The house at Brines was quiet when Thoko got there. The guys and most of the werewolves were out, only Morgulon had stayed home with her cubs. So it was just Thoko, her mother and Imani at the dinner table. Greg’s mother was drafting a letter to one of her fellow ladies while spearing her salad, muttering to herself. Thoko was pretty sure she caught the words: “No, can’t write that... even though it’s true...”

Greg had told her about his mother’s correspondence, how she kept in contact with all the other ladies of similar rank, discussing both little and large events in their letters. And a lot of those letters were about the best ways of running estates, Greg said, since many of those ladies ran their family lands much like Imani had taken over the running of the Feleke estates upon her marriage. They were the first ones who had to deal with the Rot – after all, giving birth was a woman’s domain – and find ways to keep their households and people safe. Like hiring a werewolf. They talked to their tenants, servants, their friends, and of course their husbands – lords who sat in important councils where the official politics were made.

Imani pushed the paper away once the main course arrived; and when had Thoko become the kind of person who regularly had multiple courses for dinner?

“Do the dukes know you are supporting them like this?” Thoko asked.

“I suspect that there are a lot of things Duke Stuart is not aware of,” Imani said. “As for Duke Desmarais, I just sent a telegram to his wife yesterday, so we don’t accidentally write to the same lady at the same time. I assume she talks to him about this.”

She smiled. “There’s talk of a knighthood for Mr. Levi and each of his men.”

Thoko almost dropped her fork. “No way!”

“A baroness from Northwold made the suggestion and there has been a bit of support from the families that have profited from the railway. We’ll have to see if it will last. There can’t be a knighting in Loegrion until there is a king.”

“Has there ever been a Knight who was a Wayfarer?”

“Not as far as I know. And it’ll be harder to get you a ladyship – people are happily embracing the idea that the Mithrans won’t rule here any longer, but you… well, it will be a harder sell.”

“I don’t really need...” Thoko trailed off. She didn’t need a title, no. But if she had the rank, would she be able to do what Imani did? Could she wield that same kind of influence, subtle as it was?

Thoko shook her head at her own thoughts. She hadn’t even set foot on her own piece of land yet.

***

The house was very quiet when Thoko went to bed early, disconcertingly so. She had gotten used to hearing a werewolf or two outside, Nathan and Andrew arguing, Lane going on a late-night ride. Her mother and Imani were doing some needlework downstairs, but she couldn’t hear that. Even the babies were all silent, sleeping peacefully.

It felt as if her head had barely touched the pillows when Thoko woke up again with a start. According to the grandfather clock in the corner, it wasn’t even midnight yet, so what had woken her? Were Greg and his brothers back already?

But the house was too quiet for that. At the very least, she’d have heard Nathan’s wooden leg on the tiles in the hallway.

Had it been just a bad dream that woke her?

Just as she was about to lay back again, she heard a soft sound downstairs, a chink and then a soft curse. She listened harder. The stairs groaned softly but there were no steps audible. As if someone was climbing them in their socks. Maybe Greg had come home early and alone?

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But there was a tingle at the back of her head, and goose bumps running down her arms. She shook off the last dregs of sleepiness and finally realized what had woken her: Something was up with Morgulon. Thoko wasn’t nearly as sensitive to the elder as a werewolf, but she recognized this feeling, this second-hand agitation speeding up her pulse, from Greg’s fights with the Rot. She just hadn’t been ready for that feeling here, in the safety of Brines.

She grabbed for her dressing gown and her slippers. One of her braids had stolen out of the scarf she had wrapped them in for the night and tickled her neck as she peered out of her door. She flicked it back over her shoulder. The hallway outside was lined with modern gas lamps, so she could clearly see the dark figure that was nearly up the stairs. A man, his face shaded by a hood.

A gun glinted in his hands, and a curved blade at the figure’s side.

Someone screamed downstairs, a high and frightened screech that went on for quite a while. It didn’t sound like somebody dying, though. Just someone who was very scared.

Slowly, very slowly, she stepped away from the door, heart racing high in her throat, desperate not to make a sound. Her ribs ached as she tried to stop herself from gasping for air audibly. Already, she was feeling a little lightheaded. She looked around the room, but there was no good place to hide, nowhere to run, no way to climb out of the window fast enough.

The door to the next room clicked: Lane’s room. Thoko held her breath, but apparently, the other woman wasn’t back yet. Just a moment later, her own door opened, and she stared at the muzzle of a pistol pointed right at her. The man didn’t seem surprised to see her up.

“Where are they?” the stranger hissed.

“Who?” Thoko asked, genuinely confused. The werewolves? The Felekes?

“Don’t play silly buggers with me. The bitch and its mongrels, where are they?”

Thoko blinked. Morgulon and the babies? How could anyone miss them?

Or was this guy working alone?

But no, she could hear voices downstairs and people moving about. Someone was sobbing and a man cursed. In the same moment, the guy pointing his pistol at Thoko apparently changed his mind and growled at her to move.

He waved her through the door, and Thoko complied slowly. She felt unbalanced on the stairs and had to grip the handrail firmly to stop herself from going down head-first.

Or get shot.

It looked like these invaders were here about Morgulon and her cubs only. The house’s staff was already gathered in the entrance hall, scared and sobbing softly, but otherwise unharmed. They were held at bay by four more men with guns, crossbows slung over their backs just like the Felekes used to use. Yamikani knelt on the ground with the servants. She glanced up at Thoko briefly, eyes full of relief. A fifth assailant pressed a blade to Imani’s neck. She still stood poised, her expression unreadable.

Another scream echoed down the hallway, a woman’s voice, followed by sobs. It had to have come from the salon. Thoko could hear a snap, almost like from a whip, and then another scream. And then:

“I swear, they were right here!”

“Where are they?” growled the man facing Imani.

She didn’t answer.

“I will take your eye out, woman, if you won’t speak!”

Imani gave him a withering glare. But she did say: “I do not know where she is. Ask anyone here. They were all in their nest when we went to bed.”

“Bullshit!”

“It’s the Morgulon,” Thoko said, before the man could make good on his threat and take out Imani’s eye. “Don’t you know the stories? She’s the most powerful werewolf alive. She can even turn invisible.”

Every head turned in her direction, and for a second, they all were very, very quiet. Then one of the invaders laughed derisively. But Thoko noticed that the bastard still pointing a gun at her glanced around nervously.

“She could be anywhere,” Thoko added, just to see him squirm a bit more. “Might be right in here with us. They say she can sense danger a hundred miles away.”

Okay, maybe that last one was a bit too much. There was more laughter.

But Thoko suddenly wondered: Pierre had said it was possible, hadn’t he? That the real old werewolves had control of their magic.

And where in the five frozen hells was Morgulon?