Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart

by Jane Lindskold

  Suddenly, Allister thought he might understand why Sapphire had pressed both him and Uncle Tedric to grant Sir Jared some greater degree of recognition and he liked his new daughter-in-law all the more for this indication of her compassion for the impossible romance.

  "Think on my offer," King Allister pressed the knight, "but know that you will be welcome in my court whatever your answer may be."

  Too many others had claims on his time for the king to extend the audience. He accepted Sir Jared's thanks and turned to smile upon Duchess Trueheart.

  "Grace," he said, claiming her as a friend, since she had served under his command during the recent war. "I heard that you had not yet arrived."

  The young duchess—a mere twenty-four and new to her title—smiled. She kept her composure at the king's friendly address, but from the way her eyes sparkled, she appreciated his including her among his intimates—and how the inclusion would raise her in the eyes of her doubters.

  "We hit bad weather on the way in, Your Majesty," she said. "May I have the honor of presenting my husband, Alin, and our son, Baxter?"

  King Allister turned to do so, accepting the man's bow, and kissing the infant's cheek.

  And so we go, he thought wryly. Passing on the aura of kingship, playing the game, cementing alliances.

  Just beyond him, the dancers swirled and eddied. Lady Elise went by, this time looking less than happy in the arms of Jet Shield, the crown princess's brother, and once Elise's betrothed.

  So we all dance, Allister thought, whether to music or to other, more subtle, less pleasant tunes.

  Baron Endbrook hadn't thought he'd be nervous. After all, he was an important man on Thunder Island and an internationally known shipping magnate—not to mention a baron, and a chosen member of the diplomatic contingent from the Isles. He decided that the last factor must be why he was nervous. Hawk Haven and Bright Bay had intertwined fingers and heirs and so made peace—a peace that looked as if it stood a chance of lasting, not like previous truces that merely had been intermissions in an ongoing conflict.

  This time there was a new and important reason for both Bright Bay and Hawk Haven to keep the peace. They had made enemies in common and he, Baron Endbrook, was a representative of one of those enemies. An undeclared enemy, true, but one nonetheless.

  They'd have done better to kill Queen Valora, Waln thought dispassionately, remembering the suppressed fury in his queen's deep blue eyes. But then others would have taken up her cause.

  Baron Endbrook wasn't politically sophisticated enough to frame the thought that a dead martyr—especially a martyr who was a young and lovely woman—could be far more dangerous than most living foes, but the idea lurked around the edges of his mind, trying to take form.

  It had almost done so when a subtle shift in the murmur of conversation caught Waln's attention. The orchestra continued to play, the dancers to face off and form their elaborate patterns, but somehow the dynamics in the crowded hall had shifted.

  Taking his cue from those around him, Waln glanced toward the high arched doorway into the hall. When he perceived who it was whose entry had caused the shift in mood his heart skipped a beat. There she was, the woman he had come so far to see: Lady Melina Shield.

  Waln had glimpsed her earlier, an honored guest at the banquet King Tedric had laid on to welcome the visitors, but at that event, as was only appropriate for a close relative of the bride, Lady Melina had been seated at one of the head tables. The delegation from the Isles, though accorded every courtesy, had not been overly close to those august seats.

  Then, as now, Lady Melina had been escorted by her son and heir apparent, Jet Shield. Jet was a young man in his early twenties, so impressively handsome that Baron Endbrook did not doubt that he had but to smile and the girls would fling themselves at his feet. Despite Jet's elegant appearance—midnight black hair, glittering onyx eyes, a sensuous yet somehow brooding mouth—there was nothing effete about Jet Shield. From the thickness of his dark brows to the firmness of his tread, Jet was as male as a tomcat, though far more polished.

  Baron Endbrook moved to where he could get his first close look at Lady Melina. Pride suffused the lady's bearing, pride and an alertness that said she knew that people talked about her—and that sometimes, out of fear, they whispered.

  Lady Melina's skin was pale and somewhat translucent. There were circles under her eyes, yet these caused her to appear tragic rather than haggard, as they might have a lesser woman. Otherwise, Lady Melina was so smothered under veils and black velvet that nothing could be guessed of her figure or even her age.

  Mother and son were clad entirely in black: gleaming rooks amid the brilliant rainbow that surrounded them. From what Baron Endbrook had heard, Jet always dressed in black, thus keeping theme—as all of Lady Melina's children did—with his given name. Proof of this rumor was the diadem he wore even now, a thick band of gold set in the center with an intricately carved piece of jet.

  Lady Melina's reasons for choosing to wear black were more obscure. Some said her choice was out of grief for her late husband or—this last was usually whispered—for her brother, Newell, the traitor. However, black was not universally recognized as symbolizing mourning. White would have done as well if that was her desire.

  I'd bet half the cargo from any ship in my fleet, Waln thought sardonically, that the lady's real reason for choosing that color was that she knew it would make her the center of all eyes, even with two monarchs and their spouses for competition.

  He sought a glimpse of the famous necklace of enchanted gemstones Lady Melina was reported to wear at all times. Rumor said that the necklace held five stones—one stone each to bind the souls of each of her five children. Some said that now the necklace held only four—that the blue stone that had represented Sapphire was gone, vanished even as its mate had vanished from the diadem about the princess's brow.

  Tonight, however, Lady Melina's necklace was not in sight, though Waln fancied that something did bulk beneath the neckline of her gown.

  From his studying of the packet he had found waiting for him in his ship's cabin, Waln knew that Lady Melina Shield was the youngest child and only daughter of the late Pola, Duchess Gyrfalcon. As a much petted and long-awaited daughter, she had been given a large dowry on the occasion of her marriage to Rolfston Redbriar, a fact that—if Queen Valora's spies were to be believed—had not set too well with those three brothers who stood no more chance than she of inheriting the duchy.

  Whether or not (he marriage that had occasioned such generosity had been a good one remained a matter of debate. Some said that the marriage had been happy, that Lord Rolfston had been content to be ruled by his wife. Others said that he chafed, maintained a series of common-born mistresses, and longed for personal recognition, but that he feared his wife too much to openly challenge her authority.

  Happy or not, the marriage had produced five children, each named for a gemstone: Sapphire, Jet, Opal, Ruby, and Citrine. Jet had been the only son and—most agreed—his mother's favorite. Sapphire had been too headstrong, too aware of her own power as heir apparent to the family's generous holdings.

  Now, however, Waln mused, Sapphire is King Tedric's daughter by law and Melina's favorite will take over—that is, he'll haul the load but she'll touch the reins or the whip. Nor, if her forbidding their attending Sapphire's Bright Bay wedding is any indication, has the lady given up plans to run her younger daughters' lives.

  Speaking to Lady Melina here would be too public for his purposes, but there were ways he could contact her, even in this press, without being any the wiser.

  Waln waited until Lady Melina condescended to join one of the long pattern dances. Then he hastened to find a partner of his own, pleased that the nearest available was a pretty enough fair-haired minx.

  When Lady Melina had marched her own partner to the head of the line, Waln guided his partner to a space farther down, carefully counting so that—if the form of the dance was the same here as in the
Isles—before the dance ended he would tread a measure or two with Lady Melina.

  Then, making as if to tighten the buckle on his shoe, he transferred into his shirt cuff the short note he had written earlier in the privacy of his room.

  "Lady Melina," it said, "I have a proposition that should interest you greatly, but we must speak of it only in the greatest possible privacy. Suggest where we may meet."

  Baron Endbrook left the note unsigned. After all, Lady Melina would surely discover the sender's identity.

  Quivering with equal parts anticipation and apprehension, Waln concentrated on the dance. The steps were not too different from what he had learned on the Isles, though he rapidly discovered that his more boisterous execution of some of the moves was considered a bit "country."

  A kind young fellow muttered a few hints to him as they passed in one set and by the time Waln's segment of the line had intersected with Lady Melina's, Waln fancied that he was dancing as well as any—and better than many. Wine and sweet hard cider had been freely available and some of the dancers had not sweated their indulgence from their systems.

  Partnered at last with Lady Melina, Waln deftly slid his note inside the palm of her black, lace-trimmed gloves. With a nod and a smile, he exchanged the lady for his own partner, whom he promptly marched away under an archway of interlocking hands and into the next set.

  The music ended before his set intersected again with Lady Melina's. Rather than make himself conspicuous, Waln thanked the pretty blonde and offered his services to another, somewhat older, lady. After two more dances—changing partners each time—he felt a breather was in order. He thanked his most recent partner, handed her graciously to another dancer, and went to find himself something to drink and a bit of wall to lean against—the chairs were reserved for the ladies.

  Waln was finding the hard cider a trace too sweet for his tastes when Lady Melina happened to stroll by. She was fanning herself gently while talking to a man Waln recognized as her second-eldest brother, Lord Rein.

  So intent was the lady on her conversation that she accidentally trod upon the hem of her gown. She stumbled and her brother caught her up, but as she recovered her balance her fan dropped from her hand. Waln bent to pick it up for her and discovered—not at all to his surprise—a slip of paper tucked into the base.

  Extracting this, Waln returned the fan to its owner, inquired after her well-being, and, after hearing her laugh lightly at her own clumsiness, excused himself. He traded the cider for a glass of white wine whose sharp dry flavor cut the sweet fug in his mouth and seemed to clear his head as well.

  He was cornered by a plump energetic woman wearing a brooch bearing the silver heart of House Merlin. She proved to be a minor functionary of that house, very interested in trade possibilities between the Isles and Hawk Haven. They discussed possible markets for a time and Waln found her well informed as to the needs of the island communities—enough so that he did not need to feign interest.

  After this lady departed—having exchanged contact information with him so that they might do further business—Waln took advantage of tucking her card away to glance at Lady Melina's note. It was brief, scrawled on the back of someone else's calling card.

  "My room in the castle. Tonight. Two hours past midnight."

  Baron Endbrook spent much of the intervening time by becoming a veritable hurricane on the dance floor. He was helped in this by the fact that this ball was fairly informal. That is, only the sticklers for form—or the extremely popular—kept dance cards. There were plenty of women available and eager to dance. He even found himself a commodity—the exotic sailor from the Isles—and had to stop himself from accentuating the roll in his walk.

  Dancing continued until well after midnight. When the exhausted orchestra began to falter, Waln was surprised and astonished to discover that there were those among the honored guests quite interested in taking the musicians' places. The substitute musicians were less polished but more enthusiastic and the dancers took on an ebullience wherein Waln's "country" steps were not out of place.

  He excused himself before the appointed time for his rendezvous. With a question here and a question there he had learned how to find Lady Melina's room.

  After finding a corner where he could tidy himself, Warn made his stealthy way up a flight of stairs. He counted cross-halls and landmarks and upon arrival found that stealth had been unnecessary. The corridor was empty even of servants.

  Apparently, all those who were awake were enjoying the ball.

  I suppose it makes sense, Waln thought, raising his hand to tap on the door. I doubt that the elderly king entertains on this scale very often.

  The door opened to his touch and he found himself entering a single room made up as a bedchamber. Some of his astonishment must have shown, for Lady Melina's first words were "We castle residents are very tightly packed. The suite I would usually command is given over, I believe, to the contingent from the Shark Barony. My maid is sleeping belowstairs, my children are in town staying with their Redbriar relations. You and I are quite alone."

  Waln collected himself with some difficulty. Lady Melina had all but purred those last few words, sending an unexpected thrill through him.

  Easy, Waln, remember that she's a sorceress, he cautioned himself, and found that the thought chilled him as iced water might.

  Freed from the veil she had worn in public, Lady Melina proved to be fair-haired, though even candlelight revealed the silver intermixed with the fading blond. Although she was a small woman—Waln was surprised to learn just how small now that they stood close—she exuded confidence.

  The notorious gemstone necklace was visible now as well—surely for his benefit, for she could have continued to conceal it beneath her dress. He noted that there were indeed five stones. If Sapphire had rejected her ornament, Melina had retained her own.

  Waln dismissed fascinating speculation as to what effect Melina's silent claim to continued domination over her daughter might have on Princess Sapphire's reign as the crown princess established herself in her new role in Hawk Haven. His business was with Melina alone—and for her own qualities, not for her relation to the princess.

  Lady Melina directed Waln to take a seat on one of two chairs she had drawn up a short distance from the bedstead. The bed's curtains were mostly drawn—as if to reject any invitation to dalliance—but were open enough that Waln could see that no one hid behind their shelter.

  In any case, he reassured himself, even in a small room like this she could hide someone beneath the bed or in a clothes chest if she wished to violate my request for privacy. Here is when I must begin thinking of her as a potential partner.

  "I am," he said, "meeting with you at the request of a powerful personage."

  "Queen Valora," Lady Melina said, something of a decisive snap in her tone. "Unless you wish to deny that very obvious deduction."

  "No," Waln said slowly, "I do not. Very well. I am here as a representative of Her Majesty. Recently she has inherited some quite interesting objects. It is her belief that you could be of use in learning their true use and value."

  "Inherited," Lady Melina interrupted. "If these objects are what I think they may be, some might say that 'stolen' is a better description for how she acquired them."

  "As you wish," Waln said, bowing his head slightly.

  He'd learned long ago that the best way to deal with people who wished to show how wise and knowledgeable they were was to let them talk. He'd also learned that nothing was to be gained by arguing with someone you needed.

  "Three enchanted objects—the very knowledge of their existence enough to trigger a war," Lady Melina mused. "There have been those who have said that Queen Valora was an idiot to take them from Revelation Point Castle."

  Again Waln let the gibe pass, but he added the insult to his queen to the rapidly growing list of those things he would not forget.

  "No doubt," he replied mildly, "Her Majesty felt differently."

&n
bsp; "As is shown by her taking them." Lady Melina tossed her head, her hair silvery in the candlelight. "Now she wishes me to show her how to use them."

  Waln permitted himself to show some surprise. If Lady Melina were more skillful, she would taunt less frequently. As it was, the acid of her tongue was losing its sharpness. He merely anticipated it and schooled his reactions to play her moods as he wished. Sorceress or not, she was no master politician.

  "Could you?" he asked, allowing an eager tremor to enter his voice.

  "Not without seeing them," Lady Melina replied, suddenly reasonable. "And even then, the unraveling of their secrets might take time."

  "True," Waln said, dropping a card on the table, "so the New Kelvinese said when they were consulted."

  "New Kelvinese?"

  Lady Melina was either genuinely astonished or far more skilled at dissembling than Waln would have guessed.

  "New Kelvinese," she repeated. "You took the objects to them?"

  "Not quite."

  Briefly and directly, Waln summarized his visit to Dragon's Breath—all but the final command that he return with someone skilled in magic or not at all. This portion of his approach was according to Queen Valora's express command. He would probably have held more information back until he had sounded Melina out in greater depth.

  The queen, however, must have recognized some element of personality in the materials in Melina's dossier that he had not. When Waln finished speaking, the sorceress's eyes were alight with interest, even with eagerness.

  "New Kelvin," she said, her voice a reverent whisper. "Dragon's Breath. I was only there once, when I was but fifteen. I spent two weeks…"

  She stopped, pulling herself from her reminiscences with a visible jerk.

  "I envy you," she said, her tones parlor-proper again. "Much. The New Kelvinese have retained a reverence for the past that was lost in this country. There was no burning of books, no rooting out of sorcerous objects as there was here."

  "I saw their reverence for the past," Waln said, seeing his line now and praising his queen's insight.