Breakfast at the new Feleke-estate at Brines was always a somewhat awkward affair that passed mostly in silence. Especially since David had left for Deva after his very short holiday, Lane just had no idea what to talk about with Lord and Lady Feleke.

Two years ago, they might have discussed hunting techniques and the werewolves they had gone after, close calls, and other adventures. But that was clearly inappropriate with Morgulon laying in a corner with her young, and anyway, it didn’t look like Baron Feleke wanted to discuss his past occupation. In fact, Lane got a distinct feeling that the lord was adrift. All the day-to-day business of running the estates was handled by Lady Feleke, who clearly didn’t need any help.

So most of the conversation – if there was any – revolved around the baby-werewolves. Luckily, they provided at least a little to talk about every morning. Today, the family and guests had passed most of the meal discussing how Greg’s daughters already came after him: The moon had gone from half to gibbous last night, and three of the five babies had transformed as if on cue. Only Greg’s little ones hadn’t. Morgulon kept poking them with her nose. There was no other adult werewolf around to translate, but Lane got the impression that she was a little – miffed? Exasperated?

Lady Feleke had both of the girls on her lap now and was rocking them gently. The lady was smiling contentedly to herself. Lane caught Nathan shaking his head at the sight – both he and Andrew had expected there to be some kind of confrontation between their mother and Morgulon, but it had never come. Instead, on the afternoon of the babies’ first full moon, Morgulon had snagged the lady by the sleeve to pull her over to the nest, pushed her into the pillows, and piled the cubs into her lap, and then climbed down into the basement for her transformation.

There seemed to have been some sort of understanding between the two of them ever since.

While Lane was trying to find an excuse to leave the table, the lady paused in the motion and shifted the two girls around to smell their diapers. She wrinkled her nose and, breaking the silence, told Morgulon: “I don’t know why you prefer them as wolves. At least they can poop without help in their human shape.”

Morgulon huffed and washed the belly of one of the cubs.

Lane didn’t hear Lady Feleke’s reply, because Andrew walked in, announcing:

“Telegram for you, Lane. From David.”

Lane looked up from her plate in relief. “Let me see. Good news?”

“Rather the opposite, I’m afraid,” Andrew said, handing over the slip of paper.

The message had only three short lines.

“Baron de Cauchy defects to Valoise STOP

FYI Theresa at Wardshire STOP

Found any werewolf hunter for help? STOP”

Lane blinked and stared at the paper in shock.

“What happened?” Lord Feleke already asked.

Lane shook herself. “Uh, the father of a good friend of mine, Baron de Cauchy, joined up with the Valoise. My friend is apparently at Wardshire. I’ll have to write to her right away.”

“You sure you can trust your friend?” Nathan broke his gloomy silence. “She might have gone to Wardshire as a ruse, to spy on us.”

“Theresa knew about Morgulon before either of the dukes did. She could have made huge troubles for me earlier. And it’s not like I’ll pass on any sensitive information in a letter, anyway. Someone might intercept it.”

Lane pushed her half-empty plate away and got up. She was almost up the stairs to the room where she was staying before she realized that Nathan had followed her. She paused, annoyed.

“Seriously, Nathan, I trust Theresa. We’ve been friends for years.”

Nathan shrugged, an awkward motion with the crutches. “I’m bored,” he said. “And you’re the only one doing anything right now.”

Lane wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“You shouldn’t be doing much,” she said after a moment. “You need to heal first.”

Nathan sneered. “Heal?” He wiggled the stump of his leg angrily. “This isn’t ever going to heal. I need something to do!”

He slowly but determinedly went up the stairs after her. Lane sighed. “David’s telegram asked if I know any good werewolf hunters to help him,” she said once Nathan was almost at her height.

“Yeah, well, can’t hunt, can I? Fat lot of good would I do to him.”

“He doesn’t need someone to go hunting,” Lane said. “At least, I don’t think that’s what he’s asking about. His letters mentioned that he needs someone to look after the newly bitten werewolves, so he can travel if necessary, maybe visit other postings, maybe go south with the army.”

Nathan’s forehead furrowed. “He writes to you a lot?”

“Once or twice a week, yes,” Lane said. She was surprised by the question but apparently, Nathan had been so caught up in his own grief that he hadn’t noticed.

“What about? Or is that private?”

Lane thought about it, but shook her head. “Just all kinds of stuff. How much he hates Deva traffic, how the journalists follow him around, how the werewolves are doing, how much he feels out of his depth when dealing with the palace bureaucracy –”

Nathan stumbled and nearly fell down the steps again. Lane reached out to steady him.

“David – David admitted to – what?”

“What’s the matter?” Lane asked, because the way Nathan stared at her made her uncomfortable.

“I have known David for twenty-five years, and I can’t remember him ever admitting that he was out of his depth,” Nathan said slowly. “Not about important things. Oh, he’ll make a joke about the little stuff, but something like that? You sure you don’t want to marry him? Sounds like you’d be good for him.”

Lane laughed, mostly to hide her embarrassment. “I might,” she said. “Though I fear George Louis will do away with me if I suggest it.”

Nathan laughed, too, and struggled up the last couple of steps. “Anyway,” he said. “You’re gonna write a letter to your friend, then what? Go for a ride again?”

Lane went for a ride every day, to get some fresh air and to get out of the house. She liked the Felekes, but she wasn’t used to the level of affection and intimacy they so casually displayed, and it did get a little overwhelming at times.

“Want to come?” she added. Nathan was clearly fishing for an invitation.

His injury would slow her down – if he could even hold himself in the saddle at all and steer the horse at the same time. But she absolutely got his frustration with being cooped up inside all day and she was willing to try.

Andrew was still at the breakfast table, coring and eating an apple, by the time Lane and Nathan made it back down. Lady Feleke was sitting a room over, visible through the open door, with both of her granddaughters slumbering in her arms.

“We’re going for a ride,” Nathan announced.

Lane saw his mother look up with a frown. Andrew did, too.

“Who’s we?” he asked.

“Lane and I,” Nathan said.

“Nathan, you know what the doctor said.”

“Don’t care. You might be happy sitting on your arse all day and stuffing your face, but I need to move. Asides. The doctor did say I should start moving about slowly again,” Nathan pointed out.

“Slowly, yes, not on horseback.”

“I’m going crazy in here.”

Andrew sighed and looked at Lane. She shrugged. The brothers had had this argument before.

“He’s got to start somewhere,” she pointed out. “Why not on horseback? The horse’ll do most of the work.”

“What if you fall off, Nathan?” Lady Feleke interrupted.

“I won’t, mum!” Nathan called back. “But I might shoot myself if I have to sit around much longer!”

Andrew rubbed his face. “All right, fine,” he finally said. “Guess it has to happen eventually. Mind if I join you?”

“If Dolly can still carry you,” Nathan griped. “I don’t need a minder.”

“Hilarious,” Andrew said, getting up. “I’ll come anyway.”

Nathan glared at his brother but then turned over to Lane. “Let’s go?”

Lane nodded and he hobbled ahead, surprisingly quick on his crutches. At least on the even ground of the hallway.

He did need help getting his horse saddled, a fine, very lively stallion, if maybe a little more nervous than Lane would have expected from a horse trained for hunting werewolves. Andrew heaved him into the saddle and held on until he found his balance.

“Want me to strap you to the saddle?”

Nathan waved him off. “I’m good. I need to figure out how to do this. I’m not taking the coach for the rest of my life. ”

Andrew didn’t look convinced, but backed away. “Just don’t fall,” he warned while he climbed into Dolly’s saddle.

Nathan, in answer, spurred the stallion into a quick trot so that Lane and Andrew had to hurry after him. Lane smiled, enjoying the wind in her hair, and heard Nathan laugh once in relief. After a minute or two, he actually let go of the reins and spread both his arms wide. There was a look of intense concentration on his face, though, and Lane could tell that he had difficulties staying in the saddle. With only one good leg, he had to sit the trot instead of rising with the horse’s movements, which he wouldn’t be used to.

He very nearly lost his balance when the stallion got spooked and broke into a full gallop.

“Damn it,” he swore but managed to cling to the saddle horn and rein the horse in, too. He waved irritably when Andrew moved Dolly closer and asked if he was all right, but slowed the stallion to a walk. Lane and Andrew flanked him from both sides. His expression had clouded again.

“I knew a guy who lost a foot but still went back to hunting,” Lane ventured carefully.

Nathan’s head snapped around. “How? I got no proper grip on one side.”

“Oh, just a peg leg, with a wooden foot attached,” Lane said. “So he had two ‘feet’ in the stirrups. He had one just for riding and switched them out, if I remember correctly.”

“I’ll try that then, soon as the doctor lets me try a peg leg. What happened to the guy?”

“Died of drink, as far as I know,” Lane said.

“Ah, well,” Nathan said. “At least he didn’t fall off his horse.”