Wolf's Eyes

by Jane Lindskold

  Beside his uncle, Allister Seagleam cut something less of a impressive figure. His greying blond hair, though neatly tied back, showed a tendency to escape its bounds, framing his features with wisps of straw. Nor did the sea green and gold he wore suit him, making him rather sallow. In the artificial light, Allister squinted, reminding Firekeeper a bit of bookish Lord Aksel Trueheart. Yet there was confidence in his bearing and nothing either servile or groveling in his bow.

  “Uncle Tedric,” he said, and his voice carried in the sudden hush spreading through the courtyard. “I am honored to have the privilege of finally meeting you.”

  King Tedric did not bow in return, but opened his arms. “You have the look of my sister about you, Allister. Some-thing in the shape of your mouth, I think. Her hair, too, was light-Accepting the kinsman's embrace with dignified grace that did not overstep the bounds of familiarity, Allister replied:

  “No one has told me of that resemblance before and I am pleased to learn of it. May I present my wife, Pearl Oyster, and our children?”

  While Allister was introducing a lady as plump and pale as the full moon and several children who resembled both of their parents to varying degrees, Firekeeper's attention wandered. Everyone else was watching the proceedings with great interest. Firekeeper noted that a fierce look, almost a hunger, crossed Lady Zorana's face as Allister presented his sons.

  Zorana looks as if she will eat one of them, bones and all! Firekeeper mused silently. Yet from what I have been told, she will be lucky to get near the plate.

  With skill that did not quite reject the rest of the company, King Tedric drew Allister and his family aside. From what Firekeeper could overhear, all they were discussing were family matters, including the daily life of Princess Caryl in Bright Bay. As the wolf-woman drifted restiessly about the courtyard, accepting food—but never drink—from the footmen who circulated with trays, she was amused to learn that almost everyone else thought that high matters of state were being settled in that private gathering.

  As she walked around the courtyard, Firekeeper was astonished to discover that humans come in different colors. Until this point, she had thought they were all basicaUy like her-self: light skin shading into reddish brown with exposure to the sun, hair mostly in brownish hues though occasionally lighter or redder. Here in the courtyard, apparentiy as representatives of some of the interested countries she had only known by name, were people with skin the yellowed shade of grass in the winter and hair as fine as silk and black as a raven's wing. Their eyes were shaped differentiy, too, slanting somehow.

  There were also people so fair that they made her look dark, their skin a rosy pink flushing red from sun or wind. These people had hair so light that it almost glowed. Their eyes were very round, so that Firekeeper felt her own must seem heavy-Udded. These round eyes shouted with blue or green beneath brows so pale that they seemed a dream of a shape. These people were large, though trim about the waist and hip, where the Winter Grass people were small and delicate.

  Finally, just three or five among the many, there were people who in coloring were quite like those of Hawk Haven or Bright Bay, but their attire was so strange that they seemed the most aUen of all. Men and women alike shaved the front of their heads and grew the hair long behind. The exposed skin was colored in elaborate patterns that extended over their faces. They wore long, straight robes embroidered with complicated patterns in many colors and their shoes curled at the toes.

  Viewing the contrasting humanity pleased Firekeeper. She nad thought that humans might be like deer or rabbits, Umited in their coats and forms. Learning that they were more like wolves—who could be any color from snow white to mingled shades of grey or brown to night black, who could have eyes the color of pine tree tears or maple leaves in autumn or a piece of the summer sky—was quite a relief. Deep inside, Firekeeper felt that homogeneity was for prey animals, not predators.

  When viewing the passing scene palled, Firekeeper sought her companions. Earl Kestrel was deep in conversation with some military counterpart from Allister Seagleam's escort: one of the Winter Grass men, someone he had apparently met before on the field of battle. Their verbal sparring, which barely kept the blade in the sheath, amused Firekeeper for a time, but eventually became filled with references to events far beyond her ken.

  Doc was part of a group that included Lady Elise, Jet Shield, and several representatives from the guilds in Hope and Good Crossing. Their discussion bored Firekeeper al-most immediately, largely surpassing her command of the language. When everyone burst into laughter for the third time at some witty comment that had not seemed at all funny to her, Firekeeper gave up in disgust.

  Her vague hope that there might be dancing to liven the evening gradually dying, Firekeeper moved to one side of the span to where she could watch the water flowing beneath the bridge. The torches reflected in the black water made it seem as if the stars themselves had descended to eavesdrop on these monumental human affairs.

  Seeing her alone, the falcon Elation flew down from one of the Toll House towers to perch on a jutting abutment below the line of sight of the party.

  “Having fun?” she whistled.

  “Not much,” Firekeeper admitted. “I wish that humans solved their problems as wolves do. A quick fight must be better than all this blather.”

  “Human fights,” Elation said seriously, “are not always quick. They do not always know when to surrender or how to accept surrender when it is offered. Believe me, once you have seen humans at war, you will understand why this blathering—as you name it—has its place.”

  “Hush!”

  Even through the mingled drone of music and conversation, Firekeeper had heard someone approaching from be-hind. The step was not one she knew, and the wind was from the wrong direction to carry scent, so she wheeled to confront Prince Newell Shield while he was still a good number of paces away.

  “You're like a cat, Lady Blysse,” he said with a friendly smile. “Or should I say like a wolf?”

  “Wolf,” she replied stubbornly, though she knew no answer was expected.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  She started to shmg, remembered her promise to Derian that she would do her best to be a lady, and said instead:

  “That would be kind of you.”

  Prince Newell leaned his elbows against the stone rampart and stared down at the water. After a cautious moment, Firekeeper returned to her previous attitude. Below, hidden in the darkness, Elation kept her silence.

  “Where is your wolf? I thought you went nowhere without her.”

  “Him. He is outside. This place is close and crowded. He would not like it.” She left out mentioning that many of the people would also not like him. Prince Newell didn't need to know that she would moderate her actions for anyone's comfort.

  “I believe I sympathize with your wolf,” the prince said after a moment. “For a sailor like me, parties like this are very trying.”

  Firekeeper remembered not to ask why and instead smiled politely. Prince Newell continued, offering the answer she hadn't asked for:

  “I suppose it's the chatter, but that can't be it. On an oceangoing vessel we're packed more closely. Sometimes dinner at the captain's table—especially when the wine has gone around a few times—gets quite noisy. No, I expect that it's the tension. Everyone here wants something and dreads that someone else will get it. That's why I was so surprised to see you over here. I thought you'd be checking out the young men from Bright Bay.”

  The word escaped her lips before she could school her puzzlement.

  “Why?”

  Prince Newell chuckled heartily, his manner the same, she realized, as she had seen him use with little Citrine during the falconry party.

  “Why because young men are interesting to young ladies—and these two more than most—they could be a secure way to the throne.”

  “Oh,” she replied, understanding, “like Elise and Jet.”

  “That's right. I'm certa
in that Baron Archer is wishing he could sever that engagement ever more the longer the king spends talking to Allister Seagleam's family. Doubtless my sister, Melina, feels the same way. But they've made their beds and their children must Ue in them.”

  His laughter this time was somewhat coarse. Firekeeper wondered how many times the bottie had gone ‘round the table for him this evening. From her point of view, the betrothal between Elise and Jet was a problem—largely be-cause Elise did not seem happy. It had not escaped Firekeeper how often Doc found excuses to talk with Elise. Nor had she overlooked that Elise seemed much more cheerful when Doc was about.

  Turning from the rampart, she glanced over the gathering until she located Elise. Yes. There she was, Jet close at her elbow, talking in quite a Uvely fashion to several important guild representatives. They looked delighted, but Jet seemed bored, his gaze frequently wandering to where the Oyster twins were now venturing into tentative conversation with his sister Opal and his cousin Nydia Tmeheart.

  Prince Newell followed the direction of her gaze without difficulty.

  “Yes, there is our young Jet, rearing against the lead rope—despite the fact that little Minnow and Anemone are something like eleven years old. Lady Archer has her betrothed firmly in hand though. He cannot leave her side without giving grave insult to her family—an insult which King Tedric cannot fail to perceive. Tell me, Lady Blysse, who are you sweet on?”

  His tone was playful, but she had learned when someone was fishing for information. She had been asked this question or some variation on it by everyone from the queen to Sapphire's maid. Only the queen seemed genuinely interested.

  “No one,” she said. But her thoughts, as they often did, flitted to Blind Seer. “There is no man I think sweet.”

  “Yet you are a young lady, surrounded by men. Surely it is time Earl Kestrel got you a maid. That strapping redhead might have done when you were just a… at first, that is, but now it must raise questions of propriety.”

  What she wanted to ask the prince was why should he care what people thought of her, but Firekeeper had learned something of manners. She replied courteously:

  “True. Today Lady Elise was kind and came to help me gown and do my hair. Ninette, too. I shall need a maid soon.”

  “Perhaps,” he said in avuncular tones, “I can help. I still know many reliable servants from the days when my late wife and I maintained an estate. These days, alas, I am much the wandering bachelor.”

  Firekeeper knew that this was a cue to flirt with him. It was as obvious as the song of a cock robin in the early spring or the sparring of two young bucks with the velvet barely off their antlers. Yet she could not bring herself to play this game. Wolves mate for life, usually only after blood has been spilled and great battles fought. Courtship was too serious a matter to play at with a man she was quite certain she didn't even like.

  Therefore, she was greatly relieved when she noticed Doc casting about, having noticed at last that she was missing. She lightly waved her hand to show where she was and made a quick curtsy to the prince.

  “Forgive me. Sir Jared is seeking me, perhaps for Earl Kestrel.”

  She used titles and honors as protection against her flight being halted. The prince did not stay her retreat but only looked after her, the look of quizzical amusement on his face changing to one of calculation as he returned to staring into the river. He might have thought no one could see him, but the falcon Elation watched from the darkness below and whisded softly as she beat her wings in retreat.

  The reception did not extend past Firekeeper's level of endurance. The guilds of Hope and Good Crossing had made their point. No one would forget to calculate their wealth into the coming negotiations. Representatives of the various contending forces had met and now knew each other as more than tantaUzing names. Old rivals had re-met, new rivalries perhaps had begun. All in all, it had been an interesting, if not precisely enjoyable, evening.

  Only Doc seemed pleased with the outcome of the night's entertainment. As they walked back to their camp, Firekeeper noticed with some amusement that he was humming.

  EXHAUSTED AFTER THE EVENTS of the previous day—discovering the truth of Melina's sorcery would have been enough without the strain of visiting with her at the reception the night before—Elise had trouble sleeping. At last she gave into Ninette's pleading and joined her in a cup of tea doctored with an infusion of herbs which dragged her restless mind below the threshold of nightmare.

  Consequently, Elise slept into late morning and woke with a muzzy head. Ninette was still asleep and Elise decided to wait upon her for once. The other woman had been as shocked as she had been and was far more terrified. Unlike Elise, Ninette was not a baronial heir and clearly felt that while Melina might withhold her hand from Elise, she might well make an example of her servant.

  Both Ivon Archer and Aurella Wellward held that any noble who could not perform at least the basic tasks of cooking, sewing, and the like was dependent on her servants and so would become a slave to them. Therefore, Elise, had no difficulty tending to her own needs.

  Her father's valet had left a kettle to one side of the cook fire so there was warm water for washing. Elise set another above the coals to heat water for tea, then stoked the fire until a cheerful blaze crackled beneath. Once again, the late-summer day promised to become quite hot. The air here near the river was already thick and humid. It didn't promise well for tempers when the conferences began.

  Gowning herself in a light musUn dress with long sleeves of the same material that should help protect her skin from insect bites, Elise wished that there were a way for her to attend those conferences. Rumor and report were no substitutes for actuaUy seeing the expressions on people's faces or hearing their intonations as they spoke.

  Doubtless she was not the only one who felt that way and doubtless King Tedric would refuse anyone he could in order to be able to refuse those he genuinely did not wish to attend. She supposed this must be an advantage of monarchy over the odd, oligarchical system used in Stonehold or the plutocracy of Waterland. Right now, however, she would give much for something like New Kelvin's parliamentary monarchy, where the reigning monarch—always a king, an odd concept—must answer to someone other than himself.

  When Ninette awakened, Elise had porridge and tea ready. Over the other woman's protests, she insisted on waiting on her. By the time Ninette had finished eating and dressing, there was color in her cheeks and the tendency to blanch whenever she heard one of the Shields’ voices, carrying over from their not too distant pitch, had vanished.

  “Last night,” Ninette admitted, sweetening her tea with pale gold clover honey, “I couldn't stay here alone. The baron's man had gone to play at dice with some other retainers, you see. Usually, I'd find some of the other lady's maids, but I couldn't bear the company of that creaky-voiced old crone who attends on Lady Melina. She's always hinting about her mistress's powers, especially to us younger ones when she thinks we're getting above ourselves.”

  Elise, who had been terrorized by the same old woman when she was a child, nodded sympathetically. She knew that it would make no difference to that one that Ninette was well-bom, her only fault that she was the daughter of a younger son with a tendency to gamble.

  Encouraged by Elise's sympathetic murmurs, Ninette continued, “I went over to Earl Kestrel's camp. I hope you don't think it improper of me, given that they are all men, but the earl's valet is very poUte—even courtly—and Derian Carter may be brash, but he never oversteps himself.”

  “Were they the only ones there?” Elise asked.

  “Yes. Ox had gone with Earl Kestrel, as you recaU. He couldn't attend the reception, of course, but he waited with the horses. The other man, the scout…”

  “Race.”

  “That's right—Race Forester—wasn't there. I think he spends much of his time with his fellow scouts. He may even have been on duty.”

  “Doesn't Sir Jared have a manservant?”

  “Not
that I have seen, my lady. I don't think that, for all his honors, he is very wealthy.”

  “No,” Elise agreed. ‘That is probably trae. He mentioned that his family grew grapes somewhere in Kestrel lands. That's hardly the basis of a fortune.”

  “Then you don't mind that I went out?”

  “I think it was the smartest thing you could have done,” Elise assured her. “The question is, what should we do next?”

  “Next?”

  “Yes.” Elise thought for a time, sipping her tea.

  She had decided not to tell Ninette about the curious pain she had felt when she had impulsively tried to tell Firekeeper and Derian about what she had witnessed. The woman was terrified enough without wondering if she herself was cursed.

  Touching the carved piece of jet that hung around her neck, Elise wondered if she might have been particularly susceptible because of her link—however slight—to Jet. What if they had become lovers as he had pressed? Would taking his body into hers have increased the power his mother might hold over her?

  She shuddered, feeling again that curious mixture of guilt and relief when she realized that Melina's curse served, evil as it was, to protect her from Jet's advances. Last night had been the first he had not tried to convince her to go for a walk in the woods or to duck into his tent. Either the curse had dulled his desires as well as his ability to act on them or he had feared that she would notice the difference in how his body expressed its ardor.

  She felt a stranger to herself as she realized again how much had changed in her feelings toward Jet. At first she had only kept him at a distance out of a sense of propriety and—she honestiy admitted to herself—a desire to test his devotion before surrendering. Never had she dreamed that Jet would fail that test. In her fantasies, he had become more and more ardent until, showered in gifts, poetry, and song, she had given herself to him gladly.