“If you want some advice,” Duke George Louis said suddenly, once most people had drifted away, “I would have left it at the vague suggestion that some werewolves would like better pay. You had the room eating out of your hands up to that point.”

That was probably good advice, Greg had to admit. Aloud he said: “Who knows when I will get an opportunity again to speak publicly like this?”

George Louis shook his head. “That is precisely my point,” he said. “You could have made your demands now, in private, and stick in their memory as the young man who duped Lady de Clare – an ally, not someone competing for the same resources. The council are hardly the people who can grant your request in any case.”

“True,” Greg said. “But if no one else hears me state something, it also becomes so much easier for you to make promises in private and never follow through, doesn’t it?”

“I would be a fool if I did. If people cannot trust my word, how can they ever accept me as king?”

Greg shrugged. “And who would trust a werewolf, if it was my word against yours?”

“Playing the victim does not suit you. Of course people would trust you.”

Greg folded his arms across his chest. “Really. You really think others will trust me while you make it a point yourself to never get within arms’ reach of me?”

“That is purely your imagination,” the duke sniffed. “Excuse me now.”

He had filled his plate and made it a point to walk right past Greg. But when Greg looked at Thoko, she muttered: “I don’t think you’re imagining anything.”

“Me neither,” David added. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s good you showed these people that their idea of a werewolf is wrong.”

Greg looked around the room uncomfortably. He might have shown them that a werewolf wasn’t a mindless beast, but he had also ousted himself. People were staring at him like he was an exhibit escaped from the zoo.

“That was quite a speech!”

Marquess Picot was back now that the de Clares had walked away to bother someone else.

“My congratulations,” the Marquess went on, smiling almost grandfatherly. “Quite a speech indeed. I, for one, shall keep in mind what you said. To have the far shores of the Savre cleansed – a year ago, I’d have asked how drunk you are! Breachpoint could finally expand beyond this island!”

“Thank you,” Greg said. He was a little overwhelmed, but incredibly glad that there was at least one person beyond David, Lane, and Thoko who wasn’t scared of him at all. “You, uh, you wouldn’t happen to know more about these people, Marquess Picot? The de Clares, I mean? I never heard of them.”

“That’s hardly surprising, Lord Feleke,” Picot said. He glanced around to make sure nobody listened in, and continued: “I was honestly surprised to see them here myself. They’re from the very south of Loegrion, an old family, but quite the reputation. Lord de Clare can trace his ancestors back to the house of Rous, I’m sure you heard of them. But recently, the family has fallen on hard times financially. I reckon it’s because that lady has too much say – don’t get me wrong,” Picot added quickly, looking at deLande. “There’s nothing wrong in general with a woman ruling her land. But that woman...”

Picot shook his head, glancing once again over to where the de Clares were having a heated argument with Marquess Rover. “That dress alone must have cost a fortune, let alone the jewellery,” he muttered. “No sense of moderation, that woman. Or decency. I wonder how she paid for those clothes. Or rather: who paid for them.”

Picot lowered his voice even further. “I wouldn’t turn my back on them in the duke’s place. They claimed right away they’d support the Lackland rebellion, but their word is worth less than their credit, if you ask me. And Lord de Clare is a duellist of some renown, quite fast on the draw. He killed several men and is no longer welcomed at Deva Court for it.”

The Marquess paused and then qualified: “Of course, they’d be foolish to act here. They would never make it out of the city.”

David still excused himself to go and find the duke.

“If de Clare killed someone in a fair duel,” Greg said slowly, “why is he no longer welcomed in Deva?”

“Ah, you spotted the issue right away, haven’t you?” Picot shuddered. “There’s been rumours that not all his opponents were, ah, aware that they were in a duel.”

Greg blinked.

“But then it’s not a duel at all,” Thoko already said. “That’s just murder!”

“Quite so,” Picot said. “Quite so. Nothing’s been proven, of course.”

Greg looked over to the de Clares again. Just as he did, Lord de Clare turned to glare at him, and for a second, their eyes met. Greg looked away quickly. House of Rous, Picot had said, that was quite a name. The previous dynasty of Roi Soleis had come from that family.

“Say,” Marquess Picot went on, squinting over to David and the duke, “your brother is quite dedicated to supporting Duke George Louis?”

Greg nodded.

“Only, I heard the two of them had a falling out of sorts, back in the day.”

Greg froze when Marquess Picot looked at him slyly. The man was supposed to be a blundering idiot!

“I remember they used to be quite close as boys, were they not? But it ended rather abruptly, didn’t it?”

Greg couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Picot knew.

“I guess they used to be friends,” he said, trying to sound like it was no big deal. “And I think there was some kind of argument, yes, but I was only a kid back then. It’s not surprising, though, they don’t really share the same values. David isn’t a ladder climber.”

“What changed?” Picot asked. “Clearly, they reconciled.”

“What changed? I got bitten,” Greg said. “I think David felt guilty that he couldn’t prevent it. And after I had run away once, well, he decided to keep an eye on me when I got sucked up into the duke’s plans.”

“He is the best werewolf hunter in all of Loegrion,” Lane cut in. “I don’t think there was any way for him to stay out of this – he’s not the kind of man to watch from the sidelines, and if he does take on a cause, he certainly doesn’t do it half-heartedly.”

She managed to sound so proud, if he hadn’t known better, even Greg would have totally believed that she and David were courting.

“You are quite a lucky woman,” Marquess Picot noted.

Lane beamed at him. “I truly am. And I think I should remind Lady de Clare that a pretty dress isn’t all men want in a woman. If you’ll excuse me.”

Lane somehow managed to glide across the floor even in her leather skirts and boots. David offered her his arm when she reached him. Just like Lane had predicted, Lady de Clare promptly threw a poisonous look in their direction.

“What a couple,” Marquess Picot muttered.

Greg watched with some relief how David bowed formally to the duke before he allowed Lane to lead him over to the small dance floor where a couple of councilmembers were dancing with their wives. There was a severity in the way his brother interacted with George Louis which at least should ensure that nobody would consider they had ever been lovers.

“Ah, but let us not stand around here,” Picot said. “Let me introduce you to the mayor of Breachpoint!”

Greg had a strong feeling that the mayor of Breachpoint wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. But since he had crashed the party already, he might as well see if he couldn’t allay some fears.

Picot was undeterred by the mayor’s rather nervous greeting. He continued to pull Greg from one councilmember to the next, until they had done a full circuit of the room, and even spoken to most of the lower nobility present. At this point, Greg decided he had enough of being stared at like a wild and dangerous animal for one night. He and Thoko made their excuses and went to see if there was any beer left in the city.

They picked the first bar they walked past, filled almost wall to wall with soldiers. Some of them seemed to recognize Greg – they certainly recognized Thoko – but unlike the councilmembers, they didn’t seem bothered by his presence. There was plenty of beer left, too.

“Beer’s free tonight,” the woman behind the counter told them. “Anything else, you gotta pay up front.”

“We’ll take two beers,” Thoko said, while Greg was still trying to decide if he wanted something stronger, too. He pulled up his purse – two purses actually, one inside the other – to see how much coin he had, but then couldn’t bring himself to actually open it.

Thoko eyed him knowingly. “What would you like?” she asked, holding out a hand.

“I’m not even sure how much money is in there,” Greg said and handed her the bag.

He looked away when Thoko opened first one string, then the other holding it closed. He hated the way his fingers flinched when he just thought about touching the coins inside.

“We’ll be fine. Are we going to get a room in the city?” Thoko asked. “I don’t feel like walking back to Oldstone Castle this late.”

“We’d never get there before sunrise,” Greg agreed. “Yeah, we’ll get a room.”

Thoko took a couple of silvers and offered him the rest of the money back.

“Keep it?” Greg asked. “It’s – I have no idea why it bothers me so much.”

“Well, I mean, we both know why,” Thoko said, securing the purse at her belt.

Greg sipped at his beer, rolling his shoulder uncomfortably. “Fire doesn’t bother me.”

“True,” Thoko said. “But fire burns everyone. Maybe the fear of it is something learned rather than – instinctual.”

“Maybe,” Greg muttered. But why now? Half the time it wasn’t even an issue.

“It’s half moon tonight,” Thoko added, as if she had read his thoughts. “And the moon is waxing.”

“Something to look forward to,” Greg said darkly.

Tomorrow, they’d leave for Brines, David had decided so. Apparently, he had already informed their parents. Greg would have preferred to go to Courtenay, even though he understood the reasoning that Brines was easier to reach, since it had a railway station. They probably shouldn’t take the Morgulon to a place too remote. He just didn’t have very good memories of the ramshackle house there, and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to spending another full moon night in the basement.

Greg ordered some liquor once his beer glass was empty. The barmaid looked strangely at him as Thoko paid for it.

“Not good?” Thoko asked because he grimaced at the taste.

Greg shook his head. Once the glass was empty, he decided to try a different drink, but wasn’t quite satisfied with that, either.

“Let’s see if we can find some music,” he said finally.

A few hours later, they ended up in front of the tiny train station that had been squeezed into the unyielding corset of Breachpoint’s walls. Greg hadn’t had time to appreciate the engineering when they had first come to Breachpoint a few days ago. With the Rot coming down the Savre in scores, and the far shores of the river a swamp teeming with the creatures, there could be no holes in the walls left open. So the gates that secured the railtrack leading in and out of the city were cut to close precisely over the sleepers. To make sure nothing got in through a crack, sacks full of salt were piled in front of the silver lined doors.

“I wonder what they did during construction,” Thoko said.

“Must have been one hell of a security issue,” Greg agreed. “And they didn’t even have werewolves.” He shook his head. “Can you feel it? The Rot, I mean?”

“Go stand over there,” Thoko said. She smiled when Greg pretended to pout. “I certainly can’t feel anything if you’re this close,” she explained and pushed him gently.

Greg almost lost his balance but obediently staggered along the narrow but long yard in front of the station. He couldn’t remember drinking all that much?

“You can come back,” Thoko called after him before he was more than halfway across. She met him on the way back and linked arms with him. “Yeah, I can feel the Rot.”

“I didn’t even drink that much, did I?” Greg asked, trying not to lean on her too heavily.

Thoko laughed. “You don’t remember the gin? You had a whole bottle of that. And beer. And you wanted to try everything else they had at that last bar.”

“Yeah, but I could have sworn the barkeeper kicked us out before I was halfway through.”

“Can you blame him? He probably didn’t want to have to deal with a dead body.” Thoko pulled him down onto a bench in front of the station, probably so he wouldn’t stagger around anymore. “I think the moon just set,” she added with a look at the sky. “Probably why it’s kicking in kind of suddenly.”

“Nice.”

“Really?”

“Not really.”

He still felt the same vague discontent from earlier, and he still didn’t have a clue what he actually wanted. Or if it was, in fact, him wanting anything or perhaps that weird other part of him.

“Why did we come here again?” he asked after a moment.

“You said you wanted to see the station.”

“Oh.” Right, he had said so.

“I take it you don’t want to stay here?”

Greg shook his head, but caught himself. “You don’t have to, you know, trail after me running up and down the city all night,” he said. “If you wanna get some rest... There’s hotels around, I’m sure.”

“It’s fine, Greg.”

“Thank you. For putting up with this.”

He got to his feet somewhat unsteadily.

“Is this you or the wolf?” Thoko asked, following him down the nearest street. Greg wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, but it hardly mattered. It was hard to get truly lost in a city where you could almost always see the outer walls.

“I got no clue.”

He slowed when they reached the large plaza where the last remains of the pyres smouldered in the dark. A cool breeze from the sea blew into his face, carrying the smell of salt and seaweed just for a moment before the smoke took over.

Greg glanced back towards the town hall, where nothing moved. The nobles had probably gone to bed by now. The mourners were gone, too.

Thoko already walked towards the banister to stare down into the depth.

“Anything magical down there?” Greg asked.

“No need to sound so cynical,” Thoko replied. “Spirit animals do exist.”

“Sure. Like unicorns.”

“Or the Rukh.”

Greg tried to decipher her face in the dark. Was she really serious?

“A bird, big enough to destroy a ship. And a giant otter that glows in the dark?”

Thoko laughed about the doubt in his voice. “Says the werewolf? You transform into a giant wolf once a month. How can you of all people not believe in other mythical creatures?”

Her laughter was beautiful. He had noticed before, but tonight, it seemed to be even more so.

“What?” Thoko asked when he kept staring at her.

“I’d like to kiss you. If you don’t mind.”

“You are quite drunk, aren’t you? I expected you to do so ages ago. But no, I don’t mind.”

Greg stared at her some more.

“Well?”

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

Thoko smiled but sighed. “Really, Greg? Fine.”

Before he could make sense of her words, she kissed him. She pulled away again almost as fast – only an inch or two – and whispered into his ear: “Now it’s your turn.”

So Greg kissed her back, even though he wasn’t really sure what he was doing or what exactly he should be doing. It was possible the most awkward thing he had ever done, but at the same time, the best thing for certain.

Thoko took his hands, placing them around her own waist, leaning into the touch. When Greg pulled away, she whispered. “We’ll practise that.”

Greg ducked his head. “You ever kissed a guy before?”

“When I was a kid,” she said. “There was a boy. He moved away from Breachpoint when I was, oh, fourteen?”

Greg straightened with a jerk, half glad for the distraction, half cursing himself. “I totally forgot – you used to live here! Do you want to, I don’t know, visit somewhere? Someone?”

“Tonight? No,” Thoko said. “Maybe when the line from Eoforwic to Breachpoint is finished.”

“But would you have liked to...”

Greg trailed off when Thoko shook her head.

“It’s fine, Greg. We walked past our old house earlier, someone else lives there now.”

“We did? You never said!”

“There wasn’t really much to see,” Thoko shrugged. “We walked past it on our way here from the station.”

Greg wondered if she really didn’t feel like it was a big deal, or if she just didn’t want to be a bother. Or if maybe the whole memory made her uncomfortable. Where had the Valoise held the trial? Certainly, she had been at her old home when her father had been arrested?

Her father hadn’t died on the plaza they were standing on right now, had he?

He tried to remember where the last Inquisitional trial had been held, but his brain wasn’t cooperating.

The first two had been at Deva for certain, but he hadn’t been at the city when the last one had happened, so it might have been elsewhere.

Thoko smiled sadly and said: “they didn’t have the trial here,” as if she had read the thought off his face. “So there’s not need to look so worried. Really, it’s fine. It’s just – I’m not in the mood to face the memories tonight.”

“Okay,” Greg said, relieved.