Page 2 of The Duke and the Disciple

“I’m not afraid of your frata.” Val scoffed. “What rules am I breaking anyway? I can’t talk to my oldest friend?”

She ticked them down on her fingers. “Nien chasing a damsel who doesn’t match your color? Nientalkingand giving away your identity?” The third rule she didn’t speak aloud.If you catch your damsel, no behavior beyond what they allow.She’d let Val kiss her before, and even enjoyed it. But he’d enjoyed it more. Enough that he’d thrown around the wordmarriage.What had followed were tense closed-door talks between the Barynovs and her brother and then... nothing. Drazhan wouldn’t allow her to marry, nor even court, because he claimed none of the men in the Cross were good enough for her. And though she’d certainly imagined what life might be like with Valerian Barynov, she’d not seriously entertained it.

“When do we ever get to be alone like this anymore?” Val stepped forward again when she shivered. The night was as cold as always, but she usually wore a heavier fur than the costume allowed for. “Someone is always there. The cohort. Your vedhma. The scholar. Nik. Your fucking frata. Besides, if I’m here, your damned wulf can’t get any foul ideas.”

“It’s not appropriate.” She choked on her distaste for the refrain. Val and Nik had been her dearest friends since she was crawling around her nursery, but only since Drazhan had returned to the Cross had it been deemed unsuitable for the three to do what they’d always done.

She was grateful to have her brother home after all those years, but sometimes?—

“You know what else isn’t appropriate, Aessy?” He swung his hairy, costumed arms around. There was a dark edge to his voice. “This. The village acting like the Dyvareh isanythinglike the sacrifice they expect me to make in a week. This is just agame, a silly, stupid game. When I enter the forest with nothing but a dagger, some dried meat, and a pelt, the games are over. I either kill the wulf or he kills me, and we know who usually wins.”

“I know.” Aesylt crossed her arms to hold back the chill, shifting in place. Valerian’s upcoming turn in the Vuk od Varem wasn’t something she’d allowed herself to think about. The idea of him never coming home was unbearable. She’d watched her oldest brother and father massacred in front of her, but it was that same trauma keeping her from addressing the one awaiting them. “You could refuse.”

“And be the first? You’re not that naïve.”

“I’m not naïve at all.” She wondered where her wulf was. Watching, perhaps? Waiting for them to finish so he could strike? She had no intentions of getting caught on her very first Dyvareh—no matter how thrilling the idea had seemed before the chase started.

Aesylt rotated her head and took a deep breath through the stuffy mask. She coughed, sputtering dust and layers of Ancestors knew what else. It was still better than inhaling the icy cold into her lungs. “Who ran Witchwood Cross while my frata was off on his vengeance quest?”

She could almost see the smirk behind his snout. “I’d like to think Nik and I helped.”

“You kept me sane.” Aesylt smiled even though he couldn’t see it. “Look,I need to find a place to hide, so go. Go!” She shooed him. “Go, Val!”

“Fine... Fine...” Val raised his hands in surrender. “I’llguessI’llgo.I’ll—” He froze, snapping his attention to the left.

“What?” she whispered. “What is it?”

“Stay still.”

“Val—”

“It’s a wulf. A real wulf. And he’s coming slowly our way.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, spinning her away from the forest. “I’ll handle it. Run!”

Aesylt stumbled sideways. Her foot caught on something, causing her to flail, but her next step tried to land on air. She was flying, out and down, thrashing through blankets and blankets of pine needles assaulting her face and arms as she clamored for anything to slow her fall.

Her ankle smashed into something solid and unyielding, and she screamed.

Rahn trippedover something he couldn’t see in his limited vision and the ever-darkening night, landing in an ungainly crouch in the middle of a snowbank. He recovered and pounded through the deep drifts, aware not only of the damsel’s screams but of another voice, one he recognized as well as he did the young woman’s, yelling at her tostay stillanddon’t move.

Valerian Barynov.

And Aesylt.

Both were members of Rahn’s research cohort, but only one had learning on their mind when they joined the group in the Fanghelm library every morning after breakfast. Aesylt was all business when she walked through those doors, and so was Valerian, except his business was her.

“Fuck. Fuck! Opros, opros, opros, opros, Aessy. I thought...” Valerian kicked at something in the snow, his fists balled at his sides, before inching closer to a cliff. He was standing at the edge of the quarry, looking down.

“Stop apologizing and get help!”

“Can you hold on if I leave? Are you... Are you gonna fall?”

“Justgoalready!” Aesylt cried. Panic girdled her shaky voice.

Valerian staggered back a few steps. He tugged at the patchy fur on his mask until it slipped away and disappeared in the snow.

“Valerian, whathappened?” Rahn demanded, pulling up beside him. He started toward the edge, but Valerian tugged him back.

“Careful, man, unless you want to join her.” Valerian drew an unsteady breath. “Wait, ScholarTindahl?”

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