David returned from Deva a couple of days before new moon, to see if the werewolves were ready to go. Not one of them looked particularly enthusiastic at the prospect of leaving Brines.

Maybe they shouldn’t have made them quite as comfortable.

David pushed the thought away as he sat down for dinner with the pack. They were all in their human shapes tonight, except for Morgulon. David decided to take that as a good sign. They were clearly willing to talk to him.

“Have you decided if you would be willing to go to Deva?” he breached the topic once they all had their plates filled. He could probably force them to go, but he hoped to convince them.

Pierre hesitating, glancing around the table. “How exactly would that work? When I was bitten, werewolves were only allowed to enter the city in chains.”

David shook his head. He hoped they would believe him on this: “You didn’t wear chains in Eoforwic, did you?”

He waited for them to shake their heads uneasily, before adding: “You’ll be housed in a small village just outside, but Duke Desmarais will grant you permission to enter the city.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that, yes. I will be vouching for you, and Desmarais is trusting me to ensure that you will not endanger anyone.”

“Yeah, that isn’t a scary thought or anything,” Rémy muttered.

David sighed. “Any crimes you might commit will fall under my jurisdiction. However, you will not be prosecuted for being a werewolf. Or for deeds that wouldn’t be considered a crime in everyone else. You will be provided with food, shelter, clothes, a safe place to transform on full moon, and I will do my best to fulfill any need you might have.”

He took a deep breath. “I cannot guarantee that you will be able to go everywhere in the city as you can here in Eoforwic. The heartlands are – well, people there are not used to the Rot, and they do not appreciate what you guys do as much as people elsewhere. So it’s quite likely that you will need escorts.”

“Werewolf hunters.”

“No. Rémy. We barely have enough werewolf hunters willing to work with you guys to deal with the newly bitten ones. I certainly don’t have anyone to spare to escort you around town. I also don’t really have time to hunt you down, either, so I would appreciate it if you don’t turn to murder.”

Was that the right thing to say? He had no idea. Werewolves never believed him if he said he didn’t want to hunt them, so he hoped that maybe pretending like he was too busy would be more credible.

There was very little reaction in the pack. They just exchanged dubious looks, and the one named Laurent asked: “What about those hunters who don’t want to work with sane werewolves?”

“Most have quit,” David said. “It’s just not lucrative anymore since the buying and selling of werewolf pelts is now illegal and the Church isn’t around anymore to put up those large bounties they used to pay. We are doing our best to round up and lock up the more fanatic ones. Most of them turned south, to join up with the Loyalists. I would not advise you to go that direction, and I would not send you that way without an escort.”

“I suppose that is a start,” Pierre said. “Yes, I will come to Deva. What about everyone else?”

David smiled in relief. “I would like you all to come down to Deva for now,” he replied. “From there, we can easily move some or all of you elsewhere as needed.”

He didn’t want them spread out, not now, with unknown agents running around, stealing his seals and writing false orders. And he especially didn’t want them with commanders he didn’t personally know, like that idiot at King’s Haven. No, they’d all go to a nice village just outside Deva, accessible via railway, with guards David could trust. Maybe Andrew and Nathan, if they were willing.

Aloud he said: “Do you think the danger of the Rot-queens has passed along the line to Mannin?”

Pierre looked over to Morgulon, who flicked her ears. “It should be,” he said out loud. “They are rare, after all, and neither Morgulon nor I could sense any more of them.”

David nodded. “When you say rare, what are we talking about?”

“I cannot give a number,” Pierre said. “We drove them out of the mountains, though sometimes they come to try and take them back. We fight them; sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. Other than us, there are few magical creatures left for them to corrupt, though.”

“We will be moving tomorrow?” Greg asked.

David shook his head. “The day after. The dukes want to meet with you, so it’ll be on new moon. I’ve got some more of the vouchers here, if you want to go into Eoforwic again tomorrow.”

He’d have to figure out a way to extend his “departments” budget so he could pay the werewolves more.

***

Thoko took the train to Eoforwic with the Feleke brothers and the werewolves, but she parted ways with them at the station. Greg of course offered to go with her, but there were some things she preferred to do alone. Visiting her father was one of them.

She took a slight detour towards the catacombs, past the cheap apartment building where she and her mother had lived before this had started, and stopped to stare up at the sooty facade. She was glad to be out of that dirty hole that didn’t even have access to proper sewers, though she did miss some of her neighbours.

The sun shone brightly when she reached the small hill just outside the western gate of the old city, furthest away from the river, where the city of Eoforwic had dug deep into the ground to store their dead safely, behind silver, salt, and complicated alchemy. That was what it was in Thoko’s mind, storage, not a proper burial. There were even racks where the dead were put up. And after a few years, when the last of the flesh had rotted away, the custodians took the bodies apart, to store the bones sorted – like tools! Skulls with skulls and thigh bones with thigh bones, ribs with ribs, and so forth.

Thoko hurried past that morbid display, which lined the entrance rooms. The first time she had seen it, she had stood there for almost an hour, terrified of the thought that one day, her father’s body would be likewise disassembled, taken to pieces like – like old clothes that got ripped apart to make rags. Except that there wasn’t even any use to the bones. They were just piled up in mountains of ivory until time ground them to dust and even the Rot had no more interest in them. Only then, when the last bit of the magic that was life was gone, only then were they taken out to some field. Compared to that, Thoko could almost see why burning would be better. Where did the soul go when the body was destroyed like that? Did it likewise ground to dust until there was nothing left?

She had to pay a copper to the guard at the inner gate, wrought of almost pure silver. The smell of dried lavender was thick in the air, to keep the Rot away and cover up the odour of the fresher bodies in here. Her father didn’t really belong here anymore, but for a small fee, the custodians were willing to forget that.

Thoko kneeled down in front of the rack where he lay, covered under a richly embroidered blanket, to keep bad spirits and hopefully the Rot away.

“Not much longer now, father,” she whispered. “The duke has given Eyal the land for his crew and not even protested my share, even though I haven’t worked on the railway in a while. Maybe because David was there.”

She had told him all about Greg and his family before.

“In summer, Eyal says, that’s just a few more months, they’ll have a place ready. He wrote to me that Ragna will help, she’s an elder werewolf, a powerful one. I think she’s the third strongest? Or maybe fourth now?”

Did her ancestors smile at her? At what she had accomplished? Would her father approve of her becoming a Loegrian landowner? Of the friends she had made? Would he approve of Greg? Her mother was still on the fence, though Thoko thought that mostly because of the cubs. Or was it about rank? The fact that Greg was born noble? Or that he was a werewolf?

It was hard to get a straight answer from Yamikani on the matter, so maybe it was a little bit of all?

Thoko really wished she could talk to her father about it all. Wished he was here to see her, in the nice clothes Imani had given her, friends with lords and ladies, tentatively – was she even courting Greg, a werewolf? They were more than just friends, that much she was sure of. But what exactly they were, she couldn’t have said.

Would her father think she had lost her mind, or would he have approved?

She told him, quietly, everything else that had happened over the past few days, sometimes glancing over her shoulder to make sure that none of the men guarding the dead – decked out in more silver than any other soldier – could hear her. After a while, she barely even noticed the smell of the bodies surrounding her.

Sometimes, the tears overflowed and ran over her cheeks, but the pain and the loss had faded. The grief still hit her in unexpected moments, but here, where she actually felt close to his spirit, it was less raw. Maybe one day, when she had a proper grave to honour him at, she would even be able to remember the good times they had had without it hurting.

But that day wasn’t there yet.

When the cold started to settle in her bones, Thoko got up, thanked the custodian, and walked back towards the railway station. She had intended to find Greg and his family, to enjoy the night with them before they moved to Deva tomorrow. Now, she felt too tired, too worn out for company.

The woman who sat across from her on the train noted her red eyes and asked about them. Thoko tried to smile. “I visited my father at the catacombs,” she said. She was prepared to lie about the details, but the woman didn’t ask. Instead, she offered her a fresh cookie and told her about her son who had signed up to fight the Loyalists at Port Neath.

She left at the next stop and left Thoko to munch on her cookie.