Page 49 of Wolf Duke

Evaine closed her eyes briefly, praying this would be the correct decision. “Alaric and Wesley need our help. We must wear hooded cloaks and leave now. No guards or warriors. Just us.”

The elder wolf’s eyes flared; for the first time, there was true panic there. Then Blanche seemed to collect herself and nodded briskly. “Of course. I’ll fetch cloaks. Guard, arrange a cart at once. And several blades.”

The male nodded. “Aye, mistress.”

After tearing the train from her gown and changing her shoes to sturdier leather, Evaine donned the warm cloak. Then she and Blanche hurried downstairs to the courtyard, where several grim-faced guards had a cart waiting. One pointed out the swords and daggers under the bench seat.

Another stepped forward. “My queen, are you sure about this? The note could be a trick.”

“Or true,” she replied sharply. “There is enough detail to investigate. I’ll certainly not sit idly by while my king and his squire suffer. Where is the messenger?”

“Here, madam,” said a hard-eyed wolfling as he bowed awkwardly. “I’m a stablehand. The guards paid me to take you there. I know a hidden way under the city walls—the lads and I use it all the time. You’ll be safe, I swear. But King Alaric needs you, he was going gray. And his squire has an ugly side wound.”

“Leto have mercy,” whispered Blanche, pulling up her cloak hood before grasping the reins of the cart horse. “My Wesley. I’ll sup on their hearts.”

“Willie has command of the tower,” snarled Evaine, pulling up her own hood. “Now go. Take me to the king.”

Despite the faint afternoon sunshine, the cold air soon burned her cheeks as the messenger led them down various alleyways and lanes and along sections of city wall. They weren’t ambling, but she resisted the urge to change into wolf form and charge ahead, a truly useless endeavor when she didn’t know the area. Thankfully, they soon came upon a damaged section of wall covered in canvas. The stablehand lifted it, then guided them carefully through the rubble and stone. Ahead stretched a long, unkempt-looking road seemingly following the River Dee.

“This way, madam,” called the wolfling. “It’s much faster to Huntington. Much less riders and carts to block us.”

“Stay alert, my queen,” muttered Blanche. “I’d tuck a dagger in your cloak as well.”

Evaine nodded, discreetly collecting some sheathed daggers from under the seat. After handing two to Blanche, she slipped one into her bodice and attached the second to her girdle.

Gah. In her worry, had she been a bone-headed fool and leaped straight into danger?

After what seemed like a hundred miles of travel, the stablehand at last turned down a short lane. In the distance, there were several whitewashed stone buildings guarded by a wolf in Beaumont livery, who beckoned them forward.

Evaine sat up straighter, needing to see Alaric, for only holding her mate would soothe her soul. Another liveried guard took the carthorse’s bridle, coaxing him to enter the stable. Unable to wait, Evaine jumped down from the cart, her gaze darting in all directions. “Where is the king?”

Blanche also dismounted. “And my young. Where is Wesley?”

“Did you really think they’d be here? Oh dear. Addled minds and soft hearts are the reason you’ll both die.”

Blanche gasped and Evaine spun on her heel. “Silas?”

The soothsayer emerged from a shadowed corner of the dusty stable holding a crossbow. “I gave you the chance to be free at Carmarthen, duchess. You were shrewish and threatening.”

“Blanche is worse. I cannot bear the sight of either,” added a peevish, petulant voice. Larkin!

Blanche laughed at the chamberlain. “Cwningen speaks!”

The chamberlain hissed and limped forward, clutching his blood-soaked side. “Silence, she-wolf! You always put yourself above me and Queen Theda, when you are common filth. I’ll enjoy watching you and the Eastern bitch burn. Give me your hands.”

“No,” snapped Evaine.

There was a faint click, then Silas pointed the crossbow directly at her. “Your hands, duchess, or I will put a bolt in your belly. A pure silver bolt.”

Goddess. Fire could kill Blanche. A silver bolt would wound Evaine, perhaps irreversibly. She would then be entirely vulnerable to beheading.

Was this how Guy Saville murdered Mother and Father? Or had he relied entirely on the Book of Lore?

Exchanging a glance with Blanche, one that warned of silence for now, Evaine held out her hands. “As you wish.”

Larkin smiled, but sweat trickled from his forehead and temples as he shackled them in chains. “At last, proper obedience. The mercenaries are coming, duchess. Your mate will be broken with your death, just as Oliver will be broken by Blanche’s, and my vengeance will be complete. Then King Guy will rule East and West, and I’ll have Blackstone Castle and all the goldmines for solace. Now, both of you, sit on that hay bale.”

Fury burned through Evaine, but she would kill this fool soon enough. It was the rest that terrified her. Where was Alaric? If she reached out through their fledgling bonded link, would he hear her? Would he find her in time?