by Eileen Wilks
In, but not of. They had much in common with humans, but they were not human. The clans could not be run the way humans ran their societies.
Human crowds reminded Rule of flocks of birds or children, unable to tolerate stillness for long. He stood beside his father at the center of roughly three hundred mostly still and silent people. Mostly, because there were humans in this crowd, too—female clan, who were as quiet as they could manage. But most were lupi, with a wolf’s instinctive understanding of the value of stillness. Most were Nokolai. Their Rho had called for quiet. They obeyed. Even with that hard pulse stirring them, they could hold quiet and wait…for now. As long as the rhythm didn’t pick up.
But not all here were Nokolai. Laban, Leidolf, and Vochi had each gathered into a knot of their own, surrounded by Nokolai. They would be feeling the tension. They were close enough to smell Isen’s anger. They’d hear the massed heartbeats around them, like a distant ocean. Leidolf would react to this differently than the other two. Rule held their heartbeats to a slow, steady rhythm. They were alert, but calm in their stillness.
Laban and Vochi were still, too—for a wolf’s reason. Fear.
The gathering was not, however, completely silent.
“Your find didn’t work?” Lily said to Cynna, her voice very low.
Cynna shook her head. “Mountains are tricky. I can find through dirt, but even small amounts of quartz will distort things unless I have a really good pattern. Which I don’t. I’ll work up a more complete pattern, but that will take time.”
“Emanuel Korski,” someone called from the rear of the crowd.
“On duty,” Pete said loudly. “Excused.”
“Matt Briggs,” another voice called from up near the front of the crowd. Pete responded with the same two phrases: On duty. Excused.
Lily drummed her fingers on her thigh. “About Laban…they haven’t been subordinate to Nokolai for very long, in lupi terms.”
“Less than thirty years this time,” Cynna whispered back. “But they’ve submitted several times over the years to different clans. This is their third dance with Nokolai.”
“Because they’re combative. They have trouble controlling themselves, so they need a dominant clan to sit on them. Vochi, on the other hand, throws a lot of submissives. They need a dominant clan for protection.”
“Andy Carter!”
“On duty. Excused.”
Six of them stood in the center of the meeting field—Rule and his Rho at the very center, with Pete at Isen’s left. Cullen stood behind them beside a short, angular woman with iron gray hair, thick glasses, and skin that remained luminous in her seventh decade—Isadora Bourque, the chief tender, who answered for those tenders excused from the meeting, just as Pete was for the guards.
Lily and Cynna stood to Rule’s right with their heads together to conduct their soft-voiced conversation. Lily had not run out of questions. No one else would answer them here and now, but Cynna was Rhej. Isen couldn’t command her silence, and by answering Lily’s questions she gave tacit permission for them to continue. Isen was ignoring the whispered conversation. If Cynna had chosen to sit down and paint her toenails, he would have ignored that, too.
But he hadn’t had to permit Lily within the small group in the center of the field. Lily had assumed she would stay with Rule, but Isen didn’t have to allow it. He had. There was a reason—with Isen there was always a reason, often several—but Rule had no idea what it was. Isen hadn’t given him any private word, any guidance at all.
His heart beat steady and slow, out of sync with the rest.
Perhaps no one but he and Isen and Cynna heard Lily’s next question. She kept her voice very low. “But the Vochi Rho himself is a dominant, right? He’d have to be.”
“Right.”
“And Vochi has been subordinate to Nokolai for centuries but has never been…what’s that word? Oh, yeah—subsumed. That’s why Leidolf doesn’t have any subordinate clans. They used to, but they subsumed them.”
“Becka Whitbourne,” a voice at the east side of the crowd called.
“On duty,” Isadora announced in her gravelly voice. “Excused.”
The obvious way to locate a traitor was to see if someone failed to appear. Isen wasn’t calling roll, however; he was calling absences. Or having them called out.
Visitors—both ospi, or clan-friends, and nonresident Nokolai—had been told to report to Pete. There were currently three clan-friends and two nonresident Nokolai at Clanhome, and they were accounted for. Mason and the two adults currently helping him at terra tradis were excused, of course. Adolescents couldn’t be left unsupervised. Nokolai’s guests from the other three clans had been told to assemble up front; Nokolai had been told to gather in the groups they were assigned under the emergency evacuation plan. Evacuation drills were held once a year, so this was a familiar way to assemble. Group leaders had been informed of the fire and the theft and told to pass that information on. Isen hadn’t called for silence until they were all in place, and now the group leaders were announcing any who were absent.
So far, the absences were all excused to other duty.
“That’s right,” Cynna said. “Bad habit of Leidolf’s—or of their mantle.”
“And Nokolai hasn’t wanted to subsume Vochi. Are they worried it might make them throw submissives?”
“It’s not that intentional.” Cynna chewed on her lip while someone else called out two names and was answered by Isadora. “I’m not sure I can explain it, mainly because I don’t really understand. I think you have to be a mantle-holder to really understand. But usually a subordinate clan gets subsumed when the mantles mesh too closely. The dominant clan doesn’t do it on purpose. It just happens. Nokolai’s a good dominant for Vochi because their mantles don’t mesh. Same with Laban.”
Another name was called out. Isadora responded, then looked at Isen and nodded. “All of mine are accounted for.”
Lily’s voice dropped even lower. “And Leidolf meshes with everyone?”
“Leidolf just swallows,” Cynna whispered back. “Doesn’t matter if they mesh or not. Sooner or later, they subsume any subordinate clans. I think it’s the high-dominant thing. Their first Rho was high dominant.”
Two more names were called out. Pete responded loudly, then said much more quietly, “All of mine are present or excused.”
Rule had expected to hear that. It brought him no relief.
Isen spoke, his deep voice rumbling up as if it came from the soles of his feet, magnified by his barrel chest. “Group leaders! Are there any others missing from your groups?”
Silence answered him. Rule focused on his breath. In, out. Slow. Deliberate. Calm.
Isen held that silence for a long moment. The pulse in the mantle stayed steady…steady, but too fast. Not calm. When Isen spoke again his voice dropped to a low growl. “We are at war. We are at war with the Great Enemy. The Lady’s enemy. And we have been betrayed.”
There was a reaction this time. Not words, but a soft susurration, from dozens of indrawn breaths. A quivering in the air. Isen had named the stakes. War. Betrayal. He had told them there would be no clemency.
Isen flattened his voice. “I would speak first with the Leidolf Rho.”
Rule stepped out from his father’s side and moved to stand in front of him. He stood nearly a head taller than Isen. He looked into eyes shadowed by heavy brows set in a face carved by time and will into stone. His Rho’s face.
But now, tonight, he was Leidolf. “I greet Nokolai’s Rho.”
Isen moved his head in the barest token of a nod. Rhos did not dip their heads. That would suggest a baring of the nape. “I greet Leidolf’s Rho.”
Rule inclined his head the same fraction of an inch. “Leidolf agrees that this is a time of war. The loss of the object Cullen Seabourne has been working on could be a blow to all the clans.”
“Will you ask your people what, if anything, they know of this theft? Of this thief? Will you ask them here and
now?”
“As a favor, and so that none here will be distracted by suspicions that take them on the wrong trail, yes. I will ask.” Rule continued to face Isen and spoke quietly. “Leidolf! To me.”
There were sixteen Leidolf at Nokolai Clanhome—the guards who took turns protecting Rule and Lily. Sixteen men who moved toward him with silent ease…and he felt them. That had never happened before. He hadn’t known it was possible, but he felt his Leidolf clansmen moving toward him. It was nothing like what he felt through the mate bond, a sure and certain sense of where Lily was. It was far more subtle, more like feeling the faintest wisp of a breeze on a hot day. Something stirred behind him, and he knew what it was, that was all.
He turned. He let his gaze touch each of them briefly, and he knew them. Knew them personally, yes, and of course the mantle recognized them. But for the first time, his knowledge and the mantle’s recognition blended into a seamless whole.
He knew them, and they were his. “Leidolf,” he said, his voice raised enough for Nokolai and the other clans to hear. “You will answer truly and fully now. If I have given you orders on some previous occasion which might cause you to withhold information or mislead or lie, you will disregard those orders. Do any of you have personal knowledge of this theft or of this thief?”
Some shook their heads. Some said no. A few did both.
“Have any of you spoken to someone not present tonight about Cullen Seabourne’s workshop?”
Most of them spoke their no aloud this time, firmly. So that Nokolai would hear. One didn’t respond. Rule’s heart gave a single hard thud in his chest. He controlled it quickly. “Scott. You didn’t answer.”
“I wasn’t sure how to answer. LeBron and I talked about it some. He’s not here.”
This time the relief was real and vivid. Rule turned to look at Isen. “LeBron died saving my nadia’s life. I can’t call on him to testify for himself, so I will speak for him. He did not betray Leidolf or our alliance with Nokolai. I so pledge on the honor of Leidolf.”
Isen didn’t react. Others did. Breaths sucked in, feet or bodies stirred. Rule could have made the pledge on his own honor. That he’d backed it by Leidolf’s meant it could only be disputed if Isen were willing to call Clan Challenge.
It was probably overkill. Rule didn’t care. LeBron’s name would be honored, not smudged by doubts.
Isen nodded again, a fraction more deeply—acknowledging a favor. “Nokolai accepts Leidolf’s pledge and thanks you for your help. Does the Leidolf Rho have further comment or questions at this time?”
“Leidolf has no more to contribute at this time. We are on your land. We acknowledge your rights and responsibilities in this matter.”
“Then I would speak with my Lu Nuncio.”
Rule had switched roles with his father many times now, going from Lu Nuncio to Rho and back. It had sometimes been tricky in the way that a puzzle can be, but never truly difficult.
Tonight it was.
The Nokolai Rho wished to take him out, use him, then stuff him back into the lesser role when it suited him? And do so publicly, demonstrating to all that Leidolf answered Nokolai’s bidding. That was…Rule drew a slow breath. That was entirely proper. When Rule first was thrust into the leadership of Leidolf, his Rho had spoken to him about the problems inherent in being Rho to one clan and Lu Nuncio to another. He had agreed that here at Clanhome he would be Lu Nuncio to Nokolai, not Rho to Leidolf. Tonight Isen had agreed to his assumption of the other role so he could clear Leidolf of complicity, but that did not abrogate their original agreement.
Isen had noted his hesitation. No doubt of that. Others might have as well. “I have thought of one thing Leidolf might do to assist. I would send my men to guard Toby, releasing more of your men to assist in other ways.”
“I accept your offer.”
Rule turned and gave quick instructions to his men. As they melted away into the crowd, he faced Isen again. This time he dipped his head low, baring his nape. “My Rho wishes to speak with me?”
Isen’s face held no emotion. “Change.”
TEN
RULE’S heart gave a single, frightened leap, but he obeyed.
The moon was new and hidden now behind the curve of the earth. It didn’t matter, not for Rule. Her song was as much a part of him as his pulse. He didn’t rush, not wanting to pull others into the Change with him. He listened and opened himself to moonsong, distant and muted and impossibly pure, and it slid through him like falling water. The earth answered easily, shooting up through him, and the two met and ripped the world apart, starting with his body.
The pain was instant and intolerable—and over, the memory of it lingering faintly like an afterimage of the sun imprinted on the retina. Then that, too, was gone. He stood on four feet in a world vastly different from what he experienced on two, his vision both expanded and contracted. Expanded, because wolves have a full 180 degrees of vision, compared to a human’s 100 degrees. Contracted, because wolves are myopic—unless something moves. That they’ll spot quickly even at a great distance, though the object itself may be an unidentifiable blur.
Even two-footed Rule’s sense of smell was better than a human’s, but in this form smells burst upon him, wrapping him in a more deeply dimensional world. The air was alive, textured with information more layered and complex than any of Rembrandt’s paintings. His ears pivoted, helping him read that world. He heard Isen’s heartbeat now as well as feeling it pulse through the mantle. He heard the throb of all the other hearts timed to it, and realized his own heart had fallen into that rhythm the way a rock obeys gravity.
Rule stood on four feet and felt a whine try to rise in his throat. This was worse as wolf. Far worse. Wolves live wrapped in instinct, and his were at war. Rule remained four-footed but pulled himself more into the man.
Sometimes thinking helped.
His own men were away from the crowd now, no longer surrounded by the scent of the clan who had been their enemy for so long. They would do well enough even if their hearts did beat faster for a bit. But he didn’t want to be compelled into the rhythm. He was Nokolai and obedient to his Rho, but he was also Leidolf, and he would not be compelled. He turned part of his attention to his breathing once more. His breath answered him, but his heart didn’t want to obey. Fear was clutching at him with clammy hands, trying to wrest control. He knew what the order to Change meant. He knew.
This was the form for Challenge…or judgment.
Isen signaled for Rule to resume his place at his side. He obeyed. Quietly Isen said, “Pete. Name two squads who are all on the field now that you trust completely.”
Pete paused. “Seven and Eight.”
“Squads Seven and Eight!” Isen boomed out. “Change!”
They did. Two of the newer wolves were inadvertently caught up in it. They immediately lowered themselves to the ground in apology.
“Seventh and Eighth squads—disperse so that at least one of you stands with each group.”
Wolves began to move through the crowd. As they did, Isen turned slowly, letting his gaze sweep over the gathering. He made a full circle before he spoke again. “I require you now, all of you, to think. To remember. Who have you spoken with about Cullen Seabourne’s workshop? About what he has been working on? You’ve discussed it with other Nokolai, of course. But perhaps someone who is not Nokolai was curious. Perhaps one of our guests. Such curiosity is natural, but you were told not to discuss this outside the clan, so you will remember if someone asked. Think about this. Call it up in your memory.”
Silence. Several moments of it, hearts beating together…but not all of them. Not Laban. Not Vochi.
And not female clan.
The pull of that demanding pulse continued to build. Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump…
Isen raised his voice once more. “Everyone who remembers being asked about these things by someone outside Nokolai will come forward now.” Then he lowered his voice. “Pete. Make room for them. Forty or fifty
, I suspect. Don’t move Laban and Vochi.”
Pete moved away and began directing those groups closest to the center to other parts of the field. Others began moving up in ones and twos. It wasn’t silent now, not with so many moving forward or back, the inevitable excuse mes, feet shuffling as some shifted to allow others to pass. Lily was asking Cynna something again. She kept her voice so low that Rule caught only a few words over the noise…enough to guess her question. She wanted to know what happened to a subordinate clan that screwed its dominant.
Cynna’s whispered response was clear to a wolf’s ears. “Anything. It can be anything, up to and including clan death, if the dominant gets two other dominant clans to agree that a betrayal took place. But if the Rho of the subordinate clan admits his guilt, it’s kept between those two clans. It’s all on him then, see? Not his clan.”
Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump…
Lily asked what happened to that Rho.
Cynna whispered, “He submits and is killed.”
Lily didn’t ask any more questions. She waited. Rule waited.
Most of those making their way forward were female clan.
That, too, he’d expected. Women were the obvious targets for someone out-clan to question. Female clan obeyed their Rho, but they were human, not lupi. They obeyed the way a human obeys a policeman or doctor—from habit, from respect, from the assumption that the cop or physician knows what’s best. They knew that disobedience had consequences, but they didn’t have a gut-deep certainty that it was right to obey. And the consequences of disobedience were different for them.
Lupi didn’t harm women. Ever.
A lupus who erred in a minor way was chastised physically. He might be given some onerous job as well, but the physical defeat was what mattered. It proved that he wasn’t allowed to disobey; those with authority over him could force his obedience, and there was comfort in that. Comfort, too, in the simple expiation of guilt—first pain, then healing, both physical and emotional.