Visions of gray wolves appeared to descendants of the Gray Wolf line of queens in times of trouble and change. They were actually the dead queens—ancestors of the living queens of the Fells, come back as a warning.
“How can you figure out how to prevent something when you don’t know what it is?” Wolves had appeared in the days before Hana died, but it had happened anyway. To Adrian, a vague warning was worse than none at all.
The porridge arrived, steaming, with the promised bits of ham arranged on top for show.
When the server left again, his father said, “I think that the attack on Hana’s triple was more than very bad luck. I think she was the target.”
“How would they know it was her?” Adrian asked. “How would they know where she was?”
His father leaned across the table. “I think someone told them. I think Arden has a spy on the inside.”
“No,” Adrian said, with conviction. “Who would do that? Everyone loved her. And why would Arden target Hana in particular? She’s the heir—I know that—but wouldn’t it have made more sense to go after General Dunedain?”
“Not if the goal is to break your mother’s heart,” his father said. “Captain Byrne and Shilo Trailblazer have been over the killing field dozens of times. From the looks of things, it wasn’t just a platoon—it was an entire company. Hana was smart, and a strong fighter, but it’s unlikely she would take down a half dozen Ardenines before they killed her—unless they were holding back, trying to take her alive.” He paused, glancing around for eavesdroppers. “There’s more,” he said. “It appears that her death wound was self-inflicted. We believe that when she realized that she was about to be captured, she shoved her own dagger through her heart.”
Adrian felt like he’d been daggered himself. “She killed herself?”
“What would you have done, in her place?” his father asked.
Adrian shuddered. On this one point, they all agreed—it had been a blessing that Hana hadn’t been taken alive to Ardenscourt, to the dungeons of the monstrous king of Arden, Gerard Montaigne. It was one thing to break their hearts; it would have been worse if he’d held their hearts in his hands.
His father pushed bits of ham around his bowl with his spoon. “Montaigne is under considerable pressure from his thanes to finish this thing. They’ve been spending men and treasure for a quarter century with little to no results. Perhaps the king of Arden has hit on a new tactic—targeting the royal line, the queen’s family. This is a grudge match, remember. Your mother rejected him in a very public way.”
Adrian knew that story. The queen had refused to sign over her queendom in exchange for the king of Arden’s hand in marriage. “But that was twenty-five years ago,” he protested, not wanting it to be true. “He got married eventually, didn’t he, to somebody else?”
“Don’t expect it to make sense, Ash. Montaigne is a proud, nasty brute who’s used to getting his own way. My biggest regret is that I didn’t shiv the bastard when I had the chance.”
Looking into his father’s face, Adrian saw a rare glimpse of the ruthless streetlord he’d once been. Until his father ran a hand over his face, as if to wipe that person away.
Adrian’s skin prickled. It was like he felt the hand of the Maker touch the delicate thread that connected life and death. “So what can we do?”
“If we can identify who betrayed Hana, that would be a start,” his father said. “One of our eyes and ears has an informant who claims to know something. I’m supposed to meet with them in Southbridge in a little while.”
The temple church in the market sounded the quarter hour, reminding them both that time was passing. “Now,” his father said, placing his hands flat on the table. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
Adrian took a gulp of cider for courage. “You know I’ve been working as a healer with the clans the past two summers. And I’ve been helping with the Highlander cavalry string when I can.”
“So I’ve heard. If Willo had her way, she’d like you to apprentice with her year-round. She’s not as young as she used to be, and there’s never enough healers available during the marching season. General Dunedain wouldn’t hold still for it, though. She’d like to put you in charge of the military stables full-time. Everywhere I go, all I hear about is how you can work magic with horses. It’s too bad there’s only one of you.”
Right, Adrian thought. It’s too bad. So he hurried on. “I’ve also spent time in the healing halls in the city.”
“Ah,” his father said, his face hardening. “Lord Vega’s domain. I keep hoping he’ll retire.” Harriman Vega was the wizard who oversaw the healing halls in the capital, the ones wizards and most Valefolk patronized.