Reed mats took up a third of the large salle. Mirrors lined one wall. Two tall cabinets bracketed the weapon racks along the opposite side. A square table with four chairs occupied the center of the clear space fronting the door. A bottle of whiskey and four glasses stood in the middle of the table. Even by lycan standards, Todd had an obscene tolerance for and enjoyment of liquor.
There were five wolves with Todd, working out in graceful motions. Artair recognized all of them from the Battle of the Scarlet Petticoat in Hell's Widow. They were members of Kynyr's elite unit.
Erskine Faraday, tall and lean, had an easy going, low-key manner that made his opinions seems weighty and considered.
Robert Morcar, the blocky guardsmon was referred to as a black lycan because of his stiff raven hair that he kept shaved close to his head and the light olive cast to his skin. They were a minority among the fair-skinned wolves.
Vayle Stewart had craggy features, a wary slant to his eyes, and a tight-lipped edge to his mouth that appeared to be trapped between a sneer and a grimace. He came across as a cautious mon, who preferred to pick his battles, but once committed to an action went at it with ironclad determination.
William Little Will Galloway, was the smallest at five six. His mustard brown hair, cut short at his earlobes, had a conspicuous cowlick at the crown. He had a feisty glint in his blue eyes and a determined turn to his lips, the lower jutting beneath the upper.
The fifth was the mon that Artair had come to see: Finn MacIver.
Todd glanced over and gave Artair a nod. He finished his form, and stepped off the reed mats with a bow.
"Artair, what brings you?"
"He wants to ask you something, grandfather."
Artair swallowed. I'd like to have a drink with Betrys, with your permission of course."
Todd lifted one eyebrow in a blasé expression. Get out of line with her and she'll beat you half to death. She's a Sinclair."
"I believe you."
"No wild cousins."
"Oh, definitely not. No wild cousins. I wouldn't dream of it... oh, I might dream, but I won't do it . I also need to speak with Finn MacIver, if I may. He could chaperone us?"
Todd crooked a finger at Finn, who joined them by the door. Chaperone."
Betrys smiled broadly. Let me grab a cloak and I'll meet you downstairs."
Finn and Artair seated themselves at the table in the shop to wait for Betrys.
Artair's confidence returned in Betrys absence. I came to talk to you about Darcy."
Finn's eyes narrowed in suspicion. What about Darcy?"
"My brothers and I ... we're very fond of our cousin. She's really a dear sweet thing."
"That doesn't sound like Darcy."
Artair squirmed. Well, anyways, we know about you and Darcy... He turned his hand palm up and wiggled his middle finger suggestively.
Finn let out a hiss and glanced at the ceiling. And?"
"We wanted to know if your intentions were honorable."
"I was planning on proposing to her."
Artair relaxed with a smile. MacIver had to be out of his mind, but Artair knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth when it came to Darcy. Maybe you should send her presents? Like this?"
Artair waved the book of verses he had purchased at Finn.
* * * *
Navaryn's study let in the frosty light of the winter's day. The journals of Padruig Caimbeul, the slain lawgiver of Wolffgard, lay open on her fruitwood desk, dark leather bound tomes filled with cramped letters. The writing in no way revealed the bold soul of the mon. Caimbeul had been obsessed with cramming everything he could into a single page. Reading it was hard on her eyes.
Pandeena settled into a chair before the desk, folded her arms on the edge, and watched her mother filling pages with strange notations beside the open journal.
"Are you having any luck deciphering Caimbeul's journals? Or those ledgers that Hathura found at the steading?"
Navaryn shook her head wearily. I haven't found the key to the journals. Caimbeul appears to have used a private alphabet, part Valdren and part Enockian. As for the ledgerssickening thingsthey used code names and not real names. All I get from the ledgers is that they have killed the males for their body parts and organs, and sold all the younger bitches and the cubs into slavery in Waejontor. It's disgusting."
"We're definitely dealing with the Butchering Serpent."
"I fear so, Pandeena."
"If you'd just let me kill him, mother."
Navaryn shook her head back, spilling her moonlight hair over her shoulders. No. We don't know whether he is the Serpent or an agent of the Serpent. If he is only an agent, then we achieve nothing by killing Malthus outright. Furthermore, that has never been the way of the law. If we violate the ways and customs that we gave our people, then we set in motion changes that could have far reaching effects."
"When the law fails?"
"When it fails, it fails, but at least it exists as a castle wall between our animal natures and our higher instincts."
"Perhaps we should have remained animals and never become people."
"We would have perished. Myn hunt wolves, but wolves do not hunt myn. Extinction was our destiny until we learned to walk upright and act as myn."
"I won't argue with you, Mother, but I think you're wrong. Pandeena looked away and changed the subject. How's Nikko?"
"Better. He recognized Clodagh. They sit and talk. I had to wall away the last three years of her memories to prevent the death command the Serpent placed in her mind from killing her. She can't trigger it if she does not remember anything."
* * * *
Kynyr completed his morning drill with Trevor, washed up, and came down for breakfast, smelling of that spicy new scent that Kady purchased and insisted upon his wearing. His chocolate and claret uniform, cut loose enough to allow a smooth shift to his hybrid form, looked fine on his muscular body. Only the faint shadows beneath his eyes hinted at the nagging weariness clinging to him.
Breakfast, less formal than lunch and dinner, was always held at the long table in the kitchen. Larena had already begun dishing up steaming bowls of oat porridge and Kynyr's was waiting for him at the head of the table when he arrived.
Milk, honey, butter, and cinnamon had been set out on the table, along with a covered platter of sliced ham and fried potatoes. He watched her as he sweetened his porridge and then speared slices of ham and potato onto his plate.
Larena's presence still irked him. Every time someone prodded herhowever gentlyabout the name of her child's father, she either went sullen or threw a fit.
"After seeing what your dad did to Kady, I don't understand why you would go and get yourself cocked up by a married mon."
Larena flinched. I love him."
"I guess. Kynyr started on the porridge first. Remember that night I asked you where Kady was?"
"Which night? Larena shot him a suspicious look.
"Just before my friends and I left for Hell's Widow ... few days before the ambush? You said how should I know where that slut is?
"You're remembering wrong. That wasn't me. That was Rachel."
"Am I? I know for certain I heard you make remarks like that. So what does that make you?"
"I apologized for it. Larena dropped into a chair and stared at the porridge in front of her.
"If you do anything to hurt Kady, I'll see that you regret it."
"I'm not going to hurt Kady."
"See that you don't. Sluts are trouble, Larena. Especially the real ones."
"Stop it! Larena shrieked, looked up at the door and froze.
Kady stood in the doorway, glancing from Larena to Kynyr and back. What's going on?"
Tears leaked from Larena's eyes. He's calling me a slut. I can't bear it. She rose to her feet, trembling. It's not my fault I fell in love with someone."
"I didn't call her a slut. Kynyr scowled.
"Yes, you did. Larena fled past Kady and out the door.
&n
bsp; "Kynyr... Kady stalked toward him with her hands on her hips.
He ducked his head and finished the last of his porridge. Well, maybe I implied it."
"I see you like porridge? Kady picked up her bowl in passing, and crowned him with it upside down. You're acting like an arse and now you look like one too."
Kynyr stared at her in stunned surprise, not quite certain what to say and struggling for words as it dripped down his face and oozed through his hair.
The door opened. Mary and Trevor entered. They gazed at him. Mary snickered. Did you do that, Kady?"
"He's a bloody arsehole. Kady grumbled.
Mary snickered again, a small laugh burbled forth, and then she doubled over, clutching her sides and roaring with mirth.
A naughty smile caught the edges of Kady's lips in response to Mary's laughter. She glanced at Kynyr surreptitiously, trapped between her fading indignation and how funny he looked with porridge in his sideburns. Kady hugged him and kissed his porridged face. I love you, Kynyr, but I do wish you would be nicer to Larena."
"I'll try."
CHAPTER EIGHT
TOO MANY PLOTS AND PLANS
Malthus waited two weeks before returning to the Sanctuary Refugee Camp. It held mostly wooden longhouses. The cluster of woven cone-shaped sheelings that required dropping to your knees before crawling inside were currently unused and would remain that way until the weather warmed again in the spring. Vika, the camp's manager, lived in the stone longhouse at the center of the camp with a chimney in the middle of its roof. Several storage buildings of wood stood in rows behind Vika's home. Tree rounds and crude benches provided seats beneath the trees, as did the scattered small boulders. Horse troughs and tie posts dotted the landscape.
The adult inhabitants of the camp were human females who had fled the sa'necari rebellion raging across the realm as the bastard queen Tomyrilen attempted to throw out the Sharani occupiers.
Malthus walked through the camp, slapping a riding crop against his leg. All the females avoided his gaze. He had set death commands in all their minds. They knew that he could kill all of them with a single triggering phrase. Their fear pleased Malthus.
He spied Vika Softpaws chatting with some of the females. She was an unappetizing figure, her graying hair caught at her neck in a severe bun, plump and matronly. Malthus knew he would have to deal with her eventually and bring her to heel as he had her two predecessors, but he felt no inclination to right then.
Walking deeper into the camp, he found Preece unloading a wagon and gestured toward the path that led to his cottage at the far side of the camp.
Preece answered with a discrete nod and continued unloading.
Malthus reached his cottage by a winding path through the densest section of trees and brush now denuded of their greenery by the arrival of autumn frosts. His was the nicest place on the camp lands. That was partly due to the level of influence he held with the young wolves who worked at the camp.
He had a large hearth, instead of a firepit; built in cabinets, instead of a few raw shelves and hooks; two bedrooms and a study, rather than the two rooms with curtained half-walls like the other longhouses.
Preece sauntered in, a mask of insouciant calm barely concealing eager speculation. What's up?"
Malthus set out two tankards of mead on the table, watching Preece close from the corners of his eyes while pretending not to. The time had come to figure out what exactly Preece had meant by his insinuations in the shrine. I'm going to Hell's Widow tomorrow to pick up a few things. I'd like you to go with me."
"Why me?"
"Because you're good at what you do."
"I'm surprised you're going back after what happened last time."
Malthus shrugged. It won't happen again."
He walked around and stood behind Preece, put his hands on Preece's shoulders. Tell me. How do you feel about working for a sa'necari?"
"So long as it pays well, I'd work for the Hellgod himself. Preece opened his robes and tilted his head to the side offering his neck. Do it."
Malthus hands tightened on Preece's shoulders. How long have you known?"
"Since the day they nailed Heironim's head to the scaffolds."
"Do the others know?"
Preece snorted. Just me. The others ... they can't see past the end of their snouts. Well, are you going to do it or aren't you?"
Malthus let his fangs down. What do you think?"
"Put them into me. Preece murmured in a throaty whisper with a twist of sensuality. I've been waiting a long time for this."
Malthus breathed along Preece's neck and pierced him.
Preece stiffened with a grunt, and then relaxed in his chair, moaning like a bitch experiencing her first orgasm when Malthus triggered the endorphins in his brain as he sucked the blood welling into his mouth. Oh, gaahdss that's good."
* * * *
Once a week, Cahira Sinclair came to visit her granddaughter-in-law and check upon the progress of her pregnancy. Mary was a good healer and mid-wife, with an impressive Reader's gift. However, Cahira was better. Cahira Sinclair was that rarest of lycans: a mage. She had no large talents; nothing great enough to call herself anything except a generalist. However, Kynyr's grandmother had literally dozens of minor talents that she put to such skilled use that her lack of a major gift often went overlooked by those who did business with her.
Cahira had changed little over the years, beyond gaining laugh lines around her eyes and mouth; and remained much as Claw remembered her: a tiny blonde, barely five feet tall; corn silk hair hanging in a braid past her hips; and a temper like a stung badger.
Cahira sat beside Kady on the veranda sofa, watching the rain come down.
Larena sat in a chair, carding wool and looking bored.
In addition to everything else that had come with the house, Kady had found fourteen bushels of raw wool in one of the storerooms. So she put Larena to carding.
Mary sat at a small table with Cahira's translation and the original text. The dwarves of Iradrim had unearthed an ancient library from the lost civilization called Louistrana. The books could not be brought out because when they touched the fresh air they disintegrated, so the Assassins Guild had volunteered their people to create facsimiles. Cahira, being both a healer and a translator of note, had been given several medical texts to translate. They were still trying to figure out how to make the implements depicted in the illustrations, such as something called a hypodermic syringe that delivered medicine directly into the blood stream. The section on blood transfusions was especially fascinating to both Cahira and Mary.
"I'm going to Creeya in three days. I'll be spending a week there going over that translation with the Patriarch Mikkal. Cahira glanced around at them. She could not make the Jump to Creeya as often any longer. Her age had started to show in how tired it left her. I think some shopping is in order. I'm impatient with the seamstresses here. That and the selection of fabrics is terrible."
Kady shrugged. I don't mind. I've more than I ever dreamed of having. She gestured at the house. I'm happy with it, Cahira."
"Nonsense. Cahira's pert smile suggested that she would not take no for an answer. I'm taking you shopping in Havensword."
Larena blinked. That's in Creeya, isn't it?"
"The capital city of Creeya. Magnificent shops, theaters, plays, music, cabarets, dancing. Havensword is one of the most cosmopolitan cities on the entire continent. Pack enough for a week and we'll go."
"All of us? asked Kady.
"You, me, Mary, and Larena. It's time you saw a royal court."
"The manor..."
"Pshaw! It's nothing at all. Rough-hewn den of a farmer king. Wait until you see the Palace of the Grand Master. It will take your breath away."
"You'll love it, Mary chimed in. I haven't been in years."
Kady caught Mary's excitement and nodded. Yes, let's go."
* * * *
Despite his late years, Claw remained a stubborn, canny wolf. The
re had been too many deaths since last spring. Four couriers had died in Hell's Widow, and only the recent involvement of Clan MacLachlan under the command of their ornery bitch of a general, Darcy MacFie, who had taken over from her cousin Fergus, had Claw sending couriers out by horseback again. None of them would ever be as good as Cullen Blackwood had been, but he had his eye on Cooley as a cub with potential.
He could smell war and death in the air. It made him uneasy. So he decided to make another attempt to get his bitches to a safe place and get them to stay there.
Claw sat his chair in the Blue Room, glaring at his wife Aisha. You disobeyed my orders and came home before I sent for you."
"And it was good that we did. Aisha crossed her arms, defiance gleaming in her eyes.
Claw made a fending off gesture, growling. Nah. There's been three more murders. You're going to your mother's, Aisha. You're going to stay there until I send for you."
"Father, Merissa protested.
"No! Claw roared, going into an irascible fit. You, Aisha, Searlait, Fianait, Darmyk. All of you go to your grandmother's, Merissa. One more word out of any of you and I'll have Belgair tie you all up, toss you in the carriage, and take you there."
Aisha sighed and signed the rest of the bitches to follow her out.
He glanced at the clock on the cabinet. Claw could hear the ticking all the way across the room and it delighted him. Cahira had sent it to him as a present and it kept good timebetter than using candlemarks. He grimly resisted an urge to open it up and watch the gears go round. The chieftain felt certain that she had given him that clever device as way of letting him know that she had forgiven him for tricking Kynyr into accepting his heritage.
Now he needed to figure out how to properly reciprocate without earning himself a tongue-lashing from her.
"Temper like a stung badger, Claw muttered. A sudden smile came to his lips. I have it! I'll send to Talbot Maguire and commission a portrait of Kynyr and Kady."
* * * *
Larena set the table in the formal dining room. Kady could have had the nibari do it, but she had some kind of twisted idea that everyone should participate and it galled Larena. Why own slaves if you were not going to make them do all the work? She treated those damned sub-humans like family. All this wealth and status, and what did Kady do with it?
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