Sarapen was on Verasa’s mind at the moment. Her eldest son had died in battle, but there had been no burial. At the moment of death, his body had been spirited away by Princess Kabachetka. It was not fitting that his body should be missing. It should be buried respectably on the estate. Verasa had asked Thrix to make inquiries through Queen Malveria about its return, but that was awkward, with Verasa’s aversion to the Hiyasta queen and with the queen’s aversion to the Hainusta princess.
“Malveria’s doing her best,” Thrix told her mother, “but Princess Kabachetka is more than a rival, she’s an enemy. I don’t know if we can get the body back. It’s possible.”
Verasa nodded and asked her daughter to keep on trying.
The enchantress was keen to return to her rooms to check her business email, but her mother wasn’t finished.
“Do you think Kalix is back in contact with Gawain?”
Thrix gritted her teeth. “Who knows?”
“You should be more concerned,” said Verasa. “He’s still banished from the clan, you know—”
“I don’t want to talk about Gawain!” yelled the enchantress.
“You’re surely not still concerned about him?”
Thrix didn’t reply but looked uncomfortable.
“Have you seen him?” demanded Verasa.
“No,” replied Thrix.
Verasa wasn’t convinced. “Gawain is still exiled. I really can’t understand why you would—”
The Mistress of the Werewolves broke off. Thrix had picked up her handbag and stormed out, her high heels making a rapid clicking sound as she departed swiftly along the stone corridor. Verasa was puzzled. Minor arguments with her daughter were not uncommon, but it was unusual for Thrix to storm from the room. What was the matter with her?
Chapter 24
The Empress Asaratanti’s palace sat on the northern edge of the Eternal Volcano, the huge natural feature that dominated the central plain of the Hainusta nation. Despite the violent nature of the volcano, the palace was unthreatened. Empress Asaratanti controlled the volcano, or rather, she existed in harmony with it. The empress claimed to be the most powerful Fire Elemental in existence, and though Queen Malveria might dispute this, the Hainusta believed it. The harnessing of the power of the Eternal Volcano was a visible sign of the empress’s strength. Her subjects looked to her in awe, as they had done for more than a thousand years. She was ageless and immutable.
“Or so we are led to believe,” muttered the empress’s daughter, Princess Kabachetka, alone in her secret cavern. “But is it really so?”
North of the palace lay the simmering Pools of Chelios, a huge expanse of lava pools and melting rock. Beneath these lava pools lay a small network of caves and tunnels, and there Princess Kabachetka had her secret caverns. Recently the princess had found herself spending more of her time there. She was pondering the future and not liking what she saw. For instance, there was the disputed territory in the western desert. The empress had been content to let her army handle it. There was a time when she would have gone there herself and taken control.
“Perhaps,” mused Kabachetka, “she’s growing old and careless. Careless enough to allow some treacherous snake to usurp her power. And there’s only one snake treacherous enough to make the attempt. My brother.”
The princess pursed her lips. Really, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen this before. All it would take would be a swift, decisive move by Prince Esarax, and the empress would be gone. He’d take her place unopposed with the full support of the army. The government, the aristocracy, and the population would all fall into line. And where would that leave the princess?
“It would leave me making a swift trip to the Eternal Volcano,” bridled the princess, and she clenched her fists angrily. “My brother would like nothing better than to throw me into the volcano.”
Princess Kabachetka paced anxiously around her secret cavern. It made it worse that there was no one she could confide in. In the gossip-ridden environs of the palace, any such talk would soon reach unwelcome ears. The empress had spies everywhere. Probably her brother did too. The princess felt alone and powerless, and she shook her head in frustration. Though she would never admit it to the outside world, Kabachetka was aware of some of her own failings. She knew, for instance, that she was not a great strategist. She’d seen her plans fail before.
“My brother will defeat me. I’m not cunning enough. I’m doomed to end up in the volcano.”
She strode to the furthest edge of her cavern, to the place where the realm of the Fire Elementals merged with that of the ice creatures and of the beings of the Earth. A place in between realms, where time never passed. There lay the body of Sarapen, greatest of the MacRinnalch werewolves. Not alive, but not quite dead. He’d been struck down by a Begravar knife, a weapon so deadly to werewolves that there was no recovering from its wound. Princess Kabachetka had brought his body here, placing it in a state of suspended animation just before he expired. Having done that, she could do no more. Were she to attempt to revive him, he would certainly die. No one could prevent it.
Apart from, possibly, the Empress Asaratanti. With her mastery over the Eternal Volcano, she had a fantastic amount of power at her disposal. Enough, perhaps, to save Sarapen’s life. But the empress would never expend that power to save a werewolf. The empress regarded werewolves as low creatures. As did Princess Kabachetka, normally. It was the princess’s misfortune that she’d fallen in love with Sarapen.
“A partner not suitable for your fire,” muttered the princess, quoting a line from a well-known Hainusta poet whose name she couldn’t remember.
“Of course, if I were Empress, I’d be in control of the volcano. I’d have enough power to revive Sarapen, suitable partner or not.”
She had a happy vision of herself as ruler of the nation, fabulously dressed, with Sarapen at her side, sweeping all before them, disposing of her annoying brother, and then crossing the border to conquer Malveria’s realm.
“That would teach the Queen of the Hiyasta not to give herself such airs just because she happens to have a few nice frocks,” thought the princess crossly. She desperately wanted to defeat and humiliate Malveria and Thrix and Kalix and her own brother—everyone who’d conspired against her and harmed her. Unfortunately for the princess, she couldn’t think of any way to do it.
Chapter 25
It was the night of the full moon. When darkness fell, every werewolf in Castle MacRinnalch would make the change. Verasa could feel it tingling in her bones already. Every werewolf could. Apart, possibly, from Dominil. Verasa wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the white-haired werewolf underwent the change without feeling anything at all. It was hard to warm towards Dominil. That didn’t mean the Mistress of the Werewolves didn’t appreciate her.
“We were all amazed that you managed to discipline the twins into actually playing a concert. Have they stuck with it or reverted back to their old ways?”
“Somewhere in between. Though they still drink too much I’ve managed to make them keep rehearsing. They sound reasonably good by the standards of their contemporaries.”
Dominil had a strange, formal manner of speaking, and she had discarded her Scottish accent at Oxford. Here in Castle MacRinnalch, her neutral tones stood out.
Verasa was grateful for Dominil’s help. Though the Mistress of the Werewolves had never previously imagined that she’d find herself willing a rock band to success, particularly one containing Butix and Delix, it was better that the twins did something positive than roll around in drunken degeneracy.
“I still worry about them giving themselves away.”
“With good reason,” said Dominil. “It’s something of a miracle they’ve concealed their werewolf nature for so long. It’s fortunate they find it difficult to make the change most nights.”
Though the pureblooded MacRinnalch werewolves could transform on any night they chose, Beauty and Delicious were so degenerate and intoxicated they’d fo
rgotten how to do it. They only became werewolves on the three wolf nights around the full moon.
Verasa shook her head. “They’ll bring the hunters down on their heads.”
“Perhaps. The Avenaris Guild has regrouped more quickly than I anticipated.” Dominil had informed the clan that a new group of experienced hunters had arrived in the country from Poland and Croatia. “The MacRinnalchs are famous in certain circles. It seems there is no shortage of humans eager to kill us.” She paused and stared at the wall for a while. “I’ve been wondering if we should start taking the fight to them.”
“How do you mean?” asked Verasa.
“Up till now, we’ve merely reacted to their attacks. I know you want the clan to move forward, but I’m not certain we can while this carries on. Perhaps it’s time we took some offensive action.”
“What sort of action?”
“Attack the guild’s headquarters, if we could find it.”
The Mistress of the Werewolves was alarmed. She hadn’t expected to hear such a suggestion from Dominil.
“I was offended to be attacked in London last week,” continued the white-haired werewolf. “I’ve a right to go about my business the same as anyone else without someone trying to kill me.”
“You’d all be safer if you came back to Scotland,” pointed out Verasa, which was true. Castle MacRinnalch was a stronghold that the guild could never attack.
“Perhaps. But you know the twins won’t come back. Nor will Thrix, nor Kalix.”
Verasa wasn’t pleased to hear her two daughters named among the werewolves who had no desire to return home, though she knew it was true.
“I’m not in favor of initiating violence,” she said. “We’ve had more than enough recently. I don’t believe the guild can seriously hurt us. There aren’t that many werewolves who are vulnerable.”
“The twins are.”
“Are Yum Yum Sugary Snacks playing again soon?” Verasa stumbled over the band’s name.
“Not yet. I’d like them to be a little more competent before setting foot on stage again.”
“Would it be a good thing to appear in some less fashionable location, for practice? Like a show touring the suburbs before reaching the capital?”
“Perhaps,” said Dominil, unsure of where this was going.
“Doctor Angus’s grandson visited the castle only last week, and apparently he’s involved in putting on concerts—or gigs as you’d call them—at small venues in Edinburgh.”
Doctor Angus was a venerable werewolf, respected throughout the clan. Dominil hadn’t been aware that he had any family.
“Cameron is a medical student. He heard about Yum Yum Sugary Snacks from some of the younger werewolves in the castle—Beauty and Delicious did make quite an impression—and he asked me if they’d like to play in Edinburgh.” The Mistress of the Werewolves stopped, looking unsure of herself. “Of course, this might be of no use to you.”
“It might be,” said Dominil. “Do you know any more about his promotions?”
Verasa admitted she didn’t, but told Dominil that Cameron would be arriving at the castle tomorrow, and she’d introduce them.
“It might be a good idea. I’ll talk to Cameron.”
Verasa was pleased to have done Dominil a favor. A moment later, she looked troubled again. “I just can’t understand why Decembrius won’t come to council meetings. Lucia is mortified. What can he possibly be doing in London?”
“Perhaps he’s hoping to bump into Kalix,” suggested Dominil.
“Why?”
“He’s attracted to her.”
“Attracted to Kalix?” Verasa looked puzzled. It seemed strange to her that anyone could be attracted to her waif-like, troubled daughter. “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
The Mistress of the Werewolves said no more about it, but later, reflecting on Dominil’s words, she wasn’t pleased. It was bad enough that the outlaw Gawain had formed a relationship with her daughter. Decembrius was hardly any better. He’d supported Sarapen against the wishes of the Great Council. He was neither respectable nor trustworthy. She didn’t mind him being on the Great Council where she could keep an eye on him, but she didn’t like him sniffing around Kalix.
Verasa had a brief yearning for Kalix to settle down and live out her life peacefully on the family estates. It was very brief. The Mistress of the Werewolves always wished the best for her family, but really, she couldn’t see Kalix coming to a peaceful end.
Chapter 26
Kalix sat upstairs on the bus feeling small, lonely, and hopeless. She didn’t know what she was going to say to Gawain. She didn’t even know if she should be going to meet him. In the days since she’d received his letter, she seemed to have gone through every possible emotion: joy at hearing from him, rage at the memory of his betrayal, and misery at the knowledge she might be about to experience it all again. Unable to sort out her feelings, Kalix became depressed. As often happened, this led to serious anxiety, so that, by the time she set out for Camberwell, she hadn’t eaten for days, hadn’t slept properly, and was existing mainly on laudanum and Daniel’s beer.
She shuddered in her seat. If only Gawain hadn’t slept with her sister. She could have forgiven him anything else. But not Thrix. It was too much to take. Since then, Kalix’s feelings towards Thrix had vacillated between hatred and a dull, hopeless antagonism. As for her feelings towards Gawain…They had begun their relationship when Kalix was just fourteen. That wasn’t quite as taboo amongst werewolves as it would have been amongst humans, but it was still too young for the liking of the Thane. Gawain had been banished from the castle.
Kalix stared at her boots as the bus trundled through South London. Camberwell wasn’t far from her home in Kennington. She’d be there soon. What was Gawain going to say? Was he going to tell her he still loved her and ask her back? What would she say then?
Kalix remembered how Gawain had put his life at risk by returning to the castle to look for her. She also remembered how he’d secretly made the journey to Kennington to watch over her while the clan was trying to capture her. Even when Gawain knew Kalix hated him, he’d carried on the silent task of protecting her. He’d fought at her side during the great battle with Sarapen. He’d told her how much he loved her. But then he also started an affair with her sister.
Kalix just didn’t know what to make of it all. She felt herself trembling even though she’d dosed herself liberally with laudanum. She gnawed at her lip. To divert herself from her anxiety, she turned to look out the window. The pane was heavily graffitied, not with ink or paint, but with scratches. There were names deeply embedded in the glass. Kalix couldn’t read them. The jagged letters were too stylized for her to make out.
When the bus arrived in Camberwell, Kalix crept off with her head bowed. A few passengers downstairs looked curiously at her as she passed. Though spring was near, it was a chilly day, with gray skies and a cold wind that tugged at Kalix’s hair as she crossed the open expanse of Camberwell Green. The streets were lined with small shops, bars, and cheap letting agencies, and the streets were busy. Outside a sports supplies shop Kalix had to pause as another bus pulled up and a great crowd of passengers surged towards it. She found herself jostled by a group of youths, young boys and their girlfriends in tracksuits and sportswear who shot Kalix contemptuous glances, not liking the look of her shabby clothes, or her mass of hair, or the ring through her nose.
Kalix ignored them and hurried on round the corner. As she trudged on, she felt like a great weight was crushing her into the ground. She turned the final corner and halted abruptly. It struck her that, no matter what, she was still in love with Gawain. She experienced a moment of confusion and panic, then her anxiety lessened. At least she had some idea of what she felt. She was still in love with him. She remembered again that, before Gawain had taken up with Thrix, he’d thought that Kalix herself had formed a new relationship. It didn’t excuse his behavior, but it made it not quite so bad.
Kalix found the house. It was an old building, subdivided into small apartments and bedsits. Inside the porch there were a lot of doorbells, one for each apartment. Beside each was a small name tag, most of them illegible. Kalix didn’t know which one to press, so she tried pushing the front door. It swung open. As she made her way up the dark staircase, she put her hand in her pocket and clutched Gawain’s letter for comfort. She could smell Gawain’s werewolf scent and followed it up the stairs.
At the top of the building, she paused. This was it. She raised her hand to knock on the dark, stained door then halted. Something was wrong. The smell wasn’t right. Kalix knocked on the door. And then, without waiting for an answer, she smashed her hand into the wood, just above the lock. The door gave way, buckling under her tremendous strength. Kalix leapt inside, scared of what she might find.
She didn’t have far to look. Gawain was lying in the hallway, face down. A great pool of dark blood had congealed around his body. Kalix threw herself at him, taking him by the shoulder and turning him over. Then she was forced to acknowledge what really she’d known before she broke down the door. She’d scented too much dried blood for it to be otherwise. Gawain had a terrible wound in his heart. He was dead, and he’d been dead for some time.
Chapter 27
Kalix sat down beside the body, took hold of Gawain’s cold hand, and started to cry. She didn’t think about what might have happened or what she should be doing; she just sat and cried.
She was still sitting by his dead body when a werewolf hunter kicked open the front door and rushed into the small flat. Kalix leapt to her feet and flew at him, kicking him so savagely in the midriff that he doubled over and crashed to the floor. She raised her foot to stamp on him. Even as a human, she was strong enough to kill him. At that moment, another hunter appeared at the door with a gun in his hand. He reacted quickly, aiming his pistol, but Kalix was too fast. Before he could squeeze the trigger, she’d tackled him, and they crashed back into the hall outside the flat, with Kalix using her fists to beat him to the ground. The hallway was dark, but it lit up suddenly as someone threw the switch downstairs, and there was the sound of many heavily booted feet running up the stairs. Kalix hesitated for a second. Though always ready to fight, she was not quite as reckless in combat as a human as she was as a werewolf. She knew she was at a serious disadvantage in the open against so many armed hunters.
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