he had taken his seat, he folded his hands on the table and gazed blandly at Le Garou as if waiting for him to read from a menu, or serve up some tea. His calmness astounded Wynter; it reminded her exactly what Razi was capable of.
Oliver moved to stand at Alberon’s back, his hands resting on the handle of his sword, consciously mirroring Le Garou’s three watchful guards.
‘Protector Lady,’ said Alberon, ‘you will attend?’
Wynter nodded stiffly, grateful that he had chosen to recognise her and not, as would have been his right, ignored her and shamed her into leaving of her own accord. She did not commit the horrible presumption of sitting at the treaty table, nor did she set herself up as Oliver’s equal in guarding the Prince, but she crossed instead to take a seat on the relative obscurity of Alberon’s cot.
The row of Seconds followed her movement with bemused interest. Even before crossing the tent, she had succeeded in forcing down her rage. By the time she took her seat, she felt almost nothing – so deeply had she buried her feelings. Her face cold, her hands steady, she settled herself on Alberon’s cot, then stared at the leering Wolves until they looked away. Their expressions gave no doubt that they presumed her to be Razi’s woman, and the idea of it entertained them no end.
‘Pretty,’ murmured Gérard.
‘But small,’ added Pierre, ‘scarcely more than a mouthful.’
Wynter glanced at Razi and Alberon, expecting them to rage, but either they had not heard or they refused to be needled by it. Pierre smirked to himself and licked his lips.
Were you at the tavern? thought Wynter suddenly. Was it you? She knew it was not. These higher-ranking Wolves had not been involved in those terrible deeds at the Wherry Tavern. Still, looking at their faces, Wynter could not help but recall the feel of teeth and fur against her cheek, the clench of iron-strong arms around her body, the hot blast of a chuckle in her ear. Christopher had sacrificed himself to save her from them, but the landlord’s daughters had not been so lucky. The face of the eldest girl was a clear memory, bruised and swollen and white with shock the next day, her little sister’s broken body laid out before them on the kitchen table. Wynter closed her hand on the hilt of her sword. Her face betrayed nothing, but there was a sudden acid pain in her belly, and she wondered if it was all her hidden anger and fear, finally burning itself into the pit of her stomach.
There was a small movement beside her and she slid her eyes left. Coriolanus cowered in his little nest, his beautiful eyes huge. Wynter thought she had never seen a cat so close to tears. Forcing her fingers to release her weapon, Wynter reached and discreetly stroked his trembling back. It seemed to comfort Cori a little, but it also centred Wynter and let her think.
David Le Garou pushed back the embroidered tails of his moss-green coat and resumed his seat. ‘Your Highness—’ he began.
‘You have brought slaves to this camp,’ interrupted Razi.
‘Oh, are we to speak of slaves?’ asked Le Garou, raising his eyebrows in fascination and folding his gloved hands on the tabletop.
‘They are forbid here.’
Le Garou sighed patiently. ‘I remind you, slaves are only forbid to those residing in your father’s kingdom, al-Sayyid. Travellers are allowed their property.’
‘Only if travelling the port road, and only after paying the appropriate taxes. We are far from the port road here, David, and I have yet to hear of Wolves paying taxes.’
‘I have dispensation.’ Le Garou looked pointedly to Alberon.
‘I did not sanction the conveyance of human chattels,’ corrected Alberon.
Le Garou sat back, spreading his hands in mock defeat. ‘Then I shall set them loose,’ he said. ‘Perhaps they’ll be fortunate enough to find work somewhere – or perhaps they can throw themselves on your charity, al-Sayyid? Your generosity being what it is.’
Razi lowered his chin, his lip curled back to reply, but Alberon silenced them both with a raised hand.
‘Enough!’ he said sharply. ‘We have business to discuss, and I shall not be distracted from it! Monsieur Le Garou, when you are resident here I shall not tolerate the retention of slaves. Those whom you and your men cannot gainfully employ, you must free with ample purse to set them up in a trade. You understand?’
Le Garou shrugged. Wynter and Razi gaped at Alberon. When you are