Politician, Danika thought as she murmured. “See Sisters of Starlight.”
He stepped to the far side of the hall, inclined his head, said, “Enjoy your visit, Sisters.” And then he froze. “Captain Reiter?”
“Lord Coving.”
Danika risked a glance at the captain’s face. He wasn’t happy. Two of the other courtiers they’d passed had called him by name, and it hadn’t seemed to matter. What was different about Lord Coving?
“What are you doing, Captain?”
“Helping Major Meritin, sir.”
“But why take the Sisters through the…” Danika could feel the weight of his gaze. Feel the glamour slipping. She didn’t know what reason Lord Coving had to suspect they weren’t as they seemed, but she couldn’t hold him. “These aren’t…Are these?” He drew in a deep breath and she felt the glamour break. “Are you out of your mind, Captain?”
The captain’s lip curled. “Funny you should ask that, sir.”
“This is treason! In fact, this is more than treason, this is stupidity! His Majesty knows the sixth mage is in the palace!”
“How…?”
“The flowering vine. According to your report, she did that same trick back in Bercarit! His Majesty was just informed of it and is on his way to the north wing where he is expecting to find her captive after trying to free the mages. When he finds the mages are already gone, he’ll turn his guards loose. He’ll send them out into the rest of the palace regardless of what he has agreed! These are not men I want among the citizens of the empire! These are…” He paused, glaring at Danika and then the others. “Where is she?”
“We were not the only captives, Your Grace!” Danika snapped.
The honorific startled him. Which was why she’d used it. “The abominations? She’s freeing the abominations?”
“You know this is wrong,” Captain Reiter growled. “You sent your son away to protect him because you know it’s wrong. This is your chance to do the right thing. You don’t have to help…”
“Help?”
“…just look the other way. You’re good at that.”
“And die beside you? I don’t think so. You’re a dead man, Captain. A dead man.”
As he opened his mouth—Danika assumed he intended to give the alarm—the captain charged toward him. Jesine was faster. Lord Coving hadn’t been told she was harmless, but she was small and beautiful, even in torn sheets. More importantly, the empire had very few mages left and none of power. He didn’t try to stop her.
When she touched his forehead, he frowned.
“Sleep.”
The frown smoothed out, and he crumpled to the ground.
Danika thought the captain might try and catch him, but he didn’t look very upset when the older man’s head cracked against the floor.
“There’s nowhere to hide him. If he’s found, how easy will it be to wake him?”
Jesine knelt and checked Lord Coving’s pulse, ever a Healer-mage even to their enemies. “He won’t wake for some hours, no matter what they do.”
“With luck, they’ll think his heart gave out. Good work.” He nodded to Jesine who flashed dimples up at him—Danika suspected she wasn’t even aware she’d done it. “Although I was looking forward to punching the hypocritical old shitbag. We’re just lucky he was alone; he isn’t usually.”
“We need to warn Mirian.”
“About the emperor?” Reiter looked back down the hall and worked out how fast he could get to the north wing. “We need to get you out of here first.”
Mirian rested her forehead against the iron door of the last cell, feeling the rough layer of rust against her skin. She’d lost the glow of the lantern three doors in. She’d thrown up twice, and the last time she’d been this tired and still awake, she’d just run the skin off her heels. Behind her, lying on the damp stone were eight scarred and starving wolves. She couldn’t see them, but she’d touched the ripple of ribs and spines, hollow cheeks, corded throats in the moment they spent in skin before fur covered them again.
They’d changed to heal, but they wouldn’t or couldn’t stay in skin.
They whined. They twitched. They snarled. They snapped at nothing. They scrabbled at the stone unable to stop themselves.
Seven men—ages hidden by dirt and dried blood. One boy. Maybe six. Maybe younger. He’d been in a cell with his father’s rotting, three-legged corpse—although all four legs were in the cell. When she dissolved his collar, he’d changed and thrown himself into her arms, blood seeping from wounds on his neck and between his legs. It wasn’t until Tomas peeled the boy off her, both of them murmuring meaningless words of comfort, and he’d checked the wounds that they realized he’d been surgically castrated.
That was the second time she’d thrown up.
Tomas changed with him, and changed back with him, and that was enough to stop the bleeding, open wounds becoming twisting ridges of scar tissue. He’d whimpered once or twice, but had said nothing. He wouldn’t tell Tomas his name.
There were no women.
Mirian suspected there were no women among the Pack for the same reason there were no men among the Mage-pack. Suspected. She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know.
Now, Mirian could hear banging against the door of the last cell. She didn’t need Tomas to tell her this was the captives’ Alpha. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that this was the wolf Reiter had warned her about. The wolf who’d eaten Kirstin Yervick.
Eaten.
They didn’t fetishize the dead in Aydori like they did in some cultures. She’d remembered reading that in Cafren they built small ornate houses for bodies, shared by the corpses of whole families. In Aydori, bodies were returned to earth in the land around the Lady’s Groves. Historically, the Pack had eaten the hearts of their enemies, but in this modern world, even Alpha battles no longer ended in death.
There were overwrought novels written of extreme circumstances where the dying had said, Let my body keep you alive.
Apparently, Kirstin Yervick had read them, too.
Would he be more or less likely to eat her? He’d already done it once, so any social barriers against it had already been broken. But he wouldn’t be as hungry…
“Mirian?”
“I know.”
They didn’t have time for her to settle it all in her head.
At this point, moving air from place to place made no difference in the smell, so she sucked as little as possible in past her teeth and rested her fingertips against the cell door.
Somehow, once the door was open, she didn’t think the wolf behind it would sit quietly with his head in her lap while she dealt with his collar. But then she hadn’t touched the silver in Tomas’ wound when she’d drawn it to her, so, logically, she had no need to actually touch the silver in the collars. It took only a moment to find the metal and a moment more to deal with it. To have it slough off his neck—out of his neck—and down the drain.
Mirian took a deep breath, gagged, and got rid of the door.
Expecting his charge, she managed to keep from cracking her head against the floor as he knocked her down and scrambled over her. Still in fur, he ran up the stairs. Snarling, he threw himself at the bolted door.
She dragged herself up onto her elbows as Tomas raced past, up onto her knees as he reached the top of the stairs, and onto her feet just barely in time to move out of the way as the two came back down in an interlocked mess of growling and snapping teeth. From the sound of the impact, Tomas had landed on the bottom, limiting the damage to the starved wolf’s prominent bones.
He fought like a crazed animal. Tomas had not only strength and speed, but reason on his side.