“And yet it is in your nature to be dishonest, even with me.” He was angry.
Sophronia was hurt, especially given how hard she had been working not to have to lie to him about her feelings. By all rights she should simply tell Soap that she didn’t love him, send him away with no hope of any kind of future together. In the long run, that would be better for both of them. And she could do it, too. She had the training. But I’d lose him entirely. He said there was no possibility of friendship. I’m weak, thought Sophronia. It is not the thought of Soap’s pain that keeps me silent, but of my own.
So she said, “Why are you so upset? You are the one person whose loyalty I have never doubted.”
“That is not the same thing,” growled Soap.
Vieve was impatient. “Are you two having your first lovers’ spat? Right now? You realize your school is drifting?”
The dirigible had moved some distance away. Yet there was something impossible to resist about their disagreement. Sophronia had never before wanted so much to be right. How dare he expect me to simply tell him everything? It is my livelihood to be circumspect. Not to mention my nature. Does he want me to change? Does he want to limit me to his—or worse, the dewan’s—expectations of a woman’s place? Those thoughts refused to be separated from her other worry. How dangerous is it for him the night before full moon? And how much in danger is poor Vieve, forced into guarding him? There was also guilt. He had risked everything to bring her this information, and yet she played close and tight with her own knowledge. She should have told him about the pilot’s bubble. Shouldn’t she?
“Trust is a lot to ask of someone,” she said, finally.
“Exactly. I should think that I, at least, have earned your trust.” Soap hunched his shoulders and lowered his voice. “Is that why you won’t let me court you?”
Sophronia couldn’t help her frustration. Why was he so willfully obtuse? “Oh, for goodness’ sake, be reasonable. How could I? You are a newly made werewolf loner, secret pawn for a political player.”
“And your soon-to-be patron.”
“And so we marry and what happens? What world do you think we live in, Soap? What of my family, my friends, my position in society? Are you asking me to give them up?”
“Of course not!”
“So what courting do you propose?”
“I could be discreet.”
“And you would be, what, my dirty little supernatural secret? I keep you boxed away and hidden along with my espionage activities?” Sophronia was moved to verbal indiscretion.
“Why not? You would be wonderful at it.”
“Because you’re better than that, Soap! We’re better than that!” Sophronia didn’t even know she felt it until she yelled it.
“So you do love me.”
Sophronia lost her anger on a breath of air and crumpled into sadness. “It doesn’t change the state of society.”
He reached for her and she jerked back. “No.”
Soap drew back. “I can wait.”
“Don’t.”
This time it was Soap’s turn to flinch.
There was something wrong about his mouth. As though he were trying to swallow his own teeth, or was that canines? Was he starting to shift? She’d read somewhere that excess of emotion could affect the control of young werewolves, and the moon was almost full.
Soap hunched forward a little more. He seemed to be shivering.
“Soap! Are you unwell?” Vieve lurched forward. Sophronia had almost forgotten she was there. How embarrassing.
Soap’s teeth were beginning to extend. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I think you both should run.” His hair was becoming very shaggy, as though it wanted to creep out of the tight curls and descend all over his body as fur. His ears looked like they were stretching slightly, and his eyes were turning from brown to gold.
Sophronia couldn’t help but back away.
Vieve, with casual grace, reached over one shoulder, pulled a blunderbuss from a strap on her back, pointed it at Soap, and shot.
“Wait, Vieve, what are you…?” Sophronia trailed off, for no massive silver bullet emerged. Instead the gun emitted a large mesh net, with weighted edges like a fisherman’s, that flew out into a wide arc, completely surrounding Soap.
“Ouch, that stings.” Soap looked like a disgruntled bride.
“Good.” Vieve was unsympathetic. “Now get ahold of yourself.”
“Yes, Captain.” Soap came over all meek.
Everything about him seemed to shiver and tighten, pulling in on itself. His hair went back to the tight black coils Sophronia was so fond of petting. His ears returned to their roundness, his eyes to their liquid brown.
“How do you feel?” Sophronia moved back to stand near, wanting to touch him through the net.
“Ashamed. Trapped.”
“Controlled, I hope.” Sophronia hid her worry.
“I think you should kiss him.” Vieve’s small face was grave.