New moon was over by the time Greg returned to work. When he walked into the office, for a brief moment, he thought Mr. Grooch would hug him. It was nice to be welcomed with open arms, but it also said a lot about how overworked the secretaries were.

There was a mountain of paperwork that had piled up on his desk.

Most of the work stemmed from General Clermont’s push for a thousand werewolves, which meant almost doubling the total number of werewolves in Loegrion, all within a couple of months. Greg would have never thought it possible, but there were actually a lot of volunteers. Many former soldiers—wounded veterans from the Valoisian campaigns on the continent—who had been discharged years or even decades ago and left to struggle on their own. Likewise, men and women disabled in factory or work accidents flocked to the army’s recruiters in the north.

Mannin turned out the most people in total. Eoforwic, despite being only a mid-sized, recently industrialised city, had more volunteers than Deva. Sheaf came in fourth.

There were less than a hundred volunteers from south of the White Torrent.

It made Greg feel dirty, taking advantage of the disabled and the disadvantaged like this. Necessity or not, it shouldn’t be like this. Especially given how werewolves were still treated.

“Eh, I wouldn’t be too upset about it,” Mr. Howell said. “Countess deLande has done her utmost to capitalise on those Rot-attacks. I’m sure you’ve seen the papers?”

Greg had seen the papers. While he had been nursing his broken bones, Lane had given an interview or spoken in public at least once, sometimes multiple times per day. She had met with merchants and appeared at guild halls, had even spoken at gentlemens’ clubs, quite often with Morgulon at her side.

“Well, she’s been having tea and dinner parties with lords and ladies, too,” Mr. Howell added. “She must’ve spoken to every Marques currently in the city, and quite a few of the Counts. I think it’s really starting to have an effect.”

Greg could only hope that Mr. Howell was right. Sure, Lane was good at what she did. She could play the demure widow or the self-reliant modern countess equally well, and a range of characters in between. And most importantly, she could suss out in a few seconds which would be best received.

But Rot-brutes or not, the werewolves still weren’t exactly well-loved in the city and amongst the nobility, were they?

Or if they were loved, then only as guard-dogs. Not as people. Nobody wanted them as neighbours just yet.

And yet, in many small ways, Lane did succeed. By the time David’s final war preparation were underway, the werewolves didn’t just have Desmarais’s permission to enter the city. They had public support, too. Not just for patrols, but for werewolves to spend their paper vouchers at the markets or even visit the bathhouses.

As long as they could act mostly human, then a pair of golden eyes no longer got them stopped—or arrested—at the gates.

It resulted in a visit Greg really hadn’t expected.

He had taken the day off. He felt slightly bad about it, given that he only wanted to go out with Gustave in the afternoon, but Lane had encouraged him to take the whole day. With only a couple of days left until the werewolves went to war, work was slowing down at the office, too.

He hadn’t expected the knock on the door at mid-morning, or for the servant to call him. He really hadn’t expected to look into Bernadette’s embarrassed face. She ducked her head as soon as he got to the door. Fleur and Boris stood behind her, awkwardly stepping from one foot onto the other.

“Hello,” Bernadette said softly.

“Hello,” Greg replied, somewhat dumbfounded. He hadn’t sensed her at all. Sure, it had been quite a while, he wasn’t attuned to her anymore, and there were other werewolves in the city. He hadn’t expected them, and he certainly hadn’t expected them to look so… gentrified?

Bernadette and Fleur both wore dresses—simple, dark fabrics, closefitting, none of the gigot-sleeve monstrosities currently popular at court, but with all the undergarments. Boris wore a jacket and pants, and they even wore decent shoes, all three of them.

If it hadn’t been for the golden eyes of Bernadette and Boris, they might have passed as a perfectly human family from a nearby small town, visiting the big city.

Probably David’s doing.

After a moment, it occurred to him that they were likewise scrutinising him. Neither one of them was saying anything,

He shook himself. “Uh, want to come in?” he asked, stepping aside.

“You don’t think your family would mind?” Bernadette asked. “Or the Morgulon? We wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“They won’t mind, no,” Greg said.

Bernadette nodded slowly. Her fingers worried the hemline of her sleeves, but then she straightened and stepped forwards. It was funny and sad at the same time, how much effort it cost her. But when she crossed the threshold, the rest of her pack followed.

They all craned their necks, taking in the entrance, the sweeping staircase leading to the upper level. Greg gave them a moment to stare before he went down the hall to the drawing room.

“This explains a lot,” Boris whispered to Fleur as the pack followed.

Greg pretended not to have heard. What had brought them here?

He was slightly relieved that Morgulon was outside in the small garden, watching over the cubs playing in the grass. Already, he could feel a faint echo of the old pull the pack had used to have on him. But his family had a far stronger pull.

“Your family is out?” Bernadette asked, as they entered the empty drawing room.

“Morgulon is in the garden with the cubs,” Greg said. “But everyone else is out, yes.”

“We heard,” Bernadette said. “That your family went back to hunting.”

“My father and Andrew, yes. They’re just training today, though.”

He considered adding where Lane and Nathan and his mother and Thoko were, but then kept his mouth shut.

“Please, sit down,” he said instead. Might as well play the host, since they were here. “Can I offer you anything?

To drink,” he clarified, when he saw their blank faces. “Or something to eat? Tea?” he added to curb the awkward silence. He should have realised that neither one of them had any idea how to be hosted.

“Tea.” Bernadette jumped on the suggestion. “Sure, I’d like some.”

Greg nodded to the young woman waiting on them. There had been no resignations in a while, or at least none over his presence. That was a relief. The servants who were still working for the family treated him just like they treated his brothers.

“I still remember when they locked you up in that dungeon with us,” Bernadette said, looking after the servant.

“Well, that was Duke Stuart,” Greg shrugged. “And David got sort of shirty with him for that.”

“Your brother has gathered much power,” Bernadette said slowly. “Will he reach for the crown, too?”

Greg’s jaw dropped. The most surprising thing was that she seemed to be quite in favour of this idea. Even though they were talking about David—the Relentless.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s been brought up,” Boris said. “At Fort Brunich.”

“I hope not anywhere where the guards could hear,” Greg groaned. “It’s not going to happen, no. Not unless half the nobility of Loegrion drops dead first. He’s a baron’s son,” Greg reminded them, because the three were looking at him blankly again. “There’s no way… There are far too many nobles who outrank him who have been jockeying for position ever since things kicked off at Oldstone Castle. Asides, David has no interest in the crown.”

“But it would be better for us, wouldn’t it? If it were him?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about it,” Greg said. Suddenly he was a lot less happy about the servants waiting on them. If word about this discussion reached the palace, there would be trouble.

Too late to send everyone away, though.

“I think David is right where he should be,” Greg said out loud. “He’s not a politician. Never has been.”

He decided to switch the topic. “You didn’t come here to ask about that, did you?”

Bernadette shook her head. “We will go to war on half moon,” she said. “When we heard we could go into the city… It just seemed like a nice idea to visit.”

“Can we see the little ones?” Fleur asked. She was bouncing in her chair suddenly, craning her neck.

“I—guess so?” They’d probably already know if Morgulon didn’t want them to join her and the babies in the sun?

He went ahead, opening the patio door for them. Fleur dashed past him onto the lawn, where Morgulon lay stretched out, wagging her tail lazily in greeting. The moon was a waxing crescent, so most of the playing little ones were looking like babies. Only one of them was a furry wolf cub.

Fleur sank to her knees. The little wolf promptly came stumbling over to where she sat, to sniff at her hands. To Greg’s surprise, Morgulon made no attempt to stop Fleur when she reached out to pick him up—usually, the elder was more territorial about her litter. Fleur, though, was soon surrounded by all five babies.

“I didn’t think it was even possible,” she said softly. “We asked around, and everyone else just… It never happened.”

“Well, the age…” Greg started, and was surprised when she gave him a grin that showed too many teeth, pressed together. Then she quickly ducked her head.

“I’m going to do it,” she said. “In twelve years.”

Greg opened his mouth to protest, but she already went on: “I’ll be sixteen then. Human girls can have children at that age. And that’s what this is about, right? We should all start our lives as werewolves; that’s why it’s such a mess, right? But a sixteen year old can bear a child. So will I.”

Morgulon sighed deeply, but she didn’t try to talk Fleur out of it.

She will help? she asked, looking at Bernadette.

“Of course we’ll help,” Bernadette huffed. “Both of us.”

Boris nodded along. “Family,” he said softly. “That’s what a pack should be, right?”

Good. Morgulon turned her head away, staring into the distance. Good luck. It’s not easy. But with support… With a family by your side… It might be doable.

“Thank you,” Fleur said.

Morgulon didn’t offer to help herself, Greg noted. She just washed the head of one of her sons with a rough tongue. Greg picked up Hewan and cradled her in his lap and watched Almaz scramble after a big fat bumblebee.

Bernadette sat down next to him, pulling out individual blades of grass.

“I wanted to apologise,” she said softly, ducking her head. “I wanted to apologise,” she repeated, “for how things went at First Camp. We were wrong. I was wrong. I should have told you. When the others were tilting. I should have trusted you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you got hurt.”

It was Greg’s turn to stare blankly. That was why they had come? Why they had braved walking into the home of the Feleke Four?

He hadn’t thought about that fight in ages. He had run all the way to the Argentum Formation since then—twice—had become a father, braved the palace bureaucracy…

“It’s fine. Thank you for visiting, but you don’t need to apologise. Truly. It’s fine.” He stroked Hewan’s curly black hair. “I understand it better now,” he added. “Why you were scared, I mean.”

“We still should have trusted you.”

“That would have been nice,” Greg admitted. “It’s a bit of a rare commodity though, isn’t it?”

He hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, so he quickly added: “I really don’t blame you.”

A shiver ran up his arms when everyone looked at him, and he couldn’t tell if it was the breeze or the way the others were staring.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said. “For—for leading you on, Fleur. I didn’t know the wolf—that I was doing that.”

Fleur tossed her hair. “You seemed happier then,” she said. “When you were just wolf. With us. Were you?”

Greg looked at her blankly. “Not really. Back then, I just didn’t think it was possible for things to get better. Made it easier to accept the parts I hated. Asides, everyone at the building site was sleeping on the same floor. What good would complaining have done?”

Hewan stared up at him with huge dark eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder if she would hate him one day.

“I hate being a werewolf,” he said softly. “I hate that our only chance at victory is to subject more people to this curse. I hate that there’s nothing I can do to help. I’m not even brave enough to go to war with you.”

“I wouldn’t take you, anyway.”

Everybody but the babies jumped when David made himself noticed. Morgulon even growled softly.

“You wouldn’t take me. Even if I volunteered? I thought we needed everyone.”

David gave him a forced smile. “I don’t care,” he said. “You’re my little brother, and I’m not risking your life.”

Greg thought it was rather—inappropriate—for David to say this in front of three werewolves whose lives he was perfectly willing to risk—but Bernadette and Boris were both nodding as if this made perfect sense.

“Asides,” David added, “I think you’re right where you need to be.”

He couldn’t take you, even if he wanted to, Morgulon commented.

Greg frowned at her. “Why not? And how do you know?”

David sighed. “We’re trying not to take any werewolves who can resist Ragna and Rust. It’s hard to avoid with some of the older ones, though, so I wouldn’t say that I absolutely can’t take you.”

Greg looked back and forth between them. “You heard her.”

“A little trick I picked up, yes. How do you even know we’re trying not to take werewolves like Greg, Morgulon?”

But the Elder just swatted insects away with her tail.

“What brings you here?” Greg asked, as the silence stretched. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing final preparations?”

“I’m going to check on our supplies,” David said. “Since most of the werewolves have the day off, there’s little for me to do at Fort Brunich. Where’s everyone else?”

“Training, and mother took Thoko into the city for some shopping. Gustave and I’ll be out later.” Greg turned to Berndatte and her pack. “Want to come with a friend and I? We’ll probably go down to the race tracks. Maybe catch a show later.”

The three looked at each other. Fleur nodded, wide-eyed.

“You don’t think your friend will mind?” Bernadette asked.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“The theatre will probably run too late,” David said. “But here.” He reached into a vest pocket, and offered Greg a roll of the paper vouchers. “Have fun. Tell mother I checked in, will you? I need to run.”

And off he went. Burning the candle at both ends, Greg thought. Maybe that’s what you had to do to win a war.

His fist closed around the paper money, but then he shook off the thought. Right where he belonged, David had thought. Greg supposed that included playing tour guide for the extended family visiting the city for a day.

Would Berndatte and pack appreciate him looking at them like that?

They felt like family to him still.