Lord of Wind and Fire, Book One:

Wolfkin

Prologue

He crouched in the pose of a hunter: body taut, senses extended. His eyes glittered in the night, like gray ice set in a face the color of old bone. The wind scrabbled curiously at his threadbare black clothing, seeking to touch the thin flesh stretched tight over his ribs. Unkempt hair, the crimson of freshly-spilled blood, gusted across his face.

The wind smelled wrong, tasted wrong, he thought. More like the bitter wine of winter than the sweeter cider of autumn. He shivered with the dread of the lean, cold months that had been bred into the blood and bones of his kind.

He smiled sardonically at that thought. My kind? And what kind would that be?

The skeletal grasses rattled dryly around him, as if in commiseration. An enormous, dark shape moved nervously at the lip of the small dell in which he hid. Reaching out blindly, he laid a reassuring hand against the warhorse’s warm hide. Iron muscles flexed under his callused fingers, and a velvety lip brushed his skin. The animal’s familiar scent filled his nostrils, comforting.

It’s an ill night to be out on the Kellsmarch, he thought. Wide, canted eyes scanned the vast plains, which stretched off to every side. The ivory moon shone down, illuminating every blade of grass with silver fire. There’s no cover out here, nowhere to hide.

Damn your stony heart, Ax, where are you?

A pale shape gleamed suddenly on the other side of the dell. He leapt back, snarling, before realizing it was the wizard who stood there. A moment later, Ax’s scent—not exactly that of a normal human, but not really definable as anything else, either—wafted to him on the breeze.

Ax bowed slightly, and a mocking smile touched his withered lips. "Forgive me, Yozerf Jonaglir. I did not mean to startle you."

And I’m a human. Yozerf looked away, as if the wizard hardly concerned him. "Trihychyl. It’s Trihychyl."

Ax shrugged negligently. "It hardly matters to me what clan name your family chooses to skulk under these days."

Yozerf ground his teeth together in silent fury. But he was accustomed to bearing the offhand taunts of humans, and in this, at least, the wizard seemed no different from his brethren.

Pretending to ignore the jibe, Yozerf tilted his head to one side and glared balefully at Ax. "What do you want of me?"

"I think you know. It’s time for you to pay your debt to me."

Yozerf transferred his malevolent stare to his hands, which rested lightly on his knees. My debt.

If I can survive whatever task he has for me, I’ll be truly free for the first time in my life. No more wondering when he’ll come, what he’ll ask of me. Free.

But freedom through slavery? Is that even possible?

Wariness caused the hair to prickle on the nape of his neck. Ax smelled smug, but a sour whiff of fear tainted the wind as well. Anything dire enough to worry the wizard, let alone make him afraid, was likely to be perilous in the extreme.

Although he knew it to be a futile gesture, he met Ax’s stare with one of his own. Yozerf’s gray gaze was inhumanly cold, challenging the wizard’s deceptively mild expression. "And if I refuse to do your bidding?"

Ax inclined his head, and his smile sent a spike of ice through Yozerf’s heart. "You could try. Thirty-four years ago, I used my healing arts to keep death from claiming you before you even drew your first breath. I gave you your life. Therefore, it is mine to do with as I will."

Hatred clogged Yozerf’s throat, and he spat on the ground. "So you will throw me away as a pawn in some unfathomable game."

"My ‘game’ is unfathomable only to you," Ax said, and now his voice was steel and stone, all pretense of goodwill flung aside. "I work solely for the good of Jenel. Not for my own aggrandizement, not for power, not for revenge. For my kingdom."

"Jenel is nothing to me," Yozerf hissed. "Hel can come take this kingdom and everyone in it—it is no concern of mine."

A wall of force punched into him, heaving him off his feet and slamming him hard against the earth. All the air left his lungs, and for an instant he lay stunned. The warhorse behind him screamed, and its hooves cut across the stars above his head. Gasping for breath, he forced himself to roll away from the frightened animal.

No sharp pains accompanied the movement—at least Ax hadn’t seen fit to shatter his bones. Undoubtedly because I couldn’t perform his little task then. Chest heaving, Yozerf came up into a crouch. His head still spun with the force of the blow, and he had to stretch a hand out to the ground to steady himself. The taste of blood filled his mouth.

Ax glared angrily from the other side of the dell, not even looking wearied from his display. "Jenel is my kingdom, and I work to defend her," the wizard said in a low, dangerous voice. "And so will you. You will not question me, only do what I say."

Yozerf rose slowly to his feet, careful to keep any sign of pain from his face. "I will do as you ask," he said quietly. "I would have done so anyway. Whatever else you might say of me, I never reneged on a debt—not even one to a human. There was no need for force."

Ax chuckled softly, the sound melding with the sere rattle of the dead grasses. "Perhaps. But this way, you’ll never forget who owns you."

Chapter One

Suchen slipped carefully through the wood, moving in near silence. Each booted foot lifted and was set down with the utmost precision, avoiding anything that might rustle or crack. Her cloak, tunic, and breeks were dyed dull brown and gray, meant to blend in with tree trunks and bramble thickets. Alert blue eyes swept the forest about her, searching for movement, for tracks that would betray a trace of animals or humans. Her left arm held her bow steadily, and her right hand clutched an arrow ready to be aimed and fired within the space of a breath.

The wood held its silence like a crouching beast. Brilliant autumn leaves painted the trees in shades of crimson, gold, and orange, and a cool breeze scraped hoary branches together with a sound like the soft tittering of old women. The air smelled of damp earth and dead leaves.

Normally, Suchen reflected, she wouldn’t have gone into the forest to practice stealth without the company of the Sworn to judge her success. But today the autumn air had infected her with a restless longing, a need to leave crowded, noisy Kellsjard and take this last chance at wandering alone before winter set in. She had ridden a quarter day to reach this wildwood on the very edge of the Kellsmarch, leaving her horse to forage at the grassy verge while she went ahead on foot.

She felt a twinge of guilt that she had neglected to tell anyone exactly where she was going. But if the Sworn knew I was leaving Kellsjard, they would have wanted to come too. Or at least Peddock would have. And if not that, then Garal would be at me with worries about the mead, or the harvest, or the number of arrows in the armory.

There were days, she reflected, when she grew heartily tired of lists of supplies and speculations about the weather. It was foolish, but even so…sometimes she felt a formless sense of longing rise up in her heart, like the restless call of a migrating bird. But she could never quite say what she longed for, except that it was different from what she had now.

A sudden, prickling sensation raced down the back of her neck. I’m being watched…

She froze, muscles tensing with instinct honed during nine years of hard training. Her eyes scanned the trees about her with calm efficiency. When no sign of threat met her searching gaze, she pivoted slowly around on one heel to look behind.

Nothing. Maybe it was just a deer. Or a bird. Or sheer paranoia. Suchen completed her sweep, coming back to her original position, only to find the iron tip of her arrow pointed directly between the pale eyes of an old man standing not five feet from her.

She swallowed a yelp of shock, kept her arrow steady even as her mind yelled that no one could have come so close without her hearing him. Least of all a frail old man.

Certainly he seemed an unlikely sort to meet in an unsettled wood such as this. Long, white robes—too pristine to have spent much time trailing along ground covered with wet, fallen leaves—hung about a spare frame. Ivory hair tumbled luxuriantly down his back, matched by the snowy beard covering his chest. A pair of piercing blue eyes peered kindly at her from amidst a webwork of wrinkles. The scent of herbs and smoke drifted from the folds of his robes.

One explanation for his presence in this deserted wood—and for his uncannily silent approach—seemed immediately apparent. "Wolfkin?" she demanded, voice shaking. Gods, if he was truly one of those demons, her life was done now.

The old man chuckled and shook his head. "No. I’m no shape-changer, dear girl. You have nothing to fear from me. I merely wish to speak with you."

Suchen narrowed her eyes, her aim never wavering. "Who are you, old man? How did you move so quietly that I never heard you?"

He smiled thinly, blue eyes glittering with merriment. "You are Suchen Keblava," he stated abruptly. "Daughter of Reag Keblav, a not-inconsequential merchant in southern Jenel. Steward to Lord Auglar of Kellsjard, an unusual post for such a young woman."

A chill went through her. This was definitely not a chance meeting. "You seem to know me," she said with a steadiness that betrayed none of her concern. "Now, tell me who you are and what you want of me."

"Or you’ll feather my throat with that arrow?" he asked, amused rather than fearful. "Very well. My name is Ax."

"Ax?"

"You know the name, I take it."

"The name, yes." Vague memories of her father’s gossip about the court filtered back from childhood. "Ax was a powerful wizard. He was exiled from Jenel nineteen years ago, after the death of King Horondus."

Ax smiled again, a grandfatherly sort of benediction that threatened to put her more at ease with him than she thought safe. "The infant Queen’s Regency Council did exile me after her father’s untimely death, yes," he agreed amicably. "I have traveled far in the years since, but have never forgotten that Jenel is where I truly belong. But I have returned for more pressing reasons than simple homesickness." He regarded her arrow thoughtfully. "I see you have trouble accepting my words. Perhaps this will convince you."

The old man reached out a withered hand, his fingers coming to rest flat against the gnarled bark of an old tree. He showed no signs of strain; he made no gestures, nor spoke any words.

But the dead leaves on the tree shuddered, fluttered to the ground in a drift. New foliage, the bright green of spring, sprouted from suddenly-swelled buds. It grew at a phenomenal rate, unfolding and darkening as if a season passed at the rate of a single breath. Bright white flowers bloomed, their sweet scent perfuming the cool autumn air. Half of them shriveled and fell to the ground, to be replaced by fat, red apples.

Suchen stared in amazement. Very slowly, she let her bowstring go slack, arrow dropping to hang loosely from her fingers. Her throat tightened with a mixture of fear and awe, and she bowed her head. "What…what do you want of me, Ax?"

He chuckled softly, removing his hand from the tree’s rough bark. "Do not fear, Suchen Keblava. I’m no evil sorcerer from a fairy tale, come to trick you into trading your soul." His demeanor sobered abruptly. "Although this task is far from pleasant."

"Task?"

He nodded. One hand gestured for her to draw nearer. "Tell me, daughter, what do you know of the Empire of Argannon?"

Suchen frowned uncertainly. "I know what anyone else knows. Argannon lies to the North. Maak separates Jenel from it to the northwest, dead Caden to the North, and Shalai to the northeast. Legend claims that it is ruled over by a great sorcerer, the Undying Emperor Jahcgroth. But no one in the Circle Kingdoms has had any contact with Argannon since the fall of Caden, over three centuries ago." She shrugged helplessly. "That’s it."

He nodded reassuringly. "Excellent, child. Although it is true that Argannon has kept to itself for three centuries, that time of isolation is nearly at an end. The Emperor Jahcgroth is indeed a powerful sorcerer, skilled in the arts of necromancy. Through use of his black magic, he has foreseen that the next several years will bring with them terrible winters. Snow will fall as far south as Iddi. Spring will come but briefly, with many frosts to kill young shoots. Summer will be but a shadow, and autumn but the barest prelude to the deathly cold. Things will be better or worse in the Circle Kingdoms depending on how far south they lie. But in Argannon, it will be devastating."

Suchen’s eyes widened at the grim predictions. Bitter winters, famine…a shiver ran up her spine. This was something Auglar needed to know about, and soon, so they could start planning for storage and trade. "What will happen?"

Ax sighed, his eyes looking ancient and unutterably weary. "Jahcgroth is desperate to avoid the disaster he knows must come. That is why he plans to attack the Circle Kingdoms, to make himself ruler over them and bring his own people into the south, where at least some of them might survive. Already, the first stirrings begin. Homesteads in Shalai near the Wild Mountains have been attacked and looted. Horses return without their riders when patrols are sent to investigate. Full-scale war will break out before the snows fall twice more."

His eyes narrowed, hardening into shards of blue granite. "Jenel must not be caught unprepared. This kingdom and her allies must be ready to stand firm against the might of Argannon."

Suchen nodded shortly. "But what is it that you wish of me? I’m Auglar’s Steward, not his general. You’d do better to talk to one of his Sworn."

Ax put his hand reassuringly on her arm. "I know exactly who and what you are, my dear. But my need right now is not for warriors, but for trustworthy folk who can complete a simple task for me."

"What task?" she asked again.

"A troublesome affair but an important one. In two weeks time, a young noblewoman by the name of Trethya Selista will be waiting a day’s journey south of the village of Diicus in southern Jenel. I ask only that you join her there, and then escort her safely back to meet with Lord Auglar at Kellsjard. She has news that could change the course of the coming war. Lord Auglar will find it particularly valuable."

"Why me?"

"The girl will need another woman as a chaperone, of course. I think that one who can defend her life as well as her honor will be for the best. And as I said, this involves your lord quite closely."

"How?"

"Time will show," he said, and for the first time she caught an edge of impatience in his voice. As soon as he realized it, he caught himself and smiled. "Forgive me, but I do not have much time. I risk execution simply by being here, and I fear tarrying too long. Will you help me?"

She bit her lip. "Auglar will have to release me to go, you understand. But if he feels I should do as you request, then I will."

"Excellent! That is all I could ask." He paused, tapping one withered finger against his lips. "I know that this has been very sudden and that the journey is long, so I am sending you an ally. Although he may seem unlikely at first, I ask you to accept him. He may be of greater help in the coming days than even I can guess."

The wizard turned away, as if he intended to return to the woods whence he had come, and then he stopped, glancing over his shoulder at her, his eyes suddenly dark. "One thing more. Ask Auglar what Lord Wren’s letter said."

With that he vanished, as if he had never been.

~*~

The wolf lay silent in the bush, his ears plastered back flat against his head. His thick, mist-gray fur bristled uncontrollably, and a faint growl shuddered in his throat. He hated being so near any city, but this one was particularly repellent. The mere thought of drawing any closer than a league to its outskirts caused the wolf’s tail to flatten against his belly and his long legs to shake with fear.

This far away, it was impossible to smell the stink of Segg’s streets: the acid fetor of garbage and unwashed bodies, the sour stench of bought sex, the rottenness of hunger. The wolf remembered the reek of despair still, as if it hung in an inescapable cloud about his own body. The sun had set, and a cool breeze whispered through the nearly-bare trees. Only a dirt track ran through this forest, used but little save by woodcutters who would have long ago sought the warmth of their huts.

A faint crackle, as of a foot on leaves, sounded in the early darkness. The wolf’s furred ears perked up, and he raised his head a little. Keen eyes penetrated the gloom, reducing the world to a collage of sharp-edged shadows and gray-toned shapes.

He smelled her before he saw her, the musky fragrance of a human female blowing on the breeze. Fear-stink clung to her, mixed in with the rusty odor of blood.

She stumbled into sight: a small young woman casting frantic glances back over her shoulder. Black hair hung in a tangle about her pale face. Her delicate hands were dark with a tracery of blood. She was dressed in a rich gown of white silk stitched with metallic threads. Tiny slippers caked with mud and debris slid perilously on ground covered with wet leaves.

She paused a moment near the wolf’s hiding place, still staring behind her as if terrified of pursuit. Her dark eyes were huge with fear, and her breath came quick from exertion. The smell of her fright was intense so close, and the wolf had to fight to keep his ears from lying back against his skull. After a long, tense moment, she gathered up the ruins of her full skirts in her hands and began to run again.

As soon as she was out of sight, the wolf slipped from his hiding place. Her musky human smell, obscured by the remains of sickeningly-sweet perfume, lingered in the air. Tilting back his head, the wolf tasted the wind, sifting it for any signs of pursuit. The scent of a rabbit came to him, setting his stomach to grumbling. Somewhere far off in the wood, two raccoons squabbled querulously over food. Other than that, all was silent and still.

No pursuit was good. The young woman in the beautiful gown so unsuited to flight through the wood—disaster.

Stupid humans. Stupid, stupid.

Served them right.

~*~

"And then he just faded away into the forest like a ghost," Suchen finished. She spread her hands apart in a helpless gesture. "Well? What do you think?"

She had returned to Kellsjard straight away, riding hard across the plain to the fortress so that she arrived shortly before sunset. Leaving her tired steed with the stable master, she had wasted no time making for the great hall where the keep’s inhabitants gathered for dinner. It had been the work of a few moments to summon Lord Auglar, his wife Sifya, and his Sworn.

They retired to a small room at the top of one of Kellsjard’s many towers. Wheel-spoke rafters blackened by soot hung low over their heads. A long, wooden table, which Auglar used for some of his studies, took up most of the round chamber. Shelves crammed with books and scrolls lined the walls, and the white bones of some animal stood mounted on a frame in one corner. An iron brazier heated the room, painting the faces of those near it with ruddy light.

Buudi Gyr, first among the Sworn, leaned back in his chair. He was a middle-aged man, his shoulder-length black hair streaked with silver. His features were rugged, as if a sculptor had chiseled them out and then abruptly left before polishing down the rough edges. "You believe that this man truly was the wizard Ax?" he asked quietly, his aristocratic accent a relic from the days of his youth.

Suchen sighed and scrubbed at her eyes with her fingertips. She was tired, both from the ride and incessant self-questioning. Her long braid had come half unraveled, and unruly strands of golden hair stuck out in all directions. "I’ve been asking myself that over and over," she replied honestly. "He did display magic—he was a powerful wizard. And would anyone claim to be Ax if he wasn’t? After all, Ax was exiled—just returning to Jenel has put him under a death sentence."

"True," Buudi agreed slowly.

"But why come to Suchen alone in the wood? Why not come here, to Kellsjard, and talk to Lord Auglar directly?" asked Gless. He leaned forwards, peering at Suchen with wide, spring-sky eyes. Blonde hair, curled like a dandy’s, flopped fetchingly about his face. He wore a decrepit jerkin, which had once probably belonged to a jongleur. Its slashed yellow sleeves revealed bright spots of red beneath, and its much-mended body was composed of strips of clashing colors. The extravagant lace cuffs of a gentleman’s shirt peeked out from underneath, so old they had turned a very peculiar shade of yellow.

Suchen raised an eyebrow at the outfit. "Perhaps he feared for his sight," she suggested.

Gless grinned and blew her a kiss.

"Can we afford not to believe him?" asked the soft-voiced Uzco from the corner of the table. Serious amber eyes peered out from behind a cloud of hair the same color. His cheeks bore ritual scars that gave his already-delicate face a pointy look.

Buudi craned his head back to stare distractedly at the rafters. "Uzco has a point."

Until now, Lord Auglar had sat silently in his seat at the head of the table. A serious, intent young man, he had more the look of a scholar than of an aristocrat. Long black hair framed a sensitive face, startling against his pale, blue eyes. His gray and white clothing, though of good quality, was not much different from that of his Sworn. "I agree. If Suchen believes that the man she met was truly Ax, then I trust her judgment."

Suchen cast him a grateful smile. The smile faded, however, as she recalled Ax’s cryptic final words. "Auglar…there is one other thing concerning you. Ax told me to ask you about a letter you had received from Lord Wren." She shrugged, indicating her own puzzlement.

Auglar’s face paled suddenly. He and Sifya exchanged a sharp look, and she reached to take his hand.

Buudi straightened in alarm. "What is it, my lord?"

The young lord shook his head. "He couldn’t know about that letter," he murmured to Sifya. "It isn’t possible. Wren sent it to me in utmost confidence, and I burned it the instant I read it, lest we all lose our heads."

"What?" exclaimed Buudi.

Sifya glanced piercingly in Buudi’s direction. Auglar’s bride of less than a year, she had been inseparable from his side for far longer than that. Flaxen hair, bound in two waist-length braids, framed an unremarkable face. Her blue gown was simple and matched the color of her fierce eyes. "I think you should tell them," she said softly to her husband. A peasant accent still tainted her words, despite all her efforts to eradicate it. "They are your Sworn—can you trust anyone more? And Suchen should hear as well."

"I suppose." He sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Wren has involved me in nothing certain. He merely wrote to me of rumors, suspicions…" he trailed off, then shook his head. "Let me tell it from the start. Some of you may not realize this, being too young to truly remember King Horondus’s reign, but the monarchs of Jenel have two main holdings, both in the south. The first is Nava Nar, within the port city of Segg. The second is Nava Yek, a rural winter palace normally used by the ruler’s spouse or siblings. It has been traditional throughout the centuries that a very close relationship is maintained between the monarch and the two lords upon whose demesnes the palaces stand.

"As Nava Yek is surrounded by Wren’s lands, he expected such a relationship upon assuming the lordship. And in fact, he was a friend to King Horondus before the king died in a hunting accident. Afterwards, however, things deteriorated. The Regency Council didn’t seem anxious to keep up ties with anyone who had been close to the King."

"Such as Ax," Gless put in wryly.

Auglar nodded, his austere face grim. "Yes. Wren let things lie, knowing that eventually the infant Rozah would reach her majority. A year ago, she turned eighteen and was crowned Queen of Jenel. Wren spoke to her at the coronation—he described her as a wan, shy girl who didn’t seem entirely certain of her own status. She assured him that he would be invited to Nava Yek when she wintered there.

"But that never occurred. The Queen never came to Nava Yek at all, but instead remained secluded within the main palace of Nava Nar. Nor did Wren ever receive any promised correspondence from her. Instead, things continued on exactly as they had during the reign of the Regency—now the Advisory—Council.

"In his letter, Wren stated that he believes Queen Rozah is being held a virtual prisoner within Nava Nar. That the Advisory Council spent the last nineteen years filling the castle with their own sycophants, so that no one would challenge them if they never gave up their power. Wren believes that the Council is issuing proclamations in Queen Rozah’s name without her knowledge or consent."

Shocked silence filled up the room. Outside, the bitter wind blew through the eaves, keening like a lost soul. Coals shifted in the brazier, sending up a brief flurry of sparks. The tower creaked softly with the gradual settling of stone and wood.

"But…but Rozah is Queen," protested Dara-Don, a big man with the soft eyes of a faithful hound. One hand crept up to touch the good-luck charm hung about his neck. "The lords would rebel if she was being held prisoner…right?"

Sifya sighed wistfully. "If there was proof, yes. But without any proof, Wren’s talk is nothing short of treason."

Suchen let the gravity of the statement sink in. If anyone else found out about this, it could mean the deaths of Auglar, Sifya, all the Sworn, and very likely herself as well. And Auglar had made many enemies during the war of succession that had followed his father’s death, none of whom would scruple to use any weapon against him that they could. "What does any of this have to do with us—with the task Ax set us?" she wondered aloud. "Was he trying to warn us? And if so, of what?"

"I don’t know." Auglar stared at the tabletop for a long moment, then slowly turned his gaze on Buudi. "This casts a new light on things, one that I don’t like. This is too important to trust to ordinary soldiers. I want you and the rest to go south with Suchen."

"My lord—"

"No."

"At least let one or two of us stay," Buudi said reasonably. "We are your bodyguards—who will protect you while we’re gone?"

"I have other soldiers and guards, Buudi. Most of them I trust to guard me against mundane threats. But I don’t trust them not to let slip word of treason, not if it comes to that. I don’t have to tell you that Lord Fellrant would pay a very great deal for any scrap of information that might destabilize this demesne. You’re going."

Buudi had no choice save to bow his head in acquiescence. "Then we leave on the morrow. The sooner away, the sooner back. Gather in the courtyard a half-hour before dawn."

"Hilwa isn’t going to be happy about this," Dara-Don stated mournfully.

Suchen gave a mental sigh. Hilwa bemoaned everything connected with her husband being one of the Sworn. She cried when he went out to fight brigands, and then whined when he had to accompany Auglar on the annual progress around the demesne. She seemed completely oblivious to any honor Dara-Don received, instead scornfully repeating stories of how her father had supported his family as a farmer, without having to resort to swords and blood and danger. Suchen secretly suspected that Hilwa blamed their failure to conceive on Dara-Don’s frequent absences.

"As if the rest of us are happy about it," Peddock muttered in his sister’s ear.

Suchen shrugged. "Like Buudi said, the sooner gone the sooner returned. At least you get to sleep tonight—I’ll be up until dawn writing instructions for Garal so he doesn’t die from apoplexy when I tell him he’s acting steward for as long as it takes us to get back."

"If we come back," Peddock replied sourly.

~*~

The wolf stood just outside of a small clearing. Within the space between the trees crouched the young woman.

Some of the fear-scent had ebbed from her, probably overcome by sheer exhaustion. Still, she was a miserable sight, even for a human. Her curly black hair was matted with leaves and sticks. The gorgeous white gown had been reduced to tatters smeared with mud. Cuts and scrapes from thorns and branches marred her pale face and hands.

She leaned against a tree, curled up tight. No fire burned—doubtless she had no way of making one. And the shelter she had sought was not the best, too far from a stream or from any real concealment. So far as the wolf could tell, she had no food, nor any means of locating it.

The wolf’s ears flattened slightly. With a quick shake of his coat, he dropped his head to the freshly-killed rabbit lying at his feet. The salty taste of hot blood filled his mouth, setting his stomach to complaining. It would be difficult to find another rabbit this night.

Forcing his ears to perk up, the wolf took a firm grasp on the rabbit with his teeth and stepped directly into the clearing.

The woman’s head jerked up. The moon was high and bright enough to show her the creature that had intruded on her campsite. The stink of renewed fear filled the clearing. Terror twisted her features, and she pressed her back against the tree with a faint moan. Delicate fingers darted into the folds of her gown, drawing out a small knife. The shaking of her hands caused reflected moonlight to skitter uncertainly off the blade, but she held it determinedly out in front of her, as if its presence alone could ward her from the animal.

The wolf eyed the blade in surprise. He had expected her to scream, or to freeze, or even to faint at his appearance. Disdainfully ignoring the uselessly small knife, he took two steps closer to the young woman and dropped the rabbit to the ground. His golden eyes sought out hers, forcing her to look at him. His ears perked up, and his tail lifted in a wolfish display of confidence. Then, satisfied he had shown her that he was neither afraid nor submissive, he turned and left the clearing.

The woman stared at the rabbit for a long time. The wolf watched from the shadows nearby, the smell of rabbit blood whetting his hunger until the waiting was torment. Eventually, however, she reached out and picked up the cooling corpse. After inexpertly butchering it with the tiny knife, smearing blood over her once-white dress, she began to tentatively nibble at the raw bits of meat.

Pleased that his charge at least had the sense not to starve, the wolf left in the vain hope that he might find his own dinner.

~*~

Her desire for company no stronger than it had been earlier, Suchen made her excuses and retired to her own room. As she drew near the familiar door, she saw it swing open, and a slender figure stepped out.

Recognizing the Aclytese servant, Suchen nodded a polite acknowledgement. The woman was taller than Suchen—indeed, was taller than many men—but somehow seemed small the way she kept her eyes downcast. Her thick, silky brown hair was bound up tight against her head, so as not to get in the way while she worked. Violet eyes, overly-large and somewhat canted, flashed up briefly from a narrow face. "I just finished stoking the fire for you, mistress," she said softly. "It should last you the rest of the night."

Suchen nodded absently. Slipping past the servant, Suchen stepped into her room. The chamber was small but cozy, decorated here and there with the few extravagances her position allowed her: a heavy Undish carpet in front of the hearth, a small decanter of good wine, and a delicate statuette carved from translucent ivory. A handful of candles burned in a candelabrum set atop a small table, their soft light seeming to throw more shadows than it dispelled. Beside the silver base of the candelabrum, bright against the dark polish of the table, lay a neatly-folded piece of parchment.

Curious, Suchen dropped into the velvet-cushioned chair by the table. Propping her feet up in the direction of the hearth, she picked up the note and studied it. The charging boar on the seal was all too familiar.

Staafon.

A year ago, the prospect of a letter from Staafon would have had her hands shaking with excitement. Now, however, only a dim weariness touched her. Breaking the seal with her thumb, she scanned the near-illegible writing.

When she reached the bottom of the letter, she tossed it carelessly onto the table. It teetered on the edge for a moment, and then fluttered forlornly to the floor. Why am I not happy? she wondered. The man is my lover—I should be ecstatic.

While growing up in Iddi, the chief mercantile city of southern Jenel, Suchen and Staafon had been as well acquainted with one another as an unmarried maid and youth of different social standing could be. Unlike her own family, Staafon’s clan had been far from the top of the city’s hierarchy of ruthless and powerful merchants. Still, his breeding had been good enough for her to know his name and to catch glimpses of him at parties from time to time.

After fleeing the city with Peddock, determined never to return in this life, she had not thought to see Staafon again. Their reunion eight years later had been pure coincidence. The young merchant, heading a caravan for his father, had by chance come to Kellsjard looking for new trade. Staafon had given her news of the city that had been her home for most of her life, shared mutual memories of growing up as a bourgeoisie elite...and ended up in her bed.

It isn’t as though I haven’t had other lovers, Suchen reminded herself. In those first years following her escape from Iddi, she had been desperate to do anything that would distance her from the values of her former class. Still, she had always suspected that the quantity of her brief affairs stemmed more from convenience on the part of the men than from any real interest in her. For the most part, they had been guardsmen who probably would have sought out a whore if not being offered her services for free.

But Staafon is different.

She sighed and retrieved the letter from the floor. The parchment felt heavy and fine in her callused fingers as she reread the last few lines.

"I cannot wait to see you again. I think of you constantly, and it comforts me greatly to know that you will be waiting for me once again at the end of my long journey.

"I intend to finish the season in Kellsjard, shortly before winter closes the roads. Once I am there, we have important things to discuss concerning our future."

Vague guilt touched Suchen’s heart. For some time now, she’d had the uneasy suspicion that Staafon intended to ask for her hand. It seemed likely that the "important things" he wanted to discuss consisted of his plan for them spending the rest of their lives irrevocably bound to one another.

And why shouldn’t I marry him? she asked herself, striving to be practical. I’m twenty-six years old—the best prospects of marriage passed me by a decade ago. And, with my looks, it’s not as if any other man is going to want me for anything more than a brief bedding.

Suchen knew that she was plain as a wooden plank and had the figure to match. The bouts of sword training she had wheedled from the Sworn had left her in the habit of dressing in men’s togs whenever they seemed more practical than skirts. Unfortunately, the effect was to make her body look more like that of a teenaged boy than that of a grown woman. Her nose was horsy, her jaw too strong, her lips too wide. Her hair, although a pleasing gold, was too thin and refused even the most basic attempts at styling.

Even Staafon acknowledges that I’m a bare step above ugly, she thought sourly. As he had pointed out before, he could have had many beautiful women, been married and started a family by now. Someone as plain as herself—let alone someone with such a stained reputation—should feel honored by his attentions.

But I am Steward to a Lord. That would bring Staafon prestige, and I’m sure he would appreciate my hand at his account books. And he loves me, I’m sure of it.

And yet...the thought of Hilwa kept running through her mind.

The sense of formless longing that had driven her to the wood returned to gnaw at the edges of her heart. It was as if she had lost something unspeakably precious and had spent all her life searching fruitlessly for it. And nothing—not fleeing from Iddi, not winning the place of steward to a great lord, not marriage to Staafon—would ever be enough to fill the hollow place in her soul.

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