Patricia Briggs: Wolfsbane

“Taking the baby into his own hands, he held her up until she was at a height with him. ‘This,’ he announced, ‘is my daughter.’

“He introduced the baby to her three-year-old brother and her grandfather. Her grandfather was not pleased to find out his son had been meeting a woman in the woods; but then, her grandfather was not best pleased with anything and, as it happened, died of apoplexy when he was served watered wine at a neighbor’s banquet only a few months later, and so had little influence in his granddaughter’s life.

“The young man, now lord, decided he needed a wife to care for his children and to bear heirs for the estate. Presently, he found one, several years younger than himself. She looked at the trembling waifs and promptly took them under her wing. The children were delighted, and so was the lord—so much so that in due time there were twelve additional siblings to play with.”

Aralorn ignored Wolf’s choked-off laugh and explained blandly, “In most households, the life of a bastard child is miserable at best. I can’t remember not knowing that I was illegitimate, but I never minded it much. As for being half shapeshifter . . . I’ve already told you that my father did his best to make sure that I was aware of my mother’s people. Other than that, it was no more than an unusual talent I had. The people in the Rethian mountains are used to magic—most of them can work at least some of the simpler spells. Since the Wizard Wars, seven ae’Magi have come from these mountains. If anyone had ever felt I was odd, they’d grown used to it by the time I was grown. The worst problem I had was convincing Irrenna that I didn’t want to be a Lady. Falhart taught me swordplay and riding, real riding, and by the time my parents found out, it was too late. Father said I might as well know what I was about and had the weaponsmaster teach me, too.”

“Idiot,” commented Wolf, sounding much more like his normal sardonic self. “He should have beaten you and sent you to bed without supper. Ten years in Sianim, and you still can’t use a sword.”

“Not his fault,” replied Aralorn easily. “A sword never felt right in my hands, not even Ambris, and she’s an enchanted blade. Hmm . . . now that’s a thought.”

“What?”

“I wonder if it has to do with the iron in the steel. Green magic doesn’t work well with iron, while it has an affinity for wooden things . . . Maybe that’s why I’m so good with the staff. But it doesn’t seem to affect my ability with knives.”

“I have always found modesty becoming in a woman.”

“Best staffsman or -woman in Sianim,” she said, unruffled. “Including longstaff, quarterstaff, or double staves. Now hush, you’ve interrupted.”

“I shall sit quietly and contemplate my misconduct,” he replied.

“That should take a while.” Aralorn sank down until the warm water touched her chin. A benefit of having large people in one’s family was that all of the tubs were big enough to stretch out in. “I guess I can wait that long—but the water will get cold.”

There was a long pause. Aralorn stifled a giggle.

“Your story?”

“Finished so soon? I would have thought such a grave task would have taken longer.”

“Aralorn,” he said gently, “please continue. You were telling me of your wonderful childhood and why that meant that you had to stay away from your family for so long.”

“My story,” she continued grandly. “Where was I? It doesn’t matter. When I was eighteen, my oldest legitimate sister, Freya—mind you she’s still younger than I am—was betrothed in one of those complex treaties Reth and Darran spend months drawing up every few years or so and break within hours of the signing. It seems that a rather powerful Darranian noble had a mageborn second son who needed a bride.”

Aralorn took a moment to rub soap into her mouse brown hair, hoping to evict the fleas that had taken up residence during her travels. Despite her joking with Falhart, she didn’t think she had lice. “So Nevyn came to live at Lambshold. He was shy at first, but he and Freya turned out to be soul mates and fell quietly in love several months after they were married.”

She ducked under the water to rinse the soap out of her hair. She didn’t particularly want to continue, but some things would become obvious—and it generally wasn’t a good thing to take Wolf by surprise. As soon as she was above water again, she continued. “I liked him, too. He was quiet and willing to listen to my stories. He had this air of . . . sadness, I suppose, that made us all treat him gently. He was the only one who defied Irrenna’s edict about animals in the castle. He didn’t keep pets, but anyone who found a hurt animal brought it to him. At times his suite looked more like a barnyard than the barnyard did.” Aralorn hesitated, and said in a considering tone, “At the time, I was afraid I liked him too much. In retrospect, being older and wiser now, I think I wanted what Freya and Nevyn had together rather than Nevyn himself.”

She soaped a cloth and began scrubbing at the ingrained dirt in her hands. “Now, I had long since gotten out of the habit of using my shapeshifting abilities at Lambshold. Father was very good at spotting little mice where they didn’t belong. Irrenna was very clear on what was polite and impolite: Turning into animals in public wasn’t polite. It never occurred to me that Nevyn didn’t know what I was.”

She examined her hands and decided they were as good as they were going to get. “I did know that he wouldn’t think it proper for a Lady to fight, so I talked Falhart into practicing with me in the woods. It wasn’t too difficult because he was starting to get teased when I beat him.”

Her hair still felt soapy, so she dipped her head underwater again. She cleared her face with her hands and continued. “Nevyn didn’t like girls who ran around in boys’ clothing and would have been horrified to know that his wife’s sister could best him in a fair fight—even with a sword. If you think I’m bad ...” She let her voice trail off suggestively.

“Swordsman or not, I thought Nevyn was the epitome of what a young hero ought to be.” She smiled to herself. “I admired his manner of seeing things in black and white—which was very different than the way my father saw things.”

Aralorn paused. “About half a year after Nevyn came, Father drew me aside and told me that Freya was concerned with the amount of time her husband spent with me. When you see Freya, you’ll understand why I didn’t take that warning too seriously. Even if I had a crush on Nevyn, I knew he couldn’t possibly look at me when he had Freya. But my younger sister is a wise woman.”

Aralorn waved her hand in the top of the cooling water and watched the swell dash against her knee. “It seems that Freya was not mistaken in her apprehension. Nevyn had been flattered by my worship-from-afar, something that Freya was too pragmatic ever to do. I think he was a little intimidated by Freya, too.”

“He attempted you?”

Aralorn snorted. “You make it sound like I’m a horse. But that’s the general idea. He was teaching me to speak Darranian in Father’s library. I was too stupid—”

“Young,” corrected Wolf softly.

“—young and stupid to read his earlier manner correctly. It wasn’t until I examined the incident later that I realized he could have misinterpreted my response to several things he said. He could very well have thought that I was eager for him.”

Wolf growled, and she hurried on. “At any rate, he tried to kiss me. I stepped on his foot and elbowed him in the stomach. About that time, I heard my sister’s voice in the corridor. Knowing that no good could come from Freya’s finding me with Nevyn—even though nothing happened—I turned into a mouse and escaped out the window and into the gardens.”