Her weariness evaporated in a burst of iridescent anger. With a muffled snarl, she snatched the wine bottle and slammed the door behind him. “By all means, let’s drink.”
The Eldritch princess’s room was impersonal, devoid of mementos. As Raff understood, she had led a failed rebellion against her father decades ago, and since then, Lord Talfayen had kept her in seclusion. Even that hadn’t stopped her from exerting tendrils of influence. That took a level of determination that he would be a fool to disregard. This woman could be his chief ally or his greatest enemy.
Time to make an effort.
He pulled the corkscrew from his pocket and deftly twisted the cork from the wine bottle. It was a light, sweet wine he’d accepted as a gift in Ash Valley, before everything went to hell. It seemed like a melancholy moment, cracking this bottle open and drinking down the fermented fruit of more peaceful times.
“Do you have glasses?” he asked.
She was annoyed, he could tell, but he had no intention of sticking to an itinerary. If Thalia couldn’t be flexible, they had no future.
In answer, she brought two ceramic mugs, one slightly chipped. “Will these do?”
“Perfectly. May I sit?”
“As if you’d listen if I said no,” she muttered.
“Of course I would,” he said, startled and more than slightly offended. “If you want me to leave, I’ll go. Never in my life have I lingered when someone wanted me gone.”
Her gaze narrowed on him for a few seconds, then she seemed to accept his sincerity. “You said you were tired earlier.”
“I said my people were,” Raff corrected.
“That…is true.”
“Now that they’re settled, we should have a private chat.” He hadn’t wanted to spend more time with others judging their interactions, especially that angry, red-eyed Noxblade.
“I’m willing.” Her tone was a little less grudging, at least.
The furniture was more comfortable than it looked since it was sturdy wood topped with cushions. Raff settled on the bench opposite and poured two mugs of Ash Valley Moscato. He liked the look of Thalia a bit more in the warm solar glow, her hair spilling like mercury over narrow shoulders. Even the blue pajamas suited her, tailored and crisp, a trifle too long so that the piped hem came down nearly to her toes. She sat like a child, curling her legs to the side. It was difficult to grapple with the fact that she was so much older and would live for many years after he was gone, unless she overused her gift.
“In such weather, we should mull this with cinnamon and spice,” he said.
“Wouldn’t red wine be better?”
“It works with white as well. To your health, Lady Silver.” Raff raised his cup and she surprised him by leaning forward to clack her’s against his.
“Back at you, Lord Wolf.”
“Until now, the only time we’ve spent alone was when we were on the ramparts, with you firing like a Valkyrie. You were impressive that night.”
She smiled, coolly pleased. “I would be interested in sparring with you sometime. I’ll even let you choose the weapon.”
“I suspect you’ll have the advantage, as I’ve never studied any weapon. There was simply no reason.”
“Oh.” She looked like she’d forgotten, momentarily, that he could shift. “I’m not sure how it would work out then, if I’m fencing and you’re a wolf.”
“I might get skewered,” he said, taking a sip.
“Or I might get badly bitten.”
“Such a possibility exists.”
Thalia surprised him by laughing softly. “I thought you’d swear that you’ll never hurt me, that you’re quite a harmless wolf.”
He liked the amused light in her eyes; someone without a sense of humor would make a dismal life partner. “I’ll only promise that if we come to an agreement. I’m not in the business of making vows that I won’t keep.”
“That’s good to hear,” she said.
“Shall we play a game?”
“Kingcross?” She looked so hopeful that he couldn’t bring himself to say that he’d intended to suggest something else. “There’s an old board around here somewhere…”
Before he could respond, she got up and rambled around the room, opening drawers here and there, until she produced a gleaming wooden box. It unfolded to reveal the bone and blood hues of an expensive antique. Something like this would be an absolute heirloom in Pine Ridge, probably displayed behind protective glass. Her careless attitude spoke volumes about how different their peoples perceived the passage of time.
With eager fingers, she set out the pieces, artfully carved from alabaster and onyx. King and Queen, Knight and Squire, Priest and Nun. “Choose your color, sir.”
Raff pulled the dark pieces to his side of the board. “What else can a black wolf be?”
“Is that what you change into?” Her curiosity seemed genuine as she arranged the pale figurines on her side.
“It is.”
“Is there a lot of variety among your…pack? Is that the right word?” Her expression was solemn, lending the impression that she cared about the verbiage.
“Pack is right for wolves. With the cats, it’s pride, and the bears prefer clan.”
“What about the birds in the Aerie? Would that be a flock?”
It was an excellent question, but he’d never actually met anyone from the reclusive avian settlement. “I presume so, but it’s always best to inquire about someone’s preferences to prevent giving unintentional offense.”
“Wise, sensible strategy,” she commended, making her first move.
Raff hadn’t played much Kingcross. It required a lot of predictive reasoning, focusing on his opponent’s probable maneuverings; in short, it was exactly the sort of the thing that made him edgy and gave him a headache. This was why he had Korin as his second; she excelled in this sphere, freeing him for more enjoyable endeavors.
He chose at random, hoping he remembered the directions the pieces were allowed to travel and the jumps permitted. There were so many stratagems and gambits one could memorize, and he suspected Thalia was the sort who knew them all, forward and back. Therefore, he would play to make her happy, not to win.
Maybe he could
