Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart (22 page)

"So I nursemaided you through the night," Elation squawked. "Bee Biter has flown ahead to tell the others of your coming. When will you be ready to begin?"

Blind Seer rose and stretched. Without his blanketing warmth, Firekeeper was happy enough to leap to her feet and jog in place to get her blood running.

"Food," she hinted, whining in the fashion of a very small pup, "would be welcome if the great lady of the air could bring me some. I am as hollow as a bear-stripped bee tree."

"I have anticipated your need," Elation replied, not quite boasting, "and your breakfast hangs in the tree."

Breakfast proved to be another rabbit. Firekeeper skinned and gutted it, tossing the offal to Blind Seer, who snapped it down in a single gulp before racing off to find himself something more substantial.

Doubtless Earl Kestrel would not have found fire-seared rabbit a suitable repast for his adopted daughter, but Firekeeper was well satisfied. The sky had not lost dawn's pink before she was fed, washed, and ready to go.

"Below," she said, admiring the view east from their vantage, "the clouds are like sheep on a well-chewed pasture. Here the sun is bright and warming."

She blew her breath before her, laughing at the white puff it made in the chill air.

Crossing the Barren River proved to be a matter of leaping from rock to rock. It was not an easy task. Many of the rocks had not yet been smoothed by the action of the waters; some rocked, though they had seemed firm to the test. Both wolf and woman were splashed by the icy waters rushing through the narrow channels between the rocks, but neither quite fell in.

On the other side, they shook themselves as dry as possible. Privately, Firekeeper missed just a bit the thick towels she had used at the castle. As she dried off, she noticed that the water beaded on the oiled leather of her breeches and vest. Her skin, by contrast, beaded from cold where the water had splashed it.

A fair enough trade
, Firekeeper thought, enjoying the whimsy of the image.

Once she was as dry as she could get within her limited means, Firekeeper fell into the easy jog of a traveling wolf. Giving his coat one more great shake, Blind Seer dashed away from the ensuing shower of spray.

As they ran, they set their course somewhat away from the shore of the lake, for the footing near the water varied, inviting a twisted ankle or trapped paw. Here there was dark, glittering sand ground from the rock, there heaps of brambles or branches tossed up by the waters.

Everywhere there were chunks of basalt. Many of these were deceptively rounded and smooth, but Firekeeper had learned that their bubbled edges chewed into skin like small teeth. Where the rock had more recently broken, it was often straight-edged and sharp.

Farther from the lakeshore, however, there was mountain meadow and beyond that forest. Running felt good after the past several days of creeping and climbing. The kinks in the wolf-woman's muscles smoothed out and the dry grass underfoot felt like a carpet after the sharp stones of the Barren River Canyon.

Wolf-like, she didn't brood about the inevitable descent. That would be dealt with in its time. Nor did she brood about the summons from the Royal Beasts. Elation had assured her that if they pushed on past dark they could round the lake before the next dawn. Pushing forward, therefore, was what the wolf-woman concentrated on. The answers would come of themselves and time.

Several times they stopped to rest and nap. Firekeeper ate only lightly, accepting what Elation brought her with humble groveling. Elation's finds were worth the thanks, indeed. . Although the peregrine herself ate nothing but flesh—and that preferably not only warm but still pulsing with the life of the creature that had grown it—Elation had made herself a scholar of human tastes. Twice she brought chunks of honeycomb, clotted with crystallized sugar. Once she brought a tattered bunch of wild grapes, tart and juicy. Nuts were awkward for the falcon to carry, but after Firekeeper cobbled her a sack from a still damp rabbit hide, the falcon brought them in such quantity that Firekeeper found herself wondering what squirrel would starve that winter.

The wolf-woman spared little sympathy for the squirrel, but cracked the nutshells in her fist or between her jaws as she ran.

Day dimmed into dusk. The night sky darkened and then gleamed with hard, white stars. The moon rose, thin now, but fattening. At last a shifting wind brought Firekeeper the scents of many beasts gathered together. From the depths of the forest, a pale white form bounded to meet them at the tree line's edge.

"Mother!" Firekeeper howled in delight.

She rolled on the ground at the silver wolf's feet, rubbing her head against the she-wolf's jaw and whining in an ingratiating fashion. The wolf gaped open her jaws in a fashion a human would have found alarming. No food came forth, but Firekeeper, who had often been fed this way, reached inside the fanged jaws and touched the lolling tongue.

"Mother," she repeated, more quietly.

The she-wolf licked her, then licked Blind Seer, who rubbed against the silver wolf, almost knocking her off her feet with the force of his greeting.

"You've grown," said the One Female approvingly, "as has Little Two-legs. The hunting is good east of the mountains?"

Blind Seer gave a short barking laugh. "It could be. Not only are there deer and elk and rabbits, but the humans keep creatures they make stupid so that they can control them. Horses are not bad—some of them have spirit—but sheep and chickens beg to be eaten. What threat is a cow, especially when she has had her horns sawn off, or a bull once he's been gelded?"

"You hunted such?" The One Female's tone mixed curiosity and a certain degree of disgust—or maybe envy.

"No," Blind Seer drawled. "Instead, humans trembling in fear of my size and power carried already killed meat to me on sheets of beaten metal. I grew fat without effort—and would have grown fatter but for the need to watch over sweet Firekeeper."

Firekeeper snorted and punched the blue-eyed wolf in the shoulder. She glanced from side to side, sniffing the air.

"Is the One Male with you, Mother?"

"No. He remained to mind the pack. The puppies are growing both bold and stupid. We did not dare leave them with only the lesser wolves to discipline them."

The next moments passed as the One Female brought them up to date on the status of their pack—a fairly large one, as the hunting in their territory was good and the Ones wise leaders. A yearling had broken his back in a fall. A two-year-old had dispersed and was reported to be hunting with a single male to the northwest. Two of last spring's puppies had died: one of a fever or some poison, another from tangling too boldly with an elk.

"Elk do have horns—or rather antlers," the One Female commented mildly, "and none of his birth siblings will forget that lesson."

Firekeeper nodded somberly. She had experienced such losses before. A Royal Wolf pack did not produce pups every year as did the Cousins, but if its size diminished, the answering urge replied. In all her life with the wolves, she could only recall two years—and one of those dimly—that there had not been pups in the spring, and never once had every member of a litter survived into the following spring.

"Others wait," the One Female said, turning the conversation away from family matters, "to meet you and speak with you. Would you rest first?"

Firekeeper considered. "What do you advise?"

"Cry sleep," the One Female said promptly. "Bee Biter reported when you began this day's run. None will doubt that you are tired."

"I am, most honestly," Firekeeper admitted, smothering a yawn behind her hand.

"Then rest," the One Female said. "If you need food, I will hunt for you. Best that you face these questioners with a clear mind and full belly."

Blind Seer growled as at a faintly scented danger.

"Mother, they don't intend to harm Firekeeper, do they? I must warn you, if they have summoned her so far only to hurt her, I will spill their blood and all of mine if that is what is needed to defend her."

The One Female nipped him lightly on his left ear.

"Foolish pup! Do you think I would have nurtured Little Two-legs only to give her to enemies when she finally learned to hunt on her own? No, they don't intend to harm her, but they are worried, and worried creatures have tempers sharper than a winter thorn tree."

Blind Seer relaxed, content with his mother's reassurance.

"Still, I believe I will not leave Firekeeper's side."

"Sleep hungry then," the One Female said, approval in the slow wag of her tail, "and sleep lightly."

Elation, waiting unheeded all this time in a tree above their heads, called down:

"I will tell them that Firekeeper will be rested when next dusk comes. You wolves sleep well."

"You've made a friend of that bird," the One Female said after Elation had flown off. "A good thing. Perhaps you should make other friends among her kind. It would be useful."

"Why, Mother?" Firekeeper asked.

No answer came. Instead, the she-wolf curled herself into a ball, making a nest for herself among the dead leaves at the base of a tree.

Firekeeper stared at the One Female for a long moment. Then she shrugged acceptance of her silence.

Going to the lakeside to wash and drink, the wolf-woman was aware of shadowy figures bulking large against the trees a short distance away. From them she caught wisps of scents that should not be blended. These watchers did not trouble her, nor did she greet them.

Rejoining the wolves, Firekeeper rested herself against Blind Seer's side. Even though she lay cradled between the wolves' great bodies she felt cold, chilled from within by apprehension of what the dawn would bring.

Her fears followed her into sleep.

The wedding. Assassins surge out of the gathered throng. Firekeeper's heart squeezes tight in her chest, tighter than the gown that tangles her feet as she tries to move.

Move she must. Blind Seer's warning echoes in her ears. To fail would be to fail not these kings and queens, not these nobles and diplomats, but to fail him
—
he who has trusted her to hear his cry and be his hands and feet
.

"She must live. Someday we will have a need of her."

The Sphere Chamber is transformed, become King Tedric's field pavilion. Once again, Firekeeper circles round and round, her blood trailing only slightly behind her. Prince Newell laughs mockingly. Then he is dead.

Firekeeper wants to rest, but the assassins are near. They want Sapphire and Shad. She alone stands between them. "Someday we will have a need of her." They must live. Someone has a need of them.

She raises her head, claws through the fog that enshrouds her mind, focuses on the assassins. For a moment, their features become clear.

She knows them. They are her friends.

K
ing Allister found his entourage's reception at Eagle's Nest handled so smoothly that no one would have guessed that the master of the castle had been on the road himself until a few days before.

Of course
, he thought,
Uncle Tedric and Aunt Elexa have been living here much longer than we have in our new home, and all their key staff didn't get carried off by the previous tenants
.

Allister and his family—including Princess Sapphire—were given rooms in a tower that offered among its amenities private' access to the castle's grounds.

Sapphire commented with a strange, sharp laugh that this was the same tower in which Earl Kestrel and his party had been housed over the time when King Tedric had been inspecting Lady Blysse Norwood. In those days, Firekeeper and Blind Seer had been much less familiar with human customs, and easy access to the outdoors had been something of a necessity.

Most of those members of Hawk Haven's nobility who would usually take rooms at the castle had found places to stay in the city or surrounding countryside. As the six Great Houses were becoming closely intermarried, it was not difficult for anyone who was anyone to find someone from whom hospitality could be claimed.

Most—but not all. Both Grand Duke Gadman and Grand Duchess Rosene—King Tedric's younger brother and sister—retained their accustomed suites.

"
All the better to see you, my dear
," Allister thought, remembering Aunt Rosene's greeting.

There had been something fierce and even threatening about both Gadman and Rosene—a ferocity tinged with bitterness. Gadman's attitude might have been slightly less so, but then he had seen one of his candidates for the place of heir apparent to the throne win the race—Sapphire was his granddaughter through his son, the recently deceased Lord Rolfston Redbriar.

That Rolfston had apparently been a disappointment to both his father and to his wife, Lady Melina Shield, and that Sapphire had so clearly allied herself with the king, her new father by law and a replacement for the lost Rolfston in fact, probably made the Grand Duke's apparent victory rather bitter.

And probably made him resentful of me as well
, Allister mused with an honesty that his own politically charged childhood had given him.
Sapphire will reign after me and so she grants to me a certain degree of deference
—
deference that doubtless Uncle Gadman thinks should be his alone
.

But contracts between the two newly allied families were not all charged with political overtones. At the banquet held the afternoon following their arrival, Prince Tavis rekindled his tentative friendship with young Nydia Trueheart, the elder daughter of Lady Zorana Archer.

It warmed Allister that their friendship was based on a shared enthusiasm for some of the classic New Kelvinese poets. He liked thinking that his younger son might have at least one friend here in Hawk Haven who thought of him primarily as a person and only secondarily as a prince.

Allister snorted through his nose in derisive self-condemnation.

Nydia is only what
—
twelve? thirteen
?—
but her mother is ambitious for her children and will probably contaminate even that innocent friendship
.