by TJ Nichols
“There were great cities. Humans lived there, too. Some were given the magic you wear around your wrist. Some took that magic and turned it against us. The ruins weren’t far from where you were. How Morris knew about them I don’t know. I’m not even sure there is treasure, not in the human sense of the word.”
“And the first hood to go missing? Morris’s cousin. He knew, didn’t he?”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“But he was killed by wolves.”
Jardin’s silence was all Aubrey needed to confirm that fact. All of this trouble had been about the wolves, not highwaymen. He flopped back onto the bed. “The highwaymen are innocent.”
Jardin nodded. “Of murder anyway.”
“I need to arrest Morris.”
“For what? Killing the mayor? He’ll blame the wolves.”
“For killing me.”
“And how will you explain that you are alive? That werewolves are real and the magic is still around? How many people will hunt us down, wanting our pelt for cure-alls? No. You cannot reveal that we still exist.”
“If I don’t stop Morris, he will concoct some other story to tell the king.”
“So be it. Let him spin his lies, as long as the wolves are hidden.”
“And when he brings more people to search for your ruins, what then? Will you kill them all?”
The door swung open, and Lyle stepped inside. It was then Aubrey realized he wasn’t only in their house. He was in their bed, too. Heat rushed to his cheeks, and he was glad of the dark. Jardin glanced at him, and Aubrey was sure he saw the glimmer of a smile as if Jardin knew that Aubrey’s heart was beating just a little too quick.
“Don’t stress your fragile heart.” Jardin gave Aubrey’s shin a pat and stood. He greeted Lyle with a kiss that did nothing to slow Aubrey’s pulse. “You’re home late. I was getting worried.”
He tried very hard not to think about what happened in their bed and failed abysmally, mostly because he was jealous. They clearly weren’t skulking around hoping not to be found out.
“I waited until he’d gone to bed.” Lyle dropped a bag of things on the floor. “I also went by the tavern and got your things, Aubrey.”
“Thank you.” He hadn’t even thought that far ahead.
“Is he mended?” Lyle whispered.
Aubrey wasn’t going to be spoken over like a child or an invalid. “Mended enough that you can ask him yourself.” He didn’t need coddling. “Tell me what Morris has been up to. It was him you were watching?”
“Yes. He’d already washed the blood off his hands when I arrived. Claimed to have been attacked by werewolves, that the mayor had been killed by them, and you’d been wounded.”
“How brave of him to leave me,” Aubrey said without humor.
“His horse bolted, and he was terrified of the monsters, apparently.”
Jardin snarled. “I’ll give him something to fear. I’ll make sure he never sleeps again.”
Lyle put a hand on his lover’s shoulder. “You’ll do no such thing. We have a hood who owes us a favor.”
Their casual intimacy bit Aubrey hard. That was what he wanted, that he couldn’t find at court. Nothing there was real, it was all whispers and games until someone took the fall. He couldn’t trust anyone so sought liaisons in the city and out of uniform, but even that wasn’t always safe. Lyle and Jardin had probably never once looked over their shoulder or had their evening tarnished by the need to dress and leave while the stars were still up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up in a lover’s bed.
“He wants to arrest Morris and reveal us,” Jardin snapped.
“I won’t do that. Though Morris may be rounding up men to hunt you down.” If Aubrey were Morris, that was what he’d be doing. He needed to be up and doing something, not lying in their too comfy bed.
It was warm, and he was tired, his body aching from neck to a place deep in his chest. He rubbed the spot over his heart and realized he was naked beneath the blankets. Their blankets. Who had undressed him? Was that why Jardin’s smile had been too wide?
“Morris plans to ride to the city tomorrow and bring back hunters. He doesn’t trust the locals to hunt the wolves because so far they’ve protected the wolves and the forest folk.”
“They have family here.”
Aubrey was about to say something to the effect that family couldn’t be trusted but kept his own counsel. Just because his family was a bunch of power-seeking, favor-grabbing, money-hungry nobles, didn’t mean every family was. The Harrow family had been on the fringes for a while. A generation at least. Perhaps Morris was trying to find a way to return to favor and power.
No matter Morris’s reasons, Aubrey couldn’t stop him while in bed. Tomorrow he’d have to ride to the capital and speak with the king
Jardin leaned against a tree, out of sight from the road. At first light he’d helped Aubrey onto a horse and put him on the path toward the capital. He had to get there before Morris. But Aubrey was still weakened and his heart still mending, and too much strain could kill him.
They’d also had a talk about the fur bracelet and the magic not making him invincible. If Morris took off Aubrey’s head or carved out his heart, he’d be dead.
Jardin lifted his head. He felt them before he heard them. The drumming of hooves, a man traveling faster than one might if they didn’t have a guilty conscience. He whistled the distinctive call of the nightlark to Lyle.
They needed to slow Morris down so he didn’t catch Aubrey on the road.
The sun was high. Morris had no doubt made use of the mayor’s pantry and then been busy dealing with the mayor’s body that had been delivered to his doorstep this morning. Jardin would’ve liked to have been there for that, but he’d had other places to be.
Lyle had told the pack leader they were seeing Aubrey to the edge of Nightlark—to make sure he didn’t come to any harm.
And while that was true, it was wasn’t the whole truth.
A healthy man on a fast horse would ride past Aubrey, and if Morris recognized him there’d be another battle Aubrey wasn’t ready to fight. That he was putting the fate of the wolves in the hands of a hood didn’t sit well, but what other choice did they have?
Even the leader agreed that Morris needed to be stopped and that Aubrey had better not reveal the presence of wolves—if he did, they’d hunt him down and kill him.
The horse and rider come around the bend, and Lyle and Jardin stepped out. Their faces were covered, and they brandished swords. The horse reared and skittered back.
“Give us your money,” Lyle said as though commenting on the weather.
“I don’t have any. Get out of my way.” Morris urged the horse forward.
Jardin caught the reins with his sword. “That was rude, so we’ll take you clothes, too.”
“And maybe this fine-looking saddle.” Lyle was on the other side.
Morris reached for his sword. Jardin slapped Morris’s arm down with the flat of his blade. The cut reins dangled. The horse snorted and stamped, wanting to get away. Lyle had hold of it. They didn’t want it to bolt with Marris on it.
“You can’t attack me. I’m a hood.” Morris cradled his arm, but the confidence was leaving him. He wasn’t in control here and he had no idea what to do. He was used to being obeyed, and when people didn’t do that he was lost.
“Where’s your pretty red cloak then?” Lyle asked.
The snick of a buckle releasing came only a heartbeat before Morris’s saddle slipped.
“Two options here. Either you get down so we can talk, or I slap this horse and we see how far you get before you come off and we pick over your still-warm corpse.”
“This is outrageous.” But Morris undid his coin pouch and dropped it to the ground. “I’m on the king’s business, and you are detaining me.”
There had been a time when one of them would grab the purse and that would be it. But not this time. “And what business would that be?”
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br /> “Your mayor is dead.”
“I don’t have a mayor,” Lyle said. “Sparrowfall is run by the local lord.”
Confusion flickered over Morris’s face. Sparrowfall was the next town over, not on a direct path to the capital. Not great pickings for highwaymen. They’d been there to try it out. The saddle slipped farther. Morris pulled his foot free and jumped to the ground. He drew his sword. Lyle slapped the horse and sent it running. If nothing else, Morris would have a long walk back to Nightlark, or if he pressed on, he might catch up with his horse.
Jardin waited for Morris to attack. Then he could always claim to have been defending himself. Lyle gathered the purse and stayed at Morris’s back. Jardin was quicker with a sword than any human, but he was less well-trained.
Morris attacked. Annoyance that he’d been unseated by such lowlifes flickered across his face. Sweat trickled down Jardin’s back. He didn’t want another rider or trade wagon coming past. All he wanted to do was slow Morris—and wipe that smugness off his face.
Between the two of them, they had Morris backed against a tree with two swords to his throat in no time at all.
“Please don’t kill me. I have rich parents, they’ll pay for my safety.” He dropped his sword as he begged for his life.
Jardin doubted that Aubrey had begged like a child wanting a sweet when Morris had put a blade through him. “We want your clothes, Hood.”
That Morris had even claimed that title was wrong. As much he’d like to make this more personal and ask about the wolves’ treasure and the hood Morris thought he’d killed, Jardin didn’t. They couldn’t be tied to this.
At sword point, Morris stripped off his cloak, finely made but not scarlet, then his shirt. He was going slow as though he expected help to come.
“Hurry up.” Lyle said. “Give us your boots.” He glanced at Jardin, and Jardin nodded. They had been at this too long. Boots, and they’d go.
Morris tugged off his boots, his clothing tossed to the ground like they were about to have a tryst. His sword was forgotten in the middle of the road.
“Thank you very much. My family thank you for putting food on the table tonight.” Jardin stepped back and gave a mock bow. Let Morris think there were hungry children involved. “Reclaim your sword and be on your way.”
Morris hesitated, then ran to his sword.
Lyle and Jardin grabbed the clothes and slid into the forest.
Morris picked up his sword and held it as though to attack. “I’ll see you hanged for this.”
But he was yelling at the wind. There was no one else there. If not for the fact he was wearing only his trousers, he could’ve imagined the whole thing. He didn’t even have a wound to show.
Chapter 7
Aubrey didn’t stop to wash the road grime off. He was exhausted, and his horse wasn’t in much better shape. He was sure he could feel his newly mended heart tearing. He’d checked the fur on his wrist several times to be sure it was still there. If it came off, would he die? Before he walked into the palace seeking audience with the king, he tucked it beneath the cuff of his shirt.
Several well-dressed courtiers stopped and stared, no doubt stunned at his disheveled state. He ignored them and the whispers and made for the king’s private study. The secretary was chatting to one of the guards. He started and lost his words.
“I need to see the king.”
“You’re dead,” the secretary said.
“No, I’m not.” Aubrey was reasonably sure he wasn’t dead.
“But we received word. I’ve just written the letter to your father.”
Aubrey bit back several curses better suited to the taverns on the wrong side of town than the king’s chambers. If word had arrived that he was dead, then Morris must have sent a message. He was too late. What lies had Morris spun to protect himself? “Then you’d best tear it up, after you announce my presence.”
The young man hesitated. He was some lordling hoping to work his way up to real power. Aubrey lost track of them—a son of so-and-so or a cousin of the wife of you know who—and few lasted in the job more than a couple of months. The hours were terrible, and the king was demanding. It made being a hood appear easy.
“I’ve ridden all day and I’d really like a feed and a wash, but I can’t until I’ve seen the king.”
The young man knocked on the door.
The king’s bellow indicated his mood.
The lordling glanced over his shoulder. “Did you want to stay alive?”
“I’ll be fine.” Aubrey had dealt with the king in worse moods.
“Well, the letter is already written. Maybe I won’t tear it up just yet.” He smiled.
Aubrey gave him a withering stare and strode into the king’s study, making sure to shut the door behind him. There would be ears pressed to the door.
The king didn’t even glance up. “What do you want?”
“I’m reporting a murder.”
The king stopped writing and looked up. “I was informed that you were dead, murdered by wolves.”
“Morris Harrow attacked me and left me for dead. The wound wasn’t that severe, and the forest folk found me and gave assistance. The mayor of Nightlark was not so lucky. Morris killed him.” Aubrey paused.
The king scowled. “That is quite an accusation.”
“It is the truth. Though since you expected me to be dead, I do wonder what Morris told you.”
“Did you see any werewolves in the forest?” There was a gleam in the king’s eyes.
Aubrey put his hands behind his back and made sure that the wolf fur was still tucked away. “No.” The lie didn’t even burn his tongue.
“Did you arrest the highwaymen?”
“What highwaymen? They didn’t kill the missing hoods. Morris tried to kill me. I came to warn you that he has plans.”
“Yes, he has volunteered to become mayor of Nightlark. His family once owned land there, before they lost it for being disloyal to my great-grandfather. He added it to the forest.”
That was how Morris knew about the ruins. His family had been waiting for many decades to find the treasure. How many times had they tried and failed? “He killed the mayor.”
“According to you. You were wounded and didn’t know what was going on.”
The scar beneath Aubrey’s collarbone burned. He wanted to show the evidence, but too many questions would be raised. It was the kind of wound one didn’t survive.
“Morris can be mayor for the time being. He says there are werewolves, and I want one. Catch me one.”
When Aubrey woke it was barely light. He’d bathed and slept, and this morning the inside of his chest no longer ached and pulled as though it was going to split open. He checked that the fur bracelet was still on his wrist, but of course, it was.
Beyond his room, the castle was slowly waking. People were getting ready to make meals happen for nobles who expected to be served on time. He was still the king’s servant, the hood his uniform. The king expected Aubrey to deliver him a werewolf, and he wanted the highwaymen captured while Morris took over Nightlark and raided the ruins for treasure.
It didn’t matter how many times Aubrey turned over his options, there was only one: he needed to stop Morris from taking what wasn’t his and destroying the wolves. There was a chance he’d lose his hood. Getting tried for treason was also a possibility because he was going against the king’s orders.
He could turn in his hood and act on his own, but the result would be no different.
Jardin was right about what would happen if people remembered the truth about the wolves. Everyone would want a wolf fur bracelet, and that would just be the start. Where once the hoods had hunted the wolves, he would protect them.
In doing that he was throwing away his position at court and drawing the anger of his father. Maybe his father had already heard that he was dead. How fast would the rumor that he was alive spread?
He didn’t actually care.
He hadn’t been happy at
court for a long time, and there was nothing holding him there. He dressed and readied to head back to Nightlark to unravel Morris’s plans before he could do damage. The king would assume he’d gone wolf hunting and wait for his return. No one stopped him when he wore his hood, but the power it gave him also created fear as people glanced away, not wanting to draw his attention or anger.
In the courtyard his horse was readied, and he left, riding back to Nightlark expecting to never see the castle again.
The ride back was easier than yesterday’s ride to the castle when he’d feared Morris catching him on the road. He rubbed at the scar, that was little more than a raised line of new skin as though the wound was months old—though it was a scar no man should wear. He should be dead. He couldn’t waste this second chance at life.
As he rode, a steady pace that wouldn’t damage his horse, he worked through several plans. It would be nice to leave Morris to the wolves, and it was clear the king would do nothing to stop Morris from gaining the treasure. He could kill Morris, but that would mean waiting until Morris was at the ruins, he couldn’t kill him in the town.
Would killing Morris stop his family or only make matters worse? If Morris knew of the site, others did, too. They had been waiting, maybe even trying to gain access for a long time. That Morris still believed in wolves wasn’t a good sign either. If the king was now convinced they were real, it could start another wave of hunts. There were little bands of forest folk all over the country; no doubt each contained wolves.
Ahead on the road was a cloud of dust.
Aubrey kept up his pace, hoping to pass a group of carts laden with goods for trade. Instead, as he drew closer, he heard the familiar jingle of armed men. While his hood usually protected him, something didn’t feel right. He urged his horse on, riding faster until he saw the livery on the last man and horse. Half a dozen men all in the colors of the local lord…who happened to be a relative to Harrow. All riding for Nightlark.
He needed to get there fast and warn the wolves.