And raced off once more. Alythia turned back to the onlookers and found that little Tristi Halmady had emerged from the house, escorted by a pair of maids, one of whom carried even littler Elra in her arms. The maids looked anxious, but Tristi was wide-eyed with amazement.
“Alythia's friends with the wolf!” Elra said loudly. She was a pretty girl, her black hair done up at the back, rosy-cheeked and clutching Topo, her favourite ragdoll.
“Alythia, Papa says the wolf is wild and dangerous!” exclaimed Tristi. “He told us we weren't to go near it!”
“Well I assure you,” Alythia announced primly to them all, “he demanded no such thing from me!”
“How did you make friends with the wolf?” Elra demanded.
“She fed it,” said one of the cooks, who knew.
“I spoke Lenay to it,” Alythia corrected. “Tashyna's a Lenay wolf, she only speaks Lenay.”
“Her name's not Tashyna, it's Dessi!” Tristi insisted.
“Ah, but that's where you're wrong!” Alythia said brightly. “You see, all Lenay animals have true names. They have old, pagan spirit names-Goeren-yai names. But you need to speak Lenay, and you need to speak it to them nicely, or they won't tell you their true names.” It was utter horse manure, all of it, but the crowd on the patio all stared with a look somewhere between discomfort, amazement and respect. Alythia nearly laughed. Perhaps now, finally, she'd found a way in. A way toward respect. Through a wolf, of all things. A wolf that they were all scared of. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps the only way to gain respect amongst wealthy Petrodorians was through fear.
“Can I pat her?” Tristi asked wistfully. “I've wanted to keep seeing her, but Papa wouldn't let me. I'm sure she'll remember me.”
“Did you ever beat her?” Alythia asked doubtfully.
“Oh no, I never did! I was always nice to her, honest!”
“Master Tristi,” said a maid, “I really don't think that you should…”
“Nonsense!” announced a guard. “The third son of Halmady isn't scared of some stupid wolf! If a girl can do it, so can Master Tristi!”
Alythia turned to look back at the garden. She caught only a brief glimpse of Tashyna, a fast shadow against the far, downhill wall. “Come quickly,” she said to Tristi, who came running. Alythia put her hands on the boy's shoulders when he arrived and turned them both downslope. Tashyna seemed far more interested in racing from one side of the lower garden to the other as fast as her legs could take her.
“Look how fast she is!” Tristi exclaimed. “I bet she'd make an excellent guard dog. Maybe we could let her loose in the garden more often. Maybe all night. She'd deal with any sneaking nightwraith!”
“I think that's an excellent idea,” said Alythia. In truth, she wasn't sure at all-she knew from her brothers that wolves did not bark, so she wouldn't make much of a guard dog if she couldn't raise the alarm. And she was still so wild, probably even this huge garden would not be enough for her. But anything would be better than that little enclosure against the side wall. “Now just remember, move very slowly and be very careful. She's really very sweet, but she gets scared easily. And scared wolves are dangerous. Understand?”
Tristi nodded. He was nearly nine now and curly-headed like her Gregan. Also like Gregan, he was a bit of a mummy's boy…or a daddy's boy, at least. Fancy not visiting the pet wolf just because daddy had forbidden it! It would never have stopped her brothers, not even Wylfred.
Tashyna leapt through some bushes, tongue lolling, now slowing as she loped past the fountain. She looked tired and happy. Tristi stiffened anxiously and Alythia squeezed his shoulders. Tashyna saw him and pricked her ears. She ran about them in a circle, head poised, more curious than alarmed.
“It's all right, Tashyna,” said Alythia, forcing confidence into her voice. “Come and say hello to your old friend. He's missed you.”
Tashyna stopped circling and trotted closer. Stopped, ducking her head nervously, trying to go sideways. “Oh here, come on!” Alythia crouched beside Tristi, a hand out. “It's all right, it's only me!” It astonished her how easily she could read the wolf's thoughts. Fear battled yearning, self-preservation struggled against risk. She'd seen it in people, in the courts of Baen-Tar Palace. The young noble from the provinces, uncomfortable in his newly bought clothes, sighting a glamorous Lenay princess and torn in two directions-backward, toward safety; and forward, toward opportunity. And she'd seen it in the palace girls upon sighting some particularly handsome arrival. For herself, the instinct had always been forward. She'd never known what it was to retreat, until she'd come to Petrodor. Perhaps it was a common affliction for Lenays in Petrodor, walked they on four legs or two.
Tashyna came close enough for Alythia to pat. “Let her sniff your hand,” she told Tristi. Tristi did so, breathlessly, and Tashyna sniffed. And licked, as if remembering a familiar taste. Tristi grinned. “Pat her. Scratch her neck, she likes that.”
Tristi did that too, his smaller hand sinking into the wolf's thick fur. Tashyna whined, wriggled on her stomach, then rolled on her back.
“That means she likes you,” Alythia laughed, rubbing Tashyna's chest.
“She's very pretty,” said Tristi, matter-of-factly. “Sister, would you help me ask Papa to let me see her more often?”
Alythia climbed the stairs with more energy and purpose in her legs than she recalled since her wedding day. Finally, she had a reason to go and see her father-in-law. Only a little thing, to be sure, but perhaps that was best… and, besides, the patachi doted on Tristi. If brave Tristi had befriended the wolf, then surely his father would find some pride in that.
Perhaps Gregan would be in his father's chambers, she thought as she walked the polished boards of the ornate upper hallway. She'd barely seen Gregan for a week. For some of that time, he'd gone to pay respects to the various dukes gathered in their properties neighbouring Petrodor. The short while he'd been home, he'd slept in a separate room and spent his time at great luncheons for Halmady and Steiner allies, or plotting in his father's chambers. Alythia began straightening her hair as she walked…and considered the grass stains on the sleeves of her dress. She nearly turned for her room to change, but she dared not lose this opportunity. And besides, soon word would spread that the barbarian daughter-in-law had dangled dear Tristi's head in a wolf's jaws for sport, and she preferred to be the one breaking news of events, instead of always reacting to them. That lesson, she'd learned long ago.
Arriving at the patachi's chambers she made a final adjustment to her hair and necklace, and knocked on the twin wooden doors. There was no reply. No footsteps either. Perhaps he was out…but there was typically a commotion when the patachi left the residence and there had been none tonight.
It frustrated her, to have such an opportunity, only to turn back now. She knocked again. Come to think of it, there was usually a guard outside this door. Where was he? Concerned, she opened the door. At the far end, glass doors opened onto a balcony, and a broad desk faced the view. Candles and lamps were lit. How odd that it should be empty. Perhaps the patachi was in his adjoining bedchambers…but if he were preparing for an early night, where were the private servants?
She walked forward past the table…and saw something odd on the floor beneath the desk. Only when she was nearly at the far windows did she recognise the shape in the shadow cast by the chandelier. It was a body. The body of Patachi Halmady, his face to one side, staring at her. Face down in a spreading pool of blood.
A hand clamped over Alythia's mouth before she could scream, and a knife pricked at her throat. “Not a word!” hissed a voice in her ear. “The signal's been given. It will be over soon!”