Warily, Gray sat cross-legged. Jenna sat across from her and unrolled the scroll on the stone between them, anchoring the corners with pebbles.
Cas extended his body into a semicircle around them and promptly went to sleep. He still tired easily when forced to fly for long periods or when carrying extra weight.
Gray kept peering nervously at the dragon coiled around them. Jenna touched her shoulder and pointed to the map she’d drawn.
It was an aerial view of Celesgarde. It was all there—the wharves, the buildings, the marble stump that was the beginnings of a palace. The rows of tents represented with little triangles.
Gray stared down at it, then raised her eyes to Jenna. “This is fine work,” she said, as if surprised. “Did you draw this?”
“Yes.” Truth be told, Jenna was rather proud of it.
No. Don’t be taking a liking to this girl. She is the enemy.
“I need to know where the empress stays,” Jenna said, running her fingers over the harbor front. “Is she in the marble palace yet, or is she sleeping somewhere else?”
Gray straightened, understanding dawning on her face. “You don’t work for the empress at all, do you? Who do you work for?”
“I work for myself,” Jenna said.
“You’re planning to attack the capital,” Gray said, unable to hide her excitement.
“I am planning to attack the empress,” Jenna said. “If she is in the capital, then I will attack the capital.”
“Why?” Gray said, leaning forward, her hands on her knees. “Why are you doing this on your own?”
“I’m not on my own,” Jenna said. “I’m with Cas. And I have my reasons. Now,” she said, meaning to put an end to the counterinterrogation, “tell me, Captain: Why do I see a wolf in you?”
It was a tactic that had worked well on the healer, and it did not disappoint now. Gray folded a bit, as if she’d taken a hard punch to the gut, and her face turned the color of ashes. She took two hard breaths, clenched her fists, then looked up at Jenna.
Once again, the wolf was cornered.
“What—what do you mean?” Gray said.
“I fly with dragons,” Jenna said. “You run with the wolves.”
Gray was doing her best to look baffled, but it came off as slightly nauseous.
“You see, I’ve met a wolf like you before. We met in Ardenscourt, but he was from the north.”
Gray’s head came up. “What do you mean, someone like me?” she said. “Do you mean that he looked like me?”
Jenna studied her critically. “No, not really. He was a red-haired healer, a lone wolf with wounded eyes. He wore a snake pendant—”
Gray came up on her knees and gripped Jenna’s shoulders, her face a battleground between heartbreak and hope. “A healer? A red-haired healer?” she all but shouted, so that Cas raised his head in alarm. “What was his name?”
Gray was asking questions again, but Jenna didn’t care.
“He had many names,” Jenna said. “He called himself Adam Freeman. I called him Adam Wolf. Neither was his real name. He had strong, gentle hands, and he talked to horses.” She forced her mind back to the images that had poured in when they joined hands. “He saw his father die in a snowy street, his blood spattering the cobblestones.”
“Ash!” It was more a primitive cry than a word. “You saw him in Ardenscourt? When?”
Jenna’s heart leapt. This fierce wolf warrior knew the healer, under yet another name. She’d be able to tell her where he came from and where he was now. She could fly to him, and they could—but no. Her excitement abated a little as she realized that couldn’t happen anytime soon. Cas would have to be completely recovered before they launched an attack on the empress or tried to batter their way through the stormwall again.
“When did you see him?” Gray repeated, louder than before.
“First, you tell me. What is the healer’s real name, and what is the connection between you?”
For a long moment, they sat, knee to knee, and all but nose to nose, staring at each other, each holding on to her secrets and trying to decide whether to trust the other.
“His real name is Adrian,” Gray said finally. “And he was—or is—my brother.”
46PARTY OF THE YEAR
Destin Karn leaned against the wall, nursing his drink, watching and waiting. The Matelons were working the room, chatting with each of the guests at one time or another. They exceeded Destin’s rather low expectations, though he guessed that nobody survived at the Ardenine court for long without learning some knack for connivery. The captain and the corporal flirted gamely and danced awkwardly, which fit in with the role they were playing. They really needed to work on their blackbird swagger.
Even Destin danced a little, choosing his targets carefully. For instance, he cut in when Granger seemed determined to monopolize the young Lady Harper all night long. He was afraid that if he didn’t intervene, one of the Matelon brothers would. Or the lady herself would punch Granger out.
After two circuits around the dance floor, she spoke. “You’re a good dancer,” she said, cheeks flaming. “That loathsome Bailiff Granger needs to learn some better manners.”
“That’s why I cut in, Lady Matelon,” Destin said. “I was tired of watching you fend him off. What did you two talk about?”
“Mostly he talked about himself, about his horses and hounds, and how he wants to tear down Whitehall and build a bigger house, and how a marriage between us made a lot of sense.”
“Did he mention that he’s already engaged?”
She scowled. “That didn’t come up.”
“What did you say?”
“Very little.”
“Good thinking,” Destin said. “The other piece of advice I have for you is to keep lots of people around the two of you at all times. If anything happens that you don’t like, scream bloody murder. Oh, and under no circumstances should you let him fetch you a drink, not even a cup of cider. And, here—” Destin slid a dagger from one
