boy was his height, his slender body.
I've brought someone for you,' I said to him, then pushed the girl inside, locking the door behind her.
I knelt in front of the door and looked through a narrow opening in the center of it. Plates of food had once been passed through it to my ancestor's mistress. I put it to a different use as I watched the drama unfold inside.
Kashi stood close to the door, her hands fluttering nervously as she decided what to say or do. Finally, she took a tentative step toward the boy. 'Why are you here?' she asked.
He shook his head.
Another step toward him. 'Are you hurt?'
Ah, yes, he was that.
'I can help you.' She took his hand, and moved him around so he faced the light.
saw her expression change from doubtful confidence to utter terror. She let out the scream she'd managed to stifle in the passage. The fear she'd displayed in the passage was nothing compared to this, the high-pitched sound rising, extending so beautifully. The walls were thick, lined with earth. No one would hear her, no one but me.
She rushed to the door and pounded on it, then saw the little hole. Kneeling, she spied me looking in and reached her hand through the opening, clutching for my hand.
'Please,' she begged. 'Please. I won't tell anyone. I promise. Please!'
'Of course not,' I replied and brushed my fingertips over hers, giving her just a moment of hope before Arman pulled her away.
It's hard to explain how I felt as I watched him wrap his pale hands through her hair, pull her head back and begin to feed. Exquisite terror. Glorious fear. Both faded as her life drained, gone all too
quickly, leaving me a faint glow of pleasure.
opened the door and went inside. Arman looked more alive than before though he still had a strange light in his eyes and lack of color to his skin. He stared at the body at his feet, and I saw his remorse, his guilt. Some of his humanity was coming back. I found that good, for if he can pass for human, I will place him in my personal guard. Slaves are always valuable.
I lifted up the corner of his shirt. The knife wound was less raw than before, but the scar would probably be with him forever. Kashi had been right about one thing. I had no use for her-willing slave or no. The terrible wound in her neck would be impossible to hide for very long.
I looked out the window at the river. Night was falling. I had to go. 'When it's dark, throw the body down,' I said and left him. This time he looked less sad to see me leave. I turned at the door and saw him crouching beside the girl's body, running his fingers across her still, pale face.
Back in my room, I paused to study my reflection in the mirror and saw that it was as beautifully altered as in the times I'd witnessed killing before. This would make no sense even to the most superstitious peasant. I did not make the wound in Kashi's neck or drink her blood. I only watched and listened. I have no special powers, yet I felt her fear, even her death. The work I do is changing me. A weaker woman might vow to turn away from vengeance and justice and death. I can't. My course is set. I welcome it.
Peto woke from the same dream he'd had for weeks, blinked his eyes, and scanned his room, the inlaid tiles with their tiny pattern of teal, gold, and rose, the play of light and shadows on the walls. As always, the dream had been so vivid he'd thought it real, then woke and mourned when he found Mar-ishka gone.
He didn't understand why she felt compelled to return to him night after night, her burial gown white in the dusty moonlight, tears glistening like crystal on her cheeks. 'Be wary,' she whispered, 'Be constantly on guard.'
As always, he could not help but question her, but as soon as he spoke, she faded with a look of terror on her face, her image replaced with that of a white wolf that bounded away into the swirling mists of sleep.
He endured the repetitious dream in silence for as long as he could, then sought out Levy, a scribe who had served his father diligently for many years. When the old man's eyes gave out, he was given a room in Shadow Castle and a promise that he could live out his life there. Now nearly blind, Levy taught servants to read and write with the same patience he'd used to teach Peto himself.
Levy heard him coming and identified him by his step on the stone floor of the hall. 'What brings you to me after so many months?' Levy asked.
'I need to speak to you,' Peto said.
Levy asked his students to go and motioned for Peto to take a seat.
Peto described his recurring dream. 'Can you tell me what this dream means and why I keep having it?'
In most people, blindness seemed an infirmity. Levy, however, just looked contemplative, as if his thoughts were focused inward. Now his expression grew remote as he considered what he knew.
'In parts of Kislova, it is believed a white wolf is not a wolf at all, but the ghost of a werebeast whose soul is caught between the afterworld of men and that of beasts. To find redemption, it must help a spirit who is helpless to right a terrible wrong. Usually the one so helped died through treachery. You're surprised?'
'How did you know?' Peto asked.
'I heard your quick inhale. Why does this information surprise you?'
'When I told my wife about the dream, she said that she didn't know what it meant.'
'Perhaps she doesn't know the legend.'
Peto laughed. 'Ilsabet knows everything. I have never met a more educated woman.'
'Then most likely she doesn't believe the story and didn't want to worry you.'
'Possibly.'
'But you don't think so. You think she lied. Why?'
Was there nothing this man missed? He knew that Levy could be trusted to keep his confidence, so he poured out the story of the Obour family and how Marishka and Mihael had died.
'You're certain Marishka died from an accident?' Levy asked.
'My own surgeon said so. And Ilsabet was with her, right to the end. I've never seen her so distraught.'
'And so you have no doubts about Baroness Ilsa-bet's innocence in her siblings' deaths?'
'She is my wife. She will bear my child.'
'That wasn't what I asked,' Levy said gently.
'I have doubts,' Peto whispered, admitting the truth for the first time.
'Then you ought to heed Marishka's advice, at least until those doubts are resolved.'
Peto agreed. He was always a direct man, and his plan reflected his personality. He went right from Levy to Jorani. Since his arrival, the dour Kislovan lord had followed Ilsabet's habits and spent most of his time in the library. When Peto joined him, Jorani was just finishing a history of the Casse family.
Peto patted the book. 'The man who wrote it was seeking favors from my father,' he commented. 'So the account is far too flattering.'
'So I guessed.' Jorani's smile, while sincere, was unsettling. 'Were you looking for me?'
'I was,' Peto said and took a seat across the table from Jorani. 'I want to ask your opinion about a dream I've been having.' He described the dream exactly as he had to Levy. As he did, he watched Jorani for some sign of shock, of concern, anything at all that would tell him if Jorani had any doubts about the manner of Marishka's death. He saw nothing.
As soon as he'd finished and asked the meaning of the dream, Jorani replied with a story similar to the one he'd heard from Levy, though with more detail. 'Legends say that the werewolf possesses power even in death, and that power enables it to serve the spirit it befriends. Once its job is complete, its human soul passes on to be judged by the fates.'
'Should I be wary?' Peto asked.
'You rule one land. You have claim to a second. It would be naive to be anything but wary.'
'Of whom?'
The lie came next; Peto was certain of it. 'Most of the lords of Kislova are supportive of the alliance you and Ilsabet have created,' Jorani said. 'But not all. Ilsabet has powerful enemies, if only because she is a woman and people think her vulnerable.'
