Keeper of the Wolves

by Cheree Alsop

  I sat in a corner and watched the proceedings with great interest. Servants dressed in castle livery appeared at the same door a short while later. Each hurried about the room as though following accustomed tasks. They gave me a wide berth but as I continued to watch them with the still calm of a wolf, they eventually forgot my presence and rushed about much the way squirrels and rabbits did in the wild.

  Becoming part of the surroundings was something I wouldn’t have guessed would be useful in the human world, but as the servants grew used to my presence, they began to skirt around me with ease. Simple place settings were laid at the tables and pitchers of water occupied the center. Before long, the scent of rolls and roasting meat filled the room.

  “We’re ready, Steward Weis,” Koya called out from the room in the back.

  A man dressed in Vielkeep’s red and black opened a different set of doors. The noise of a large crowd of people rushed in and then quieted. The steward stepped back and townspeople filed past, men, women, and children whose clothes and appearance were more ragged than those we had passed on the streets. They sat at tables in groups as though they had done so many times. As soon as half of the room was seated, the door to the back opened and Koya and Joven came out laden with trays of food; servants followed behind bearing additional platters.

  Plates filled with generous helpings of roasted beef, boiled carrots and potatoes seasoned with cinnamon, sliced apples, and warm rolls were set in front of each person. Children dove into the food as soon as it was served while the adults waited until each individual at their table had a plate before they began to eat.

  It was obvious by the silence and the attention paid to the food that those who ate hadn’t done so for a few days, at least not well. They expressed their gratitude humbly to the servers and several looked embarrassed at the needed help, but they each ate the food on their plates as if it was the best thing they had eaten in quite a while.

  Children finished before the adults and were soon running around the room. The servers dodged them with practiced ease and laughed when their game of chase soon involved several members of the staff including Joven.

  I turned from watching the proceedings to find two small children a few feet away. They watched me with serious dark eyes and tangled brown hair; their cheeks were hollow despite the meal they had eaten. The boy took a step forward, but motioned for his sister to stay back. She stuck her tongue out at him and tried to hurry past. He grabbed her arm, then tripped on her bare foot and they both sprawled against me.

  The children froze, two tiny forms afraid they had made the worst mistake of their young lives. I sniffed the girl’s hair. It smelled of berries and wind, fresh dirt and green meadows. They might not eat well, but they lived a life of freedom. She turned her head at the brush of my breath and I licked her cheek. She giggled and buried her head against my neck. Her brother grinned and patted my nose. I licked his fingers and he wiped them off on his sister’s worn but well-mended shirt. She squealed and soon they were both wrestling against me much like the wolf pups had when they were little.

  I heard a laugh and looked up to see Koya standing next to a table with two plates that looked as though they had been licked clean. The little girl sat on my back with her foot on my head and the boy was using my tail like a sword. It was an undignified position, but one I was reluctant to give up despite the laughter in Koya’s eyes. The woman next to Koya turned and her face went pale.

  “Sovik, Saya, come away from that animal,” the mother said, rising partway from her chair.

  “It’s alright; the wolf came with me,” Koya reassured her. “He’s great with children.” Her raised eyebrows said that she was surprised to learn as much herself.

  The mother watched us warily, but when it appeared her children weren’t in any danger despite feet digging uncomfortably into my abdomen and a finger in my eye, she eventually relaxed and smiled at Koya. “He looks dangerous.”

  She nodded. “He can be when the moment calls for it, but inside he’s a big softie.”

  I snorted and she grinned before turning back to her work of clearing tables. The townspeople helped and soon the plates were cleared and cleaned in the back kitchen as efficiently as they had been served. More children found me and soon I was involved in a game of attack where I hid beneath a table and they all tried to find me. Those who did hid with me until there were children spilling out laughing on the floor.

  “About ready to go?” Joven asked. He stood beside our last table with his arms folded and a skeptical expression on his face. “Or have you been turned from a fierce protector to keeper of children?”

  I bared my teeth, then rolled my eyes when he laughed. I rose, dumping children into ungraceful heaps on the ground. They giggled and ran after me, a parade of short legs and chubby fingers reaching for my fur. Their parents called them back and they left reluctantly until only the two dark-haired children from earlier remained. They followed me to the door and I watched Koya give their mother a basket of food to take home. She thanked Koya with tears in her eyes.

  “Evelyn lost her husband a fortnight ago. He fell off a roof,” she explained quietly as we watched the trio leave. “She sews, but it’s not enough to provide for them. Steward Wies?” she called, lifting her voice.

  The Steward came over and gave a low bow. “Another successful dinner, my lady,” he said formally.

  She nodded. “Thank you for your assistance. Can I inquire as to the status of Seamstress Woodson’s employment?”

  He glanced at the two children who walked out the door ahead of their mother. The Steward inclined his head. “Seamstress Traya will request her assistance with preparations for the Gathering Ball.”

  Koya smiled. “Thank you, Steward. I appreciate your discretion.”

  “As always, my lady,” the Steward replied with another bow.

  ***

  That evening I went back to their grandfather’s quarters to change. I pulled on the clothing Joven had lent me, then turned at the sound of his footsteps. He came in carrying a bundle of cloth so high he had to peer around it to see. His cheeks were red from exertion and when he threw the clothes on the bed, he let out a breath of relief.

  “Who would have thought an ambassador would be so much work!” he exclaimed as he began to sort through the clothes. He put them into various piles that all looked the same to me and spoke to himself while he did it. “They should start arriving in the morning. One night for everyone to settle in, then the ball. Two days should be plenty of time, plenty. How hard can it be?” I noticed his hands were shaking at the same time he did. He straightened up and stared at them, then looked at me. “I’m marrying her off, Keeper. What kind of a brother am I?”

  He looked back down at the bed and clenched his hands into fists. “She’ll be better off in a duchy that isn’t on the verge of collapse and hostile takeover. If she doesn’t have love, at least she’ll have security.”

  He didn’t sound like he believed his words, but they seemed to satisfy him. He grabbed a few clothes and tossed them at me. “Try those. We’re going for foreign and intimidating, something you should be able to handle with ease.”

  I drew on a pair of black cotton pants and a black jacket that clung to me like a second skin. I then pulled on a white shirt with long sleeves that were difficult to get over the jacket.

  “Not like that,” Joven said with a laugh. He showed me how to put on the shirt and button the cuffs, then helped me into the jacket with a satisfied nod. “I figured you were about my size. Just don’t move too much or you’ll bust the seams. Seamstress Traya has enough on her mind with the ball to worry about repairing her handiwork.”

  He tossed a pair of shoes to the floor and I gave him an incredulous look.

  “Do it,” he said in an unwavering tone. “No one, not even an ambassador from a different continent, would attend the Gathering Ball without shoes.”

  I fought back the urge to bare my teeth and slid the thick leather onto my feet
. The shoes blocked out any sensation I had of the floor beneath me. The thick fibers of the carpet and the steady push of the stone on which it had been laid were lost within the thick soles. It felt as though someone had taken away one of my senses. I wiggled my toes and grimaced when the shoes restricted the movement.

  Joven chuckled. “Come on, they’re not that bad. It’s not like I’m asking you to go in blind or anything. It’s just shoes.”

  Given the way he was dressed in a violet overcoat, a sea green undercoat, a white frilly shirt, dark blue pants, and shoes the stark red color of blood when it first meets the air, he couldn’t understand. He looked like a pheasant searching desperately for a mate. The thought struck a chord when I realized that was exactly what he was doing. If he found a wife for himself at the ball, maybe he wouldn’t have to marry off his sister so desperately in order to gain allies and solidify their claim to the Vielkeep throne.

  I tried to imagine finding a mate that way, acting like birds strutting their colors to impress the females, but the thought was so foreign I could only shake my head and hope he knew what he was doing. With wolves there was no question about love or honor or friendship. It was ingrained into every breath and each beat of the heart. Wolves mated for life because they wanted to spend the rest of their life with the love of their heart and the one creature who made them whole. They defended their pack because pack was family and territory was home. Anyone who messed with that was asking for trouble.

  Something clicked in my mind. Joven was defending his home in the only way he knew how, by increasing his pack with those who could strengthen and protect it. The answer to his problems might not make any sense to me, but his reasoning did, and where I no longer had a pack of my own, I had no right to second-guess his decisions.

  I walked in slow, measured steps to the mirror and studied my reflection, something I had only seen in rivers or in the aluminum siding of the Cruel One’s train cars. Joven followed me and grinned in satisfaction. I didn’t know what I expected to see, but the man that stared back surprised me. I looked young, similar to Joven’s age by comparison of height and youth of skin and hair, but my eyes were golden and alive with the life of a wolf that lived every day without fear of the future. Their depths were haunted by the things I had experienced and seen, but there was still wildness within them, adventure and a thirst for what lay over the next hill.

  My jaw was strong and clenched. I relaxed it with the sudden realization that I gritted my teeth often in the face of uncertainty, an emotion I had never known as a wolf. My brown hair was long and tangled, unkempt even compared to the manes of the horses in the Vielkeep stables. Scars lined my arms from numerous battles with rivalry wolf packs, wounds from hunting, and the inevitable scrapes and pains of growing up wild. I knew the rest of my body bore the same marks. White lines from the Cruel One’s whips showed in stark contrast across a few places, though my back would contain the majority; I was grateful I couldn’t see it.

  “You do clean up well,” Joven remarked. I glanced at him to see if he was joking, but he met my eyes with all seriousness. “We may pull this off yet.”

  A hint of doubt touched my face, another foreign expression I didn’t like. My eyes stared back at me, daring me to step into the role for which I was dressed. I closed my eyes, took a calming breath, and turned away without looking back at the mirror.

  Rasmus walked in and a short, rotund man followed with a set of hinged, sharp-looking knives in one hand and a bristled object in the other. Rasmus’ eyebrows rose, pulling at the scar that ran from his nose to his lips. He let out a surprised chuckle. “I didn’t think Joven had anything so dark in his wardrobe.”

  Joven gave a sniff of dismissal. “You never know when such items might be necessary.”

  “I’m just glad he doesn’t have you plumed like a guinea hen.”

  “That’s peacock, you dolt,” Joven replied with a longsuffering sigh.

  Rasmus grinned, the lines in his tanned face deepening. “I’m glad I didn’t know that.”

  The rotund man beside Rasmus stared at me with an unmistakable look of dismay. His hair was trimmed so carefully around his neck it looked as though he wore a bowl upside down on his head; a scent of lemon and something flowery and thick touched the air when he wrung his hands together. “I realize why the General called an emergency at such a late hour.” His words lifted up curiously at the ends as though he did it on purpose, and he gave his head a well-rehearsed shake of consternation.

  Joven rolled his eyes, but humor showed in their depths. He gestured toward me with a flick of his finger. “Will you attempt to fix that?”

  It took me a minute to realize he meant my hair. Joven’s was cut so that it fell around his ears and was held back by the circlet across his brow. Rasmus’ was trimmed so short it stuck up. I didn’t realize such styles were so carefully acquired. The rotund man reached up and grabbed a handful of my hair. I barely resisted the urge to pull away and bare my teeth at him; I schooled myself instead to hold completely still, my muscles tense. The man’s fingers were surprisingly gentle despite his obvious disgust at what he found. “I must say it is out of the ordinary. I’ve never seen hair in such shambles, and I can’t say I’ll enjoy this,” the man replied in a bland tone.

  Joven laughed. “That’s a promising endorsement, Muir.”

  The man gave me a studious frown, then sighed dramatically. “By the gods and goddesses, I shall do my best.”

  “That’s all we ask,” Rasmus replied, attempting to keep a smile from his face.

  Muir gestured toward a chair and I took a seat on the edge of the cushion. I wanted to tear off the uncomfortable clothes and run through the door without looking back; instead, I watched Joven and Rasmus warily. Rasmus’ mouth twitched at the trepidation on my face. “You’ll be fine, Keeper. We’ll leave you in Master Muir’s capable hands.”

  “I don’t know if any hands could do much with this rat’s nest, General,” Muir replied in a droll tone as he forced his brush through my hair.

  “If anyone can, it’s you,” Joven replied. He gave the man a nod of gratitude, spun on his heels, and left the room. Rasmus exited after him and a few seconds later their laughter echoed back to us.

  I felt Muir’s hands tighten in my hair. “We’ll show them,” he muttered under his breath. “If anyone can perform a miracle, it’s Master Muir.”

  I had never heard anyone refer to himself by his own name and wondered if it went along with his other peculiarities. He continued to talk quietly as he worked the tangles out of my hair and then started to cut. Strands fell to the ground in curled piles that I imagined mice would love to use for their burrows. The thought brought a touch of cheer to counterbalance the trepidation in my chest. At least something good could come from the torture.

  Muir stepped around me and paused with his shears near my face. “You hold so still,” he said with grudging admiration. “I’ve never known someone who didn’t move and risk turning one of my masterpieces into a disaster.” The silver metal of his blades caught the light as they trimmed the hair on either side of my face. “The Lady of Miduan nearly did me in the day she sneezed mid-shear. Her hair was down to here one instant, and the next, poof!”

  He gestured wildly with the sheers as he indicated the length and I worried for a moment he would poke out his own eye. He sighed and shook his head as he continued working. “Thank goodness I was able to convince her that short locks were in to combat the heat of the summer.”

  He gave a sigh of great suffering and stepped back with an appraising look, then walked around the chair more nimbly than I would have thought possible given his girth. He took a few more snips in various places, then walked back around to face me, slipping his shears beneath his maroon sash like a soldier sheathing his sword. “It is finished,” he said in a grave proclamation.

  He watched me expectantly as though anticipating some sort of a response on my part, but I didn’t know what kind of reaction a haircut require
d, so I kept silent. He let out his breath in a rush and gestured toward the mirror. “Take a look, young sir. I expect it to be to your liking.”

  I did as instructed, then stared at the stranger who watched me through the glass. He had left my hair longer than Joven’s or Rasmus’. It brushed the tops of my shoulders, but it was layered so that the loose curls looked maintained instead of wild. The hair framed my face and brought out the golden hue of my eyes. I watched myself, uncertain of the man in the reflection who looked genteel compared to the rough heathen who once inhabited the room. I preferred the wild look that reflected how I felt inside. I looked away with the feeling that I wouldn’t be able to meet the expectations of the man who watched me in the mirror.

  The anticipation on Master Muir’s face faltered at my reaction, but I was saved the need of rescuing his ego when the door opened and Rasmus and Joven walked back in. “My goodness, man,” Joven exclaimed as he looked me over. “You’ve practically turned him into a gentleman! Amazing how a simple haircut and clothes can do so much for a man. You’d think he really was an ambassador!”

  “I thought he was,” Muir stated, his eyes calculating.

  “What I meant was he could have come from civilized society instead of some hovel across the sea,” Joven hurriedly explained. “You’ve outdone yourself, Master Muir.”

  The man bowed, his cheeks red with pleasure. “Thank you, my Lord. It was a challenge, to be sure, but I found myself up to the task.”

  “Well done,” Rasmus echoed as the man hurried out of the room to no doubt relax after his strenuous duties.

  They paused until the door closed, then started to laugh. I watched them, sure I was the root of the laughter, but unable to figure out why. “Could you imagine the look on his face if he ever knew?” Joven gasped after a moment.

  “Do you remember when Lady Farlain asked him to trim her pooch?” Rasmus asked.

  “By the gods and goddesses,” Joven replied in a high voice filled with feigned shock. “I would rather throw my sheers in the River Sadine than taint their blades with the fur of an animal.” Joven put a hand dramatically to his chest and flung his other one high. “This metal is to touch the locks of royalty only.” He started laughing again.