Wolf's Eyes

by Jane Lindskold

  “Just as Elise and Jet are,” Zorana said, understanding him and feeling her heart pounding. “And if I betrothed one of my children—Purcel, say—to one of the children of the Pledge Child…”

  “It might make a claim as persuasive as that offered by the marriage of Lady Elise and young Jet. Moreover,” Newell said, rising from his chair and putting his hands on her shoulders, “you would be the best interim mler in those years following the king's death, before such children could be expected to take on their responsibilities.”

  “Purcel is but fifteen,” Zorana agreed, her voice hushed but the words spilling out faster than she could speak them, “and has a warrior's nature. Even if King Tedric directly named Purcel his heir, it is unlikely our aged monarch could live until Purcel was old enough to take the throne.”

  “For all Father Tedric's unwillingness to admit it,” Newell said sadly, “age has a firm hold on his heart. Allister Seagleam's eldest daughter is four years younger than Purcel. She would be even less ready to take the reins.”

  Zorana smiled, feeling the crown take shape upon her brow once more. The smile vanished at a sudden thought.

  “Doesn't Allister have a son older than my Purcel?”

  “Shad,” Newell admitted, “is five years older, just shy of his own majority. I understand, however, that he is already betrothed to an heiress of Bright Bay.”

  “That engagement couldn't be broken without causing much trouble,” Zorana said anxiously, “could it?”

  “I think not,” Newell soothed. “Duke Aliister's next son, Tavis, is a few moon-spans younger than Purcel and wholly without Purcel's achievements in battle. I believe he paints pictures or some such.”

  Relief weakened Zorana so that she sagged to a seat on the edge of her bed. Newell poured her a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table and held it to her Ups. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that he remained seated beside her when the glass was set by.

  “It will not,” Zorana said cautiously, “be an easy thing to arrange. I do not believe that I can appeal to my mother, the Grand Duchess Rosene, for assistance.”

  “That would be unwise,” Newell agreed. “If her heart is now set on encouraging young Elise's advancement, she will be hesitant to take this great gamble when she sees a sure thing.”

  “Yes,” Zoranafrowned.”Yet I will need a liaison. I cannot ride to Bright Bay myself and make this proposition.”

  Newell cleared his throat. “If you would permit me… I am frequently called into areas where such duties would not be impossible—nor terribly obvious. Your hand need not be shown until all is ready.”

  “Would you?” Zorana turned and found herself flushing again at his closeness.

  “I said before,” Newell purred, “that being childless, I must think of others’ children as my own.”

  “There will be details to work out,” she said quickly, “letters to draft, conditions to consider, some means of stalling King Tedric's announcement of an heir until we can show him this newest option.”

  Newell slid his arm about her waist. “That can all be worked out.”

  “Then we are in this together?”

  “Most definitely.”

  They sealed their agreement with something far more in timate than a handshake.

  IN THE TWO weeks following the announcement of her engagement to Jet Shield, Elise tried to believe that she was completely happy. Certainly both in public or in private Jet was as attentive as she could desire. Indeed, in private she became grateful that Ninette was always within call. Other-wise, Jet's ardor might overcome her own good sense. She was startled to discover what fires lurked within her and how easily he could kindle them—sometimes with as little as the brash of his lips across her cheek or a smoldering look that gave a heretofore unsuspected meaning to the most innocent-seeming comment.

  Her eighteenth-birthday celebration—a week after their betrothal had been announced—had been a wonderful festivity, marred only by her gathered relatives’ sour looks when Elise warmly welcomed Lady Blysse and Derian Carter to the group.

  However, ever since the falconry party, Elise had wandered out to the upper castle meadows most mornings, joining in the casual gatherings, teaching the feral woman how to weave daisy crowns and other silly things, and finding herself quite enjoying Lady Blysse's—or rather Fire-keeper's—odd perspective on human culture.

  Elise had needed a new friend. Lady Aurella's prediction that Sapphire would be furious with her had come tme—a thing Elise had not thought would trouble her so much given how annoying she often found her cousin. Perhaps it was not just that Sapphire had cut out all contact with Elise; maybe it was that she looked so sad, so hurt. Oddly, Aunt Zorana, whose wrath Elisehad feared, was so contented-seeming that Elise's father was moved to comment (in private) that he wondered if his sister was pregnant again.

  As for Ivon Archer, he viewed his daughter with unconcealed pride and joy. Although the necessity of training Elise to manage the Archer estates had forced themfrequentlyinto each other's company, they had never been close. Privately, Elise had thought she was a disappointment to her father: too quiet, too scholarly, too uninterested in the martial games he had enjoyed with his own father before the elder Purcel's death in battle a few years before Elise herself was bom.

  Strangely enough, the fact that Aurella Wellward apparently shared the same weakness that had made her aunt Elexa barren had brought Ivon closer to his wife, but had distanced him from his daughter. Sometimes Elise thought that he privately blamedher in some fashion for Aurella's long illness following Elise's birth and her subsequent infertility.

  Now, however, that was swept away as if it had never been. Ivon Archer clearly viewed Elise's desire to become betrothed to Jet as a mark of her loyalty to her father and his cause. With that one decision, Elise had removed all the deficits of being an only child, allied her family to their greatest potential rival for the throne, and made her father the most likely choice for King Tedric's heir.

  Anticipating with an innocent enthusiasm that reminded Elise not a little of Jet on the day he first proposed, Ivon took his daughter on long rides through the countryside so that they could discuss statecraft. She had learned more about her father in these two weeks than she ever knew before and felt—a little uncomfortably—that he was far more human and vulnerable than she had ever imagined.

  But no matter how hugely Baron Archer dreamed, the reality remained that King Tedric had not selected an heir from among his nieces and nephews, nor from among their children. Nor had he sent Lady Blysse away, keeping her thus tacitly beneath the mantle of his favor. Duty to his own estates and family called Earl Kestrel from the castle from time to time, but Blysse remained in residence, a lithe, dark-haired figure, gradually becoming more sophisticated in her manners and seemingly unaware of the shadow she had cast on everyone else's plans.

  Fumbling at her throat, Elise fingered the exquisite jet carving of a wolf's head that Jet had given her as a betrothal gift. She had given Jet a token of her own society patron, the Lynx, worked in gold with tiny emerald eyes.

  Exchanging society tokens was a long-standing tradition, dating back to when the Old Country still reigned. The exchange of tokens provided a symbolic pledge that one's own society would now be looking out for the soon-to-be wedded partner.

  Touching the token, however, did not make Elise decide to seek out Jet. Rather she resolved to go see the real wolf in her life—Firekeeper.

  Neither Derian nor Ox answered the door to the suite. Instead, a slightly familiar man with something Kestrel about his dark hair and hawk nose stood in the opening. Slightly disconcerted, for she had been lost in her own reflections, Elise fumbled for words:

  “Is Fire… I mean Lady Blysse in?”

  “Firekeeper's fine with me,” the man said, opening the door wider and giving Elise a friendly smile. “Since that's what she insists on being called. However, I'm sorry to dis-appoint you, but she's not in.”
r />   “Oh.”

  Stepping back, Elise started to make her apologies, but the man continued:

  “I think she's in the kitchen gardens. Derian has the day off to visit his parents and so Firekeeper went down to the gardens soon after breakfast.”

  “The kitchen gardens?” Elise asked, the question coming out despite herself. “Firekeeper?”

  “She discovered them sometime after that first hawking expedition,” the man replied. “She's completely fascinated by the concept that people can grow their own food. I guess the gardens at West Keep weren't very extensive or maybe she just had too much else to learn then.”

  He stopped suddenly. “I realize I'm being terribly familiar,” he said. “I, of course, know who you are, but I don't suppose you remember me. Our circles haven't crossed that frequently.”

  Just as Elise was realizing who this must be, the man made a deep and formal bow:

  “Sir Jared Surctiffe, at your service, my lady. I am a some-what distant younger cousin of the Earl Kestrel.”

  “Lady Elise Archer,” Elise replied with appropriate formality, and curtsies. Then she smiled. “I remembered you just as you introduced yourself. When I was quite small, my parents took me out to the Kestrel estates. You were there, too, and very patiently supervised me and Earl Kestrel's boys while we rode our ponies. Later you took us outfishingby that wonderful stone bridge—the one that looked as if it must have trolls under it. We've shared company since, but I hope you don't mind that that particular occasion is the one I re-member best.”

  “Not at all.” Sir Jared grinned, an open expression that made him look much as he had ten years before, not at all like the mature man of twenty-four or twenty-five that he must be. For the first time, Elise realized that there was something vaguely sad about the grown man's expression that had not been present in the boy's. She straggled to remember what she could about him.

  “I'm being very rude keeping you standing in the hallway,” Sir Jared added. “Would you like to come in and wait, or shall we stroll down to the gardens and make certain that Blind Seer hasn't eaten one of the gardener's sons?”

  Elise giggled and was immediately horrified. Jared Surcliffe didn't appear to notice.

  “I think,” Elise replied, cloaking herself in the shreds of her dignity, “that I would like to go down to the garden. Blind Seer may not be a problem, but the falcon might be.”

  Jared laughed. “Then if the Lady Archer…”

  “Elise, please,” she hastily interrupted. “No one calls me Lady Archer yet except on terribly formal occasions. I don't need to use the title until I reach my majority.”

  “And you're not in a great hurry to get there,” Surcliffe mused, almost to himself, as he stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind him. “Now, there is a wisdom one doesn't often see in a young lady.”

  Elise felt flattered rather than insulted and, as Sir Jared's comment had been spoken quietly, she avoided a direct reply. Instead she walked beside him down the corridors and to-ward the stairs leading out into the gardens, searching her memory for everything she could remember about her new companion.

  Surcliffe, she recalled from her geography lessons, was a minor holding in the Norwood grant. Theoretically, it be-longed to the Kestrels, but in practice those small holdings passed from parent to child along similar lines of inheritance followed in other matters. Only if the Surcliffes mismanaged the estate or did something horrible or the line died out completely would the Norwood family dare step in and reassign the land. Thus, for all practical purposes, Jared Surcliffe was a minor noble, never mind that under Queen Zorana's rules restricting titles he did not even merit the title “Lord.”

  Jared's knighthood was a different matter. He had earned it in the same battle in which Crown Princess Lovella had lost her life. Assigned to the princess's company in a support capacity—as a medic, Elise thought—he had been among thefirstto see the princess fall. Despite being unarmored and unarmed, Surcliffe had raced out into the field. Using Princess Lovella's own spear, he had held back the attackers until Lovella's troops rallied. Then he had done his best to save Lovella's life through his medical arts.

  Lovella's wounds had been too severe to be mended—even by one with the healing talent—but due to Sir Jared's care the crown princess had lived long enough to bid both her husband and her parents farewell. King Tedric—some said at Lovella's express request—had made Jared Surcliffe a knight of the Order of the White Eagle, the highest honor in the land. Elise had been present at his investiture, one figure in the silent and awed crowd. She blushed now to think that she could have failed to recognize him.

  She allowed herself some leeway, for the man striding along beside her was very different from the solemn, formally clad figure who had knelt in front of his king and queen to receive their thanks and blessing. He seemed younger, more relaxed, even in some strange way playful. Perhaps, Elise thought, she could almost be forgiven.

  Then she realized that Surcliffe was speaking to her and apologized:

  “I'm sorry, Sir Jared, I was distracted by my thoughts. May I beg you to repeat yourself?”

  “No need to beg, Lady Elise,” Surcliffe said. “I was offering you my congratulations on your recent engagement. I've met Jet Shield in passing and he seems like a fine fellow.”

  Elise nodded. “Thank you. We've known each other since we were children and I've always been fond of him.”

  Fond, she thought. Fond! Is that the way to speak of the man who has captured my heart and my hand?

  Yet, somehow, in Jared Surcliffe's company she could not go into the effusions that were so easy when she was among her lady friends. All of them were more than willing to praise every aspect of Jet: his form, his manners, his seat on a horse, even the color of his hair and the line of his eyebrows.

  Fleetingly, Elise found herself thinking of her mother and the tear she had glimpsed on her cheek. To distract herself, she asked Surcliffe:

  “Are you married, Sir Jared?”

  “I am,” he replied stiffly, “a widower. My wife died in childbirth three years ago. Our baby died as well. Since then I have occupied myself with other things.”

  “I'm sorry,” Elise murmured, not certain whether she was expressing sympathy for his loss or apologizing for her tactlessness.

  Certainly she must have heard about his bereavement! When he had been knighted every aspect of the new hero's character and person would have been discussed both in meetings and in more informal gossip sessions.

  “Thank you,” Sir Jared said, accepting her sympathy. “My marriage was arranged, but as with you and your Jet, I had known my bride since we were children together. Losing her came as a shock.”

  They were out of the castle now and crossing the rose gardens, following the path down and around to where the kitchen gardens stood within their stone-walled enclosure. Deftly, Sir Jared turned the conversation to the shade of a particularly lovely yellow and orange rose. Elise replied, telling him how the bush had been brought from New Kelvin when she was but a child, and so they both were saved from further awkward and painful revelations.

  “NO, DEARIE,”HOLLY Gardener said, coming over to demonstrate. “Don't pull the carrot by the fluffy part at the top. Grasp here at the base, firmly, and give it a tug.”

  Firekeeper obeyed, eager to do this right. She was becoming desperately fond of this bent old woman with her wispy white hair. Holly was the only person she had met thus far who didn't think of Firekeeper as a potential heir to the throne. To Holly, she was just a girl who wanted to learn about gardens. In her presence, Firekeeper somehow felt younger, but without any of the vulnerability her youth and relative lack of strength had given her among the wolves.

  Over the days that Firekeeper had been visiting the gar-dens and attached orchard, Holly had trusted her with more and more duties. At first Firekeeper had been permitted only to carry baskets and to fetch water from the well, but even these tasks had delighted her, giving exercise to
muscles going soft from no greater challenge than occasional horseback rides and her daily romps with Blind Seer.

  Lately, Firekeeper had graduated into picking fruit and vegetables. The late-summer harvest was beginning and even with the extra help hired from the town the castle's own staff could barely keep up with their duties. Firekeeper hoped that she could learn to pick the vegetables without harming either them or the marvelous plants that bore them. Then she would free another to do those jobs she had yet to master.

  On her second try, the carrot slid freely from the dirt. Firekeeper gazed upon it, fat and orange, lightly dusted with soil, with as much pride as if she had grown it herself.

  “Good job, dearie!” Holly said, her praise falling sweetly on Firekeeper's ears, for the gardener could be as quick to criticize as her name plant was to prick unwary fingers. “Now, if you wish, you may harvest the rest of that row. Leave the little carrots to grow into the space left by their fellows.”

  Firekeeper obeyed. A pack member all her life, it felt good to be contributing to the survival of the whole. Even though most of her days as a wolf had been spent foraging for her-self, still the Ones had often trusted her to watch over the pups. Sometimes they even sent her ahead to scout the herds of elk or deer. In the moon cycles that had followed her departure from west of the Iron Mountains, all of Firekeeper's basic needs had been provided for. Moreover, someone else was always more skilled than she in the tasks at hand.

  This last had become particularly irksome since they had come to live in the castle. Here, even Derian—who had never been without some task—now found himself idle except for his duties teaching Firekeeper. Firekeeper, however, had a limited attention span for lessons in etiquette and dancing. When she rebelled, Derian had learned to let her be.

  For his part, Blind Seer had no difficulty accepting idleness. A wolf proverb stated: “Hunt when hungry, sleep when not, for hunger always returns.”

  This afternoon, faithful to his creed, the wolf drowsed in the shade of a crab-apple tree whose fruits had already been harvested to make jelly. The garden staff detoured widely to avoid him. Consequently, Firekeeper and the old woman were alone in this particular garden.