know each other,’ he said tightly.
Le Garou shrugged and spread his hands. ‘We have met, in passing. Now and again.’
‘You have done your best these past five years to destabilise my relations within the Moroccan court,’ said Razi. ‘You have done everything you can to use me to drive a wedge between the Sultan and my father. I ask again, why are you here?’
‘The dealings at court were not my idea,’ tutted David. ‘That was my father, the great André Le Garou. It is he who tries to distance the Sultan from his old allies. I have no personal opinion on who rules the Moroccos. But we all must support our fathers, must we not? In word and in deed. One must do one’s father’s bidding . . . Still,’ the Wolf smiled slyly, ‘if my father has been a trouble to you you have never seemed too discomfited, al-Sayyid. If he has offended you in speech or act, you have yet to let it show.’
‘Your father thought I would cry havoc, did he not?’ said Razi. ‘He thought that my pride would drive me to act rashly. He hoped I would run riot with some bloody-handed vendetta and so damage my standing as a diplomat. No doubt he thought a half-breed boy-prince would never have had the self-control to let such an act go.’
Le Garou shrugged. ‘If so, you proved him wrong. How proud that must make you feel.’
Alberon looked warily from Le Garou to Razi, not understanding. ‘What did you do?’ he asked the Wolf.
Le Garou smiled again. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘al-Sayyid thinks we damaged his property . . . some trifling act of vandalism for which he blames us. It is not unusual. The Loups-Garous tend to get blamed for such things. It’s just the way the world is.’
Wynter realised with a sudden jolt of horror that he was speaking of Christopher and of what had been done to him. It was abruptly, shockingly clear that Christopher’s terrible mutilation, the theft of all that he was, had been done for no other reason than to get at Razi. It had been nothing more than a vicious jab at al-Sayyid. Christopher had been taken and broken like a stolen toy, all as a petty attempt to goad Razi into vengeance and ruin his reputation in the Sultan’s court.
She stared at David Le Garou’s slyly smiling face and understood at last the depths of Razi’s restraint and of Christopher’s patience. For nearly four years, her friends had suppressed their rage and their grief, all for the sake of this kingdom. Wynter wondered how often in those years Razi had told Christopher soon, soon, and how often he had needed to go back on his word.
The hounds outside the tent raised their voices once more, and Wynter struggled to quell the hatred that rose within her and the rage that threatened to cloud her vision.
‘Jesu, Razi,’ sighed Alberon wearily. ‘Whatever these men did, I shall be certain they make reparation for it, but now is not the time to settle old scores. Horse theft and broken trinkets will need to be put aside for the time being. We have bigger things to hand.’
‘Yes, al-Sayyid,’ said Le Garou, smirking at Razi. ‘Please do not fret. Though the Wolves have naught to do with your loss, I am certain we should have no trouble replacing your damaged goods. After all, though rare here, such things are ten a penny where we come from. I believe I may even have some with me, if I look in my baggage.’
The Wolf called Jean snickered, and Alberon and Oliver looked sharply at him. Wynter saw a cold resolve harden in Alberon’s face, and it served to settle her nauseating rage. She knew that Alberon could not possibly have grasped the context of the Wolves’ vile needling, but the look on the Prince’s face told her that he would not tolerate their sly amusement at his brother’s expense. Whatever Alberon’s original thoughts towards Razi’s inclusion in these talks, Wynter was certain the Wolves had just won their rival a place at the Prince’s table.
Sure enough, Alberon patted the chair on his left. ‘Brother,’ he said, ‘come now, and take your place by me. As ever, I should benefit from your contribution to my affairs. Your insights are always so acute.’
Le Garou lost his smile, and Razi rounded the table to sit at the Prince’s left hand. He was darkly contained, his movements smooth and unhurried. When