They made it to the barony of Courtenay without needing to resort to Andrew’s plan. Nobody challenged them, not even when they boarded the brand new Imperial Line, which was being built to connect the heartlands. Greg was pretty certain that the Valoise had only entered the race – they were building a line from Deva to Eoforwic, while the Lackland Company had started in Eoforwic and was building towards Deva – because the Roi Solei hated the thought of being outdone by Loegrians.

Or maybe it was an attempt to impress the people of Loegrion. In any case, it saved George Louis the money of building a bridge across the Stour, though he would need a depot. Because of course the Imperial track's gauges were different from the ones the Lackland company used.

At every corner, it was evident how much more money this line was receiving, compared to what the duke had started. And yet, they didn’t dare venture outside of the heartlands.

“If we had these kinds of resources, we’d be halfway to Mannin already,” Thoko said darkly when they boarded their First Class compartment. “Maybe even further.”

“Only if we could find enough people willing to work alongside werewolves,” Greg pointed out.

“Nah,” Thoko said. “Look at this. Gilded ashtrays. If the duke could throw that kind of money around, we’d find plenty of people. Finding werewolves might still be a little tricky,” she admitted as an afterthought.

“Think Lane deLande found anyone?” Greg asked, looking at David.

“Maybe,” his oldest brother said. “She’s a bloody good huntress, after all. Question is, can she convince anyone to go with her?”

“More like, can she stop herself from killing every werewolf she comes across,” Nathan said.

“I’d reckon,” David said. “I have no idea what George Louis has on her, but if he really owns her, she’d be risking her own neck, if she goes against his orders. It’s not like she’s very popular with the Valoise.”

Thoko frowned and played with her braids. “I thought she’s one of them?”

“That just makes it worse,” David explained. “You know all those laws about cross-dressing? And proper women’s work, and all that balderdash?”

Thoko huffed. “Intimately, yes.”

David smiled thinly. “See, technically, Lane deLande wears a very big woollen skirt that hides her legs, so even though it has slits for riding, they can’t rightfully get her for that. But she still doesn’t exactly look very ‘demure’ and ‘lady-like’ sitting astride her horse like a man, does she? And the hunting isn’t proper “woman’s work”, but they can’t get her for that either, because of the edict that every faithful follower of Mithras should do everything in his or her power to defeat the evil of werewolves. So while she’s sticking to the letter of the law, it’s not really the spirit of the law, is it?”

“And we all know how much priests love to have their own rules turned against them,” Andrew added.

“A farmer’s wife in her working clothes doesn’t exactly look like a lady, either,” Thoko pointed out.

David shrugged. “A farmer’s wife doesn’t own an earldom, a fortune, and a prestigious title that might just fall to the Church if only the bothersome shrew wasn’t still attached to them.”

“Aah,” Thoko said. “Now I see.”

“Also, your average farmer’s wife doesn’t have newspaper articles written about herself, setting an example for other young ladies,” Nathan said. “DeLande is a hero to a lot of people, which is probably the only reason why the Inquisition hasn’t moved against her, technicalities be damned.”

“Now I almost feel sorry for her,” Thoko muttered.

“I wouldn’t,” Greg said darkly. “I wish the duke had found somebody else.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he does,” David said, crossing his hands behind his head and relaxing into the plush upholstery of his seat. “He needs a lot of werewolves if he wants to make it all the way to the west coast.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“The west coast isn’t the issue here,” their father spoke quietly for the first time. “There’ll be war if George Louis tries to take the crown in earnest. The Valoise may not care much for Loegrion, but if they let us secede, too many other colonies will try to follow. I guarantee you, it’s just a matter of time until the duke offers convicts a choice between the rope and a bite. He’ll need an army of werewolves, or the High Inquisitor will simply raise the Rot and crush him like a bug underfoot. We all saw what just one tiny amulet did to those monsters.”

Silence fell at those cheerful words, and they each settled into their seats, watching the landscape go by. Only Greg couldn’t stop himself from glancing over to Thoko. He was so used to seeing her in her workman’s clothes that it was always a little weird to see her in anything else. Especially in something as nice as the dress she was wearing now. He hadn’t even known that Thoko knew how to ride side-saddle. Which was stupid, of course. Any woman living within the rule of the Valoise had to know how to ride side-saddle, unless she wanted to take the coach all the time.

After a few seconds, he realized that Thoko’s mother was watching him watching her daughter, and he felt the heat creep into his face. Luckily his skin was dark enough that he wouldn’t blush like a strawberry. Yamikani had been so quiet throughout the journey, he sometimes forgot she was with them.

She had been surprisingly fine with his affliction, with travelling with a werewolf. Or maybe she’d just had a lot of time to get used to the idea of sane werewolves.

They reached Courtenay exactly one month after the winter solstice, late in the afternoon. An icy cold wind was clawing at their faces and eating through their coats, and Greg was the only one who wasn’t worried about freezing off his toes, because it was also just a few hours until the first night of full moon, and he had bigger things to worry about. He was riding Dolly again because no other horse would even let him come close, which had caused Andrew to sing praises on her bravery for hours, but even he had fallen silent sometime after lunch.

Greg was trailing behind the others, so he wouldn’t spook their mounts, and he was the only one who hadn’t pulled down his hat and pulled his collar up over his nose. Despite the cold, he kept craning his head left and right, his gaze constantly searching the landscape. A year ago, riding down the familiar roads would have filled him with calm. Courtenay barony, and especially Heron Hall, used to be safe spaces. He had spent his summers here, played in the beautiful gardens, learned to ride in the wide-open fields, fired his first crossbow in the bright forest. He knew every tree and every stone around here, yet now he felt like he saw it all for the first time, the tiny villages with their meagre wooden palisades, the lonely farmsteads that often didn’t even have that. Werewolves rarely ventured into these lands, since the Feleke family had been hunters for generations. The Rot was always looming, but even that had been hardly an issue, here in the heartlands, until all the trouble with the White Torrent had started.

And now the danger came from the family itself.

Greg shuddered at the thought, or maybe the cold. He wouldn’t have to transform tonight, as long as he stayed awake, but tomorrow? He really hoped his mother had figured something out.

“How much further is it?” Thoko asked, her teeth chattering slightly, when the sun broke through underneath the clouds. “I thought you’d said we’d reach Courtenay today?”

“We crossed the border about an hour ago,” David said. “It’ll be another two hours to the House, maybe a little more in this weather.”

Thoko didn’t say anything, but Greg saw how both she and her mother raised their faces out of their shawls and eyed the landscape with new interest.

“You okay, back there?” David called. His gelding pranced and threw his head nervously when he tried to lead him closer to Dolly.

Greg had to bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping at his brother, and ended up not saying anything at all. He wished they would go faster, or maybe slower – then at least he could have walked.

“Greg?”

Greg took a deep breath and managed to say: “I’m as good as I’m going to get,” with just a slight snarl to his voice.

“Right,” David said. “Get a move on and leave you alone, yes?”

“Got any food left?”

David laughed, and Greg buried his face in his collar to take another deep breath. Dolly snorted nervously as his hands cramped around the reins.

“Greg,” David called again, and when Greg looked up, tossed him a parcel wrapped in greaseproof paper, large as a brick and almost as heavy.

It landed right in Greg’s lap, and when he cut the many strings in which the whole thing was tied, he had to be careful to stop food from falling out. He found a piece of bread, slices of roasted black pudding, ham, and sausages, together with some hard cheese, and a few roasted vegetables. It looked like David had packed the leftovers – all of them – from their breakfast at the hotel.

“Thanks,” he managed, before tucking in.

David just chuckled and allowed his gelding to put some more distance between them.

“Why’s he getting extra food, and I don’t?” Andrew asked.

“Cause Mum will have dinner ready when we get there,” David sighed.

“So?”

“Tell you what,” David huffed. “If Greg bites you, I’ll carry food for you round full moon, too.”

“That seems a little drastic,” Andrew gave back. David didn’t answer, though, and the banter petered out again. Which was a shame; Greg had quite liked the distraction from the ache in his bones and the worry about what would happen once they reached the Hall. Maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so adamant about being left alone around full moon.