Page 173 of Dragon Slayer

“Did my uncle not tell you any of this?” Val asked, exasperated. “He’s traveled the world. He’s had innumerable encounters with wolves.” And, according to Mother, had sent three of his own to their deaths at Tîrgoviste, along with a mage whose neck Vlad had broken personally. He still shuddered, overcome with wonder, when he thought about the fact that his brother could somehow resist a mage’s powers of compulsion. He’d reachedthrough her fire, and killed her with his bare hand.

“He didn’t exactly stick around to mentor me,” Mehmet said, defensive. “And Father would never…” He faltered.

“Buy you any pet wolves?”

“You’ve just insisted they aren’t beasts!”

“They’re not. That was a test. Now, here he is. He’s very nervous, so don’t try to frighten him.”

“I’ll do what I like,” Mehmet said, but lightly, which meant he was most likely to obey Val’s wishes for the moment.

They arrived at the bench, and Nestor looked up at the two of them like a cornered pup, bristling with dread, eyes wide, pupils tiny pinpricks.

“It’s alright,” Val said. “This is Sultan Mehmet, and–”

Nestor slid off the bench and went to his knees. And prostrated himself before the sultan.

“Oh, dear,” Val sighed.

Mehmet chuckled. “You should try this sometime, Radu. It pleases me.”

“I please you plenty,” Val muttered. To the boy: “Nestor-Iskander, please sit up.”

The boy did so, hands braced on his thighs, terrified.

“I’ve been telling the sultan about your skills and recommending that he employ you as a scribe rather than a soldier.”

“Have you now?” Mehmet said.

“He’d be wasted as a soldier,” Val said. “And you could use a scribe who wasn’t so mired in the muck of court intrigue.” He lifted a single brow, inviting Mehmet to think otherwise.

The sultan’s frown melted slowly from disapproving…to thoughtful. “An unbiased scribe.”

“Yes.”

“The idea has merit.” His gaze slid to Nestor. “But what of him being a wolf?”

The boy’s shoulders slumped as he tried to burrow down into his shirt collar. “I – I’m sorry, Your Majesty–”

“A rather meek wolf, as you can plainly see,” Val said. “Nestor, you can tell that the sultan is also unique, can’t you?”

He nodded.

“It would be an honor to be of service to him.”

“A tremendous honor, your grace.”

Val turned away from the young wolf, catching Mehmet’s elbow, towing him away a step. He was the only one who dared touch him so casually, and Val suspected that was one of the reasons the Turkish nobles at court hated him so.

“Something for you to consider,” he said with a shrug, feigning casual. “A trusted scribe. A way to keep the only wolf in the palace close.”

A furrow had formed between Mehmet’s brows. He really was considering. “Yes,” he mused. “It’s not a bad idea.”

“Until then,” Val said lightly, moving on, “I thought I’d have the best candidates demonstrate for you.”

It was true what the Grand Vizier had said: Val was an excellent marksman. And he was a decent swordsman at this point, his vampiric strength making up for his lack of the sheer mass needed by the most fearsome of armored warriors.

But his greatest weapon, Val was coming to learn, was his ability to manipulate those more powerful than him.

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