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looked away just as quickly, fearful any prolonged studying of the servant would
provoke a shrieking outburst his tired bones would not relish.
Lady Kathryn opened the door a moment later, fully dressed in a clean gown
and apparently having been awake for hours. Rosy cheeked and fresh faced, she
seemed well rested, the trials of the day before showing only in the deep shadows
under her kind, green eyes.
She had a tray of breakfast for him, and instead of setting the food on the floor,
as most people would have done, she set his meal on the small worktable. He would
have more difficulty in eating that way, but this girl seemed unwilling to let him
pretend to be a simple beast. So to oblige her, he stretched up and stood on his hind legs
to eat breakfast.
Kathryn watched the wolf for a moment before she spoke. "You pushed me out
of bed with your great hulking body last night, you know."
If the wolf blushed, Kathryn could not see the reddening through all that black
fur, but he did pause in his eating and seemed almost to grimace.
"We see the king as soon as you have supped," she told him.
The wolf swallowed what he had been eating and dropped to all fours at once.
I'm ready, was writ plainly across his furry face.
"The king will wait. He is not impatient."
But the wolf refused to return to his breakfast, so Kathryn gave in and let him
have his way. "I'm checking the wound first." She motioned toward the bed.
The wolf hesitated; then, apparently realizing it would be more expedient to
yield to the tyrant in this case, he jumped onto the bed. She checked his burn and
applied more of the soothing honey salve. As she slicked her finger over his wound, he
met her gaze. Kathryn stared back, transfixed. His eyes were even stranger seen close
up, deep cobalt irises with the palest of blues fanning out in slivers and waves from his
pupil, piercing through the darker shade of blue.
She had never heard of a wolf with dark blue eyes before. Intelligence stared
back at her, uncanny intelligence compared to a normal wolf. Then he looked away
from her, denying their connection, which he very obviously did not want.
Her examination done, their need of the workshop at an end, Kathryn shooed the
wolf out and shut the building up. She and the wolf, escorted primly by the weary tire-
woman, marched to see the king and his knights in their part of the castle.
At the training field, the king sparred with a young squire soon to take his vigil
and, if he passed that test, to be dubbed. The young man flailed a bit against the king's
greater expertise as they fought.
The wolf watched the sword match with obvious interest, and Kathryn waited
patiently. Eventually the king, though slower in his movements, proved to be the more
skillful. He knocked the young man down with a well-placed blow from the hilt of his
sword, but to soften the defeat, the king extended a hand to help the lad up from the
dirt.
The wolf barked his approval, and his tail snaked in a temperate wag across the
ground. The king wiped the sweat from his wrinkled brow with the back of one hand
and, with an engaging grin, took leave of his opponent to receive his newest guests.
The king kissed Kathryn's hand. "I thank you, my lady. Thank you for tending
his hurts and keeping him for me while I arranged a place for him here among my
knights. Is he well?"
Kathryn smiled down at the wolf, then back at the king. "He is, Highness. I
would watch his shoulder and make sure he does not exert himself. Though there's no
reason for him to remain coddled and sheltered since he made the fact apparent last
night he does not relish such treatment."
The king swatted playfully at the beast's ears. "You have offended the lady, my
wolf?"
Kathryn bowed. "No, Sire, he is the most well-mannered wolf I have ever met. It
was my pleasure to tend him."
"Truly a remarkable wolf, in point of fact." The sound of a stranger's voice made
Kathryn turn to look.
The newcomer dwarfed them all, towering a head above even the king as the
ruler stepped forward to slap the stranger on the shoulder. The stranger's skin had
tanned to a nut brown, but his hair had bleached so fair as to be almost white. His face
remained lightly lined, though, so he could not be more than midway through his
thirties. His eyes were the color of two chips of ice but could warm in friendly
amusement quicker than the sun could warm the flowers of the court in summer. He
wore the simple black hooded robes of an occultist who needed neither fancy jewelry
nor arcane symbols to do his work or to mark him as one of the Gifted. The man carried
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