Perhaps this lack of hatred was because the goal of these battles, skirmishes, and frays had always been reunification, not conquest. When monarchs strove to bring the errant sheep back into the fold, they could not resort to the rhetoric of hatred and alienation lest this raise doubts in their people's minds as to the wisdom of reunification. With eager predators prowling on the fringes, neither Bright Bay nor Hawk Haven could risk razed countryside and slaughter of local inhabitants. Too easily then would the conqueror find itself in danger of conquest as it sought to solidify its expanded holdings.
Did anyone but himself reatize that those who feared and hated were the very allies who supported one side or the other while really supporting none but themselves?
Prince Newell sniggered into his pewter tankard of ale. Blind! Blind! That was what both Tedric and Gustin IV were. As their predecessors had done, they accepted aid from nations who in their most secret hearts desired not their allies’ success but their failure.
Still laughing quiedy to himself, Newell rubbed his fingers along his temples, delighting in the clarity of his vision. He, he alone had wisdom! The rest were as bUnkered horses dragging their burdens through crowded city streets, as sheep who blindly followed the slaughterhouse goat to their own deaths!
Should such willfully ignorant creatures have the ralership over thousands of souls? Ancestors, refuse! He knew his duty and had already taken steps to achieve a position from which to carry it out.
First there must be newly awakened doubt between the various factions for Hawk Haven's crown. He had hoped that Sapphire Shield's death would do the trick. The men Keen had hired to follow her and Jet had been told to make it appear that an animal had savaged her. Ostensibly this had been to draw suspicion away from human hands—Keen had been posing as a love-maddened, rejected suitor when he contracted the thugs’ services.
Needless to say, there had been a better reason for such theatrics. Newell himself had intended—if no one else arrived at the conclusion—to hesitandy suggest that young Lady Blysse had murdered the one regarded by many as her greatest rival for the throne. Blysse's habit of sUpping off into the night was well known by now. Not even her faithful lackey Derian Carter would be believed if he swore that he knew where she was every hour. His laxness regarding her had been commented on, even by those who knew that Blysse had the king's favor.
Sapphire's death should have weakened Blysse's support as well as eliminating one of Newell's own rivals. He was still disappointed that the thugs had bungled. Keen, however, had made certain that they would not Uve to tell tales.
After going bail for the two survivors—not a difficult a thing to do in Hope, where the local authorities did not wish to seem to care more about assault on a noblewoman than on a commoner—Keen had murdered the men and tossed their bodies into the Barren River. If any wondered about the deaths, they should end up thinking that one of Sapphire's legion of admirers had done the deed. Newell would make certain they thought so even if they didn't on their own.
Although he had been less than successful in thefirstpart of his plan, Prince Newell was progressing with the second part. This was to make at least one of the allies betray that its deepest loyalties were to none but itself. After consideration, he had elected Stonehold for this role for the logical reason that it was Bright Bay's ally, not Hawk Haven's. For now Hawk Haven provided the foundation for Newell's own prestige and influence. He did not care to weaken that, though neither Waterland nor New Kelvin were any more honest in their motives for alliance.
For the third part of his plan to work there must be conflict that would bring the prince shining to the fore. Newell fancied a battle would do the trick, one wherein Stonehold would show its trae colors. Perhaps weakened by loss of their ally, Bright Bay would join forces with Hawk Haven. Alter-natively, the batde could take place between three armies. In either case, Hawk Haven's army should come forth victorious—they must, for they alone would be unweakened by the defection of a traitorous ally.
And in that battle Prince Newell planned to lead. His would be the great deeds. Based upon them, he would be hailed the new king of Hawk Haven by popular acclaim. Rook and Keen were already sounding out the gathered armies for those soldiers who could be easily bribed or influenced to shout Newell's praises loudly—and at the proper moment.
Among the many deserters who resided in Hope and Good Crossing there were those who could be bought and instructed to insert themselves among the troops when added numbers would be welcomed, not questioned. Their voices would shout loudly for Prince Newell, for he would promise them pardon and honor. With the army firmly behind him and the added weight of his own noble title, none would dare resist him.
Then graciously would Prince Newell offer the conquered (or newly weakened) Bright Bay a chance to come under his sweeping wing. He smiled, imagining the meeting with lovely Gustin IV, perhaps grief-stricken from her husband's sudden death. Surely he could arrange that little detail if it seemed meet. If Queen Gustin suspected assassination, so much the better, for then she would fear him and the power he wielded off the battlefield.
There was, of course, the small problem that King Tedric still lived and must continue to live until the very day of the battle in question. The mad old man had secured his succession while leaving his prospective heirs spatting. All to the good for Prince Newell, for united in their distrust of each other they would not look to him as a rival. Once Newell was the hero of war and peace a mere name scribbled by a quivering hand on a piece of parchment would not bear the weight of his deeds.
But King Tedric must not die too soon.
The sound of a cautiously cleared throat brought Newell from his revery.
“Master,” murmured Rook, “all is prepared for your departure. Keen is sweating the horses even now. Rumor has confirmed that the two diplomatic parties will meet at a reception in Bridgeton this very evening—a reception hosted by the citizens of Hope and Good Crossing.”
Newell's lips curved in a cmel smile at this news, for he was the one who had inserted such an idea into the minds of the Guild Heads and other influential residents of the twin towns. It had been easy enough to join the fringes of their meetings, for they usually met in public houses. It had been easy enough to make a suggestion from some shadowed corner of a crowded room, even easier to play upon the emotions of the ambitious or fearful.
The prince doubted that even now any of those who were busy supervising the decoration of the Toll House's central courtyard—watching as trays of sweets and meat pasties or kegs of wine and ale were set into place—were in the least aware that the idea to so subtly emphasize Good Crossing and Hope's own power was not solely their own.
“Very well.” Prince Newell rose, drawing up his hood to hide his features. It would not do to become careless when the game was nearly won. “Let us go. I believe I shall call upon my father-in-law before the festivities begin. I am certain that he will want me at the reception to support him in this time of trial.”
“Who else can he trust?” Rook answered seriously, but a wicked gleam in his bright eyes belied that sincerity. “Who else among our noble king's contentious court has only the best interests of the nation at heart?”
Laughing then, arm in arm like two roisterers who had supped too deeply of an afternoon, they stumbled from the tavem. None noted their going but the barmaid who gathered up the coins left in payment for their drinks; none even thought of them thereafter. Certainly none equated the one who laughed hardest with the salt-stained and road-dust-coated prince who rode into the Hawk Haven encampment late that afternoon on a tired horse, his entourage only a single servant, so great had been his eagerness to reach his father-in-law's side at this time of crisis.
FIREKEEPER WAS DRAWN FROM happy dreams of her childhood by Derian's voice saying things she had long dreaded to hear:
“Rise and shine, Firekeeper. Formal attire for the reception tonight. Earl Kestrel expressly told me to make certain to scrub your feet.”
Dragging herself from joyful participation in a full pack hunt, Firekeeper reluctantly rolled over. Late-afternoon sun-light was spilling down through the oak leaves. Absently, she noticed that the edges of Some of the leaves were turning orange and yellow. Despite the present heat, the trees knew that autumn was coming.
Feeling a bit like one of those trees herself, Firekeeper pulled herself to her feet.
“I have never slept so before,” she commented to Blind Seer. “/ didn't even hear old heavy-foot Fox Hair coming.”
“I heard him,” the wolf reassured her, “and knew his step. Otherwise, I would have awakened you.”
Elation whisded in shrill laughter and launched into the sky. Waving to the bird in thanks, Derian looked at Firekeeper with what the wolf-woman now recognized as an affectionate grin on his face.
“Stop growling and groaning,” he said. “You've bathed daily, I know, but a good scmb won't do you any harm. Valet has a kettle on over the fire and we've permission to use Earl Kestrel's pavilion for your ablutions. I've even bought you some lavender scent.”
Firekeeper bristled. Among the human customs she couldn't understand was that of covering one's own perfectly good scent with something derived from some tree or shrub.
Derian laughed. “You don't have to use it if you don't want to. I'm certain Ninette or Lady Elise would be happy to have it.”
“You think I should?” she asked, brushing leaves from her hair. “Wear scent? Will Earl Kestrel be happier?”
“He might be,” Derian allowed.
“Then I wear,” she said, adding hastily, “a little only.”
Derian clapped her on die shoulder. “You're becoming a real lady, Firekeeper.”
Remembering Elise's lecture on social graces, Firekeeper was quite pleased. She was sitting on one of the campstools in Earl Kestrel's tent, scrabbing the black from her bare feet with a boar-brisde brush, when Elation's shrill cry announced that Lady Elise was coming, accompanied by Ninette. A few moments later, Elise herself was raising the tent flap and requesting entry.
“Come to chaperon us, Elise?” Derian asked, rising politely to his feet in greeting. He'd been sitting to one side mending a small tear in the hem of the gown Firekeeper was to wear tonight.
“Everyone in camp has heard of your valor last night, Derian,” she said lightiy. “I doubt that such a hero would molest a young girl.”
Firekeeper snorted through her nose, but Derian, more skilled than she in hearing the nuances of human intonation, frowned.
“Is something wrong, my lady?'
“Yes. No. I… “
Firekeeper dropped the brash and crossed to Elise. The other woman was clearly in pain, her expressive blue eyes widening in surprise as her hand rose to touch her lips.
Elise began again. “I came to thank you both for saving my cousin. Sapphire can be both ambitious and obnoxious, but she is brave and honest as weU.”
“That,” Firekeeper said with certainty, “is not just what you want to say.”
“No,” Elise agreed, Ucking her lips nervously. “But I don't think I should try to say anything more now. Tell me, are you going to the reception tonight?”
“Am,” Firekeeper agreed, not satisfied with this evasion, but willing to'accept it for now. “Earl Kestrel requests I do the honor of accompanying him to reception for the diplomatic parties. I am not certain I understand what this is but he asks and it is a small enough thing.”
Derian brought forward a campstool and offered it to Elise. Firekeeper could see that he, too, was unhappy with Elise's sudden change of the subject. Unlike Firekeeper, however, he was too aware of his social position to press a noble lady into confidences.
“Sit for a bit, Lady,” Derian said, his use of her title twice in such a short time underscoring his unease. “Even better, ask Ninette to join us and you both can advise me in how to dress Firekeeper's hair. It's getting long enough now that it escapes my skill.”
Firekeeper expected Elise to refuse, but Elise suddenly smiled.
“Would it be too much trouble for Earl Kestrel if I brought all my dressing here? My father is away with his troops and my tent seems so lonely.”
“She is afraid,” Blind Seer growled from where he had been napping outside the tent. “Her scent is sour with fear.”
Before Derian could vacillate, Firekeeper leapt in.
“Yes. Tell Ninette to bring. Valet can help if she needs.”
Now it was Elise's turn to look uncertain, as if she suddenly dreaded her own request, but Firekeeper left her no room to change her mind.
Hurrying outside, she found Ninette huddled by the cook fire as if the day were quite chill. Valet was filling her teacup. Firekeeper caught the scent of skullcap, wood betony, lavender and lemon balm. She cocked an eyebrow, knowing this concoction was used to soothe a troubled mind. What-ever had happened to Elise had affected her maid as well.
“Valet,” Firekeeper said, “please if you have time, go to Lady Elise's big tent—paviUon—and bring her gown and other things for tonight's reception. She and Ninette are to dine with us this evening so they can tell Derian what to do with my hair. They will go straight from here to meet Baron Archer for the reception.”
Imperturbable, Valet nodded. “Very good, Lady Firekeeper. I am certain that Earl Kestrel would approve.”
“I wonder,” Blind Seer commented, “what nose he uses to smell fear, for he smells it as surely as do I.”
“And I,” Firekeeper agreed.
She returned to the pavilion and her interrupted foot scrab-bing, but no matter how subdy she and Derian phrased their questions, Elise would say nothing more about what was evidently troubling her. Ninette's only reply was to tremble so violently that she could hardly handle her combs and cosmetics.
“I am learning to lie,” Firekeeper said to Blind Seer, “for otherwise how could I refuse to say what I think when I see these two so bravely afraid?”
“You are,” the wolf said, “becoming human. Tonight while you are at this reception — where I think I would be less than welcome —/ shall cast about. Perhaps I can learn where she went, who she saw.”
“So many people here, so many to blur the scent,” Fire-keeper said doubtfully.
“I can but try.”
IF EARL KESTREL WAS RELIEVED when Firekeeper informed him that Blind Seer would not be attending the reception, he was too well-mannered to say so. Firekeeper didn't think she needed to tell him that Elation would be on guard, tracking them from the air and then watching from some perch high above the crowd.
All three of the wild creatures had their wind up, Elise's fear touching nerves honed to hear warning in crow call or squirrel scolding. Never mind that most of the time the warnings were against them —still, they had learned to heed and to take care. What frightened one so deeply might mean danger to all.
Baron Archer came to meet his daughter at the Kestrel camp, adding his considerable social weight to an escort al-ready heavy with earl and knight, for Jared Surcliffe was also of their company. Tonight bodyguards and caretakers were left behind, an agreement that pleased the rival powers only slightly less than the alternative. Knowing that Derian was deeply concerned, Firekeeper found a moment to comfort him.
“Don't worry, Fox Hair,” she said. “I am to be the perfect lady, just like Elise. Look, I have even put my Fang here—”
She hiked up her skirt to show the sheath strapped to her right thigh.
“—not around my waist so the guard will not be frightened.”
Derian laughed and almost managed not to blush. “You are a little savage,” he said affectionately. “Behave. Remember, your manners reflect on me.”
“Haven't I promised?” she replied, evading actuaUy prom-ising. “Elation will watch from without. If I am in greater trouble than I can handle, she will rescue me.”
Derian groaned, “Great! Now I'm really relaxed.”
The Toll House on Bridgeton, where the reception was being held, was a
huge building. It straddled the entirety of a bridge so wide that its span was lined with houses and shops on either edge. Room remained between the buildings for carts and foot traffic to pass in two directions.
In its time, the Toll House had been fortress, shop, and administration building. Tonight it was an unofficial palace, flaunting the pecuUar semi-independence of Hope and Good Crossing to those who would claim the towns as their own, while forcing acknowledgment of those quaUties in the very use of the twinned cities for this meeting.
Walls of polished river rock were adorned with pitch torches, their yellow-orange light sputtering slightiy in the gusts of river wind. The paired arches at the base of the structure, each wide enough to admit a heavily laden cart, glowed like the mouths of some sea demon from Old World legend. The flags and pennants flying from the poles on the roof high above were invisible except as snapping black forms that blocked the wheeUng constellations.
The Toll House was actually two buildings standing back to back, a wide neutral zone between them. This courtyard was where the reception was being held tonight. For Ught, chandeUers the size of wagon wheels had been slung from great cables strung between the two buildings and more torches were set on the walls. In this Ught, the guests could admire paving stones scmbbed as clean as the deck of a ship and adorned with thick carpets.
Long tables bent slightly beneath the weight of the food and drink spread upon them. Light music performed by scattered musicians filtered its way between conversations, creating an illusion of privacy.
Here, tense beneath her superficial composure, Firekeeper witnessed the first meeting of King Tedric of Hawk Haven with his nephew, Duke Allister Seagleam of Bright Bay. She had been long enough among humans by now to see them with something closer to their own eyes.
From that newly expanded perspective, crowned in silver set with rabies and gowned in regal scarlet trimmed in white, the elderly monarch looked quite august—no longer merely an old man as Firekeeper had first seen him. Yet even in the torchlight her wolf's eyes could see that the king's lips were faintly blue and his fingers, when he had extended them earlier for her to kiss, had been cold as ice.
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