The shocked look on Liannora’s face almost made his outburst worth it. For too long he had bitten his tongue at her slights. No longer. Still, he saw her surprise fade into angry cunning, a flash of wickedness, a promise that this was far from over.
She waved his words away with a flip of a hand, keeping her tone even, as if his angry outburst were a rudeness beyond her. “I thought a skilled hunter like yourself would be well aware of life’s cruel necessity. Some die so others might live.”
“Or so others might wear pretty coats…”
She shrugged. “Strange words from someone who traipses out into our forests with bow and arrow. I don’t see you starving and needing to grace our board here with your scrawny hares and rabbits. I’d say you hunt more for pleasure than necessity. At least I’ll put my coat to good use.”
Master Lothbren lifted a placating hand. “What are your plans for the cubbies, Master Brant?”
He tempered his voice, breathing through his nose to calm himself. “Once they are well-weaned and fleshed, I hope to gain a boon from Lord Jessup to return them to Mistdale whence they came.”
“So again you plan to forsake your duty here, to further slight our lord-”
“Thank you, Liannora, but I believe I can withstand such an insult.”
All eyes turned to find Lord Jessup at the door to the commons, dressed casually in loose leggings and a simple shirt of stitched sailcloth. He entered with a ghost of a smile, like a kindly father coming upon a squabbling set of his children. He settled to a seat at the head of the long table.
A few words were exchanged, morning pleasantries; then Lord Jessup settled his gaze upon Brant. He noted the slight glow of warm Grace behind the god’s eyes.
“How are you faring this morning?”
“Fine, my lord. Much stronger.”
“You look it,” Jessup said with a nod. “I daresay you arrived as pale as Liannora here when those giants carried you home. But your color is returning nicely.”
“The healers know their craft.”
“I shall certainly pass on my own gratitude.” Jessup leaned back into his seat. “Now, if you’re able, I’d like to hear more about what you saw out in that storm.”
Brant nodded. “It wasn’t so much saw as felt.”
Liannora opened her mouth, sitting straighter, ready to offer her thoughts, but Lord Jessup waved her down. She sank back into her chair.
Brant slowly but firmly reported all he experienced: the unnatural cold, snow that burnt with ice, the panicked flight of the beasts of the field, their sudden and inexplicable deaths, frozen where they fell.
“I saw no sign of man or daemon,” he finished, “but this was no mere storm. Something hid at its heart, cloaked in snow. I’m certain of it.”
Jessup pondered his story, leaning forward a bit, eyes down, fingers steepled and tapping his brow. “There has been much strangeness of late, much to worry and concern me. Clearly those of ill purpose take heart from this stretch of bitter winter. Who’s to say what emboldened act might be attempted? It bears investigation. If there are any Black Alchemists afoot on my lands, we must root them out.”
“Lord Jessup-” Liannora began again.
A hand raised, palm out. “I will send the chief master of the Oldenbrook school, a man familiar with corrupted Graces, out into the wood along with a small legion of guards.” He eyed Brant again. “I will have maps brought up. Are you able…do you remember…?”
“I can mark where I hunted. But mayhap I should accompany the search.” Brant was afraid that the heavy drifts would have blanketed all evidence to his claims, deeply burying the bodies.
“I fear it’s not best for your health to be out in this bitter cold. Not if you’re to recover for the coming morning’s flight to Tashijan. And I fear even the strain of such a flight, of the festivities at the Citadel, perhaps will be too much.”
Brant sat straighter and pushed away his emptied mug. “I will be more than hale enough to travel.”
He did not want to be excluded from the retinue. Despite all that had happened, there was still the matter of Dart, his stone, and the strange apparition conjured as the stone flared. He could not pass up this chance for answers. Not after so long.
“I hope you are right,” Lord Jessup said. “I was the first to put Tylar ser Noche’s cloak in service to the Order. It was here he first bent a knee as a knight. I would send the best of Oldenbrook to witness his knighting again. To send less would cast some doubt on my support. Still, if you are not able…I will not risk your health.”
“I am mending fine, Lord Jessup.” A rasping cough confounded his words, but he met the god’s blue eyes with steady assuredness. “I am.”
A nod. “Very good. Then it’s settled.”
Lord Jessup began to rise, but now it was Liannora’s turn to lift a hand. “A wonderful thought has just occurred to me, stirred by your words of honoring the assembly at Tashijan. For the past nights, my slumber has been troubled by worries of how to properly show our respect, of what gifts we might bring besides our fine personages.”
“What idea has possessed you?”
Liannora glanced to Brant, flashing some wicked intent, then turned back to Lord Jessup. “Master Brant here has risked his life to bring two beautiful woodland cubbies out of the forest, to save them from the savageries of the storm. What better gifts might we present than those same twin cubbies? Fell wolves, no less.”
Brant felt as if he’d been clubbed in the stomach.
“The whole ceremony at Tashijan is one of unification,” Liannora continued. “To heal the fractured houses of Chrismferry and Tashijan. Would it not be a wonderful gesture to offer one pup to the celebrated and battle-brazened Argent ser Fields, high warden of the Citadel-and present the other to the new regent, Lord Tylar ser Noche?”
“Most wonderful,” Mistress Ryndia added.
“Indeed,” Master Khar chimed in.
“Fell wolves represent strength, cunning, and honor. To share them between the two houses-Tashijan and Chrismferry-would help symbolize the new resolve of all the First Land, to stand against the darkness, proud and nobly.”
Brant finally found his tongue. “The wolves belong in Mistdale. It is where they should be returned.”
“There are enough wolves in those dark forests,” Liannora said. “Was it not hunger that drove the she-wolf down here to begin with? The symbolic nature the pair could represent would serve far better than stocking two more starving wolves in Mistdale.”
“That is not the Way of-”
Now Brant was silenced with a nod from Lord Jessup. “Thank you, Liannora. Well-spoken indeed. The gesture would be significant, but as it was Master Brant who risked his life to bring the wolves here, then it should be his choice on what will be done with them.”
Liannora bowed her acknowledgment and settled with a shimmer to her seat. All eyes were on Brant.
Even Lord Jessup’s.
Brant ignored the others, but he could not dismiss the gentle attention of the god in their midst. He knew the high esteem in which Lord Jessup held the new regent. Even more deeply, he understood the god’s desire to acknowledge and certify the new pact between Chrismferry and Tashijan. The First Land must heal.
But he had a responsibility beyond the land. By saving the cubbies, he now had their lives to protect. He weighed the life they would lead if he agreed. He had no doubt they’d be raised with pampered attention. As gifts of a god, representing the new unity and symbolizing the First Land’s newfound fortitude, the wolves would be well cared for and well-kept. Their lives would be easy; they would be fatted and groomed.
Yet still it would be a caged life, all freedoms gone. Brant rankled at the thought. Here he was, exiled from his own homelands into this pampered existence. He’d had no choice. Then again, sometimes freedoms had to be laid down for the greater good.
“Master Brant…?” Lord Jessup pressed softly.