Keeper of the Wolves (15 page)

“
Evelyn lost her husband a
fortnight ago. He fell off a roof,” she explained quietly as we
watched the trio leave. “She sews, but it’s not enough to provide
for them. Steward Wies?” she called, lifting her voice.

The Steward came over and gave a low bow.
“Another successful dinner, my lady,” he said formally.

She nodded. “Thank you for your assistance.
Can I inquire as to the status of Seamstress Woodson’s
employment?”

He glanced at the two children who walked
out the door ahead of their mother. The Steward inclined his head.
“Seamstress Traya will request her assistance with preparations for
the Gathering Ball.”

Koya smiled. “Thank you, Steward. I
appreciate your discretion.”

“
As always, my lady,” the
Steward replied with another bow.

***

That evening I went back to their
grandfather’s quarters to change. I pulled on the clothing Joven
had lent me, then turned at the sound of his footsteps. He came in
carrying a bundle of cloth so high he had to peer around it to see.
His cheeks were red from exertion and when he threw the clothes on
the bed, he let out a breath of relief.

“
Who would have thought an
ambassador would be so much work!” he exclaimed as he began to sort
through the clothes. He put them into various piles that all looked
the same to me and spoke to himself while he did it. “They should
start arriving in the morning. One night for everyone to settle in,
then the ball. Two days should be plenty of time, plenty. How hard
can it be?” I noticed his hands were shaking at the same time he
did. He straightened up and stared at them, then looked at me. “I’m
marrying her off, Keeper. What kind of a brother am I?”

He looked back down at the bed and clenched
his hands into fists. “She’ll be better off in a duchy that isn’t
on the verge of collapse and hostile takeover. If she doesn’t have
love, at least she’ll have security.”

He didn’t sound like he believed his words,
but they seemed to satisfy him. He grabbed a few clothes and tossed
them at me. “Try those. We’re going for foreign and intimidating,
something you should be able to handle with ease.”

I drew on a pair of black cotton pants and a
black jacket that clung to me like a second skin. I then pulled on
a white shirt with long sleeves that were difficult to get over the
jacket.

“
Not like that,” Joven said
with a laugh. He showed me how to put on the shirt and button the
cuffs, then helped me into the jacket with a satisfied nod. “I
figured you were about my size. Just don’t move too much or you’ll
bust the seams. Seamstress Traya has enough on her mind with the
ball to worry about repairing her handiwork.”

He tossed a pair of shoes to the floor and I
gave him an incredulous look.

“
Do it,” he said in an
unwavering tone. “No one, not even an ambassador from a different
continent, would attend the Gathering Ball without
shoes.”

I fought back the urge to bare my teeth and
slid the thick leather onto my feet. The shoes blocked out any
sensation I had of the floor beneath me. The thick fibers of the
carpet and the steady push of the stone on which it had been laid
were lost within the thick soles. It felt as though someone had
taken away one of my senses. I wiggled my toes and grimaced when
the shoes restricted the movement.

Joven chuckled. “Come on, they’re not that
bad. It’s not like I’m asking you to go in blind or anything. It’s
just shoes.”

Given the way he was dressed in a violet
overcoat, a sea green undercoat, a white frilly shirt, dark blue
pants, and shoes the stark red color of blood when it first meets
the air, he couldn’t understand. He looked like a pheasant
searching desperately for a mate. The thought struck a chord when I
realized that was exactly what he was doing. If he found a wife for
himself at the ball, maybe he wouldn’t have to marry off his sister
so desperately in order to gain allies and solidify their claim to
the Vielkeep throne.

I tried to imagine finding a mate that way,
acting like birds strutting their colors to impress the females,
but the thought was so foreign I could only shake my head and hope
he knew what he was doing. With wolves there was no question about
love or honor or friendship. It was ingrained into every breath and
each beat of the heart. Wolves mated for life because they wanted
to spend the rest of their life with the love of their heart and
the one creature who made them whole. They defended their pack
because pack was family and territory was home. Anyone who messed
with that was asking for trouble.

Something clicked in my mind. Joven was
defending his home in the only way he knew how, by increasing his
pack with those who could strengthen and protect it. The answer to
his problems might not make any sense to me, but his reasoning did,
and where I no longer had a pack of my own, I had no right to
second-guess his decisions.

I walked in slow, measured steps to the
mirror and studied my reflection, something I had only seen in
rivers or in the aluminum siding of the Cruel One’s train cars.
Joven followed me and grinned in satisfaction. I didn’t know what I
expected to see, but the man that stared back surprised me. I
looked young, similar to Joven’s age by comparison of height and
youth of skin and hair, but my eyes were golden and alive with the
life of a wolf that lived every day without fear of the future.
Their depths were haunted by the things I had experienced and seen,
but there was still wildness within them, adventure and a thirst
for what lay over the next hill.

My jaw was strong and clenched. I relaxed it
with the sudden realization that I gritted my teeth often in the
face of uncertainty, an emotion I had never known as a wolf. My
brown hair was long and tangled, unkempt even compared to the manes
of the horses in the Vielkeep stables. Scars lined my arms from
numerous battles with rivalry wolf packs, wounds from hunting, and
the inevitable scrapes and pains of growing up wild. I knew the
rest of my body bore the same marks. White lines from the Cruel
One’s whips showed in stark contrast across a few places, though my
back would contain the majority; I was grateful I couldn’t see
it.

“
You do clean up well,”
Joven remarked. I glanced at him to see if he was joking, but he
met my eyes with all seriousness. “We may pull this off
yet.”

A hint of doubt touched my face, another
foreign expression I didn’t like. My eyes stared back at me, daring
me to step into the role for which I was dressed. I closed my eyes,
took a calming breath, and turned away without looking back at the
mirror.

Rasmus walked in and a short, rotund man
followed with a set of hinged, sharp-looking knives in one hand and
a bristled object in the other. Rasmus’ eyebrows rose, pulling at
the scar that ran from his nose to his lips. He let out a surprised
chuckle. “I didn’t think Joven had anything so dark in his
wardrobe.”

Joven gave a sniff of dismissal. “You never
know when such items might be necessary.”

“
I’m just glad he doesn’t
have you plumed like a guinea hen.”

“
That’s peacock, you dolt,”
Joven replied with a longsuffering sigh.

Rasmus grinned, the lines in his tanned face
deepening. “I’m glad I didn’t know that.”

The rotund man beside Rasmus stared at me
with an unmistakable look of dismay. His hair was trimmed so
carefully around his neck it looked as though he wore a bowl upside
down on his head; a scent of lemon and something flowery and thick
touched the air when he wrung his hands together. “I realize why
the General called an emergency at such a late hour.” His words
lifted up curiously at the ends as though he did it on purpose, and
he gave his head a well-rehearsed shake of consternation.

Joven rolled his eyes, but humor showed in
their depths. He gestured toward me with a flick of his finger.
“Will you attempt to fix that?”

It took me a minute to realize he meant my
hair. Joven’s was cut so that it fell around his ears and was held
back by the circlet across his brow. Rasmus’ was trimmed so short
it stuck up. I didn’t realize such styles were so carefully
acquired. The rotund man reached up and grabbed a handful of my
hair. I barely resisted the urge to pull away and bare my teeth at
him; I schooled myself instead to hold completely still, my muscles
tense. The man’s fingers were surprisingly gentle despite his
obvious disgust at what he found. “I must say it is out of the
ordinary. I’ve never seen hair in such shambles, and I can’t say
I’ll enjoy this,” the man replied in a bland tone.

Joven laughed. “That’s a promising
endorsement, Muir.”

The man gave me a studious frown, then
sighed dramatically. “By the gods and goddesses, I shall do my
best.”

“
That’s all we ask,” Rasmus
replied, attempting to keep a smile from his face.

Muir gestured toward a chair and I took a
seat on the edge of the cushion. I wanted to tear off the
uncomfortable clothes and run through the door without looking
back; instead, I watched Joven and Rasmus warily. Rasmus’ mouth
twitched at the trepidation on my face. “You’ll be fine, Keeper.
We’ll leave you in Master Muir’s capable hands.”

“
I don’t know if any hands
could do much with this rat’s nest, General,” Muir replied in a
droll tone as he forced his brush through my hair.

“
If anyone can, it’s you,”
Joven replied. He gave the man a nod of gratitude, spun on his
heels, and left the room. Rasmus exited after him and a few seconds
later their laughter echoed back to us.

I felt Muir’s hands tighten in my hair.
“We’ll show them,” he muttered under his breath. “If anyone can
perform a miracle, it’s Master Muir.”

I had never heard anyone refer to himself by
his own name and wondered if it went along with his other
peculiarities. He continued to talk quietly as he worked the
tangles out of my hair and then started to cut. Strands fell to the
ground in curled piles that I imagined mice would love to use for
their burrows. The thought brought a touch of cheer to
counterbalance the trepidation in my chest. At least something good
could come from the torture.

Muir stepped around me and paused with his
shears near my face. “You hold so still,” he said with grudging
admiration. “I’ve never known someone who didn’t move and risk
turning one of my masterpieces into a disaster.” The silver metal
of his blades caught the light as they trimmed the hair on either
side of my face. “The Lady of Miduan nearly did me in the day she
sneezed mid-shear. Her hair was down to here one instant, and the
next, poof!”

He gestured wildly with the sheers as he
indicated the length and I worried for a moment he would poke out
his own eye. He sighed and shook his head as he continued working.
“Thank goodness I was able to convince her that short locks were in
to combat the heat of the summer.”

He gave a sigh of great suffering and
stepped back with an appraising look, then walked around the chair
more nimbly than I would have thought possible given his girth. He
took a few more snips in various places, then walked back around to
face me, slipping his shears beneath his maroon sash like a soldier
sheathing his sword. “It is finished,” he said in a grave
proclamation.

He watched me expectantly as though
anticipating some sort of a response on my part, but I didn’t know
what kind of reaction a haircut required, so I kept silent. He let
out his breath in a rush and gestured toward the mirror. “Take a
look, young sir. I expect it to be to your liking.”

I did as instructed, then stared at the
stranger who watched me through the glass. He had left my hair
longer than Joven’s or Rasmus’. It brushed the tops of my
shoulders, but it was layered so that the loose curls looked
maintained instead of wild. The hair framed my face and brought out
the golden hue of my eyes. I watched myself, uncertain of the man
in the reflection who looked genteel compared to the rough heathen
who once inhabited the room. I preferred the wild look that
reflected how I felt inside. I looked away with the feeling that I
wouldn’t be able to meet the expectations of the man who watched me
in the mirror.

The anticipation on Master Muir’s face
faltered at my reaction, but I was saved the need of rescuing his
ego when the door opened and Rasmus and Joven walked back in. “My
goodness, man,” Joven exclaimed as he looked me over. “You’ve
practically turned him into a gentleman! Amazing how a simple
haircut and clothes can do so much for a man. You’d think he really
was an ambassador!”

“
I thought he was,” Muir
stated, his eyes calculating.

“
What I meant was he could
have come from civilized society instead of some hovel across the
sea,” Joven hurriedly explained. “You’ve outdone yourself, Master
Muir.”

The man bowed, his cheeks red with pleasure.
“Thank you, my Lord. It was a challenge, to be sure, but I found
myself up to the task.”

“
Well done,” Rasmus echoed
as the man hurried out of the room to no doubt relax after his
strenuous duties.

They paused until the door closed, then
started to laugh. I watched them, sure I was the root of the
laughter, but unable to figure out why. “Could you imagine the look
on his face if he ever knew?” Joven gasped after a moment.

“
Do you remember when Lady
Farlain asked him to trim her pooch?” Rasmus asked.

“
By the gods and goddesses,”
Joven replied in a high voice filled with feigned shock. “I would
rather throw my sheers in the River Sadine than taint their blades
with the fur of an animal.” Joven put a hand dramatically to his
chest and flung his other one high. “This metal is to touch the
locks of royalty only.” He started laughing again.