Through Wolf's Eyes (17 page)

Grand Duke Gadman offered in his place a son, Lord
Rolfston Redbriar of the House of the Goshawk. Lord Rolfston had five
children of his own, so the succession would be secure. Moreover, a
Redbriar in his own right, he was married to a member of the
influential Shield family.

For her part, Grand Duchess Rosene had two living children: Ivon and Zorana. Both these Archer scions were well
married
into Great House families; both had children of their own. Rosene's
partisans, of whom the Houses of Wellward and Trueheart were not the
least, argued that two possibilities from a line were better than one.
However, even these partisans were split as to which provided the best
choice: war-hero Ivon, with his staunch popular following, or Zorana,
with her brood of four and experience with the domestic politics of the
kingdom.

Personally Elise felt that, despite her frequenting
the royal palace, she herself had little chance of being named heir,
nor had her father and his sister, with their commoner father.

Grand Duke Gadman had married into a Great House, as
had his son. Thus, Rolfston Redbriar's claim had the support of both
his wife's and his mother's Great Houses, where her own father could
only claim the sure support of his wife's.

However, Grand Duke Gadman and his elder brother the
king had long quarreled over matters of state. Observers argued that
given their past disagreements, King Tedric would pass over his
brother's line out of spite. Then?

Then Lady Elise Archer could quite easily find herself heir apparent to the throne of Hawk Haven.

"A
ND QUICKLY NOW
, Blysse, give me your hands." Derian put out his own, grasping those the two-legged wolf awkwardly extended.

She did so, growling quietly to herself, displeased
by her lack of grace. In most matters when she compared herself with
humankind she was grace itself, but she had yet to learn the trick of
this thing called dancing.

Derian pretended not to notice her pique.

"That's right," he praised as she relaxed into his
guidance. "Now, three steps to the side. Then when the music gets
faster, we spin, so . . ."

One moon's turning and half of another had done great
things
for Firekeeper's ability to understand what Derian said to her. Hardly
ever now did he use a word she didn't know or for which she could not
deduce a meaning. Also now she understood the ways and means of
clothing (though not why humans wore so much of it) and how to ride a
horse without first threatening it with fear for its life.

Dancing, though, dancing had proven to be a source of
constant puzzlement, a puzzlement that ran side by side with delight.
In all other things physical Firekeeper felt herself a wind through the
treetops when she compared the grace of her movements with those of
Race and Derian. When dancing, though . . .

Firekeeper snorted in disgust when—distracted by her
thoughts—she trod on Derian's toes. From one corner of the room, Race
Forester heard her and chuckled. She forgave him for the sake of the
flute he held in one hand.

Music, especially that of the flute, was a pleasure
heretofore only suspected in birdsong and burbling brook. Firekeeper
had been enchanted the first time she heard Race play, so long ago when
they had crossed the mountains with Hawk Nose and his people.

As soon as Race had grown easier around her,
Firekeeper had insisted that he show her how to draw the notes from the
slender piece of carved wood. It had proven far more difficult than she
had imagined. Together, dancing and music raised her opinion of the
two-legs until for the first time she was not ashamed to have been born
of them, rather than of wolves.

"Turn right, Blysse," Derian called, gently pushing her in that direction. "Then back to me and out again . . ."

Concentrating on where to place her feet, on the
timing of the steps, Firekeeper saw Race nod approvingly. They'd made a
great deal of progress since the day he tried to loop a rope around her
and imprison her in the human world. That progress had all been
Derian's doing, for Firekeeper had been content to have Race fear and
respect her. Despite her lack of overt cooperation, Derian had coaxed
the scout into helping with Firekeeper's education, asking Race to
teach her
the names for plants and animals, how to shape snares and traps, how to shoot a bow.

Race was pleased when Firekeeper proved to be an apt
pupil, was flattered when she showed more interest in his lessons than
in Derian's. Eventually, Race realized how little Firekeeper knew of
human woodcraft and his envy of her began to fade. When he realized how
ungrudgingly she shared her own knowledge, they became friends.

Firekeeper still thought of Race as a lesser pack
member, far below Derian and farther below Earl Kestrel. She knew that
if need arose she could make him cringe. However, now that Firekeeper
had become acquainted with some of the residents of the keep, Race no
longer rested quite so low in her estimation.

"Water," she said to Derian when the dance ended. "Thirsty me."

"I am thirsty," he corrected patiently.

"You, too?" she asked, pouring them both full mugs
from the pitcher set on the stand at the side of the room. She knew
perfectly well what Derian wanted and decided to humor him.

"I know," she said, before he could decide if she had been teasing him. "Say: I am thirsty. Why? Shorter other."

"Shorter," Derian said, "but not correct."

"So?"

"So, would you eat hemlock?"

"No! Hemlock poison."

"That's right. And believe me, Blysse, words used wrong are like poison."

Derian sighed. The little line between his brows
deepened as it did more and more frequently since Firekeeper had
learned to ask why, instead of simply parroting whatever he said. After
several swallows from his mug, Derian tried to explain further.

"Imagine we're hunting," he said. "If you want to make the deer come to you, would you imitate the sound of a frightened deer?"

"No!"

"Would you make the sound of a sick deer?"

"No. But I say 'Thirsty me' not makes fear, not makes sick. Just makes faster."

"Yes, but faster is not always better." Derian waved his hand in dismissal. "Let's leave it for now."

Firekeeper shrugged. "Dance more?"

"Not now. Dinner. Formal attire."

She wrinkled up her nose.

"No formal attire.

Pinches. Skin no breathe."

"Formal attire," Derian repeated firmly.

Firekeeper knew that he was serious by how he made
himself swell up like a bullfrog. When she didn't obey, he simply
refused to acknowledge her until she did. She was amazed how something
so unlike wolf discipline could hurt as sharply.

"Formal attire," she agreed, consoling herself with
the thought that later she could shed almost everything but the leather
breeches and vest and run with Blind Seer.

Still, as she permitted Steward Daisy to lace her into a formal gown, this consolation seemed far distant indeed.

E
VEN FLIRTING WITH
the pretty kitchen maid couldn't keep Derian from reviewing over and
over again in his memory the text of Earl Kestrel's latest letter.
Despite the grace notes that began a formal missive, the text had been
blunt.

"Although I concede that six weeks is hardly
enough time to break a colt to saddle, much less time to teach the Lady
Blysse all she needs to know, the situation here in Eagle's Nest has
become critical. Both Grand Duke Gadman and Grand Duchess Rosene are
urging King Tedric to name as his heir one of their children or
grandchildren. Failing that, they are demanding that he at least
indicate which line has precedence over the other.

"Furthermore, the faction in favor of Duke
Allister Seagleam of Bright Bay is gaining adherents. Among those who
have most recently turned to his cause are those who have become weary
of the king's siblings' continued political maneuvering.

"If Lady Blysse is to be recognized to her greatest advantage, it
must
be
before King Tedric names his heir. Afterwards, she could be accused of
inciting civil war. Therefore, I command you to bring Lady Blysse to me
at the Kestrel Manse in Eagle's Nest. In order that she arrive without
notice, you will be met at the Westriver coach stop by one of your
family's vehicles."

A squeal from the kitchen maid as his fingers
involuntarily tightened around hers brought Derian back to himself. In
apology, he kissed her lightly on the injured members and she giggled
and hurried off before the cook could see her blush.

Still fuming, Derian strode through the halls of West Keep, his boots ringing against the flagstones.

Damn Norvin Norwood, though! "Inciting civil war"! It
would not be Blysse who would be so accused, but Norvin himself.
Unhappily, Blysse would not be immune to censure. No one who looked
into those dark eyes could believe she was as innocent as she truly
was. Derian himself had his doubts from time to time.

Running up the steps to the highest observation tower
wore Derian out enough that he was glad to pause. Leaning on the stone
sill, he looked out into the gathering darkness. Drizzle was falling,
making the night seem hazy and unreal. In the light from the rising
moon—about half-full tonight— Derian imagined that he saw his charge
flitting across the cleared zone about the keep's walls and darting
into the forest.

That was imagination, though. If she was out there,
he would never see her. Time and time again during the first weeks of
their stay in the keep, Race Forester had tried to track Blysse, tried
to learn where she was going. Finally, he
had given up, admitting that her skills were nearly supernatural.

Privately, Derian believed that having learned from
Race how he read tracks, Lady Blysse simply took care to avoid leaving
those traces for which the woodsman would search. Certainly, anyone who
could have so much trouble tying a bodice lace or eating with a spoon
could not be gifted with supernatural powers.

Remembering the woman's still execrable table
manners, her refusal to wear shoes, her tendency to growl at any and
all of the keep's dogs, Derian felt a wide, ironic grin light his face.

So Earl Kestrel thought that he could use the woman
as a pawn in his political games? He was going to discover that he had
a wolf by the tail and daren't let go.

F
AT WARM RAINDROPS
greeted Firekeeper when she emerged from her window into the courtyard
surrounding West Keep. She cast a glance to right then to left, probing
each shadow with her gaze. Race, however, seemed to have permanently
given up their game of hide-and-seek.

Slightly disappointed, she climbed the wall and
dropped to the damp earth on the other side. No Race here either.
Dismissing him from her thoughts, she loped over to the tree line,
swung up into the branches of a spreading maple, then crossed from
there into another of its kind. The moonlight made the journey easy, so
easy that she arrived at the rendezvous before Blind Seer.