The watchtower was cozier than any Ammas had seen. The fire damage was less extensive than innkeeper rumor made it out to be, restricted to a few gaps in the thatched roof and some blackening of the upper story. In Munazyr, the watchtowers between Kyrantine's Wall and Peddlers' Gate were manned until they were nothing but crumbling shells. Ammas grinned as he went about his work, thinking of what the Munazyri might have to say about Vilain decadence.

Even with the minimal fire damage, the tower was perfect for his purposes. The sole door was heavy oak and ironbound, the lock still in good working order (though it opened easily enough to his twinhooks). The stair to the second story was narrow and winding, easy enough for him to block should Carala truly run wild. And the stones were thick enough that her howls might be muted. That it was also defensible against an attack from outside was welcome, but something he tried not to think about just now.

Casimir was frowning in concentration across the table from him. The scraps of bark Ammas had provided him were a little too damp, and so the work of scribing Therkostic words on them with the skymetal dagger gifted to him by Doyenne Sulivar was even more difficult than it should have been. This was not totally unintentional: Ammas needed functional words of warding, and while he wanted to teach Casimir this fundamental skill, he also wanted an excuse not to use his product if it wasn't up to his requirements. Had they six weeks to prepare, he might have done differently. Still, that didn't stop him from feeling a trifle guilty at seeing the boy's mounting frustration as the tip of his dagger crumbled or even split the soft bark as he gamely went about engraving the words.

As Casimir set his blade to a new scrap of bark, Ammas laid down his own dagger and studied the boy thoughtfully. He had seemed in a better mood since they'd met again at the Hethraeum, and had thanked Ammas profusely upon returning to the Kettle Red and being given back his dagger. But Ammas thought he was still much too quiet. The Casimir he knew would have been overflowing with questions at a new lesson such as this, and perhaps about what would happen at moonrise as well. For the first time he had begun to wonder if it wasn't only Denisius with whom Othma might have held a private conversation.

"You know," Ammas said conversationally as he ran his thumb along the blade of his dagger, testing its edge, "I would have thought you'd be more curious about finally learning a curse from me."

Casimir looked up, startled. "Is that what this is?"

Ammas smiled. "It is indeed. When we're finished here, we'll go out into the preserve and hang these fragments on the trees at its edge. They won't cause any pain, but they should fill anyone who approaches the woods tonight with a sense of dread strong enough to convince them to go elsewhere. The deeper they try to go into the forest, the worse it will get, until they'll begin to imagine seeing things. Dangerous beasts and the like. I don't really expect many people tonight, but if Carala is going to be roaming in wolf shape it's the best way to make sure she doesn't hurt anyone."

"What about you?" Casimir frowned.

"Carala will not hurt me. Don't worry about that."

Casimir set down his blade and looked hard at Ammas. There was a scrutiny there he hadn't seen much, and, Ammas thought, a touch of buried anger as well. "Why are you so sure?"

Ammas met his apprentice's gaze evenly. For the first time since he had taken Casimir in, he saw mistrust in his eyes. "I think she has the wolf under control for now. Carala in her true self has come to see us all as her friends. You were able to help her keep the wolf at bay when we were attacked. She won't forget such kindnesses, even as a wolf."

Barthim had told him he ought to wait to talk to Ammas about Carala, but in the end Casimir followed his own heart on the matter. Ammas meant too much to him. "It's not because you're -- bonding her to you?"

Ammas stared at Casimir. The boy would not look away, and he knew there was no eliding this; no soothing him with empty words until he made up his own mind on whether he would follow Othma's directives. He ought to have realized by now that Othma hadn't cornered the boy in Autumnsgrove; he had simply been eavesdropping again. "I don't know, Casimir," he said at last. "Carala isn't what I expected a daughter of the Emperor to be. Do you understand we may not be able to cure her?"

"But Othma said -- "

"Think on this, Casimir. What if the wolf that was created by the ritual died a hundred years ago? No heart left, unless we could find dust. With no heart there is no cure. Do you know what we are supposed to do to a werewolf who can't be cured?"

"You wouldn't kill her. You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't want to," Ammas agreed. "And neither would you. But what do we do to make sure she's safe? That she doesn't kill people in turn, even if she doesn't want to?"

"The wolf would -- chase her soul out of her?"

"Some of the Ninefold faiths believe that, yes." Ammas's grave expression softened a little. "You've been talking to Barthim."

Smiling sheepishly, Casimir nodded.

"It's as good an explanation as any for what often happens to untreated werewolves. I don't want the wolf to do that. If it could save what there is of Carala's soul, how could I not bond her to me?"

Casimir's smile vanished at once. "And you'd kill Denisius to do it."

"I would not," Ammas said. There was a softness in his voice that Casimir didn't understand. "Let's stop pretending you weren't listening in on me and Othma." Casimir flushed but nodded, looking down and fidgeting with his bark scraps. "You heard what she said. You know she is furious with Carala's and Denisius's families. I have thought a great deal about this, Casimir. More than you know."

So he had, laying awake for hours every night since they had left Autumnsgrove, imagining scenarios where he could contrive to get Lord Marhollow on his own to dispose of him, or finding a reason to send him back to Coldspring Hall. Such a thing would have been child's play. Even Vos had come to regard him as the leader of this little band, and whatever differences Denisius might have with him over Carala's treatment, he knew the young man was simply too callow to gainsay him on much of anything. There might even have been a trace of respect growing there.

And so when he began to entertain sly little fantasies of bringing Denisius to some isolated place and slipping his skymetal blade into his ribs, or into the back of his neck, his stomach roiled and shame welled up in his heart in icy pools. He could just imagine what his father might have said about such notions, and the words he would have had for Othma. He remembered the staunch way Denisius had reminded him that he had an interest in Carala's well being more than anyone else here did, and the way he held out his sword in the ruined temple, even though its tip shivered with the fear running up and down his arm.

Kill Denisius? He might as well kill a child. If Othma were right, it would be necessary to impress the she-wolf inside Carala, but over the last few days he had begun to realize he simply could not do it. If Denisius had been more in the mold of Silenio Deyn, or Denisius's own elder brother Lorith, about whom Vos had spoken most dismissively a few times during their journey, he might have felt otherwise. But as things stood he saw nothing but a perfectly pleasant young man, helpful and generous, willing to place himself in harm's way to save his intended. Anything he might reap from murdering such a man -- any partnership he might forge with Carala-the-wolf as a result of it -- would not be worth keeping.

With a pang of regret Ammas remembered how she had felt against him down in the Munazyr tunnels, the faint stirring of a longing he thought his body no longer capable of producing. If Othma were right, that would be lost as well, if he could not bring himself to put Denisius to the sword. But he had no idea how he might live with the return of such physical sweetness if it were tainted with the knowledge that it had been bought with blood.

How he might communicate all this to Casimir, he didn't know. So all he said was, "I think Othma's anger is greater than her sense when it comes to the princess, and to Denisius's family. I think -- and this is not something I have ever really said about her -- I think she is wrong. I don't think hurting Denisius would impress Carala's wolf at all. If you heard everything she said, you know she said that someone who tried to bond Carala out of cruelty wouldn't be able to do it. What would be crueler than killing Denisius?"

Casimir studied him, his face drawn more with concern than anger. "Are you in love with Carala?"

"I care about her as a client," Ammas said stiffly. The spiteful way in which she had mentioned his father just a little while ago and his utterly unprofessional response returned to his memory with the acid pain of a sour lemon squirted into the eyes. "At the moment I'm sure her feelings for me are anything but tender."

Casimir knew at once this was nothing but misdirection, but he let it go. "Would she want to be bonded to you, Ammas? Even if you can't cure her, would she really want that?"

"I don't know. Wouldn't it be preferable to killing her?"