David left the werewolves under the guard of the Desmarais family forces. Hopefully, that would be enough to keep them safe from any insurgents. The Duke already had a small army stationed around the house, to protect his eldest daughter. She was with child, and the guards were on their toes. It was hard to imagine a safer place for the pack—unless one of the soldiers went for them.

And there was nothing he could do to prevent that.

So David left the werewolves and went back home. He needed a good night’s rest before he called on deVale. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but it had to be done. He needed to find out who the count had talked to.

So the next morning, he got dressed up in a fine suit and took a cab to the deVale estates in the city. A butler took his card and vanished back inside. Word of the duel had clearly spread to the household, because they made David wait outside in the rain rather than in the parlour or even the hallway. David tried his best not to mind too much, and he was mostly still calm when he was led not into a reception room but deVale’s personal study.

It was a nice enough room, David supposed. One wall was lined with portraits of deVale’s ancestors, two more covered in bookshelves. Where the walls were visible, they were covered in Valoisian silk papers, showing large colourful floral motifs. The carpets on the floor were no less rich. The upholstery of the couch opposite the desk mirrored the wall’s patterns.

The count sat behind his desk in a plush wingback armchair. David got the distinct impression that it was mostly the chair that kept him upright rather than his own strength. His head leaned against the wing on the right, and his face was the only pale thing amidst all the bright colours of the room. He looked like he’d lost weight, too.

When David entered, deVale straightened up with visible effort, but didn’t stand.

“The Honourable David Feleke,” he growled. “I’m surprised there still hasn’t been a promotion for the Hero of Oldstone Castle.”

“I’m not after a promotion.”

“Of course you aren’t. You’re a man of honour and duty, after all. A true patriot. So what brings you here? Came to gloat?”

David clenched his teeth together. He considered simply sitting down, since it didn’t look like the count was going to offer him a seat, but decided not to prove the man right by acting that coarsely.

“During our duel, someone attacked my secretary, searched my office, and attempted to steal my seals to write orders to have some of our more valuable werewolves killed. Since the timing is more than suspicious, I have to assume that you were used to distract me.”

He watched deVale closely, but the count only looked blank. Confused. When the man didn’t answer, David added: “Or perhaps you would like to confess to orchestrating the robbery? It does seem somewhat strange that whoever was behind this didn’t yet attempt to cut off a loose end.”

“Robbery,” deVale repeated. He blinked at David owlishly from pale eyes. Either he was an incredibly good actor, or he truly was gobsmacked. “You were robbed? While we fought?”

“That’s what I just told you.”

“And you think I was behind that?”

David considered lying, but then he sighed. “Do you think I’d have walked in here, alone, if I really thought so? No, I believe you were just a convenient tool to keep me distracted. Who told you that I cheated in the race for Lady deLande’s favour?

At that question, deVale’s eyes sharpened. “You think I was made. Do you think I can’t tell when I’m being manipulated?”

“Either that, or it was you who planned this attack, yes,” David replied calmly.

“Or you did cheat.”

“Oh, please. I have hunted werewolves all my life, and you truly think I can’t take on a lynx?”

“You have claimed to hunt werewolves all your life. Yet you let your brother walk away unscathed, long before the new laws were passed. And isn’t it true that your brothers were always at your side?”

The count gave him a challenging look, but David just shrugged. “Ask any hunter you would like about me,” he said. “Or—in fact, did you happen to talk to any of these men?”

He pulled out the photographs of the seven attackers Morgulon and Thoko had killed. The technology wasn’t yet up to catching moving people, but these seven had held very still indeed.

DeVale blanched further, if that was even possible, at the sight of what Thoko’s axe and Morgulon’s teeth had done. After a brief hesitation, he did, very gingerly, reach out to take the pictures.

“These people attacked your office?” he asked.

“No. These men attacked my family at home, to kill the first werewolves born on Loegrian soil in decades. And their mother.”

DeVale put the pictures down onto his desk, to stare at David. “They attacked your home? The nerve! Here in Deva? Or at Courtenay?”

“The new estate at Brines,” David replied curtly.

“Valoisian Dogs,” deVale growled. “Him.” He pointed at a face, disconnected from the body by a sharp blade. “I met him at court. He did cast doubt on your abilities. Claimed he hunted with you in a “pack hunt” at the coast. Claimed it was then that your brother was bitten, too.”

That was all true, David had to admit. The man in the picture had been one of the shooters at that fateful hunt.

“Am I correct in assuming that it was no coincidence that you met Raoul Desantis of all people? Who facilitated the contact?”

DeVale frowned. “I did,” he said slowly. “I asked around for people who had hunted with you. I—kept hearing whispers about our contest… Even down south… Just rumours. Nobody claimed to know anything definite, but everyone kept hinting…”

“Who is “everyone”?” David asked.

“Marques Pettau mentioned an “irregularity”. Count deVries kept pointing out how easy it would have been for the Countess to tell you where to find the lynx… Upon my return, it was Picot who—but I heard he bet heavily on your victory, so it may be he just saw an opportunity to make money from this affair…”

He leaned his head back against the chair’s wing. “There were others. In fact, nearly every lady I spoke with upon my return had a remark on how I had been cheated out of the Countess’s favour—some even blamed her for the situation!”

He shook his head. “I cannot tell you who was just hoping to curry favour with me and who truly believed this rumour, who may have instigated it or who was just in it for the spectacle of seeing us fight. I would not wish to blame an innocent, Lord Feleke, not in this. Truly, it was your refusal to speak to me on the matter that convinced me more than all the taunts. Perhaps you should ask yourself who advised you of that strategy.”

Nobody. That had been all his own foolishness. Or had it?

But no. Generally, people had tried to convince him to talk to deVale.

“Who pointed you towards Desantis?” David asked out loud.

“Lord Carter introduced us. He hoped the conversation would bring me to let the matter rest.”

Except it hadn’t. So very unhelpful, all of it.

“Fine. If you remember anything else, I hope you will contact me. In the meantime, I advise you to find more guards. At least until you are fully recovered.”

“You think they would dare to threaten me?”

“They put a blade to my mother’s neck, Count deVale. If they think you may be a danger to them? I doubt they would hesitate a heartbeat to shoot you in the back.”

“Dogs,” deVale growled again. “I will take your words under consideration. Though I would think you are in more danger.”

“They seem to be quite happy to watch me make a fool of myself,” David grumbled. “And I do believe that whoever is behind this can shake the werewolves’ trust in us much more thoroughly if they keep targeting them and not me.”

DeVale frowned, but then nodded. “Just as they no doubt profit from division in our ranks.”

David smiled wryly. “I would imagine they were quite put out that we didn’t kill each other.”

DeVale’s face darkened. “I want to meet your werewolves,” he said. “And talk to other hunters. I am willing to believe we’ve been played, but that doesn’t mean there was no truth in the accusation.”

“If that makes you happy,” David shrugged. “I have no idea what you even hope to accomplish at this point, but feel free. I escorted nine werewolves to Windish yesterday, I think they would be happy to meet you.”

“What about your brother?”

“He’ll come to Deva as soon as the werewolf injured in the attack is fit for travel.”

“How long have you and Countess deLande been an item?”

The sudden change of topic took David off guard. He wondered what it was the Count hoped to hear, and since he had no idea, he settled on a bit of truth.

“We had not started courting when the challenge was set,” he replied. “While we grudgingly respected each other as fellow professionals, there was an old animosity between our fathers that prevented us from being cordial. I already knew she didn’t share Leon deLande’s silly superstitions and pointless rituals, but it was only the task of bringing werewolves in alive that made me realise that her father’s moral failings were not hers.”

“What moral failings?”

“Cruelty.”

David wondered how to explain Leon deLande’s madness, but then simply left it at that.

“So you are saying it was her who fell for you first? Hardly believable.”

David had to take a deep breath to stop himself from raising his voice. “I would not presume to guess on the lady’s feelings,” he said tersely. “Nor would I presume to speak for her.”

DeVale stared at him, eyes narrowed. “Yet the contest she staged was eminently in your favour.”

David wanted to roll his eyes so very badly. Here was a man who just would not take No for an answer. “Of course it was. Would you that she challenged us in embroidery? She is a huntress. Any contest she meant to win would have been in my favour.”

The count chewed on that, then brightened. “So you’re saying that her mind may not be fully made up? Splendid!”

“The countess’s choice remains her own,” David sighed. “And I do think she’s quite made up her mind.”

DeVale looked annoyed at that. “But clearly, you’re no good for her! A woman as beautiful as her, a lady as highborn—she’s far too good to be dealing with monsters and—and beast people! If I could trust you to keep her safe, offer her the life she deserves—not encourage her wild ways…”

David did roll his eyes at that. He had wondered why Lane loathed the man so, but it was becoming clearer with every word the count uttered.

“The countess’s choice remains her own,” David repeated. “Didn’t we go to war to stop the Valoise from taking these ancient rights away from us? What a shame it would be if we were to diminish them ourselves now. Incidentally, has there been anyone who encouraged you to press your advances on the countess?”

“Why would you care?” deVale growled.

“Just a passing thought.” Someone was carefully hiding their tracks. But could a person like this truly hide their deepest convictions all the time?

“It just occurred to me that whoever was behind this may be too smart to show how they really think about werewolves, but perhaps they slipped up elsewhere?”

DeVale glared at him as if trying to kill him with his thoughts alone. Finally, he replied: “Half the southern lords think of their wives as their property, if that’s what you mean. I do not see how that relates to my desire to protect Countess deLande, and I resent the implication!”

He rose at the last words, then sunk back into his chair again, taking a few shaky breaths. He looked pained, like he had torn his wounds open again.

David stared at him, somewhat amazed how a man could be so dense. He considered arguing the point further, but he’d probably need a hammer to get through the count’s skull. And he hadn't brought one.

Time to leave then. It didn’t seem like he was going to get any more information, and there was no point in taxing the count further, even if he had been supremely unhelpful.

“Stubborn fool,” David muttered as he stepped outside onto the street. He rested his hand on the grip of his sword. If deVale didn’t leave Lane be, he would challenge him to another fight. And he wouldn’t pull his punches a second time.