of the lupi around him—not even Cullen, as good a friend as he was—could be allowed to suspect that Rule’s control was less than flawless. That was duty, not politics. A Rho’s first duty to his clan was to be strong enough to control both his own wolf and all the wolves of the clan, if necessary. Even Victor Frey, a cruel and crazy bastard of a Rho, had possessed that cardinal virtue: his control was absolute. Or it had always appeared to be so.
According to Isen, the second was almost as good as the first. No Rho possessed perfect control, so it was best to strive always for the first, but accept the necessity of the second on rare occasions.
According to Isen, a Rho could deceive his clan in other ways, too.
For him to lie outright to them dishonored both Rho and clan, causing a terrible sundering of trust . . . unless it was necessary. If a lie was essential to the clan’s well-being, if all other choices meant worse harm, then a Rho should lie. He must do it brilliantly, so that his clan never suspected. Never for convenience. Never to avoid something you dreaded, or in support of any but the most vital goal. And chances were, if a Rho found himself in the position of having to speak a baldfaced lie to his clan, he had bungled things badly.
Rule had asked, of course. When his father gave him this advice shortly after naming him Lu Nuncio, Rule had asked. Twice, Isen had said. Twice in the fifty-some years he’d been Rho, he had lied to the clan. And no, he would not tell Rule what those lies were.
Rule supposed that two lies in over five decades was a fairly strong vote in favor of honesty.
Misdirection, now . . . the lie by omission, the partial truth, the subtle weaving of expression, gesture, and words to either deceive or confuse . . . Isen had a rather higher opinion of misdirection. He considered it acceptable over a fairly broad range. This was no surprise, coming as it did from a grand master of that slippery art.
But always, always, the compass must be pointed at the welfare of the clan.
Rule didn’t even consider lying today. He could simply say they would not go to the hospital. He didn’t have to explain. But his people, both Nokolai and Leidolf, would speculate. Why not get Cullen treated? What did Rule know? Was it no longer safe to be publicly lupus? Did he fear a specific attack by their enemy? Was Rule’s control unequal to spending a few hours at an ER?
Such speculation did not serve the clan. Either clan. And so Rule arrived back where he’d started. He had to take Cullen to the ER.
He emerged from his thoughts to find Cullen’s eyes, burning blue, fixed on his face again. He found a smile and squeezed Cullen’s shoulder. “Nearly there.”
“And then it really gets fun.”
“I’m afraid so.” Cullen still had language. Good. Rule hadn’t been sure. Most lupi this far into the wolf would already be four-footed . . . but that’s why Rule was here. He continued to draw on the Nokolai mantle, projecting calm. “The Leidolf Rhej will be there. She’ll help. Will you be able to use the pain-blocking spell during the debridement?”
“If they’re quick.”
The spell was one Cynna had found or devised. It worked extremely well. Unfortunately, it didn’t just shut down pain—it shut down healing. The body forgot it was injured.
First and worst, blood didn’t clot. Even when blood loss wasn’t an issue, the spell caused damage. The entire complex dance of healing was disrupted—fibroblasts didn’t form; white cells and other immune agents didn’t speed to the wound; the endocrine system grew confused; hormonal signals were missed or went unsent. Lupi healing could quickly right such imbalances, yet the spell was as dangerous for them as for humans. It was a power hog, a vampire. Even when employed as a charm—the only way most lupi could use a spell—it would somehow drain a lupus’s healing power itself.
Still, used for very brief intervals, the spell could be a boon, and Cullen could use it more safely than most of them. Not that Rule entirely trusted Cullen’s notion of safety. He studied his friend’s face and sighed. “You’ve already tapped into it, haven’t you?”
“Some.”
“Cullen—”
“Not stupid. Made sure it drew from my diamond, not me. Had to talk to Cynna, didn’t I? Didn’t want to scare her.”
“You