by Joy Demorra
“It helps people not recognize me. Though, I suppose that’s less of an issue here.” She regarded herself in the reflective surface of the glass mirror, its edges tarnished with age. She hadn’t counted on Ivar still being alive, but she knew the old werewolf wouldn’t say anything to anyone.
He wouldn’t be able to.
Satisfied she didn’t look as old as she felt, even without her glamour, Ursula stepped away from the mirror and moved toward the window. The thin pane was fogged from the warmth of the room; she wiped it aside and peered down at the cobbled courtyard below. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from Lorehaven. The first time she’d been here it had been little more than a wooden keep sat atop a buffet of heath, the forest still newly sprouting in its infancy. The last time she’d been here hadn’t been much better. It felt strange to look out now and see the same courtyard surrounded by fortified masonry and thick forest as far as the eye could see.
The wolves, it seemed, had been busy in her absence.
“Did you notice the man at the door?” she asked, drawing a happy face in the remaining condensation with her finger.
“Ivar?” Alfbern grunted. “How could I not? Or do you mean the blue-eyed wolf you were making eyes at?”
“I was not—” Ursula whirled around to stare at him, glaring when she realized he was teasing her. “I was not making eyes at him. I was trying to see his ears.”
“And what was so special about his ears?”
“There was magic in them,” she said as she turned back to the window. She grimaced when she saw the happy face had already run, turning into tears. She swiped it away and wiped her hand on her skirt.
“What kind of magic?”
“I’m not sure,” Ursula lied. She knew if she told the truth that the old bear would be off on a rampage before she’d even finished speaking. She wasn’t sure why the blue-eyed werewolf with the roguish smile had tingled with the faintest prickle of necromancy around his ears, but she was determined to find out. “Perhaps I’ll ask him at dinner tonight. If I get a chance.”
Alfbern hauled himself out of the chair. “You do that. And while you’re at it, you can practice not making eyes at him like a bear cub with a fresh piece of honeycomb.”
He was halfway to the door when the cushion hit him on the back of the head.
*
“More wine?” the blond werewolf on her right asked.
Her goblet still full from the last time he’d filled it, Ursula held up her hand to stall him. “No, thank you.”
Leaning even further into her personal space, he grinned generously. “Ah well, all the more for me then,” he said with only the slightest of slurs as he topped off his own pewter goblet.
Predictably, Lord Northland—or more likely Lady Northland—had seated her near the top end of the table. Close to Alfbern but buffeted from the serious discussion of the table by one of their sons. Regrettably for Ursula, it was not the son she’d hoped for, and so far she’d spent the evening in passive conversation with a handsome young werewolf named Miles who was, at present, dangerously close to putting his hand on her thigh.
Please don’t, Ursula thought, willing the thought out into the universe and into his head. She didn’t want to stab him with her fork. Not on the first night. But she wasn’t completely averse to the idea either.
It wasn’t even that he was ugly or even that his conversation was boring. He wasn’t, and it wasn’t. The problem was simply that he was so full of himself; Ursula was amazed there was room in his head for anything else.
“You have very unique coloring,” he said as he made a point of admiring her hair. “Where are you from originally?”
“Obëria.” Deciding that more wine was the only way she was going to get through this after all, she reached for her goblet.
“No, I know that. But where. Where are your ancestors from? You must have gotten this—” He gestured to the thick coil of hair that had escaped the confines of her braid. For one awful moment, Ursula thought he might try to touch it. “—from somewhere.”
Ursula smiled sweetly at him. “My family have always lived in Obëria. It’s a fairly common feature there, blonde hair.” She didn’t feel like letting him know she dyed it. She also didn’t feel like letting him know that Obëria had once been part of Ecrecia before the last continental shift had taken place, or that once upon a time, the snowy banks of the Obërian shores had glittered white with sunbaked sands purer than any driven snows.
Until the forests came.
Part of her wanted to tell him, but she feared his tiny head might explode. She really couldn’t be bothered picking gray matter out of her food. Not when the apple tart she was eating was so thoroughly delicious.
Miles smiled at her—a particularly oily, insincere smile. Without meaning to, Ursula caught a flicker of his mind. The word dim made itself known followed closely by easy; Ursula tightened her grip around her fork, just in case. “Fascinating,” he said aloud, drinking deeply from his goblet. “And here was me thinking they were all tall, redheaded brutes who liked boats.”
“You’d know more if you paid attention to a word I said while you were growing up,” Ivar interjected.
Grateful for the comment, Ursula smiled fondly at the grumpy old wolf. “Do you like history, Master Ivar?” she asked, already knowing the answer but desperate to talk to someone else. Anyone else. “I suppose as Counsel, you must have to learn a great many things.”
Ivar grinned at her across the table, a look that might have been a grimace were it not for the magic oath that bound his tongue. “I read broadly,” he replied tersely. “It does a mind good to learn more. And from multiple points of view. You never know what you might learn if you go digging.”
Ursula smiled at the innocuous comment, knowing he’d intended it squarely for her.
“Well, good thing I’ve got Nathan to do all the reading for me.” Miles gestured to his brother, who looked up suddenly from his plate like a deer that had heard a branch cracking beneath a hunter’s heel. “Got to give him something to do besides twiddling his thumbs on Eyrie. Isn’t that right?”
The other werewolf’s hand went self-consciously to the leather strap at his shoulder, fiddling with the fit. He flashed a self-deprecating grin. “I suppose, but only if you don’t mind that it takes me a while to figure out some of the bigger words.” A reflexive laugh rippled around the table.
Ursula tilted her head. “Eyrie… That’s a funny place for a werewolf. I thought it was all a vampire colony now.”
“It is,” Nathan replied, smiling.
Oh. Oh no. This won’t do at all. Ursula realized with some small dismay he was exceedingly handsome when he smiled properly. She’d always had a bit of a thing for tall, dark, and handsome men. Women too, truth be told. But it was the way his eyes lit up when he smiled that made Ursula want to make him laugh. They were kind and soft. And far cleverer than the werewolf himself let on.
“And what do you do there?” She took a sip from her drink so that she wouldn’t do something rash and untoward—like grab him by his collar and drag him back to her room—but the wine did little to quench her thirst.
“He’s Captain of the Guard,” Miles informed her, raising his eyebrows as though expecting her to laugh. “Very important stuff.”
“It’s lowly paperwork. But someone’s got to do it. Might as well be me,” Nathan admitted with a lopsided shrug.
“And what do you do, Lady Ursula?” a young woman sitting on Nathan’s left asked, and Ursula admired the purple and blue coloring of her curly hair.
“Do? Why, I suppose at the moment I travel with Uncle Alfie.” She quashed a grin at the snort Ivar gave at the ridiculous moniker. “But eventually I’d like to be a Sister.”
“A Sister. What’s that?” the young werewolf asked.
Nathan turned toward the streaked-haired werewolf. “It’s sort of like a priestess of the forest. They tend to the Ancestral Trees and look after the forest.”
> “Oh, like Aunt Moira?” the young woman asked.
A few seats down the table, Lady Northland barked with laughter. “Not quite, Randa, dear. There hasn’t been a Sister in the Ironwoods for centuries now. But I suppose I do fulfill some of their roles.”
“No Sisters?” The hair on the back of her neck rose in alarm. “Then who protects the forest?”
Lady Northland gave her a curious stare as though it ought to be obvious. “We do.”
“I see.” But she didn’t. Ursula forced herself to breathe normally. The Ironwoods was the first living forest they’d found in months, and now she learned it wasn’t even guarded properly. It was enough to make her want to run screaming into the night. “Well, I would love to see the grove at some point. If you wouldn’t mind. I always find I’m at my best when I’m surrounded by greenery…” She left the sentence hanging hopefully.
Lady Northland’s face softened. “Of course, it must be hard for you, being so far from home. I’d offer to take you myself in the morning, but I’m so busy with the solstice.”
Even better. She didn’t need prying eyes around to watch her work. “Oh no, don’t worry about me. I’m sure I can find my way.” She gave the woman her most innocent, yet competent, smile—the smile that got her into, and out of, numerous situations.
“Nonsense.” The older woman tsked. “There’s more in the Ironwoods than just us. One of the boys can take you. Miles? Nathan?”
For the first time all evening, Miles fell silent.
Across the table, Nathan sighed. “I’ll go.”
“Really, it’s no trouble. I’ll be fine on my own,” Ursula insisted, inflecting a hint of charm into her words and hoping it would work.
But the blue-eyed werewolf merely stared straight at her. “Trust me, my lady,” he said, smiling that annoyingly attractive smile again. “It’s no trouble at all.”
Pleased with herself, Lady Northland nodded. “There now, that’s sorted. You can go first thing in the morning and still be home for the hunt in the afternoon.”
“Thank you. Wonderful.” Even though it was anything but. “That would be lovely.”
Down at the opposite end of the table, Alfbern spoke up, “I don’t suppose you have any honeycomb, Lady Northland? I find myself with a sudden craving…”
Ursula glowered at him.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
The sun was barely up when a soft knock on the door roused Ursula from her slumber. She sat up in a daze, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Who is it?”
“Cup of tea, miss,” a soft voice called from the other side of the door.
“That’s an odd name,” Ursula mumbled, and then realization clicked. She got up and fumbled her way over to the door.
A young werewolf with blonde hair and wearing an apron waited on the other side, holding out a cup. “From Master Nathan. He says no hurry, but he’s down in the courtyard, and he’s ready when you are.”
“Thank you,” Ursula said as she lifted the cup and saucer from the girl’s hands and took a scalding gulp. “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute. Possibly ten. And what is your name?”
“Amy, miss.”
“Thank you, Amy. You may go.”
Gratitude shining in her bright green eyes, the girl dropped a curtsy and scarpered before the door had even finished swinging shut. Grumbling like the proverbial bear with a sore head, Ursula sat down in front of the tarnished mirror and began yanking her hair into some semblance of order. When she was done, she retrieved a soft pair of leather leggings from her pack, wriggling into them as she hunted for a clean tunic. By the time she’d managed to get her boots on, she was mostly awake and somewhat less crabby about it.
True to his word, Nathan sat perched atop the castle steps waiting for her in the courtyard. He was dressed plainly, a brown leather doublet seemingly his only concession to the bitter cold. Smiling when he noticed her, he shook mist-curled hair out of his eyes as he stood. “Here,” he said by way of greeting, holding out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. “I thought you might like something before we head out.”
Ursula took it. It was warm to the touch, and she unwrapped the contents to reveal something that smelled like an apple dumpling. “You are wonderful,” she said, not sure whether she was talking to him or the pastry as she wolfed it down. If the werewolf thought anything of her table manners, or lack thereof, he kept his opinion firmly to himself.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Ursula gestured him forward, still licking sugar from her fingertips. “Lead the way.”
Despite the hour, the woods were comfortingly dark, the sun barely managing to pierce through the thick canopy of foliage above them. It was warmer here too in the shelter of the trees.
Ursula found herself enjoying the company of her quiet companion as their boots crunched over brush and what little snow had drifted down to the ground. After snatching a few sideways glances up at him, Ursula said, “I don’t want to pry…”
“But?” Nathan prompted, sounding more amused than annoyed as he glanced down at her.
Ursula plunged on, “About the crystals, in your ears…”
“They’re listening aids.” The werewolf fiddled with the gold loop around his left ear, the glitter of magic hot and bright in her vision. “I was injured and lost my hearing. These help me hear better.”
“I see,” Ursula said, instantly curious about how they worked. “I’m sorry to hear that. Did a witch make them for you?”
“No. A physician. On Eyrie.”
“A physician with magic?”
Nathan’s step faltered. “No, not magic. Science. Although a vampire did help.”
“Ah,” Ursula said. That would explain that then.
Vampires were curious creatures—part demon, part elemental force, and part whatever was left of their souls. Ursula had never quite been able to figure them out. Some, who had never shown any skill for magic in life, were suddenly able to cast lightning or fly. Others, who had been magically inclined in life, lost their abilities in undeath. It was almost as though they became the mirror opposites of their living selves. If she were fanciful, Ursula might have hypothesized that this was why vampires cast no reflection in mirrors. Except, of course, that vampires did cast a reflection. They just avoided looking into silver for fear of what the purifying element might show. It was funny how the folklore twisted and changed over time.
Almost as funny as the thought of a vampire using their power to make a medical aid for a werewolf.
“Is it that obvious? That there’s magic in them?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. The leather of his brace creaked, and Ursula’s eyes flew to the strip of brown leather across his barrel chest. It wasn’t magical, not like the listening aids. But it was fascinating.
“Only to a trained eye,” she answered, purposefully turning her gaze back to the worn path leading them deeper into the forest. It had been some years since she’d last been here. Three hundred, she realized with a start. Has it really been that long since I left Obëria?
“I suppose you know a lot about magic,” Nathan said after they’d walked several more paces in silence. “What with studying to be a Sister and all.”
“A little.” She gnawed distractedly on her lower lip as she cast her senses out wide, sinking her magic into the earth. Life flowed up to greet her; it sang through her veins with the promise of spring yet to come. And underneath it all, the heartbeat of the forest thudded loudly: old and steady and strong. The Ironwoods were healthy, Sisters or no. But that didn’t mean they were invulnerable. She was so preoccupied with following the magic, Ursula failed to notice the gnarled roots on an old hawthorn tree snaring around her boot. Reaching out, she clutched for the nearest solid thing to steady herself. It just so happened to be a werewolf.
“Careful,” Nathan grunted as he caught her around the waist. “I don’t want to take you back to your uncle with a twisted ankle. My mother would never let me hear the end of it.”
Ur
sula stared up at him, realizing at this distance that his eyes were flecked with yellow. “Thank you,” she squeaked. Annoyed at her clumsiness, she told herself that she absolutely did not enjoy the feeling of being pressed to his side. Or the steady weight of his hand on her hip. It was, after all, one thing to enjoy looking at him, but it was quite another to fling herself into his arms. No matter how big and strong they were. And no matter how accidentally.
“You’re welcome.” He set her gently on her feet and stepped back. Ursula was almost upset he didn’t use it as an opportunity to linger.
“I didn’t wrench your arm, did I?” she asked, setting off in the direction of the sacred grove several steps ahead of him so he wouldn’t see her discomfiture.
“No. It’s fine.”
“I take it that’s another souvenir from your war?”
He grunted. “Not my war.”
“You fought it,” Ursula countered.
“I end fights; I don’t start them. Or at least, I used to.”
“Why?”
Nathan frowned, his brow creasing in confusion. “Why what?”
She regarded him from over her shoulder. “Why do you finish fights other people start?”
He thought about it, then shrugged. “Because someone has to.”
They walked several more paces in silence until they reached a crossroads in the path. Ursula turned left. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to the Sisters of your forest?”
“I don’t know much about it,” Nathan replied, following behind her as she came to another fork in the road and turned left again. “All I know is my grandfather banished the last one. Something about breaking an oath.”
Ursula felt her blood run cold. There was only one oath a Sister took: protect the woods at all costs. Whatever they’d done, it had to have been unforgivable for James Northland to have banished them.
“Well,” she said, voice breathless with dread and faux brightness, “you seem to be doing just fine without them. Your mother must take great care of the grove.”