Even if he hadn't ever imagined keeping such a secret from her.
But the slack time soon showed itself to be a liability, as the Wolves grew restless. The Yearlings, just graduated from trainee Pups and driven to prove themselves, starting clashing with the Dragons—teasing them, harrying them...headed for trouble.
Today, Reandn thought, traversing the slushy snow between the tower and the barracks, the morning air held a hint of warmth. With only a month until Ardrith's Eve and spring, the thaw would bring out troublemakers in force, trying to make up for a slow winter—and that meant it was time to put the Yearlings to the test.
And afterward, he knew, amused with it, it would be a long time before they complained of a lax season.
He pulled out his boots and winter chaps and the waterproofing grease and sat alone in the long, narrow ready room, working the leather—at least until Saxe's step, heavier than usual, brought his head up from his work. "What's wrong?"
Saxe stood in the doorway. "A Wolf has no need of tact, just a quiet foot and a quick eye. I wish someone had warned me things stand differently for Pack Leader."
"It could be worse," Reandn offered. "I could be Pack Leader."
"I've always had the feeling you were meant for other things, " Saxe said, with a quiet seriousness that took Reandn by surprise. Then he snorted. "And there're plenty of reasons you're not heading this pack. Do you know I'm still soothing the Blue Dragon Leader?"
Reandn scrubbed at a boot seam. "They must be as bored as our Yearlings, to pick at it after all these months."
Saxe paced to the long wall of the ready room, where the small window was unshuttered to let out the extra heat of the stove; one hand rubbed the back of his neck. "The Fox that Ethne sent to the East River is back. It looks like our missing kitchen boy ended up in the pond after all." Briefly, he stared out at the view—where, past Ronsin's tower, the dark finger of the pond would be visible even in the fading light.
"It'll be thawed soon." Reandn turned the boot over. "I don't envy the Dragons who'll do the dredging."
"It's a tense time," Saxe agreed, turning his attention back inside. "The boy was no cast-off; he was training for cook. His family has relatives with influence, and the King has already sent an emissary and several Foxes to keep an eye on things in their area."
"Surely there's not much to worry about." Reandn capped his little pot of grease and shoved his foot into the boot. "A tragedy, yes, but it was an accident—and the boy's family can't be too highly placed or he wouldn't have started out as a pot scrubber."
"True," Saxe conceded. "But none of us needed it, not with the trouble from the Resiores."
"A lot of fuss and bother," Reandn grunted, stomping his foot a couple times to settle his heel into the boot as he stood. "You want to keep your mind off it, I'm sure I can come up with something—"
"Oh, no," Saxe said, holding up his hand up to stop that thought in its tracks. "I've got enough troubles without your help. Did you hear what Faline —"
But Reandn wasn't listening. The grating noise in his head blossomed with an unprecedented intensity, snatching the world away, immersing him in misery. He staggered, knocked a bench over, and came down hard on his knees. Lost in the roar of it, fighting to keep from going under, he barely noticed Saxe's hands on his shoulders keeping him upright.
The pressure finally faded, making way for Saxe's voice. "—Dan! Danny!" The hold on his shoulders tightened, shook him slightly.
Reandn opened tear-blurry eyes and discovered himself staring at the window, straining in that direction. Pulling out of Saxe's grip, he climbed gracelessly to his feet and stumbled over to the window. Nothing. Nothing but the shutter-leaked tower light glowing in the deepening dusk.
"Danny!" Saxe repeated, not for the first time. "What in the Lonely Hells—?"
Reandn turned, blinked at him, and took a deep breath through a chest that seemed suddenly tight. "I don't know. I mean," he added, regaining enough wits to see the depth of Saxe's concern, "it's happened —never this bad...." He shrugged and added lamely, "The surgeon couldn't do anything. He thought maybe I've done one too many blows to the head."
"A Wolf with dizzy spells isn't safe out there," Saxe said, his voice hard as he waved a hand that somehow encompassed the rocky, pine-laden territory beyond the Keep.
"They aren't dizzy spells," Reandn averred. "It's...different somehow."
Saxe shot the words back at him. "You get one of these out on horseback, or in the middle of a scuffle, and you're dead just the same."
"I know!" Reandn snapped. "Do you think I don't know?" He met his friend's hazel eyes for a long, frustrated moment, silence saying all the things words couldn't. I'm a Wolf. It's who I am, what I do.
"Adela doesn't know, does she," Saxe said, and then gave a short laugh. "Of course she doesn't, or you wouldn't be going out in the woods tonight. And you won't be, yet, unless I get your honor you'll tell me if this gets worse."
Reandn ducked his head, scrubbing a hand through his thick, dark tawny hair. "Wolf's honor," he said quietly, at last.
~~~~~
Adela paced in the confines of the small tower room, knowing that if she stopped, she'd only fall apart into useless tears. Dressed for the stable in long, lined split winter skirts and high fleeced boots, she'd never made it—at least not for training.
For she'd gone up to Ronsin's rooms to make sure Kavan was started in his day, and discovered Ronsin snarling and the boy gone.
Gone. Just like the other two—
No. She pulled herself up short on the thought. Kavan had been so good, so obedient—it simply took them all by surprise when for once he wasn't where he was supposed to be. Although where...
She'd looked in all the places that should have drawn him, and then she'd come back here to wait for Danny—Danny, who was late. On this morning of all mornings.
At last. His habitually silent tread never warned her, but even a Wolf couldn't turn that old door handle without creaking. She was across the room in an instant, with just enough time to see the surprise on his face as when she threw her arms around him. "I can't find him!"
"Dela, what—?" he said, his arms closing around her; the strength in them somehow made her feel stronger, too.
She pulled back just enough to look at his face. "Kavan," she said. "I can't find him anywhere."
He just looked at her a moment, digesting her words. "Maybe he's finally turned rascally on us. It'd be a good sign, I think." But he didn't fool her completely. She knew that look, the tiny down-quirk at the corner of his mouth, the way his brows drew minutely closer together.
Adela stepped back, giving him the space to enter the room and close the door. Worrying her betrothal ring with her thumb, she said slowly, "I don't think so. I'm worried. He's been gone for hours—and no one's seen him."
Danny sat heavily on the bed, reaching for the laces on his half chaps. Adela suddenly saw the fatigue in him—worn, as though he'd somehow been overworked through this slow winter.
She stepped back from her tightly wound worry, twisting her ring on her finger, to eye him—to look beyond the familiar. His dark blond hair had gotten long—shaggy enough to tumble beyond his collar and fall into his eyes. And there was his face, well-defined jaw and strong nose and mostly those eyes—grey beneath brows darker than his hair, always just a little bit brooding, always just a little bit wild. Even tired like this, he still seemed leashed, as though behind some restraint lurked an untamed creature.
She'd seen that untamed creature when he'd been forced to defend his own—his keep, his Wolves, and occasionally, herself. She knew it would come out for Kavan, too.
He would find the boy if anyone could.
"Ronsin's having fits," she said. She wasn't for his reaction—the look on his face as he stopped unlacing his chaps. He'd never had any animosity toward the old man before, never seemed to care about him one way or the other.
But now she saw anger—although he tried to swallow it
as he went back to removing his chaps.
"I'm not sure about him lately," was all he said, his voice even.
Adela hesitated. "He's been a little preoccupied since Tenaebra's Eve," she said. "I think he's frustrated—he worked that little bit of magic, but I haven't seen anything since. He surely must be feeling the pressure to perform something impressive for Ardrith's Eve."
They'd be getting the Ardrith's Eve tapestry out soon, with the goddess depicted among wildly sprouting vines and crops, her dress scandalously sleeveless and her honey-blond hair and sweet features reminding Adela of her friend Elyn.
Danny snorted softly, drawing her back to the black despair the day had brought her. "Magic," he said. "Crazy old man."
"Sad, I think." Adela did not remind him that she'd seen the magic at which he scoffed. "He's desperate, Danny. It's not his fault the magic left us. But...you may be right in a way. I think..." She took a breath. "He may be failing. He smiles to himself, talks to himself. He's using more herbs than I can get for him, and he's left wasted parchments all over his desk, covered with that scribbled writing of his."
Danny tossed the half chaps across the room to land neatly in the corner, and said nothing.
"But still...can you imagine his life? What if you spent your entire life dedicated to the Wolves—and then, at the height of your prime, the entire world changes and all of a sudden no one wants any Wolves any more. All your skills are useless."
"That'd never happen," Danny said, harshly enough to startle her. Sometimes when he was stressed, when he was intense, his voice left its normal, slightly graveled baritone and hit a deeper register, bottoming out.
Adela wondered what hidden sore spot she'd hit. When he left the bed to stare out the window, leaning out over the wide sill, she followed—unintimidated, but gentle.
"Suppose it did," she persisted. "Would you be any different than Ronsin? You'd do anything to try to regain your life."
Danny shook his head without looking at her, and said nothing. She slid in behind him, wrapping her arms around him. She suddenly felt like they were alone in this world, that all they had was one another, and that she had to hold on tight.
He must have felt her quiver, for he twisted to face her, his hands strong at her waist; he lifted her up to the sill. And then he held her close and kissed her hard, and she knew he'd caught it too, that moment of intensity where being together was the only thing they had that they could call their own, and never doubt.
~~~~~
Ronsin dismissed Adela for that entire day with an injunction to find Kavan—which suited both Reandn and Adela perfectly. She alerted the Hounds through Caleb, as well as the resident Highborn families with children of Kavan's age—and visited both goddess faith houses as well, with prayers of intervention to Ardrith, and prayers that Tenaebra would keep the child's death quick and painless if someone had indeed taken him. Reandn searched the yards, and put the word out to the Keep shepherds and grounds men.
In the back of his mind, he felt that he was already too late—but his heart wouldn't even think about it yet.
But no one had seen him, not even his Wolves...and that didn't bode well. He'd climbed into the hayloft for one more look when Adela called from below. "Reandn?"
"Up here," he told her, sticking his head over the edge.
She was back in her stable clothes, wearing her oldest, heaviest tunic—the one that should have hidden her shapeliness but didn't. "I've looked everywhere. I don't know what else to do...I can't stop thinking about it—but if I don't, my heart will shrivel up with the fear."
"Come to work Willow with me, then?" He suggested it with some relief, having nearly reached that point himself. "I think one of the Yearlings has him out, but he's difficult for most of them. Whoever it is will likely be glad to hand him over."
"I'll see where he is, then. You'll be right out?"
He nodded. "There are a few more corners to check...." No point in saying that if Kavan was all right, he'd have heard them talking from those very corners. Adela gave him a look that said she'd heard the unspoken words anyway, and left for the round pens.
Good or bad, the boy was not to be found in the loft. Reandn climbed down, brushing bits of seed and stalk from his light jacket, and discovered Saxe standing before Specks' stall.
"You and Dela are wedded now," Saxe said wryly. He reached into scratch Specks' upper neck, and the gelding curled his upper lip in pleasure. "No need to go sneaking around in the loft."
"A loft has its attractions," Reandn said. "But if I'd been with Dela, I wouldn't have been caught out."
"Probably not," Saxe grinned, but sobered. "Still looking for your lad? I heard the Hounds are checking in town." He hesitated. "I'm sorry, Reandn. Kavan seemed like a good kid." Another pause, and he gave the gelding a last pat and moved away from the stall. "Three of them in the same season. I don't like it. And we were premature to suppose we knew what happened to the kitchen boy. The Dragons worked the pond this morning—what they found was one of those little statues from the public gardens."
"Tenaebra's Eve pranks," Reandn said. "If that boy is a pile of bones on the road to East River, we'll never solve that puzzle."
"I don't like trails that can't be unraveled," Saxe grumbled.
Reandn shook his head. "If—if— we lose Kavan, you can be sure I'll unravel that one." He headed for the back door of the stable.
Saxe walked with him into the bright afternoon sunshine, admitting to a certain curiosity about the idiosyncratic Willow—especially given the chill spring air, in which even the steadiest horse found excuses to cavort.
The cobbles of the courtyard turned to packed dirt as they passed through the curtain portal to the wide, flat area of fenced training rings. The high fenced ring that had once held unicorns was currently littered with deliberate debris: a substantial tree trunk, an area of rocks, a short bridge that went over nothing, and two constructed jumps.
All three rings were occupied, but Willow was easy to pick out—his greying, dappled coat bright in the sunshine. Reandn frowned as he saw the horse prancing nervously in place. In the center of the ring, two figures argued loudly enough to send snatches of angry syllables out to Reandn's ears.
"That's Adela," he said shortly, and lengthened his steps.
It was Adela, and Wace, as well. Reandn's temper immediately rose a notch. This pup had been trouble for Ser all season, and Reandn wasn't about to let him harass Adela.
But when he reached the round pen gate, he hesitated, knowing Adela wouldn't appreciate the interference—and that Saxe reinforced temperance merely with his presence. From the gate, they could hear the discussion clearly—although as soon as Reandn got a good look at Willow, he knew what it was about.
The horse jigged, his hindquarters bunched and ready to propel him across the ring and through the fence if necessary; his ears were flat back and his head was high, protesting the chain across his sensitive nose. Adela, hands on hips and expression unrelenting, glared up at the big Yearling.
"I'm not taking it off," Wace said, the training whip forgotten at his feet, the coiled longe rope clenched in his fist.
Adela's voice was icy. "You're hurting him. If you can't handle him without it, then leave him to me."
"I'm handling him just fine," Wace retorted.
"You're abusing him just fine, you mean." Adela stepped between man and horse, taking hold of the rope where it swung between Willow and the Yearling. Wace's neck and face turned a fine shade of red. Reandn reached for the gate latch, still hesitating. Let her handle it.
Wace snarled at her, an ugly sound. "Just because you're the First's woman doesn't mean you can walk in here and order one of us around." He tore the rope from Adela's grasp; at the other end, Willow grunted angrily and half-reared at the slap against his tender nose.
Adela closed on the Yearling, her face dark. "I've got all the authority in the world when it comes to Willow. Now give me that rope, or you'll find I've learned a thing or
two from being the First's woman!" She jerked the rope back out of his hands, careful to protect Willow from the whiplash—which meant Wace took her completely by surprise when his temper popped and he hit her, knocking her down hard.
Reandn didn't bother with the gate; he vaulted the fence. Willow reared, pulling back hard on the longe line and nearly taking Wace with him; the Yearling dug his heels in, fighting the grey's panic. When the horse leapt forward, bolting away from the pain, Wace jumped out of Willow's path and into Reandn's, a solid collision that left them a fallen tangle of limbs.
Stunned by two separate attacks where none was expected, Wace managed to struggle to his knees before Reandn dragged him back down again, savagely scrambling to get a hold on the bigger Yearling. In seconds his hands were locked around the bigger man's neck; rage coursed through him, lending his fingers strength. Wace's eyes widened with panic as Reandn ignored Saxe's pull on his shoulders—
And then internal chaos hit him, and hit him hard. Suddenly face down in the dirt of the round pen, with grit on his lips and teeth and Wace squirming beneath him, Reandn felt his chest tighten; his jaws clenched against a muted roar. Not this time. Not with Dela at stake. Wace had wriggled out from beneath him, was not within reach; Reandn focused on Adela, the only thing that could pull hard enough to keep him going through this sensory assault.
Somehow he'd gotten tangled in the longe rope and it tugged erratically at him. Behind him, Willow raced back and forth, throwing dust at the end of each short run. As Reandn reached Adela, still sprawled in the middle of the ring, Willow jerked him back off his knees; angrily, Reandn grabbed his knife to slash himself free, finally moving more easily as the noise in his head faded. Then the hoofbeats became a tattoo of sound that encircled them while he reached Adela and anxiously, carefully moved the scattered curtain of hair away from her face.
She stared at him in horror, one side of her face reddened and already swelling. "Danny," she whispered. "What happened to you?"
~~~~~
Danny looked more stunned than Adela felt, his face pale and strained, his eyes wild. Adela gathered her shaky feet beneath her and slowly stood, taking in Wace, who breathed in hoarse gasps with Saxe beside him. But the Pack Leader was looking at Danny, not Wace, and his face was grim. Around them galloped the grey gelding, frantically trying to run away within the confines of the round pen.
Touched By Magic (The King's Wolf Saga) Page 4