by Ann Aguirre
“It is.”
“Is there a lot of variety among your…pack? Is that the right word?” Her expression was solemn, lending the impression that she cared about the verbiage.
“Pack is right for wolves. With the cats, it’s pride, and the bears prefer clan.”
“What about the birds in the Aerie? Would that be a flock?”
It was an excellent question, but he’d never actually met anyone from the reclusive avian settlement. “I presume so, but it’s always best to inquire about someone’s preferences to prevent giving unintentional offense.”
“Wise, sensible strategy,” she commended, making her first move.
Raff hadn’t played much Kingcross. It required a lot of predictive reasoning, focusing on his opponent’s probable maneuverings; in short, it was exactly the sort of the thing that made him edgy and gave him a headache. This was why he had Korin as his second; she excelled in this sphere, freeing him for more enjoyable endeavors.
He chose at random, hoping he remembered the directions the pieces were allowed to travel and the jumps permitted. There were so many stratagems and gambits one could memorize, and he suspected Thalia was the sort who knew them all, forward and back. Therefore, he would play to make her happy, not to win.
Maybe he could still work toward his agenda of getting to know her better. “Shall we make this more interesting?”
“How?”
Mags would have immediately told him she wasn’t playing strip Kingcross and possibly threatened his life. Because the Eldritch princess seemed less aggressive, at least on the surface, he said, “The winner gets a boon.”
“Anything?” Thalia asked.
“Within reason. Nothing dangerous or…illicit.”
“Agreed. But I’ll have you know, you will likely be the one paying the penalty.”
“I’m willing,” Raff said.
Through losing, he might learn a great deal about her ambitions and her secret desires. They made small talk as the match progressed. As he’d expected, she quickly outclassed him, taking his pieces with all the ferocious glee of a gaming despot. In the end, he yielded.
Thalia eyed him while claiming his king and crowning her own. “Kingcross. I’ve won. Rather handily, in fact. I hoped you might offer more of a challenge.”
“Not at this, alas, but I did enjoy your company. What’s my forfeit?”
“Answer me a question,” Thalia said.
“That’s all you want of me?” An unlikely development, but the fact that she wanted to know more about him, enough to wager for it, that was…intriguing. Never in Pine Ridge’s history had a leader brought home an outside mate, and the pack was divided, even now, as to whether this was an advisable course. They hadn’t liked his overtures to the Golgoth Prince any better, for the same reasons.
“My curiosity is intense. I asked in Ash Valley, but no one would share the story. How did you get that scar on your cheek?”
4.
Thalia wondered if Raff would answer honestly.
This wasn’t a query so much as a test. In fact, she had heard a version of the story from one of the wolves in Ash Valley, but how Raff responded should prove enlightening. He sipped at his mug of wine, probably stalling for time, then he set it on the table nearby.
“It’s not a particularly interesting tale, but I’ll share it if you wish.”
“By all means.”
“A few years past, there was a woman from one of our settlements. She came to Pine Ridge to forget the bad memories. Her mate had been taken by the Golgoth and she was wild with grief.”
“Wolves mate for life?” Thalia asked.
Raff glanced at her, but she couldn’t gauge his expression. His golden-brown eyes were dark like shadowed amber. “When it’s a true pairing.”
“What does that mean?”
He sighed a little, as if her ignorance troubled him. “Do you know anything about Animari mate bonds?”
“Not really. It isn’t something I’ve had cause to study before.”
“Animari mate bonds form in various ways. Sometimes there’s an instant spark, a moment of recognition—aha, this is the person I’m meant to be with! In other cases, love and affection grows out of friendship and respect, or from repeated sexual pairings. However, the bond begins, that connection deepens over time, as trust and intimacy build. Some mates get to the point that they can sense what their other half is thinking or feeling.”
“That result is a true pairing?” It sounded enviable, but also dangerous. Thalia could imagine treachery and heartbreak from someone knowing her that well…and then informing her enemies.
Nodding, Raff went on, “If one partner passes away, the one left behind suffers. I was trying to comfort her.”
“That sounds harmless enough, but you must have crossed the line. Otherwise, there would be no scar and no story.”
“People don’t usually come back from the Golgoth dungeons,” Raff said softly. “Her mate did. And misunderstood the reasons I had my hands on the woman. She used a specially treated black iron blade on me, stolen from the Golgoth armory.”
“That’s why it scarred?” From what she knew, normally the Animari healed so quickly that even deep, serious wounds didn’t leave a mark when they sealed.
“It is. Are you satisfied with this answer?”
“I am. It’s a sad story, though.”
“I don’t think so. It was such an unlikely happy ending.”
“Not for you,” Thalia said.
Raff raised a brow, then drained the mug he had set aside. To Thalia, it looked like a bracing gesture. “You make it sound like I’m perishing of want. It wasn’t like that, I assure you. I’m glad that her mate came home.”
Thalia sipped her Moscato, finding the flavor sweet and delicate. “I suppose it’s true that you’ve been chasing that ferocious tiger lady with some dedication for a while now, so the…misunderstanding that scarred your cheek can’t have damaged your heart too badly.”
“My heart is pristine and inviolate,” Raff said.
“Should you be divulging that information? It sounds as if you’re boasting that you’re an immovable object.”
“Does that make you an irresistible force?”
She smiled faintly. “I hope so.”
“It’s late now, Lady Silver. I suspect I should retire before I test the bounds of your good nature.”
“I won’t carve up your other cheek, even if you do. Good night, Lord Wolf.”
Raff left then, abandoning the wine he’d brought. Thalia considered drinking the rest herself, but unlike the Animari, she had a normal metabolism for alcohol, and she’d likely regret that decision in the morning. Pensive, she went to bed and crawled under five layers of covers meant to keep the Daruvar chill at bay.
It has been such a strange day.
Normally, she tossed and turned, but that was her last thought before she woke to pale sunlight streaming through the narrow windows, kindling a nimbus of color from the stained glass; it spread across the floor in swirls of green and gold. The stones were like ice; Thalia danced on tiptoes until she found her slippers discarded in the corner. Lil must have come and gone because there was tea and toast on the table in her sitting room. She finished both greedily, including the whole pot of lemon jelly. This sort of thing permitted her to keep her dignity in public, so her manner could remain polite and refined.
Quickly she bathed and dressed, hurrying Madu, the dresser who wanted to spend hours on her hair. Thalia settled for a neat twist, more in keeping with the military style she’d adopted since arriving at Daruvar. Eldritch staff and Noxblades alike snapped to attention as she strode through the keep, Lil close at her heels.
“Status,” she said.
“The wolves are already in the small dining hall. You have eight new reports waiting on your desk. How shall we proceed?”
“I’ll breakfast with them and give them a tour of Daruvar. Late morning, you’ll need to take over to give me a chance to
work. Can you cobble together some quick entertainment? This rebellion won’t run itself.”
A deep male voice asked, “Is it a rebellion, though? To an outsider, it looks more like a civil war.”
Thanks to years of training, Thalia didn’t startle as Raff glided out of the shadows of an alcove near the little salon. “Is skulking a wolf specialty or a talent particular to you?”
“Six of one, half dozen of the other?” But he was smiling, unoffended by the tartness of her reply.
If she let him, he’d draw her out and make her reveal…something. She had no intention of being diverted or charmed. “Regardless, since you’ve separated from the pack, please do tell Lileth what your people would find entertaining.”
“A hunt,” he said immediately.
“Would it be enough to flush out your prey and not kill it?” Lileth asked.
From the other woman’s tone, Thalia could tell she thought their guests were barbarians. Raff was nodding. “I’m sure you’ve no intention to starve us, so we won’t ask our hosts to slaughter the wildlife.”
“Perhaps one of the drones could be turned to this purpose?” Thalia cut in. “With a prize to the one who finds it first.”
Raff nodded. “I like the sound of that.”
“Go on ahead, I’ll notify Gavriel, so he can start the arrangements.” Lileth hurried off as Thalia fell into step with Raff, who offered his arm.
“Shall I escort you in?”
It felt…momentous, somehow, to curl her fingertips against his arm. “Certainly.”
His muscles were harder than she’d expected. He didn’t look bulky in his clothes, but his forearms felt different than an Eldritch male and his body heat penetrated even through his layers of shirt and jacket. Thankfully her composure held until they reached the table, where everyone else was already assembled.
“Good morning, Lady Versai.”
The head of security glared at her. “Stuff your formality. It’s Magda. Or Mags.”
Her mouth tightened. Etiquette existed for a reason, and it was rude to insist that someone use your first name if that relationship had yet to be established. Thalia well knew that she’d only end up looking like a hateful witch if she protested, so she kept her mouth shut and smoothed her napkin across her lap.
“I trust everyone slept well?” She made polite eye contact with the four wolf guards, who seemed ill at ease.
A chorus of ‘yes, thank you’ came in response as the meal began. At least some of them knew how to play the game. She’d memorized their names last night, so she tested herself mentally. The youngest is Tavros. The oldest is Janek. Bracketed between the male guards were two female scouts, Bibi and Skylett. While she wasn’t ready to use their first names, it was courteous to recall them.
“If everyone’s eaten their fill,” she said eventually, “then why don’t I show you around? Daruvar is not a place where it’s safe to get lost.”
The tour took over an hour.
Daruvar was a sprawling place with hallways that doubled back or ended suddenly in a wall of rubble. Some of the stones were loose and the paths precarious. Raff tried to remember each twist and turn, but Thalia hadn’t been joking when she said it was a perilous place to lose your way. He was awed by the sheer age of this structure, but at the same time, he couldn’t wait to shift and run on the hunt they’d promised later in the day.
Probably he shouldn’t reveal how impatient he was this soon, but he wished they could skip straight to the negotiations. That wasn’t the Eldritch way, and if he couldn’t last long enough for the marriage talks to begin, he might as well go home. Still, as Lileth started yet another story regarding the founding of Daruvar, he sighed.
“You look pissed,” Mags whispered.
Raff shook his head. They shouldn’t talk shit right in front of their hosts, who were trying their best despite this sudden imposition. “Have you learned anything?”
She dropped her voice lower still, so he had to lean close, even with sensitive hearing. “Too soon, I think. The Eldritch are secretive, even when it comes to shit we’d consider common knowledge. Took me damn near ten minutes this morning to get the staff to tell me where the fucking bathhouse is.”
“Your room doesn’t have private facilities?” he asked, surprised.
They dropped a little behind the main group, dawdling to converse. It seemed like they might be retracing their steps toward the courtyard, where their Rovers were iced lightly with dew that had frozen, now melting in the late-morning light. The steps leading down had crumbled at the edges, pebbles rolling underfoot. It would be easy to stumble here in the dark.
“It’s got a toilet that looks like it’s a hundred years old and a sink with broken tiles. How am I supposed to wash up like that?”
He grinned. “Go cat and groom yourself.”
That earned him a punch in the shoulder that nearly knocked him down, and Mags was laughing as she did it. Probably a good thing I never bedded her. She might’ve killed me.
Thalia shot him a hooded look from the front of the group as she stepped into the greensward. “That ends our tour. Please feel free to rest, join our soldiers on the training grounds, or continue your explorations, carefully. It’s not safe outside these walls for obvious reasons so venture out at your own risk.”
Her aide added, “We will be hunting an hour past luncheon, so if you’re feeling restless, look forward to that.”
Janek executed a neat bow to the older Eldritch woman. “We’re worn enough from recent events and our trip here that we will enjoy the chance to catch our breath. Thank you for seeing to our amusement.”
“So that’s why you brought him,” Mags whispered.
Janek was the oldest hunter in the pack, not as nimble as he once was, but he was the closest thing Raff had to an expert in Eldritch customs. Before, it was never an issue. The Pax Protocols existed to keep everyone in check, and even if toes got stepped on, there were no grave consequences. Nowadays a diplomatic breach could turn a casual conversation in a charnel house.
“My pleasure,” Lileth was saying.
“I must excuse myself as well. Unfortunately, work requires a little of my attention, but I’ll certainly join the hunt this afternoon.” Thalia smiled and waved, every inch the princess, despite her utilitarian garb.
With that, the Eldritch left them in the courtyard, the first time Raff had been unattended—apart from sleep—since their arrival. Mags took off at once; he presumed she had plans to do some snooping. What she hoped to find here, he had no idea, except that it must relate to the disappearance of the Ash Valley second.
His guards exchanged looks that told him they’d rather not stick to him like gum, so he said, “Feel free to do as you wish. I’m safe enough here.”
He hoped.
As soon as he split from the group and rounded a corner, someone pounced on him from behind and slammed his face into the stone. Under normal circumstances, he’d use his exceptional strength to knock this asshole across the room and then possibly bite his face off. Raff stilled instead. He recognized this scent from Ash Valley, blood and cinnamon.
“Use your words, Gavriel.”
With a sibilant curse, the Noxblade released him. “I warn you, wolf. The princess is not for you. Leave this place before something worse happens.”
Before he could respond, Mags was on Gavriel from behind, twisting his arm behind his back until he let out a furious cry. “I’m something worse,” she whispered, right in his ear. “And Raff is under my protection.”
Funny as it would be to let this situation unspool, he couldn’t afford to start marital talks from a position of damage control. “Let him go. We’ll use our words too, Mags.”
“You brought me as your bodyguard,” she said, tightening her hold.
Any more force and she’d snap the bone. While Noxblades might be tremendous assassins, they probably took weeks, not days, to heal an injury like that. Raff pried her fingers away and Gavriel stumbled back a few
steps, eyes blazing hate.
“How dare you bring your mistress here!” He spat the question more like a curse, and Mags balled up a fist.
“I belong to only myself.” She took a step toward Gavriel.
Raff held her back, barely. It required all his strength. “Leave us. He won’t hurt me. He respects the princess far too much to violate her oath of hospitality.”
Gavriel spoke through clenched teeth. “That…is true. Come with me. Now.”
He followed the Noxblade to the ramparts, where a chill wind sliced through his winter woolens like frosted steel. “Go ahead, speak your warning. If I hurt her, you will poison me, so I die in slowest agony, and then you’ll carve out my heart and offer it to crows and so on.”
The Noxblade simply stared at him. “None of that makes any sense. Slow poison makes it more likely that you’ll be caught, an antidote administered. And if you died of poison, why would I feed your heart to innocent birds?”
“You take things far too literally,” Raff said, laughing. “Didn’t you bring me here to threaten me?”
“Much as I would like to, there are more important matters at hand.”
“Then, by all means, continue convincing me not to wed Princess Thalia.”
“You take nothing seriously and you seem to care only for your own pleasure. You are no fit match for her, and you will only add to her burden in time.”
Raff lost patience then, itching to plant a fist in this bastard’s face. “What the hell are you even saying, man?”
“Haven’t you considered at all what a disastrous mésalliance this would be? When she’s still bright and beautiful, she’ll be chained to you, though you’ll be a doddering, toothless old hound by then.”
He had considered the disparity in their lifespans, but he wasn’t about to share his conclusions. His tone was sharp as a naked blade when he replied, “Unless she asked you to speak for her, shut the hell up. It’s embarrassing to see you froth jealousy that masquerades as concern for your lady.”
Gavriel fell silent, his gaze drifting over the walls and toward the cloudy horizon. “I’ll say one thing more, then. She may look cold and strong, but she has been alone for most of her life, fighting harder than anyone can imagine. Please, by all the gods you hold sacred, be gentle with her.”