be honest. I will be that, my dear Magda, even if other promises are unwise.”
Magda merely growled.
“Right. Well, I’m taking an honor guard to Daruvar to discuss the possibility of a marital alliance with Princess Thalia.”
“Why is she a princess when her father’s title was ‘Lord’?” Magda asked.
That was unexpected curiosity, but Raff answered anyway. “She means to be queen, to resurrect the defunct royal line.”
“Then it’s a self-assigned title,” Magda said, curling her lip.
“I suspect that’s the case with any monarch. They start calling themselves king or queen, and then they defend against all opposition. If they’re strong enough to defeat all challengers, the claim becomes the truth.”
She shot him an unreadable look. “I’m glad the Animari did away with such antiquated bullshit. It’s asinine to believe that competent leadership is a quality that runs through bloodlines.”
“But…once a family takes power, it’s still rare for it to shift, even in our culture,” Raff said gently. “A Pineda has led Pine Ridge since my great grandfather’s day, and I believe it’s much the same for the Ashers who lead—”
“I got it, shut up already,” Mags muttered.
His point made, it seemed wise to change the subject. “You haven’t told me what you’ve found, if anything, but it’s time to make a choice. You can stay here with my blessing, accompany me to Daruvar, or return to Ash Valley.”
“That’s convenient. The trail points toward the Eldritch, and I’d like to dig around in their ranks, if they’ll let me.”
“Then I’ll appoint you as my personal bodyguard, an attaché sent courtesy of Ash Valley. There should be no problem.”
“Does this mean you won’t be pursuing me any longer?” It was impossible to tell how she felt about that, but Raff suspected her chief emotion was relief.
Magda had proven to be a mountain he couldn’t climb, not with wit, barbs, or charm. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t responded to anyone’s overtures in Pine Ridge, which rendered her an intriguing question mark. What would the person be like who could get through her iron walls? Raff reckoned they’d need to be either a barbarian or a thief, capable of knocking down defenses or scaling them swiftly.
“Are you disappointed?” he teased.
She almost smiled; he glimpsed the spark of it in her dark eyes, but her mouth didn’t move. “Tough shit, you’ll never know.”
He laughed as he fastened his travel bag. “In all seriousness, I doubt the good princess and I will have the sort of relationship that requires fidelity.”
With a grim sort of resignation, he could picture the formality and the endless talking, culminating in agreements and provisions, rights and responsibilities, ending in a tepid night of consummation, whereupon they would largely live their own lives apart from occasions of state. Most probably, this marriage was a good fit for him, as he’d always been easily…distracted, prone to chasing one person while another slept peacefully in his bed. Not that he ever promised anything more.
Ruefully, he touched the scar that skated over his cheekbone down into his beard. The woman had used a specially treated blade, or the wound would have healed too fast to leave a mark, a perk of Animari accelerated metabolism. As it was, it took doctors two weeks to figure out why the wound was infected and why it wouldn’t close. By the time they solved the mystery, Raff had a permanent souvenir that resulted from his reputation. Ironic, since he hadn’t even been guilty that time.
“That seems…sad,” Mags said finally.
“What does?”
“That you’ll never know what it’s like to have a true mate. Won’t you be lonely?’
He already was. It was why he was always searching for the next warm body, because nobody ever touched his heart. Raff was starting to doubt he even had one.
He forced a smile. “Going soft on me, Mags? I’ll meet you out front. We’re moving in an hour.”
2.
“Still no response from the wolves?” Thalia demanded.
Lileth shook her head. “Not yet.”
Slamming her palm against the door would’ve been extremely satisfying, but Thalia controlled her temper. One did not acquire a reputation as an ice queen without swallowing a lot of indignation. She paced the length of the strategy room—a large chamber with gray stone walls, a cavernous hearth and rugged wood furniture—largely unchanged since her grandfather’s day, except the hostile pieces on the table, told a far more disturbing story than in his time. While Tycho the Pretender’s forces might be temporarily in check after the unexpected turnabout at Hallowell, she had three enemy groups moving on Daruvar. Intel indicated that the first would reach the hold in four days.
She did not wish to begin her rise to power besieged in her own fortress.
“This is beyond discourteous,” she said softly. “We got an insulting reply from the Golgoth Prince and a terse one from the bears. But the wolf lor
d cannot be bothered to send a single word?”
“I’m certain he has his own challenges,” Lileth answered.
It was easy for her to be placid. If Thalia failed, Lil wouldn’t be beheaded for her father’s treachery, her skull impaled on a pike as an example to others. Though it had been a long time since the last such barbarous display, these were brutal times. She controlled a shiver, but before she could reply, two brisk raps sounded and Gavriel let himself in.
He slid a significant look at Lileth and Thalia nodded. “Please leave us.”
Considering his last report, whatever he had to say probably wouldn’t brighten her day, but he had served too long and too loyally for her to dismiss a rare request for a private audience. Once Lileth had gone, the door closed behind her, Thalia gestured at the grouping of ornate crimson armchairs. “Make yourself comfortable, then talk.”
Gavriel waited for her to arrange herself first and then took the seat opposite. His red eyes burned with the intensity of white-hot embers as he gazed at her. She had learned to pretend she didn’t notice his unbridled fervor, so different from his customary impassivity. Thalia couldn’t ask for a more reliable agent, but his adoration wouldn’t help her consolidate her hold on Eldritch lands.
“You’ve borne enough disrespect,” Gavriel said, his hands tightly laced. “Send word to House Gilbraith. They’re the next strongest and can help you fight off challengers.”
“Ah. You’re concerned about my pride?”
To some degree, it stung being treated with such a profound lack of deference, but outside of official diplomatic events, she couldn’t expect the Animari or the Golgoth to care about her rank. The cats had offered sufficient courtesy, considering the devastation in Ash Valley at the time. If her ego was so fragile that she couldn’t accept that war brought additional friction, then she had no business trying to lead the Eldritch.
Gavriel bit his lip, visibly choking back some other response. “Not as such.”
Not my pride. My feelings. He’s worried I’ll be hurt.
“It’s not time to contact House Gilbraith.” If Thalia married Ruark Gilbraith, she wouldn’t be queen in her own right, and she wasn’t ready to accept less. “I haven’t completely given up hope of an external alliance.”
One that would tip the balance in her favor, ideally.
He stared at her, all seething injury, and that set a pang of guilt through her. In her service, he’d lost so much: brother, best friend, most of his sword mates. She couldn’t offer what he truly wanted, however, and any other comfort would be hollow.
“Do you honestly think outsiders will be of any real help?” he snapped.
This was the sharpest he’d ever been with her, and Thalia flattened her surprise into chilling reproach. “Perhaps I’ve been lax in allowing you to speak your mind too often.”
Wounded, he fell quiet, and she could see him wrestling with the desire to confess. Gavriel was about to place his heart at her feet and if he did, she would lose him entirely. Nobody could stand to continue working closely with the person who stomped all over their private affections. She pretended she didn’t see that warmth about to boil over.
Standing, she folded her arms, staring down at him. “Noxblade, is it your place to question my decisions?”
Gavriel gazed up at her incredulously for a few seconds longer, then he broke eye contact first. “No, my queen.”
“While I appreciate your service, I will decide what is best. If you have nothing further to report, you are dismissed.”
A long tense moment passed before he sighed and stood up. Thalia had feared he might speak from the heart despite her discouragement. It was sad and tiring to pretend that she didn’t know how he felt, but she would never be free to fall in love like a regular person. Her associations would always be weighed like she was purchasing supplies in bulk at the market.
“Unless you need me, I’ll be scouting.”
In his current frame of mind, that probably wasn’t the best choice. Gavriel wanted to fight, and Thalia wasn’t certain he cared if he won. Under those circumstances, she couldn’t let him go.
“Permission denied. Right now, you need to rest and recover from your ordeal in Hallowell.”
His jaw clenched on what she guessed was a protest. “I’m well enough.”
“How long has it been since you slept?” she asked.
“Irrelevant.”
“Since you can’t or won’t answer, my orders stand. Don’t test me, Gavriel. I’m in no mood. Keep poking at me and I’ll assign you to the archives.”
Shocked, he eyed her with fresh wariness. “You wouldn’t.”
“I admit, it would be a waste of your talents, but at least I know you won’t get yourself killed out of grief.”
Gavriel stiffened, shoulders squaring. “I’m mortified that you would entertain that as even a passing thought. Whatever my emotional state, I will never willingly abandon you, my queen.”
That’s part of the problem.
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said briskly, “but you still need to sleep and eat. Once Dr. Wyeth has cleared you for duty, you can return to the field.”
She strode over to the door, throwing it open as a clear sign of dismissal. Gavriel left without protest, and Lil stepped in with an inquiring look. “Trouble?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle. He thinks we should give up on the idea of an external marital alliance.” While she wasn’t ready to surrender all hope, she had to admit that the prospects were grim.
“Do you have a secondary scheme?”
“Scheme is such an ugly word,” Thalia said, smiling.
“I’ll take that as confirmation. Gavriel would recommend that course even if your prospects were excellent, however. He hates outsiders as much as he lo—”
“Enough,” she cut in.
She left the strategy room, irritated with both Lileth and Gavriel. Lil enjoyed needling her and after everything he’d suffered, Gavriel appeared to be ready to snap. She sympathized with him, and the orders she’d given regarding the leopard king in exile haunted her to this day. Sometimes the doubts grew teeth and chewed at her, whispering that since she’d already allowed her people to be killed at the retreat and permitted her father to unleash so much devastation, maybe she should—
No. Quitting wasn’t an option. It never would be. She hadn’t spent a decade locked away at Riverwind to turn tail now. Thalia passed through Daruvar, her footsteps echoing on the ancient stones. Occasionally she received a scrambled bow by a staffer startled to find her proceeding alone.
In her private quarters, she found messages waiting from two scouts in the field, footage to sort through from patrol drones, and an apology from the bear clan lieutenant. Still nothing from the cursed wolves. Sighing, she replied with orders, spent two hours scanning video, and then answered politely to the overture from the bears. While the marriage wasn’t happening, it served no purpose to burn bridges.
Just then, her phone pinged with an urgent-coded message and Gavriel’s face popped up. “We have movement on the border. Come to the battlements straightaway.”
Daruvar sat proudly atop the cliff known as Widow’s Watch. This was a keep in every sense of the word with defenders on the ramparts, ready for action. Watchmen with silver lights also stood guard in each of the four towers, built at points north, south, east, and west. There would be a courtyard inside, Raff guessed, and a warren of corridors and secret chambers. The place must be drafty as hell, built from gray and crumbling stones no doubt quarried nearby and built by ancestors Thalia could recite by name.
Few modern amenities.
With a sheer, impassable rock face behind, crashing water below, Raff understood why the Eldritch princess had chosen to make her stand here. There was only one approach, and Eldritch scouts had been surveilling his group for several hours, keeping them under close watch. They had been traveling without urgency, breaking the journey into two days, because the roads were old and poorly maintai
ned, jouncing his party until even Mags swore through clacking teeth.
“We’re almost there,” he said, stifling a smile.
“Don’t smirk at me, wolf.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
At the top of the steep incline, the cracked asphalt simply stopped, yielding to loose gravel, which in turn ended in Daruvar’s walls, perforated liberally with artillery slits. There was a single gate of black iron, scored from old battles and rusted where it had been damaged. The Rover juddered to a stop and Raff didn’t wait for the all-clear. If Thalia opened fire, that meant the marriage was off.
He vaulted down and keyed her code into his phone. “The wolf is at your door, Lady Silver. Will you let him in?”
Thalia made a choked noise. The call dropped without the Eldritch woman speaking a word to him, and from somewhere behind him, Mags groaned, almost loud enough to challenge the grind of gears as the gates opened. The doors were wide enough to permit their vehicles to pass inside to the inner bailey, a crisscross of green and pavement. After they parked, the doors shut with a final-sounding clang. Though it was near dusk, no electric lights dispelled the darkness, just the flicker of portable solar lanterns.
“Not my best line?” he asked, grinning at Mags.
“Probably among your five worst.”
“But the gates opened nonetheless. Should we wait for the welcome party?”
“Don’t expect champagne,” she muttered.
Raff hadn’t liked leaving Korin on her own so soon after their losses at Hallowell, but he couldn’t afford to have all wolf leadership away from Pine Ridge at this critical time, and he shouldn’t need his second to complete a courtship mission that was more of a corporate merger. The time he spent here might be tedious, but it should strengthen Pine Ridge for the battles to come.
He milled around with the rest of his small entourage, no more than five minutes before Thalia appeared in black trousers and matching belted jacket. Her hair was twisted in a careless updo and atop that, she wore a winter cap. Currently, she looked more like a spy than a princess, and the idea kindled his imagination.
