The Ghost Pack probably hadn’t flogged a foundry owner, known to take advantage of those young and attractive and dependent on him for a living, then chased him into a manure pit. It had happened close enough to the line from Karis to Orin it couldn’t be ruled out, but it was the first of the stories not entirely tied to geography.
“It’s not blame,” Reiter said, pulling his hand back from the engraving. “It’s myth.”
Lady Hagen rolled her eyes, blue mage marks glittering. “Well, I just got another letter from Stina’s cousin in Orin, and myth sheared off half a mountain, blocked the river, and flooded the village. There’s a good chance he wasn’t exaggerating this time since after the last council meeting the ambassador from Cafren asked me if I had any information on the stories she’d heard about earthquakes from her side of the border. The Pack Leader is thinking of sending someone north to see what’s going on.”
Reiter didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I can’t…”
“Yes, you can.” The baby kicked hard enough, it visibly adjusted the drape of her dress. It was a soft butter yellow, perfect for early fall. Her husband had died in the attack on the border, but the Aydori didn’t wear mourning. Reiter tugged at a black cuff. He did. “The garrison is nearly finished…” She raised a hand as he opened his mouth. “Fine. The part we need you for is nearly finished. We lost too many to send Pack or Mage-pack up into the mountains. You’re the obvious choice.”
“I’m expendable.”
“Yes.”
He’d helped free them, but he’d also been responsible for helping to capture them. And only four of the six had come home.
“You’re hiding here, Captain Reiter.” She didn’t sound unkind, but neither did she sound as though she’d allow him to stay in Aydori. To stay hiding in Aydori. “There’s only one way to find out if you have a place in her Pack.”
“And if I don’t know if I want a place?” There were songs about the Ghost Pack—in two languages—and rumors around Bercarit of a new opera.
“In the Pack or the myth?”
“Both. Either.”
Lady Hagen smiled. Reiter had been in Aydori long enough to recognize the difference between a smile and a show of teeth. This straddled the line. “There’s only one way to discover that as well.”
Snow had already fallen on the upper slopes of the mountain, but in Harar, the largest settlement in Orin, the reds and golds of fall still lingered. Dusty happily dove through drifts of fallen leaves, chasing a sparrow he had no hope of catching. Mirian was guessing about the reds and golds—her world remained grays and silver—but anyone with eyes could see Dusty’s mood. His tail and his ears were up and his tongue lolled from his half-open mouth and every now and then he barked as though he couldn’t help himself—in spite of lessons in the need for silence on the hunt from every single older member of the Pack.
The boy’s recovery had been remarkable. His fears were the fears of the Pack as a whole—none of them could face darkness—but his strengths were his own. The starved and wounded silent child Mirian had taken from the Imperial cell had become a curious, joyful, much loved heart of the Pack. He spent almost as much time in skin as he did in fur and in a few short months he’d become almost fluent in Ori. Not only had his nightmares stopped as long as he slept touching another of the Pack, but those touching him never woke screaming. Mirian had drawn up a complicated sleeping rotation that Tomas and Nine enforced. Fortunately, no one in the Pack had a problem with putting Dusty’s needs first.
Currently on guard, Bryan and Dillyn watched him from the porch. Dillyn had his head down on his front paws, but his eyes were open and all his attention was on the boy. Matt and Jace had gone hunting. They hadn’t gone far enough from the settlement to actually catch anything, which was why Mirian could sense matching pissy moods as they returned. They hadn’t yet determined how far apart she could be from her Pack and still maintain the connection—no one wanted to be the first to suddenly find themselves cut off from their Alpha. And, in fairness, she didn’t want to find herself cut off from them.
When the Pack Leader in Harar had curled his lip and informed her that kind of contact wasn’t normal for Alphas, only Tomas’ elbow had kept her from laughing. Laughter would be considered a challenge, and the last thing Mirian wanted was to end up responsible for the entire settlement. The Pack she had was responsibility enough.
She could hear Jared and Karl behind the house, arguing as they chopped wood. Seventeen and eighteen, they could manage skin as long as they had something that needed hands. Stephen would be watching them from the wellhead, the silvered stub of his tail tucked under his haunches. Stephen seldom wore skin. The emperor had taken something from his insides as well—his belly fur split by a diagonal silver streak—and he’d almost died before they’d reached a Healer-mage in the mountains. Nine had changed and carried him the last two days, snapping and snarling at anyone who tried to share the burden.
Tomas and Nine…
Mirian frowned. Nine felt angry. That wasn’t unusual. Unless he was with Dusty or her, anger was a constant with Nine. He’d refused to tell them his name…
“That man is dead. Nine will do.”
…and he fought at the slightest provocation. The settlement’s Alphas had learned to steer clear of him. No, Nine angry wasn’t unusual, but Tomas felt unsettled and that couldn’t be good.
Both Bryan and Dillyn rose to their feet as Mirian stepped off the porch. A gesture held them in place. The dead grass whispering under her boots, she crossed toward the path that led through the trees to the rest of the settlement. They’d been given land on the outskirts, half cleared, house half built and abandoned. Working together to make it habitable had smoothed out most of the Pack’s remaining twitches. Most. Not all.
She’d acquired a few twitches of her own.
“Just as you do not define the mage-craft, do not let it define you. If you fly everywhere, what use are your legs? You want to be the person you were as well as the person you are, walk. Sweat. Wait for strawberries to ripen the same as everyone else.” Hayla blinked eyes as much white from cataracts as from her scattering of mage marks and grinned toothlessly. “Don’t let young Master Hagen define your body, as enjoyable as that is. Define it yourself lest you lose it. You and the mage-craft are one, but you must be Alpha. Where are you taking those strawberries?”
“You said…”
“I said you should wait. I’m old and have a pitiful fraction of your power. Hand them over. Now, go pick up that mountain you dropped.”
Before Mirian reached the path, Nine trotted out into their clearing and crossed to where Dusty was stalking a beetle. Hackles up, he turned to face the trees, saying as clearly as if he’d spoken, that whoever was coming would only get near Dusty through him.
Tomas was in fur although the man with him wasn’t. He wore an Aydori greatcoat pulled tight under the straps of the pack rising behind his head.
“Captain Reiter.” Not a question. And Tomas felt unsettled, not surprised.
Nor did he look surprised after he changed and moved to stand by her side.