Waiting for news from the front was tiring, and ultimately, non-productive. So Lane sent a telegram to Wardshire in the afternoon. The duke had never actually said that he was going to go along with her idea of giving Theresa new lands that weren’t on the wrong side of the Torrent, but it was better to have her at hand just in case. It wasn’t like she could do anything at Wardshire.

So early the next day, Lane arrived at Deva Central Station. Theresa was supposed to arrive at the first train from Northwold, but with all the work that still happened on the lines, schedules at Deva could be a bit erratic. While she waited, Lane had a pastry from one of the convenient little vendors at the platform. All around her, life was disconcertingly normal. The horror of what had happened at the palace didn’t affect the citizens of Deva, and while there was certainly news of the Valoisian landing, there was a strange air of calmness, too. The war wasn’t yet here, after all, and anyway, the werewolves were on their side now. With monsters fighting in their ranks, what could possibly go wrong?

Lane smiled grimly when she heard that bit of gossip.

All around, people bustled and bumped into each other, got stuck with their luggage or complained about the noise from the builders. Deva Main Station was forever under construction, and the crowds of people—heralds of the scores of refugees that were sure to come—arriving from south of the river with kith and kin only added to the chaos.

There was something eerie about the mundanity of the view.

Lane allowed herself a bit of pride at the sight of the busy station, too. Her contribution had been small, but she had had a hand in this development. She still remembered when the station had first been built by the Valoise—four platforms had seemed excessive. After all, there had been only two lines. One to Deggan and one going to the south. Reaching Eoforwic had seemed like a dangerous and difficult enterprise, Northwold a waste of good alchemy.

Now, it took careful scheduling for the trains from Eoforwic, Northwold, Deggan, Bayburgh, Lanmouth, and all the smaller towns and villages—places that were just being connected—to all arrive safely.

Two more platforms were being built, and since Eoforwic Central now had eight working ones, it was rumoured that Deva was supposed to have ten.

In the meantime, Deva tried to trump Eoforwic’s main station with plush waiting rooms—separate ones for ladies and gentlemen—a railway hotel, horse stables, and all the food variety one could want, as the billboards on the walls eagerly pointed out. “No need to travel all the way to First Camp to fully experience the miracle of the railway!” another one proclaimed.

The man standing in front of the posters encouraged travellers to buy tickets to a lottery, to win a seat on the very first train to go from Eoforwic directly to Mannin, over the new bridge.

“Tuppence for a ticket, milady! If you’d care to try your luck?”

Lane smiled and moved on. She did wonder how many seats there were available to win as she passed a boy begging his mother to try.

Never let it be said Duke Stuard didn’t know how to make money. Or at least employed people who knew how to make money.

“Deva is boring,” a little girl complained. “I wanna go north and see some werewolves! Can I buy a ticket, mum?”

Lane shuddered at the normalcy of it all. What would this place look like in a week? How many would be fleeing towards Mannin, lottery or not? Or would the citizens stay and sit it out at Deva?

Theresa’s train whistled as it entered the station, and Lane walked to the platform. People spilled out of the wagons and onto walkways. Lane heard Theresa before she saw her, thanking someone profusely. A heavy-set guy lifted a huge suitcase out of the door, then offered his arm, and there was Theresa, the picture of flustered grace as she climbed down.

“Lane!” she called out. “Lane, it’s so good to see you, thank you for picking me up! I haven’t been to Deva in ages, isn’t this exciting? This is Mr. Bern, he’s a butcher from Albertus. Amazing, isn't it, the people one can meet on the railway?”

Lane managed a smile and a nod. Theresa in full “country damsel” mode was a whirlwind. Hard to resist, too: Mr. Bern carried her suitcase all the way to the exit, where Theresa even managed to charm one of the notoriously grouchy cab-drivers of Deva.

Lane climbed in on her own while the driver handled the luggage. She listened only with half an ear as Theresa described her journey.

Only once the door of Lane’s hotel room closed behind the page-boy, Theresa fell silent abruptly and dropped herself in a heap of hoop-skirts onto the bed.

“What’s going on at Wardshire?” Lane asked.

“At Wardshire? Nothing much.” Theresa sighed. “Everyone else is on edge, though, all the lords and ladies are watching each other like hawks. Duke Desmarais’s men…”

Theresa stopped, took a deep breath. “Sorry, Duke Stuard’s men now, I guess? Yours? Anyway, they have been following up on every superstition, locking people up before they can side with the Valoise, seizing land…And now it’s worse, after that poisoning. I cannot believe they did that! It’s such a mess!”

“How so? Isn’t it a good thing if they stop people from defecting?”

Theresa glared and tossed one of the decorative pillows at her. “No! All it takes is a whisper. A rumour. You know how easy those are to start! And it doesn’t help that most people aren’t committed. It’s all backwards, the people who least believe in Loegrion’s independence make the biggest show of supporting Duke Stuard, and the fools who feel safe, because they know they are loyal, get themselves in trouble for speaking their mind.”

She sighed. “And some fools don’t even wait for the Duke’s men and think they can weed out traitors on their own. Three lords and even one lady died since the poison attack outside of Deva. Just like when your fiance was in that duel.”

“Count deVale challenged him over me. Nothing to do with the Valoise, just a sore loser.” Lane sniffed. “Like deVale could trouble him.”

That put a smile on Theresa’s face. “You said that very nicely. I almost believed you really do want to marry him.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Lane shrugged.

“Does he know, though? That you aren’t interested?” Theresa fluttered her eyelashes. “I’d have him, you know. The Hero of Oldstone Castle.”

“He wouldn’t be interested, either.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Theresa sighed. “Shame.” She sat up and straightened her dress. “Now what, though? Do I present myself to the palace right away?”

Lane shook her head. “I doubt the duke is in the constitution to see you right now. It might take a few days before he sees you. Want to go into the city?”

Theresa threw her head back. “Me, alone in the big city? Oh, what would mother say?” She grinned even wider. “Can we get a werewolf for a chaperone?”

Theresa was clearly joking, but Lane thought about it. Greg was probably just as restless she was. And Thoko had seen little of Deva, too.

“Chaperone, no. But we can ask one for escort,” Lane said aloud, startling her friend. “We’ll swing by House Feleke, introduce you. Morgulon might let you visit the cubs.”

“I bet she’d make a great chaperone.”

“In that she’d be able to smell a young man’s intention before he even knows about them himself? Oh yes.” Lane smiled at the thought. “But I very much doubt she’d leave the cubs for such frivolity. If you’re worried about your reputation…”

Theresa waved her hands. “At this point in time, my reputation is the last thing I’m concerned about.” She still straightened out her skirts as she rose. “I’m sick of acting all prim and proper. I want to govern a barony, like you do. And I want to see werewolf cubs. Let’s go.”

***

At the Feleke-house, a servant ushered them right into the drawing room. Greg was sprawled out over a couch, his head in Thoko’s lap, his daughters sleeping on his chest. Morgulon was right outside the garden door, stretching her legs. Nathan was reading something that looked like a report on his next assignment to Lane.

“You’re in early,” Nathan said by way of greeting. “Got tired of the palace finally?”

“This is my friend Theresa,” Lane replied. “Lady Theresa de Cauchy. I told you about her. She arrived today.”

Nathan barely looked up from his papers, but Greg waved. “We heard about your family,” he said. “I hope you are doing well?”

“Thank you. I am quite well, thanks to Lane’s hospitality. I have come to Deva to petition the duke for control of my family’s estates,” Theresa explained. She paused and added: “Once a meeting can be arranged, that is.”

“How’s Imani faring?” Lane asked.

“Better, not great,” Greg sighed. “She’s resting upstairs. Father’s with her. I can fetch him, though?”

Lane waved him off. “Let’s not bother them,” she said. “Actually, Theresa hasn't been to Deva in a while, and we were wondering if you gentlemen wanted to escort a couple of ladies from the country in the dangerous big city.”

Nathan finally looked up, raising his eyebrows at her. “Little late to start playing innocent, isn’t it?”

Lane ignored him. “Thoko, you’re also welcome to join us.”

Greg raised one hand. “Am I included under ‘gentlemen’? And where’re you going?”

“Of course you’re included.” Lane saw the smile on Thoko’s face, there and gone, because she had expected it. “And we haven’t got much of a plan yet. Maybe see if there’s anything up in the park? I hear they usually have some new marvel at the university, too. Has Prof. Audenne opened his exhibition on werewolves yet?”

Greg sat up, cradling his daughters in his arms as he did. “He has. Would you be interested in that, Lady Theresa?”

Theresa was thoroughly distracted by the two baby girls in their little white ruffled dresses. She was smiling at them and making faces, and at least one of the girls was smiling back.

“Aren’t you amazing?” Theresa cooed. “So beautiful. A little miracle.” She waved and when the baby waved back, Theresa asked Greg: “Can I hold her?”

Greg looked startled at the request. “You—know she’s Morgulon’s, right? And mine?”

Thereas nodded, undeterred. “Do I need to be careful? Even with the moon is waning?” She held out her arms before Greg could answer. “Such a sweet little girl, you won’t bite me, no you won’t.”

Greg looked surprised still, but he scooted around until Theresa could pick the still waving baby girl out of his arms.

“Hewan,” he explained. “Her sister here is Almaz.”

“And the three boys? Boy cubs?”

“Morgulon still hasn’t named them.”

“Really? But they’re quite healthy, aren’t they?”

“Oh yes. She doesn’t seem to think names are important. And given how little she speaks, maybe they aren’t, for her.”

Lane poked her head out the patio door, where Morgulon was scratching behind her ear with a hind paw. The motion was so dog-like that Lane stopped to stare.

It couldn’t hurt to ask, could it?

“We’re going into the city,” she said, feeling a little stupid. “Want to come with us?”

Morgulon paused in scratching and looked at her. The werewolf’s long tail swished through the air. Lane’s heart sped up. “You’re actually considering it?”

Morgulon’s answer was a deep sigh.

“She says she’ll come if we leave the city,” Greg called from inside.

Lane stared at the giant she-wolf. Was she serious?

“Deva does have some fairly large parks,” she said slowly.

“You don’t think there’ll be trouble if we take her into the city without escort?” Greg asked. Lane couldn’t tell if that was Morgulon’s question or his own.

“And there’ll be two werewolf hunters present,” Nathan pointed out.

“You think you and Lane can stop a whole mob?” Thoko asked. “And who’ll look after the kids?”

Lane wished she wasn’t right in her objection. Before she could think of a way to make this work, Greg relayed: “Morgulon says she wants to go next time there’s a circus in town.”

“Right,” Lane muttered. “Of course, we can do that.”

***

With some effort, Theresa could be convinced to leave little Hewan with Morgulon, and they got moving. The five of them took an open carriage, so Theresa could see more of the city. This also meant that the city saw more of them: As they got stuck in traffic on the large bridge crossing the White Torrent, a group of guards stared and pointed at Greg—clearly, they knew who and what he was.

More importantly, though, nobody made any move to stop them. Nobody yelled obscenities or threw rotten fruit.

A crowd had gathered on the main plaza in front of the library to watch a group of engineers demonstrating a miniature railway engine. Some new design, apparently. They even had tracks laid out, but Lane couldn’t tell what made this one different from the many already travelling Loegrion’s trails.

Inside the library’s entrance hall and adjacent galleries was the aforementioned exhibition, staged by Prof. Audenne and his colleagues in the study of magical creatures. It was the place to go for anyone who wanted to learn about werewolves without taking the risk of meeting one—which was the majority of the heartlands’ citizens, from what Lane could tell. The hall was crowded despite its size.

Dominating the centre of the entrance hall were two large silverglass cubicles, displaying the dismembered husks of destroyed Rot-brutes. On the walls to either side of them hung the technical drawings of some of the bridges of the new lines, and several large frames with paintings depicting the fight at the Savre camp. Lane recognized Prof. Audenne’s art right away. The white-blue halo glared on Morgulon’s mane as she ripped apart a Rot-queen that remained shrouded in shadows.

Down the hall to the left, there stood a complete werewolf-skeleton on a pedestal, several skulls, and an assortment of teeth. A pelt hung from one wall, framed by large boards full of text. “The history of werewolf hunting” was the caption, and accordingly, there were also weapons on display.

Down the other hall, Lane recognized Prof. Audenne’s drawings of Morgulon’s transformation. He had clearly re-done them: from the series of sketches in his notebook had come a half-dozen large paintings, each one of them incredibly detailed and painfully realistic. On the other side, there were sets of portraits, the human and the wolf face of each of the werewolves who had fought at the Savre Camp. Only Greg was missing.

Lane thought he looked rather relieved at that.

Most prominently placed was Oli, with his arm in a sling. The poster next to his two faces didn’t mention the Rot-queen who had lured him in, but it did explain his story, from the bite over how his parents had hidden him to the two battles he had fought in.

Greg did a quick circuit of the hall, pushing through the many spectators. Lane and Theresa had barely made it past the first poster, when he returned to inform them: “I’ll be outside, seeing if Prof. Audenne is in.”

With that he walked out again, Thoko at his heels.

Lane wanted to hit her own head against the wall. She should have anticipated that this wouldn't be a fun place to visit for Greg.

She hadn’t expected the skeleton, though. Or the pelt. There was a skull and single teeth, too. Some claws.

Theresa approached the morbid displays hesitatingly. “Are these real?” she asked.

“Could be,” Lane said.

“Let’s test it,” Nathan said. He’d brought his quiver and crossbow, so he pulled a silver bolt out, touching the tip to the skull’s teeth. Blue sparks sizzled up. “Quite real,” he said, putting the bolt away.

Having drawn the attention to the fact he was a hunter, he was promptly assailed by the spectators. Everyone had a question. Everyone wanted to meet one of the famous Feleke Four. Before Lane could discreetly make her exit, Nathan dropped her name, and suddenly, it was Countess deLande this and Countess deLande that. She glared at Nathan, who grinned back unrepentantly.

Theresa was in her element, moderating the conversation.

After about half an hour, Prof. Audenne was notified of their presence, and came to talk. Or possibly to make use of the commotion they caused. The engineers from outside poked their heads inside to complain about the drain they had on their audience, then stayed to listen as Nathan recounted his encounter with the Rot-queen.

Prof. Audenne in the meantime sidled up to Lane. “The Honourable Gregory Feleke wouldn’t happen to be around, too?”

“He didn’t enjoy the atmosphere,” Lane explained with a vague wave towards the werewolf bones in the centre of the room. “But he should be on the premises.”

“Of course,” Audenne muttered. “I do apologise for this. Not all of my colleagues seem to understand that we are still talking about, well, people.” He sighed. “I really don’t know what the public is supposed to learn from that pelt. Or the skull and teeth. At least the skeleton shows their full size.”