Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart

by Jane Lindskold

  Finally, she admitted to herself what she had been struggling to deny: she didn't want to be left out of this venture.

  True, Firekeeper had returned from her journey with orders that made this matter her own. True, Elise's alertness had served them well, enabling them to deduce not only who had the artifacts, but where they might be being taken.

  Surely this was better man the vague information which otherwise would have been all that Firekeeper had to act upon.

  I've been useful, Elise reminded herself sternly. I've done my part. I have other duties now.

  Foremost among those duties was choosing which of her winter guestings she would accept. She had made winter visits before—they were a common way to liven cold-weather dullness—but never before had she received so many invitations.

  Elise took the heap of handwritten cards from where she had wedged them into her embroidery basket. There were the usual ones from her Wellward relatives, invitations to stay for a moonspan or more. Each of Hawk Haven's other Great Houses—or one of their cadet branches—had also invited her to stay: for a week or a fortnight, for a house party culminating in a dance or masquerade.

  Elise couldn't help noticing that most of these invitations mentioned in passing some son or nephew who would be a companion for her.

  There was even an invitation from Sapphire asking Elise if she wanted to come stay at the castle. That one was tempting, because—as far as Elise could tell—it offered no attempt at matchmaking.

  Despite Lady Aurella's hopes, there were fewer invitations from Bright Bay. Doubtless the nobles there were still trying to figure out what alliances offered the greatest advantages. Still, there was one from a Duchess Seal and—no surprise—the duchess mentioned having a houseful of young sons and nephews who would be happy to keep me winter days from growing dull for their foreign guest.

  Elise sighed, blowing out her breath with such force that a stray tendril of her fair hair fluttered as in a gale.

  In most cases, the invitation from the crown princess would have had unquestioned precedence, but Elise thought that she could manage to appease Sapphire with a shorter visit. However, to do so without hurting her feelings—Sapphire had always been quick to perceive insult—Elise should have her destination picked out and some good excuse for going there.

  Once again she spread out the invitations, sorting them by what claim they had on her. As much as she would enjoy visiting her Wellward kin, they must be given lower priority. She was well known to them and they to her. That she might still end up marrying some lesser Peregrine was possible, but, as Lady Aurella had indicated, the Archers already had a blood tie to that house.

  Elise considered the others, sliding them back and forth on a polished tabletop in a fashion that reminded her of Sapphire and Shad playing the pirate game.

  This, too, calls for strategy, Elise thought, grinning to herself at the comparison. She must share it with her mother at dinner.

  At last she had reduced the pile to two or three in addition to Sapphire's elegantly written card. Duchess Seal certainly had a claim and Elise thought that she couldn't quite ignore the one from Lord Polr, Duke Gyrfalcon's second brother.

  The Shields were still rebalancing the scales—honored by having a granddaughter of the house chosen as crown princess, shamed by having a son of the house a proven traitor. For those reasons, they might offer some advantageous alliance or even business deal.

  Then there was…

  Elise set Lord Polr's card, which she had been about to reread, aside and reached for one that had sat in its own pile of one at the table's edge since the sorting had begun. It was from Duchess Kestrel and invited Elise to travel to the Norwood Grant with the Kestrel family when they returned home.

  During their recent visit, Elise had learned that Derian would be among the Kestrel party, as would Doc and Firekeeper. The duchess's invitation was open-ended—a routine courtesy with winter coming on.

  And I could go with them, Elise thought, and miss nothing. Nor does it hurt that Earl Kestrel's eldest son, Edlin, is a few years older than me or that his next, Tait, is just a bit younger. That should satisfy my mother and father.

  She remembered an earlier visit some years before when she had been about eight. She'd torn about the gardens and fields with Edlin and Tait as if she were as wild as Firekeeper.

  My hair was in plaits down my back, she remembered fondly, and Edlin kept tugging at them. I kicked him in the ankle and he limped for two days. His father wouldn't let Doc…

  Doc—or Sir Jared—had been neither healer nor knight then, merely a beardless youth of fourteen or fifteen with dark hair and the Norwood nose. He'd been showing traces of his talent then, but Earl Kestrel had bluntly refused to let him use it for Edlin's benefit.

  "You say it isn't broken, Jared?" the earl had said. "Then let Edlin learn the consequences of his actions. It's not too early, not if he's already being bruised for them."

  And young Jared had solemnly agreed, but he'd bound up Edlin's ankle, then taken them all fishing so his young cousin could take the weight off the injured member and cool the bruise in the water in which they dangled their lines.

  Elise was pulled from her memories by the sound of the solar door opening. She looked up to see her mother entering, her footsteps noiseless on the thick carpets thrown down to guard against the chill from the stone floors.

  Lady Aurella smiled when she saw what her daughter had been doing.

  "I remember those days," she said with a light laugh. "My sisters and cousins and I would count our invitations and lord them over each other as if we'd actually done wonderful by receiving them. Have you decided where you wish to go?"

  Elise hedged for time.

  "I must visit with Sapphire at least for a day or so, or her feelings will be hurt," she began.

  "Wise," her mother agreed, taking a seat where the light was good and opening her own embroidery basket.

  Elise noted that Lady Aurella had also chosen a place from which she could not see which cards her daughter had selected. There was a measure of courtesy and restraint in this that Elise appreciated.

  Doubtless Aunt Zorana would sweep over here and run her fingers through the cards, pointing out which important ones I had overlooked.

  "But you will not winter with the crown princess?" Lady Aurella asked, needle dipping and rising.

  "I think not," Elise replied. "Sapphire will be busier than she knew when she wrote this out. I remember something of court routine. She's forgetting that her days will not be the usual idles of winter."

  "Perhaps so," Lady Aurella agreed. "If you make good excuse, she will forgive you not offering to give her a longer visit."

  "Just what I was thinking."

  Elise paused, wondering if she should move directly to Duchess Kestrel's invitation or lead up to it through some of the other candidates. The latter tactic would give her opportunity to read her mother's expression. She was about to begin when Lady Aurella stole a march on her.

  "I understand from the butler that you had visitors this afternoon: Lady Blysse, Sir Jared, and Counselor Derian. Did they call to bid you farewell before returning north? I understand that Duchess Kestrel is beginning to be concerned that the weather will turn and make their journey unpleasant."

  "Not quite," Elise said, unwilling to lie.

  "Then did they come to plead with you to come to Norwood with them?"

  There was a teasing note in Aurella's voice that made Elise suddenly angry.

  "No, they didn't!"

  "Ah."

  There was a wealth of sympathy and understanding in the single syllable that made Elise even angrier. She kept her temper, however, as befitted a lady.

  "Too courteous, no doubt," Elise managed, "or perhaps embarrassed. Duchess Kestrel does mention in her note that Lady Blysse stands to have a lonely winter. Doubtless they didn't wish to pressure me to come and keep her company."

  "Doubtless."

  Lady Aurella's tone was u
nreadable.

  "I'd like to go, though," Elise admitted. "I have good memories of visits to the Norwood Grant."

  "Summer visits," her mother reminded her. "Winter gets bitter in the North Woods."

  "True, but Lady Blysse is a friend."

  Silence punctuated by the rise and fall of the needle.

  "And I don't feel ready to contract a marriage yet."

  The words, sneaking out from some quiet parlor in her soul, startled Elise even more than they did her mother.

  "You don't?" Lady Aurella said, raising her elegant eyebrows. "You were ready enough last summer."

  "I think that's why I'm not ready now," Elise replied. "I'm not nursing a broken heart, Mother, honestly I'm not, but I can't bear the idea of spending the next several moons making courting conversation and all the rest."

  "You'll need to be polite on the Kestrel estate," Aurella said. "You're no longer a child of eight who can kick her host."

  "You remember that too!"

  Aurella laughed. "Your father and I were terrified you'd crippled the heir apparent to a Great House."

  "Apparent, apparent," Elise said, remembering an old jest they'd used to taunt Edlin when he got too full of his own barely understood importance.

  "And," Aurella said, sharing Elise's smile, "Edlin and Tait are both potential matches for you."

  "Edlin," Elise said, "has lands coming to him through his grandmother and father, but you're right, a separate tie to our barony—given how far apart we are—would benefit us both."

  "And I think you were once fond of Edlin," her mother prompted.

  "True, but, Mother, I meant what I said. I'm not ready to contract a marriage: not to Edlin or Tait or Jared."

  The last name slid out but once spoken could not be ignored.

  "No?"

  "No. I'm hardly an old maid yet. I won't reach my majority for moonspans yet. I promise to consider any Kestrel offer, but I think I'd like to wait until I have a better idea of our needs."

  "Our?"

  "The Barony of Archer."

  Aurella studied her daughter for a long moment. At last she nodded.

  "Go to Norwood then, Elise, with my blessings. I'll make your father understand that this is best."

  Elise ran her fingers across the piles of invitations.

  "But what about these? What about the other possibilities? There's an invitation here from Duchess Seal of Bright Bay and another from Lord Polr that might as well be from Duke Gyrfalcon."

  Aurella shook her head slowly. "Those don't matter if your mind is made up not to contract a marriage. Indeed, it might be dangerous for you to go to them under what might be construed as false pretenses. Not every good match will be made this winter—though many will be. If you're thinking of the barony, we must not sell it cheap."

  "I'm thinking," Elise admitted honestly, "about me."

  "And someday you will be the barony," Aurella replied, "so it is much the same. Duchess Kestrel's invitation has an advantage over the others in that it asks you to come as a companion for her adopted granddaughter as much as for any other reason. You won't be misrepresenting either yourself or our house."

  Elise nodded, thought fleetingly of enchanted artifacts, of New Kelvin, of the excitement to come.

  "I suppose not," she said. "I do wish to keep Firekeeper—I mean Lady Blysse—company. She may run wild."

  Actually, she thought, I'll be more surprised if she doesn't.

  "Very good, then. Write out your reply and we'll have a runner bring it to the Kestrel Manse the moment the ink is blotted. Duchess Kestrel will want to send news ahead so that your suite can be readied."

  Elise found a sheet of heavy paper embossed with the Archer coat of arms and bordered with a light tracery of scarlet and gold.

  As she began to write her acceptance, she heard her mother speaking on, her tones those of one thinking aloud.

  "You will take Ninette, of course, and your winter mantle will need mending. I noticed that the hem had been trodden upon. And you'll need to write Sapphire as soon as that letter is completed. It may be difficult…"

  Elise wrote the necessary missives, hearing only half of what Lady Aurella said, for her own excited heart beat a drum in her ears.

  Baron Endbrook made good time to Port Haven and better to the large post-house where he had arranged to meet Lady Melina and her daughter. Despite stopping along the road to stash Lady Melina's gemstone necklace where he alone could find it again, he arrived just as the setting sun was stroking the skies with orange and red.

  Good travel weather for the morrow, he thought idly.

  As he swung from his saddle, it seemed to Waln that the saddlebags containing the satchel with the three magical artifacts bulged unnaturally large, though to outside appearances—and indeed even to casual inspection—it was no more extraordinary than its mate. Still, he stood between it and the windows of the inn as he stretched Out the kinks from his back and legs. He was more sailor than rider, but these last few weeks had prepared him well for the long ride to come.

  Baron Endbrook's paranoia regarding the treasures was not helped when a large crow swooped down and began tugging at the straps as if trying to untie the bag. Doubtless it was merely the polished buckle catching the late-afternoon sunlight that had attracted the dumb beast, but nevertheless he felt a chill.

  The horse that Waln had ridden was a hired mount and the baron turned it over to the stablehand without a second glance. The precious saddlebags, however, he carried himself, biting back a sharp rebuke when a porter moved to perform the routine courtesy of unstrapping it for him.

  If the porter noticed Waln's anxiety, he surely dismissed it as a usual caution. There must be many travelers who worried about strangers handling their baggage.

  As Waln was slinging the heavy bags over his arm, he heard a throat being cleared off to one side. He glanced that way and saw Orin—better known as Fox—Driver leaning against a shed.

  "Hello, Driver," Waln said with affected heartiness but genuine relief. "Good to see you reached here safely."

  "Roads are firm and dry," Fox Driver replied, coming a few steps closer, "and the horses in good fettle."

  "And our cargo?"

  "Riding light," Fox reported laconically. "I'm cozy as can be in a room over the wagon sheds so's I can keep an eye on it."

  "Good."

  The cargo itself wasn't worth much—not when compared with what Waln carried in his saddlebags—but the baron had decided that it must be of good enough quality to justify a trip north. Therefore he'd done some shopping and, before leaving Eagle's Nest, Fox Driver had picked up several crates of mixed trade goods. Nothing in the load was too heavy—Waln hadn't wanted to slow them overmuch nor tire the horses—but the cargo was costly enough that if Driver hadn't taken precautions with it, some might have wondered.

  "You're warm enough?" Waln asked, stamping his feet, which were chilling as the cold seeped up through the thin soles of his riding boots.

  "Warm enough and I've arranged for mulled wine to ease the frost in my bones."

  Waln cursed inwardly, but said nothing. Fox Driver seemed sober enough to not have forgotten discretion.

  "Then I'll let you go back where it's warm," Waln said. "Is my 'sister' here?"

  He and Lady Melina had decided that traveling as brother and sister suited them better than posing as husband and wife. It permitted them both a degree of distance that would have attracted attention between spouses, and their story that they hadn't seen much of each other these last few years allowed for any discrepancies in what they might say.

  "She's here and inside with your niece," Fox replied with a sardonic grin.

  Waln hadn't told Fox who Lady Melina was, but it was possible the man might have guessed. Even if he had not, the secrecy to which Waln had sworn Driver regarding what elements of his plans he had been forced to tell the man would have made Driver certain something illicit was going on.

  Hopefully, he just thinks I'm runn
ing off with someone else's wife, Warn thought.

  Then he bid Driver a good rest, reminding him that they would depart early the next morning.

  Lady Melina waited for Baron Endbrook within the hostelry. She had claimed a table in a corner and sat knitting in the light that came through the leaded panes.

  As they had agreed in one of their planning sessions—these few enough and filled with tremendous anxiety for Waln—Lady Melina was dressed after the fashion of a woman with some means but with no particular claim to wealth or title. In her long wool traveling dress, thick shawl, and close-fitting cap, Lady Melina Shield was transformed into the very picture of a prosperous farm owner.

  And what else is she, after all? Baron Endbrook thought, bowing the slight amount that would be courteous from brother to sister, trying to quell the uneasiness he often felt in this formidable woman's presence. So her mother was a duchess and her brother is a duke, but what is she herself?

  His internal remonstrances failed to buck him up satisfactorily, for Lady Melina's very purpose for being here was an unceasing reminder that the woman was more than she seemed.

  Citrine sat beside her mother, hands in fingerless gloves clasped around a mug of some steaming beverage. As Waln took his seat, he caught a whiff of good cider and ordered a mug for himself.

  "Just the thing to take off the chill," he said, when greetings were completed.

  Citrine smiled shyly at him. Like her mother she wore a traveling dress lapped jacket-style, side to side, to better hold her heat. Her honey-gold hair was covered completely by a ruffled cap of a type not uncommon in the country, though somewhat out of fashion in the towns.

  The cap suited Citrine, though, emphasizing the pert roundness of her face while incidentally concealing the citrine-embellished band that Waln did not doubt still encircled her brow.

  That band could well be a giveaway as to who she is, Waln thought. I wonder if Lady Melina would agree to remove it lest gossip start about just who is the "guest" the smugglers are keeping.

  He decided not to make the request. Descriptions of the sorceress's fury when her eldest daughter ceased to wear her sapphire band were legion—for the ballad singers in the taverns and inns he had stayed in along the road were taking advantage of the royal wedding to regale their audiences with stories of the warrior princess and her noble spouse.