She was waiting for an answer.
Perceptive and smart, his dangerous harpy. His lovely wife. Elara had thought about it, about him. There was a spark there. All he had to do was blow on it and feed it, and he would get her. If their fights were anything to go by, he was in for a hell of a time.
“Roland no longer matters,” he lied.
“If Roland and Daniels don’t matter, neither does the Pack.”
The woods ended. They turned down the street to the smithy.
“So much effort to keep me from blowing up your deal. I have to give it to you, you really tried. Good show.”
She bared her teeth at him. “If you pick a fight with the Pack tomorrow, I’ll kill you and bury you in those herb beds back there.”
“That’s my sweet harpy. Come on, let me see those claws.”
“I mean it, Hugh.”
“Is it Hugh now? Not Preceptor?”
She eyed him. “I’ll call you Preceptor when you’re done with your immature tantrums.”
He laughed.
Elara looked into his eyes, her gaze searching. “What is it you stand for, Hugh d’Ambray?” she asked.
He reached for the answer. It eluded him for the moment. “Good times and loose women.”
Elara rolled her eyes and peered at the smithy. “What are we doing here anyway?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the sketch of the warrior. “We’re going to ask your best smith how hard it is to make this scale mail.”
He already knew the answer, but he wanted confirmation anyway.
She sighed.
“Come on, then, wife. Put on a happy face.”
“Ugh.” She reached over and slid her fingers into the crook of his elbow.
“Good God, control yourself, woman. We’re in public. At least wait until we’re in the bedroom.”
“Your corpse will grow lovely goldenseal.”
He laughed again and walked her down to the smithy.
Hugh stood in front of his bedroom window, leaning on the windowsill. Night breathed in his face, cool and soothing after the day’s heat. Early October had been surprisingly hot. He’d left the door to his rooms open, and the night breeze swirled past him, sucked out the door, down the hallway and into the depths of the castle.
Things used to be simple. Too simple.
He was a man who killed one father, failed the other, and left a trail of destruction in his wake four continents wide. When he looked back now, he saw bodies. It never bothered him before. He’d felt vague pangs of guilt, but never this.
It wasn’t natural. That was the only explanation. If he felt all this shit now, he would’ve felt it when he was doing it. He should’ve been bothered. That part of him had been suppressed and he wasn’t the one doing that suppressing.
An absurd urge to find Nez gripped him. Did he feel this? Was his leash longer? Was he allowed guilt?
“What is it you stand for, Hugh?”
Fuck if I know.
He wanted the bottle tonight. More than anything. He wanted to get drunk and forget all of it.
He heard footsteps behind him. “You called?” Lamar asked.
“Come in.”
The tall lanky man came over and leaned against the desk.
“Tell me what happened after my exile.”
“I thought you didn’t want to know.”
“I do now.”
Lamar pulled a cloth out of his pocket, took off his glasses, and cleaned the lenses. “The same night Roland exiled you, he went to Atlanta. There was a bargain. Lennart gave up the Pack. In return Roland agreed to a hundred-year peace with Daniels.”
“He separated her from her power base.”
“Yes. Once I was out of the picture, he began the systematic purge of the Iron Dogs. Anyone loyal to you became a target.”
“What about Atlanta?”
“Roland began building on the edge of it.”
“He was baiting her,” Hugh said. “He can’t help himself.”
“For a while he played father of the year, but Daniels never trusted him. Eventually he kidnapped one of her people, a polymorph named Saiman. She came to visit Roland at the fort he was building and demanded Saiman back. He refused. They screamed at each other in the language of power. She called him a usurper. Stoyan was there on the cross. He didn’t understand most of it, but he said the day was bright and sunny, and by the end of it, the sky turned black and lightning struck the ground. When they were done, she got Stoyan and got the hell out of there.”
It sounded like something Daniels would do. Subtle like a runaway bulldozer.
“She defended you,” Lamar said.
Hugh turned to him.
“You said you wanted to know. Stoyan memorized that part. He thought you would want to know one day.” Lamar reached inside his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
“Read it to me.”
“‘You were everything to him. He committed all those atrocities for you and you stripped him of your love, the thing he cared about most.’ ‘Hugh outlived his usefulness. His life had been a series of uncomplicated tasks and eventually he became his work.’”
A simpleton. That’s how he saw me. And she understood.
“‘He was raised exactly like you wanted him to be.’ ‘He was like a fallen star. I melted it down and forged it into a sword. It’s not truly his fault, but the world is becoming more complicated not less. Some swords are meant to be forged only once.’”
The void turned to fire around him.
I am a sword. A weapon. Okay. But you’ve made me into a really sharp sword and I know how to cut you.
Lamar took a step back and swallowed. “Are you alright?”
“What happened next?”
“Roland brought an army. Not his main force, the secondary divisions he had spaced out through the region. Daniels turned the Atlanta Chapter of the People.”
“Of course she did. Ghastek is her Legatus?”
“Yes. How did you…?”
“Ghastek is terrified of death and Daniels can bestow immortality,” Hugh said. “What happened with the battle?”
“They fought. Roland assaulted the Keep. It was the crudest assault known to mankind.”
“Don’t tell me he formed up his troops and marched them to their fort.”
“He did exactly that.”
Moron.
The word sliced across his nerves like a red-hot blade. He’d just called Roland a moron in his head. The pain echoed through him, but the world kept spinning.
“The combined forces of Atlanta massacred his army,” Lamar said. “Daniels and Lennart tried to kill him. He fled.”
His brain chopped through the words trying to make sense of them. “He fled?”
“He did.” Lamar smiled. “Teleported out.”
A chance. Daniels had a shot at the title.
His mind ached, reeling from the red-hot pain.
“Daniels is pregnant,” Lamar said quietly.
“Is it Lennart’s?” He already knew the answer.
“They’re married, and she doesn’t seem like the cheating type.”
“Roland’s worst fear,” Hugh thought out loud.
“Why?” Lamar asked.
“Roland’s magic is like a science. It’s systematic, it’s logical, and it has laws. It supports all of the cornerstones of the scientific method: the observation, measurement, experimentation, and formation and testing of theory. He views it as a civilizing force. Shapeshifter magic is ancient and wild. It relies on instinct. It predates Roland’s systematic approach. He derides it as primitive, but he fears it and he’s drawn to it because he doesn’t understand it. He’s fascinated by witches. His daughter is half a witch and now she’s conceived a shapeshifter child.”
Understanding shone in Lamar’s eyes. “He’s afraid his grandchild will surpass him.”
Hugh nodded. “He’ll do anything to get his hands on that kid. Except that he’s thinking a generation too late. It’s not the baby he needs to worry about. It’s the mother.”
“What does it mean for us…” Lamar frowned.
“My wife allied us with the Pack. The Pack is allied with Daniels. That moves us from Nez’s Personal Amusement column to Weaken Roland’s Enemy. We have two choices: we can sever all association with the Pack or we can openly declare ourselves their allies.”