stepped back as Razi clucked his mare past them, heading for the thoroughfare. Christopher pulled his horse into line behind him. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, and it was clear that he intended leaving without saying goodbye to his Merron friends.
‘Coinín,’ called Úlfnaor. The young man paused. ‘Fear óg thú, a Choinín. Tá neart ama agat.
’ Christopher nodded without looking back and went to kick on.
‘I will mind the little boy!’ called Úlfnaor. ‘You not needs to worry.’
Christopher reined his horse around, his eyes wide, and with a surge of painful understanding, Wynter realised that Úlfnaor had hit upon the source of his distress.
‘He’s so small,’ said Christopher urgently, ‘he ain’t got a chance against them.’
Úlfnaor shook his head. ‘They not get him.’
‘You need to watch them all the time, though. Watch Jean! Make him understand that if he does aught, we’ll remember it. Let them know that we are strong.’
‘I swears it,’ soothed the Aoire. ‘You not to worry.’
Christopher blushed suddenly, as if embarrassed by his outburst, and he straightened. Nodding curtly, he pulled his horse back around and glanced at Razi, who turned without further word and led the way between the tents. Wynter fell into place behind them, Sól, Boro and a cranky little pack mule trailing after. They followed Razi up the alley and out onto the road, where they fanned out behind him in unplanned unison, an unlikely squad of mismatched knights backing their Lord.
There had been no plans for ceremony, but of course the soldiers had gathered to witness the departure of the man upon whom they were all dependent. Alberon and Oliver were standing at the head of the slope, and they watched as Razi led his little entourage to the base of the hill. It was not possible that a crown prince would come to stand by a lord’s horse, squinting up at him like some common groom, so Alberon waited, his face bland, as Razi slid from his mount and trudged his way up the slope to kneel at his feet. Wynter scanned the crowd as Alberon gave Razi his blessing. She was appeased by the hopeful expectancy in the men’s faces. They had truly taken Albi’s words to heart, it seemed, and she could see no trace of sullenness or the repressed aggression of before.
It brought a mingling of unease and relief that the Loups-Garous were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they were simply too ill to be bothered. Let them stay abed, she thought, discreetly scanning the tents behind her. Let them keep their damned faces away and allow us to depart in peace. But it was a futile wish and her heart twisted with bleak anger as she saw Jean, his clothes crumpled, his pale hair tossed, stagger to the edge of the road and sneer at the proceedings on the hill.
Neither Sól nor Christopher noticed the Wolf ’s presence, and Wynter faced front so that she would not draw their attention to him. The Wolves would not be a problem in any case. Razi was right: Alberon’s promises had tamed them, and they would do nothing now but posture. They knew that their future depended on Razi’s survival. Even they would not be foolish enough to risk their fortunes in avenging the death of a slave.
At the royal tent, Razi rose to his feet. The Royal Prince took a letter from his coat, looked at it for a moment, then handed it over. Razi took it with a bow. Then Alberon, ever impulsive, broke the air of solemn formality and pulled his brother in for a hug. His voice drifted faintly down the brightening air as he tousled Razi’s curls and, like a man years senior to his brother, said, ‘Take care of yourself, you damned pup.’
Wynter smiled at the exasperation on Razi’s face as he raked his hair into order and came striding down the hill.
As Razi took to his horse, Alberon met Wynter’s eye and smiled. He lifted his hand in fond farewell. Wynter nodded a bow. Adieu, brother. We shall meet soon.
‘Come along,’ said Razi, turning to face into the morning light. ‘Let us fly. Our time is gold.’
The soldiers had already begun to turn away, their minds drifting to the many chores that made up the military day. As the entourage urged their horses down through the dusty camp, Wynter saw Razi’s head turn to the silent darkness of the Midland quarters. He was, perhaps, hoping that the Lady Mary would