by Eileen Wilks
Women couldn’t be punished physically. The idea was deeply repugnant. Besides, it would bring fear, not comfort. For a minor transgression, a female clan might be given chores, a stern talking-to, something along those lines.
Serious disobedience was rare, but it happened. When it did, shunning was the usual consequence for both male and female clan. During the shunning—which traditionally lasted from one day to one week—no one would speak to you, look at you, acknowledge your existence in any way. No one except your Rho. He was the only one who knew you were alive, who might—if he chose—meet your eyes for a moment.
Rule had been shunned for three days before he was named Lu Nuncio. Not because he’d disobeyed. His father had wanted him to understand in his gut how serious a punishment shunning was.
It had worked. Rule had had nightmares off and on for a year.
If a transgression was so severe that a week’s shunning couldn’t expiate it, the punishment was death or removal from the clan. Of the two, lupi considered death more merciful, but both were extremely rare. In Rule’s lifetime, his father had had two Nokolai lupi killed for major offenses. None had ever been banished.
But five female clan had.
One had been a thief. She’d stolen from the clan itself. Two had been simply troublemakers and liars who couldn’t refrain from stirring up those around them. Another had nearly caused the deaths of two children through a combination of willful disobedience, arrogance, and stupidity. Each of those four had been driven to the destination of their choice, given a couple thousand dollars, and cut off forever from Nokolai.
The fifth one had caused the tortuous death of a Nokolai lupus out of petty vindictiveness.
Twenty-two years ago, Nevada, Texas, Georgia, and Mississippi still had shoot-on-sight laws for lupi who were in wolf form, though they were being challenged in court. Most other states still had laws on the books for locking up lupi in either form, but by then the lockup was only until they could be turned over to the feds. The federal government was enthusiastically pursuing its more humane policy toward Rule’s people: catch them, brand them, dose them with gado, then allow them to lead “normal” lives.
Gado weakens lupi, depriving them of both strength and healing. It also blocks moonsong, preventing the Change. Lupi go crazy if deprived of the Change for too long. Different lupi react differently to the drug; for a few, the effects of a single dose linger for months.
Sheila had been angry at Carlos, a fellow clansman and former lover, and had turned him in to the feds. He’d been caught, branded, and dosed. Nokolai found Carlos after the feds released him, and hid him. That was no easy task back then. The brand on his forehead wouldn’t heal until the gado was out of his system, and MCD liked to keep a close watch on branded lupi, hoping to catch others.
It hadn’t helped. Four months later, Carlos still couldn’t hear moonsong. He’d committed suicide.
Sheila was gone by then.
Isen couldn’t let her repeat her crime. She could have taken vengeance on too many others by reporting them to the government, up to and including Isen himself. She’d proven herself capable of doing just that. So he’d had her smuggled into Cuba, where she was given the equivalent of five hundred dollars and left to survive. Or not.
Rule thought about Sheila as he stood beside Isen and watched clan obediently gather in front of their Rho. Any lupus who had done what Sheila had would have been put to death. But his people did not hurt women. Ever.
With one exception.
Their Lady understood her people. She’d never told them to protect women, no more than she’d instructed them to love their children, fight their enemies, or revel in the bliss of running four-footed. They did those things because they were as she’d made them. Because she knew this, one of the very few laws she’d given them was that any clan member who willfully and knowingly assisted the Great Enemy was to be put to death. Any clan, male or female.
The Lady’s law must be followed. Isen had no choice. Neither did Rule.
What happened tonight depended on many things. It was possible a male clansman had revealed details about Cullen’s workshop and his project, but it was far more likely to have been a female clan. But who had she spoken to? What were her motives? Speaking when she shouldn’t might result in benefit to the enemy, but stupidity wasn’t punishable by death.
Rule breathed slowly and carefully and told himself he was not nauseous. His body would heal nausea, so what he felt was tension, not illness. Isen understood the difference between accidental aid and intentional. He was no fool.
But he was very angry.
“Squads Seven and Eight!” Isen called out. “Do you smell guilt? Is anyone in your group lying by remaining behind?”
Rule couldn’t see what the four-footed guards did. Vochi blocked his view to the right, Laban to the left, and those who’d been brought up front for questioning blocked the rest. He didn’t turn around to look—not until Isen began to turn in a slow circle. Then he kept pace, staying at his Rho’s side.
At the back of the crowd to the south, a wolf yipped. To the east and much closer, another one did. Two reluctant witnesses had been identified.
“Bring them forward,” Isen commanded. Then, in an ordinary voice, he said, “Lily.”
She was behind Rule and to his right. “Yes?”
“I told you once that a Rho does not question his clan directly. That was an exaggeration, but the basic principle is true. This is not yet a matter of trial and accusation. I would like you to ask the questions.”
Rule’s hackles lifted. His ears flattened as he swung his head around to look first at his Rho, then at Lily. He shook his head once. No.
Lily met his eyes, her own dark and serious. “It will be all right,” she told him.
He shook his head again.
She walked up to him, knelt, and threaded her hand into the fur along his neck until her fingertips touched skin. “It will be all right,” she repeated, but this time under the tongue, so quietly that only he would hear. “You won’t have to kill anyone tonight.”
He stared at her, astonished that she understood. And upset that she didn’t.
“Oh. That’s not quite it, is it?” She bent and put her mouth close to his ear, her voice so soft now it was barely more than a breath. “You won’t have to disobey your Rho, either.”
ELEVEN
“LILY.” Her name was a low rumble, like thunder in the distance. Isen’s voice was pure, deep bass. Most of the time it seemed to rumble up from the depths of his barrel chest, as if his lungs were located so deep in his body the sound had the time and space to echo around in there. It was a voice well suited to menace when he wanted it to be.
Lily wished she knew for sure he was aiming for menace instead of hitting it naturally at the moment. She straightened, keeping one hand resting on Rule’s back. “I would very much like to handle the questioning. Thank you.” Not that he was doing it to please her. No, he had something else in mind, and maybe she’d guessed what that was. One of his goals, anyway. Isen wasn’t a two birds with one stone kind of guy. More like one stone, two birds, a rabbit, a fox, and maybe that deer will trip over the fox and we can get him, too.
Which Rule knew very well. And he was still scared. Scared his Rho would ask something of him he couldn’t do.
Something was going on Lily didn’t understand, but she knew what questions to ask. She spoke to Isen. “I’d like to give the witnesses some directions first.”
His bushy eyebrows lifted a millimeter. “Very well.” He raised his voice, addressing the tense group who’d come forward. “You will do as the Chosen bids.”
The Chosen. Lily ran her thumb over the other ring she wore. Not Rule’s ring, but the one that held the charm the clan had entrusted to her when she accepted her place in the clan. The lupi had considered her Nokolai from the moment the mate bond hit, but the charm marked her acceptance of that joining.
The toltoi, they called the little charm. Th
e toltoi wasn’t magic. Not exactly. Lily felt something when she touched it, something so faint it almost wasn’t there, and that faint trace didn’t quite feel like magic. She didn’t know what it was, and that was annoying, but she’d gotten used to not knowing. Mostly.
Lily turned to look at her witnesses.
Maybe forty people waited to do as she bid. Six of them were male. All of them were anxious. “First,” she said loudly, “does anyone have information that’s urgent? Not just important, but urgent?” Some shook their heads. None spoke. “Okay, then. I want everyone who spoke with or was questioned by someone from Laban to move to your right. Everyone who spoke with or was questioned by someone from Vochi, go to your left. If you’ve been questioned by people from more than one clan, get in the middle and sit down. If you’ve been questioned by someone not from Vochi, Laban, or Nokolai, get in the middle but don’t sit down.”
You sure couldn’t do this with witnesses anywhere else. They all did just what she’d told them to do. There were a few murmurs as they determined where the perimeters of each group lay, but otherwise they were quiet.
It was spooky as hell. “Thank you,” she said, taking a quick count. Only six on the Laban side. Thirteen—no, fifteen on the Vochi side. Nine sat in the middle and eleven stood. “I’m talking to the ones standing in the middle now,” Lily said. “If any of you are up here because you talked to or were questioned by someone from Leidolf and only Leidolf, go sit…” She looked around. “Got sit on the west side, near Cynna.”
Everyone who’d been standing in the middle began moving. They were careful not to encroach on the open area where Isen, Lily, Rule, and the others stood. Once they’d gotten themselves over by Cynna she asked, “Is there anyone who was questioned by someone who is not clan? Not from any of the clans?” She waited. No one spoke or moved. “Okay. I’ll probably want to talk with each of you one-on-one, but not quite yet. You can sit down while you wait, if you like, but stay in your groups and don’t talk to each other.”
So much for the willing witnesses. The two reluctant ones had arrived, escorted by two very large wolves, who prodded them to stand directly in front of their Rho. One was thirty-ish, blond and blue, five-three, about one-twenty-five. That one-twenty-five was arranged in a traditional hourglass shape. She looked miserable. The other was younger—maybe twenty—with a narrow face, long dark hair, very straight, and olive skin. Five-nine, but about the same weight as the other woman. Long and lean. Lily couldn’t see her expression clearly. She kept her head lowered, letting that long hair curtain her face.
“Isen,” the miserable one said, “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“No?” he said. “You won’t mind answering Lily’s questions, then.” He made a small gesture with one hand. Rule moved to stand between the two women.
“Cullen, would you bring the mage lights lower?” The lupi might go by scent, but Lily needed to see faces. “Thanks,” she said as the lights bobbed down to hover at head height. “We haven’t met,” Lily said to the two women, “but I guess you know who I am. What are your names?”
“Sherrianne,” the blond said. “Sherrianne Jacobson. I’m Sam’s daughter.”
Lily blinked. Sam was a dragon…but obviously there was another Sam.
“Sam Posey,” Isen said. “He’s running the vineyard now, but he lived here for many years. Sherrianne grew up at Clanhome, but moved away as an adult. At her father’s urging she returned soon after the hostilities began—she and her son, Will. He’s ospi, not lupus, and she and her ex share custody. I believe Will is with his father for the holiday?”
Sherrianne nodded unhappily. “Can we talk privately?”
“You will talk to Lily now.”
Lily said, “In a moment.” Sherrianne might have started out reluctant, but she was longing to confess now. Whether her confession would be helpful remained to be seen, but Lily wanted to let her build up more steam. She looked at the dark-haired young woman. “And you?”
She didn’t look up. Her voice was low. “Brenda Hyatt.”
“I’ve seen you around Clanhome.”
Brenda didn’t answer—but for the first time she glanced up at Lily. Her eyes were dark and brimming with emotion. Anger, certainly. Defiance, too. She looked down again quickly.
Defiance came with the territory at a certain age, but Brenda was beginning to interest Lily. “How old are you, Brenda?”
“I don’t see why I have to answer your questions.”
Lily smiled. Oh, yes, Brenda interested her greatly. “If you aren’t impressed by Isen’s order, maybe my badge will mean something to you. Special Agent Lily Yu, Unit Twelve, FBI. You can think about your rights and responsibilities as a citizen while I talk to Sherrianne.” She gave a little jerk of her head, indicating that the other woman should follow her.
There was no way to talk privately, of course. Not with so many lupi ears nearby. But she’d give the woman some semblance of it. Lily stopped a few feet away.
Sherrianne followed. Rule kept pace with her. He would act as a lie detector. Human experts dithered over how to detect lies, or if it was even possible. Lupi were quite sure it was—for them. The blend of stress, fear, and guilt from a lie had a subtle chemical signature they could detect when in wolf form. It was easiest if the liar was a lupus confronted by his Rho or Lu Nuncio; supposedly lupi never lied successfully then. Humans were harder to read, but high-stakes lies were easier to detect even for a mere human. They produced more emotion.
Sherrianne must have known some of this. She kept glancing down at Rule—not very far down, since he made a really large wolf—but she didn’t look scared. Not happy, but not scared.
Lily stopped and faced her witness. “You want to tell me why you feel guilty?”
Sherrianne leaned closer and started to whisper something.
“I’m not lupi. You’ll have to be louder.”
Sherrianne sighed heavily. “I guess they’re going to hear me anyway.”
“Some of them will, I imagine.”
Another sigh. “This is so embarrassing. I was saying that it’s not about the workshop. Not really. It’s about him.” Her gaze slid to the left, where Cullen stood. “Cullen. He’s married, you know.”
“Yes, I do.” The only married lupus on the face of the planet. That would change in March, but right now Cullen was it.
“And I—well—people told me he meant it. That he’s being monogamous. I didn’t believe them, and I wanted…I mean, look at him. Who wouldn’t? But at first I couldn’t even meet him. He’s always either at his workshop or he’s with Cynna and Ryder, so I asked people about his workshop, what he does there, and when he’s likely to be there and all. I thought I could, you know, pull off a meeting that way. That’s why I felt guilty, because I’d been talking to people about his workshop. But I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I don’t think you’re telling me everything.”
Sherrianne’s blue eyes opened wider. “I am!”
Rule shook his head.
“You aren’t.”
She gave Rule a dirty look, as if he’d tattled. “I guess some of it was because of Cynna. It’s not very reasonable for her to expect him to be faithful, is it? But I like her, and I…I wasn’t able to meet him on the way to his workshop—”
Rule was shaking his head.
“Oh, all right! I did run into him, and he told me to go away, but everyone says he’s really rude about being interrupted, so it wasn’t like he’d really turned me down. So I…I sort of made friends with Cynna, because that’s where he spends a lot of time. With her and Ryder.”
Rule nodded. She was being truthful now.
“You feel guilty because you used Cynna in order to get access to her husband, who you want to seduce.”
“That’s such a judgmental way of looking at it.”
“Seems pretty accurate to me. Have you talked to anyone outside Nokolai about Cullen’s workshop or what he does there?”
“No! No
t even once.”
Rule nodded again.
“Just for the record…how did your use-Cynna-to-seduce-her-husband plan work out?” Lily knew the answer. She wanted Cynna—and the clan as a whole—to know, too.
“It didn’t. He said…it didn’t work at all.” Sherrianne smiled at Lily and shrugged. If a whiff of embarrassment clung to that smile, the main flavor was relief that her confessing was over. She’d been raised clan, after all. Wanting to have sex with someone wasn’t bad. The embarrassment was probably because she’d pushed so hard, and maybe because she’d used Cynna. But in the end she’d taken no for an answer, hadn’t she? She hadn’t crossed the line.
Rule nodded again.
“Okay. Thank you for your cooperation. You can go now.”
Instead she turned toward Cynna. “Cynna—”
Cynna’s face was stony. “Not now.”
“But I want you to know that I—”
“Sherrianne,” Isen rumbled. “Go. Now.”
She sighed and obeyed.
Lily turned to look at the other woman. The young, angry, defiant one, who’d been watching everything Lily and Sherrianne said and did closely. “Brenda. Come here, please.” She wouldn’t like that, being told to come here like a child.
Her lips tightened before she remembered to duck her head and hide again. She walked slowly over to Lily.
“Were you raised here at Clanhome, too?”
“No.”
Lily waited, but Brenda was smart or stubborn enough to stay silent. “Isen?”
“When Brenda was five or six,” Isen said, “her mother experienced a religious conversion. She was born again, and her views on sexuality changed accordingly. From that point on she wanted to limit Brenda’s time with us. She’s a fair-minded woman. She allowed Brenda’s father to see her, but only away from Clanhome. After Brenda turned eighteen, she decided to get to know him—and us—better. She visited her father here several times, then last May asked to move in with him for the summer. We were delighted.”