12.
Discharge wasn’t difficult since Sheyla had essentially commandeered a room and supplies. The supervisor in billing would probably have some sharp words for her, but she didn’t care. In following this exiled prince, she was making all kinds of questionable judgments, to the point that soon, her own pride mates might not recognize her anymore. With Dedrick’s help, she packed up Alastor’s things—not much for royalty. It came home to her then that he’d turned his back on everything familiar and owned only what he carried with him.
Thankfully, his color was better today and the nutritive IV had strengthened him. Proper medicine would help even more, but it would take time to gather the necessary ingredients and find somewhere to manufacture enough serum to last at least a year. There was no telling if Hallowell would even still be standing at the end of that time, but she locked down such thoughts. Her mother always said that you gave life to darkness by believing it; whether or not that was true, it seemed best not to tempt fate.
“You’ve already been assigned to diplomatic housing?” Alastor was asking the guard.
“We have. It’s like the apartments in Ash Valley. Small, clean, serviceable.”
“That will do.” He gestured at their rucksacks. “Please drop off our things. I’ll be along after I’ve met with Chancellor Quarles.”
“As you wish, sire.”
A flicker in Alastor’s expression told Sheyla he wished Dedrick would dispense with titles, but she supposed the other man had too much reverence to permit it. “Am I going with you or Dedrick?”
Once she asked, she thought better of it. Why would I go with Alastor? It wasn’t like he required constant care, and she wasn’t part of his mission in the official sense. Yet he reached for her without hesitation, with a smile so joyous it hurt a little to witness it.
“With me, of course. You’ll be my local guide. None of my people have ever been here before.” She suspected he added the last sentence as a consolation for Ded, who dipped a half-bow and hauled their belongings off.
“You salved his pride,” she noted.
“He’s a good man, but he tends to be overprotective. The moment someone in the city doesn’t kowtow properly, he might start something…regrettable.”
“Avoidable, certainly. You can rely on me not to pick fights with people who don’t fawn over you.”
“I can rely on you for anything,” he said tenderly.
And that softness pierced her like a titanium arrow, all silver, shining, and abjectly terrifying. She was losing her objectivity where he was concerned, or perhaps lost was the better word, for she couldn’t see him as simply her patient any longer. His smiles mattered to her now, and even more his frowns. Sheyla let out of a quiet breath and took the hand he had been offering in silence, so long that it might have been awkward, except that it whispered of extraordinary patience.
I will wait for you, his jade eyes said. Until you’re ready. Forever, if need be.
His fingers were warm today, ridiculously comforting wrapped around her own. “This way. We need to stop by billing so I can settle your account. Otherwise, they’ll dun me mercilessly. The Order of St. Casimir does not work on credit.”
“If that’s a nudge, I’m quite destitute, you know. Not a single ducat to my name.”
“You mean being a doctor pays better than being a prince?” Sheyla feigned surprise.
“Apparently so, though it’s possible that I’ll become obscenely wealthy if I defeat Tycho and claim our familial assets.”
“An obvious deduction,” she said.
“So that’s why you’re so good to me. I am adrift in disappointment.”
“Your yardstick for measuring such things is broken. I’m adequate at best.”
Alastor laughed softly and kissed her hand, before letting go. “Is that so? Then I shall rein in my discontent and await true goodness.”
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Almost. I can’t attend a formal meeting with my hair like this.”
Nodding, Sheyla perched on the chair as he went to the mirror and used a folding brush and comb set to infuse elegance to his long, tangled locks. Since she rarely did anything with her hair besides wash, comb, and tie it up, it was fascinating to watch him weave and plait. He was wondrously proficient, creating a gorgeous cascade of interlaced strands.
“You asked before if I was the one who took down your braids. Is there some significance to them?”
He nodded with a final check of his reflection. “They reveal my rank. It’s impolite in the extreme for anyone to modify them without permission.”
Sheyla suspected he was omitting something important, but she didn’t press. “Among the Animari we don’t have anything like that, though we communicate a good deal of information on an olfactory level.”
“Ah, yes, your infamous enhanced senses. Can you hear the way my heart races whenever I’m close to you?”
“Yes,” she said, seeing no point in pretending otherwise.
His smile was delightful, even more so the slow bloom of color in his pale cheeks. For the first time, she admired that pallor because it gave her such delicious ammunition. “Are you blushing? This is such fun.”
“You are so wicked to tease me. My mother warned me about women like you.”
“Did she?”
His mouth drooped, the amusement gone like a pale sun in winter, and it left her shivering, that sudden withdrawal. “No. Mostly she murmured of treachery and poison and how I must never, ever trust anyone.”
While his mother kept him alive with such talk, it was like he had been reared by sword and scythe; it seemed to her a miracle that there was any laughter in him at all. His truths cut her, down in tender depths no one had touched before. Never had she cared for any single person more than her research. Though she loved her family, she sometimes resented their need for her time and attention. There was always something more to study, a mystery to unlock, but she wasn’t pining for a silent lab any longer. A fire had been kindled beneath her neglected imagination, and now she couldn’t stop picturing the sorrowful boy he had been.
“Mine was always after me to go outside more, play with others,” she said. “She often chased me for a hug, pulling a book out of my hands in exchange for a plate of food.”
“How magical.” And she registered no sarcasm in those two words; he was all wonder and yearning at the simple description of her childhood.
She stared at his mouth for the longest while.
“If I kiss you now,” she whispered. “We won’t leave this room for at least a day.”
“That’s not much of a deterrent. In fact, it’s more of an enticement and you ought to be ashamed, trying to seduce me when I’m so steadfast and dutiful. Come along, you siren.”
She was equal parts relieved and let down when he claimed her hand again and tugged her out of the room. As promised, they stopped to settle his bill, paid from Sheyla’s own account. Waving away his rueful apology, she guided him out of the hospital for her first look at Hallowell in so many years.
It was one of the oldest cities, over a thousand years of building and tearing down. War and fire had left their mark, and one could track the centuries by the architectural styles that grew more modern farther from the city’s heart. In the center of town, there were short, narrow buildings of crumbling stone, shoved together so tightly that hardly a shadow could pass, and toward the limits, the towers stood watch like a steel and glass army. Per Sheyla’s history lessons, Hallowell had once been a fort, built to defend against long-ago human incursions.
She gave Alastor the brief rundown on the way to the chancellor’s office. He seemed interested in everything she had to say, but had questions especially about the trolleys that sped throughout the city. “From what I understand, they banned private conveyances two centuries ago. The city has been much cleaner since.”
“Even the chancellor takes the trolley?” he asked.
Sheyla shrugged. “I’ve never met the woman. We didn’t run in the same circles when I was here.”
“That means she’s been in power for a while. Good to know.”
“You’ll be able to make your own judgment soon enough. Let’s go in.”
Alastor admired the bas relief mosaic on the far wall and the shiny marble floors as the receptionist clicked a path toward the chancellor’s office. Hers was at the back of the building on the ground floor and he read placards in passing for Exchequer and Roadwork and Historical Preservation. Their route ended in magnificent mahogany double doors with frosted glass etched in sigils he didn’t recognize.
“Wait here please,” the woman said primly.
“She’s wolf clan,” Sheyla said, as soon as the lady stepped into the antechamber.
It might be an insult to leave them cooling their heels in the corridor, but his task was too critical for him to obsess over minor issues—and this was the sort of thing that would set Ded off like a firecracker. “Pine Ridge?”
“Probably. They’re the majority, but if she’s posted here, she probably doesn’t have strong clan ties. Her first loyalty will be to the chancellor. It’s also possible that she’s from Ice Spire, a rarely seen enclave of wolves in the far north.”
Before he could ask more, the receptionist returned and gestured for them to step inside, then she hastened back toward the front desk where they’d found her. The waiting room was all polished dark wood panels and expensive maroon carpets threaded in gold. Fine leather volumes lined the far wall, and there were a couple of upholstered chairs that pretended people were allowed to sit in them. Alastor recognized this sort of décor, everything ordered to impress.
At an immense desk, another watchdog waited, a handsome man who rose with a smooth and empty smile. “I’m told you seek an appointment with the chancellor.”
“My business is urgent,” Alastor said. “It pertains to the safety of Hallowell. If necessary, I can summon Korin, lieutenant to Raff at Pine Ridge and Callum McRae, the leader of both the Order of St. Casimir and the Burnt Amber bear clan, to corroborate my words.”
It was an effort to hold the smile when urgency sang in his blood. For each moment he lost to bureaucracy, Tycho trod closer to achieving his ambitions. The other man’s lips formed into a disapproving line. “Name dropping will avail you nothing, Your Highness.” He spoke the final word with a little sneer that told Alastor everything he needed to know.
Sheyla folded her arms. “Maybe not, but if you don’t get off your ass and tell Chancellor Quarles we’re here, you’ll have an angry bear lord kicking down your damn door next.”
Since that dovetailed with what he knew of McRae, he waited to see what the aide would say, maybe something about security?
The secretary paled. “I’ll… be right back.”
“That wasn’t very diplomatic,” he observed.
“We don’t have time for that. He wanted to humble you, but the time he wastes on gamesmanship will have a cost in terms of civilian lives.”
He saw that she was thinking of those who died in the bombing of Ash Valley, and he wished he could comfort her, but the doors to the chancellor’s inner sanctum swung open. Inside her space, it was much more welcoming, small and cluttered with files and papers and open books and half-read petitions. Her furniture was worn too, a rug showing the track where she likely paced and fingerprints on the window that overlooked a private garden, now dead and dry with winter.
With her white hair and rosy cheeks, the chancellor could have been someone’s kindly grandmother, if not for the keen light in the brown eyes behind her wire spectacles. She wore a simple gray suit and thick-soled black shoes, sensible down to the silver-tipped walking stick propped beside her desk. She shut the door behind them and indicated the two chairs opposite her desk; they were simple wood, not designed for anyone to occupy long, Alastor decided with a trace of amusement.
“I’m Chancellor Quarles,” she said briskly. “I hope you’ll accept my apologies for Anton. He tends to be… protective of my time. I suspect he senses I haven’t much of it left.”
Alastor appreciated her forthright nature, though the last comment was worrisome. Hallowell could little afford any political upheaval just then; the external danger was dire enough. “I’m sure you’ve some idea why we’ve come.”
She inclined her head. “My sources bring rumors. I’d like it if you sorted fact from fiction for me. Concisely, mind. I have a meeting in ten minutes.”
Thus incentivized, Alastor gave her the nutshell of events, starting with the failed conclave, the breakdown of the Pax Protocols at Ash Valley, followed by the bombing and the deaths of the old bear leader and Lord Talfayen. The chancellor listened with a brow growing more furrowed with each revelation. By the time he finished with, “Therefore, we concluded that his next strategic target will likely be—”
“Hallowell,” she completed the sentence, seeming to share that assessment.
“That’s why it’s vital that we work with the standing militia to shore up defenses. Burnt Amber has brought war machines for defense and there’s a squadron of wolves who are planning to stay and fight.”
“Don’t forget the Eldritch,” Sheyla added quietly.
“Correct. Princess Thalia has also assigned a unit of her best fighters to keep Hallowell out of my brother’s hands.”
“This must be difficult for you,” the chancellor observed.
Alastor raised a brow. “What in particular?”
“Denouncing a member of your own family and facing him on the battlefield.”
If she understood the dynamics, she wouldn’t offer sympathy. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to play on it. “Yet I am resolved, Chancellor.”
“Then I must be as well. Hallowell has always maintained neutrality among clan conflicts, but with the Pax Protocols in tatters and a tyrant on the march, we cannot ask him nicely to desist.”
Beside him, Sheyla smothered a laugh, but she didn’t speak. Alastor rose, noting by the clock on the far wall that he had used seven of his allotted ten minutes. “Please send word when we can speak more and coordinate our efforts. I’m sure your secretary knows how to find me.”
“Indeed.” Chancellor Quarles stood and inclined her head, escorting them all the way through the foyer. “I’ll bring your request to the ministers personally and hope to deliver news by tomorrow at the latest.”
Her aide didn’t acknowledge their passing, despite Sheyla’s mocking wave. Minor tensions wouldn’t matter when the man learned how great the threat was. Most likely he would stop sleeping, between the new workload and impending doom anxiety.
“She was more reasonable than her assistant led me to believe,” she said, as they cleared the government annex.
“Well, she doesn’t make all the decisions. Let’s hope the ministers she mentioned are amenable to a collective defense effort.”
“They can’t do it on their own,” she muttered.
Her half-audible grumbling followed him down the stairs, and outside the ministry complex, Alastor spun in a slow circle, taking in the city’s charm. Apart from the trolleys, there were only pedestrians or people on brightly painted bicycles. The smell of roasting meat reached him, likely from the man selling skewers on the corner. He took a step toward the delicious aroma before remembering he didn’t have a copper in his pockets.
Lucky for him, Sheyla was already tugging him in the other direction or he might’ve come across wistful as a small boy. “We should get settled and make some plans. While you’re in meetings, I’ll be at the hospital, at least to start. I’ll see about activating secure local comms for us.”
“Good thinking.” For obvious reasons, he hadn’t used his phone since leaving Golgerra.
As it turned out, Dedrick already had two units ready, courtesy of an outing with Korin of Pine Ridge. The men had moved in the night before and were ready to get to work but until Alastor made nice with the chancellor and her ministers, he just needed them to stay out of trouble, a request he made crystal clear to Ded.
“Understood,” he said. “Shall I show you to your quarters?’
“Please. And make sure the men know not to change in public, unless I’ve ordered them to do so for city defense.” He loathed the necessity of this, how such concealment felt like shame, but it wouldn’t do to frighten anyone in Hallowell.
“As you command, sire.” Here, Dedrick hesitated, leading them into a nondescript tenement building. “I wasn’t certain of how many suites you will require…”
Without even thinking about it, he wrapped an arm about Sheyla and pulled her to him. “One. The good doctor remains with me.”