“Hester was alpha back then,” Diana said. “She didn’t strike deals with kidnappers.”
Ilsa could believe it. Hester would have considered it a show of weakness to cave to someone’s demands; a weakness others would seek to exploit.
“We were trussed up in a disused stable for two days, barely fed or watered, left in our own waste.” Bren shot a glance at his son, who was still playing rough and tumble with his friends, and lowered his voice. “Can you imagine it?
“But the wolves came,” Bren went on. “And he was with them. He didn’t send his militia to do the job, he wanted to see for himself that we were rescued.”
“Gedeon?”
Diana nodded. “We were blindfolded,” she said. “We didn’t see what happened, but he’d brought a small squad of wolves with him from what I could make out. Not enough to seem threatening, just enough to look like he was thinking of his own protection. But he was the distraction. While he stalled the Wraiths, a second group of wolves surrounded them. Next thing I knew, we were pulled to safety, out of the way of whatever happened next.”
“Gedeon was just a lad,” said Bren. “But not a tremor of fear in him. I owe him my life, and my wife’s and my son’s.” He laughed. “He said his cousin’s wrath would be worth it.”
To save a family from slaughter? Ilsa would go toe to toe with Hester too. But could she walk into a stable full of Wraiths – men and women as fast and strong and deadly as Captain Fowler – on the fool’s chance of walking out again?
“Camden’s stars-blessed to have a leader like that,” said Diana, and Bren pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead.
Ilsa turned to where the couple’s son was still playing with the other children; they were taking turns shifting into lion cubs.
“You want to see a real lion?” called a voice through the crowd, and Millie the elephant woman approached.
“Millie! Show us!” squealed the children. “Show us, Millie!”
The children squealed and cheered and Millie became a massive roaring lion. They climbed on top of her and Millie let them pull her to the ground. Bren and Diana watched with fond smiles, their brush with death relegated once more to the past.
This was who Gedeon was, Ilsa realised. Trusted. Admired. Courageous. Someone who made people feel valued whether they were the woman he loved or the people who looked to him to unite them. Perhaps it wasn’t the whole story – the full portrait – but Fowler was right: it was important.
The Wraith spoke by her shoulder. “Your hounds will be on their way back. Shall I set them another game?”
Ilsa shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “I’m done now.”
They cut a path through the party heading south, stopping only briefly when Fowler’s curiosity was tugged by the wrestling.
“D’you think they’d let a Wraith in the ring?” teased Ilsa. “P’raps you can take your chances.”
Fowler pulled his gaze from the spectators laying bets and raised an eyebrow. “Unlikely. That’s not a fair fight,” he said, and abruptly continued past the circle.
The High Street spat them out on a quieter road not far from the park.
“So Wraiths are the strongest of the magics, ain’t they?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You said it wouldn’t be a fair fight, between you and a Changeling. I’ve seen you fight,” said Ilsa, skittering quickly over the memory of the fish market. “You’re unstoppable.”
“I’m strong,” Fowler conceded with no hint of humility, “but the same can’t be said for every Wraith. Learning to transmute – to pass through something solid – is an acquired skill, like learning any magic. Some aren’t as fast or as strong. Plenty are immensely fast and strong and have never trained for combat. Power isn’t black and white. Some Changelings shy away from the pain of using their magic, some Oracles cannot tame theirs. The Sorcerer ability to transport – the move from place to place in an instant – never comes to some, however learned they are. They believe it to be an inherited trait.”
“And you having strong magic,” said Ilsa. “That something you inherited too?”
Fowler’s grey eyes slid to hers, then to his feet as he walked. “I’ve belonged to the Order since birth. I can’t say if my strength was inherited but that is often the way of things. As for being unstoppable – do you want to try me?”
Ilsa came to a dead stop in the street, mouth hanging open in shock. “You want to wrestle?”
“You say I’m unstoppable,” he said, unbuckling his bandolier and tossing it aside, “but in the Order we learn that’s never true. No one is unbeatable. And you say Wraiths are the strongest of the magics. So fight one and see for yourself.”
It was an awfully elaborate way of deflecting, but Ilsa was intrigued. She put her purse down next to his bandolier. “Alright.”
“No gorillas,” said Fowler. “That’s child’s play.”
Ilsa wouldn’t dream of a gorilla when she had a snow leopard in her arsenal. Fowler watched her shift the way he’d watched Edgar Dawson dance: like she was prey. It set the same thrill racing through her blood, but she wasn’t afraid of the Wraith.
He circled her, fifteen feet away. “I might be faster, but to score a strike I still need to get under your guard. I need to get close. That gives you a chance to be stronger.”
Quicker than lightning, Fowler closed the space between them and tapped Ilsa on the shoulder. She snapped at him, but he had already danced out of reach. Then he was on her other side, hitting again. Ilsa turned, jaws primed, but he had moved again.
“You’re on the defensive,” he said, stopping out of reach and looking for all the world like he hadn’t lifted a finger. “You don’t need to wait for me to strike.”
Then he attacked again, scoring featherlight
