to the palace, no more to speak of this, and life will simply continue on.’
Oliver stepped back, his face set, and bowed. ‘I shall do my best, Protector Lady. Please God, by tonight the lord and the Prince will be in communication once again.’
He turned away.
Christopher squeezed Wynter’s hand and she shut her eyes. Please, love, she thought, don’t say anything. She did not think she could bear him trying to defend her father. She did not think she could bear questions. To have to open her mouth and articulate all the terrible things she now suspected Lorcan of having done was beyond her power. But, to her great relief, Christopher did not speak. He just maintained a patient, waiting silence, and Wynter loved him for it. She loved him more for every minute he was alive.
‘Gérard was listening,’ he whispered.
She snapped her eyes open to see the dark-skinned Wolf step from the shadow of a tent and hurry to catch up with Oliver. He swerved around in front of the striding knight and bowed smoothly. Oliver kept walking and Gérard walked backwards, keeping pace.
‘You aim to reconcile the Prince and the Pretender, sir? ’ asked Gérard. ‘Would that be wise? I fear the Prince would be livid with you if he thought you’d sided with the upstart contender for his throne.’
Oliver replied coldly, still striding forward, ‘If you value your teeth, you will remove yourself from my path.’
Gérard stepped aside with exaggerated grace and allowed Oliver to sweep past him. He watched as the knight climbed the path and disappeared into Alberon’s quarters; then the Wolf turned and smiled from under his eyes at Christopher.
‘So your master still keeps you, does he, pup? You must have some wondrous skills to have stayed in favour so long – and you nothing but a cripple.’ Gérard licked his teeth and looked Christopher up and down in a way that made Wynter want to cut the eyes from his head. ‘Oh aye,’ said the Wolf. ‘I’d wager you have learned many a way to please. I’ve no doubt al-Sayyid rattles your bells whenever he chooses.’ Gerard chuckled. ‘I’ve always said there’s no better music than that of slave bells, sounding out their rhythm in the dark.’ With that he tipped a gracious bow to Wynter and strolled away into the dying light.
‘Scum,’ hissed Christopher. ‘Scum!
’ Wynter took hold of his clenched fist. Her throat was so tightly packed with rage that it took a moment before she could speak. ‘They are only words, love,’ she managed. ‘Just words.’
Christopher tore his hand from hers and spun to go. His angry face grew even darker at the sight of Jean blocking the path. Unaware of Wynter and Christopher, the big, broad-shouldered Wolf was crouched by the supply tent, face to face with Alberon’s little servant, Anthony. As they watched, the Wolf leaned close and murmured into the child’s ear. Jean’s voice was inaudible to Wynter, but at his words the already frightened little boy turned white and his body went rigid with terror. Still whispering, Jean smiled and ran his fingers through the silky fineness of the boy’s hair.
With a low sound of fury, Christopher darted forward. But even as he and Wynter rushed towards him, Jean rose to his feet, pinched the child’s cheek and wandered off in the direction of the Wolves’ quarters. Anthony was left staring at nothing, his cauldron of water held stiffly before him, his little chest rising and falling in rapid, terrified breaths.
‘What did he want?’ snarled Christopher, dropping to his knees beside the child.
Anthony yelled in fright and jumped back, slopping water from the cauldron.
‘What did he want!’ shouted Christopher.
Wynter laid a restraining hand on Christopher’s arm. ‘It is all right, Anthony,’ she murmured. ‘Freeman Garron does not mean you harm.’
But the little servant took another step back, his eyes fixed on Christopher. His terror seemed only increased by the fury on the young man’s face. Christopher did not seem to even notice the poor child’s distress. ‘Tell me what he wanted!’ he cried, grabbing Anthony by his narrow shoulders. ‘You have to tell me!’
Wynter tightened her grip on Christopher’s arm and crouched down. ‘Anthony,’ she said. It took him a moment to tear his gaze from her friend. ‘It is all right,’ she said again. ‘You may go.’
The boy fled, heedless of the water he was slopping over himself, running frantically for the hill and the safety of Alberon’s tent. Christopher went to lurch to his