Page 10 of Blood of Wolves

“Well. There is that.” She tucked her hands inside the fur muff she carried, breath puffing white vapor as she spoke. “A falcon arrived from Nede. Lord Edward should be here within the hour, based on his time of departure.”

Amelia nodded. “Good.” Her stomach gave an unpleasant twist. “Any word from Tessa?”

Katherine frowned. “No. I’ve sent three missives, now, and none have returned. It worries me.”

Amelia said, “They can’t have had any trouble from the Sels up there. And if there was something wrong with Tessa, surelysomeonewould have written.” But the lack of word was becoming more and more troubling. The last they’d heard, Oliver was off with his king – and, gods, that still left her wanting to laugh; Oliver landing himself aking– to the Northern Wastes, but Tessa was at the palace, still, with the king’s nephew, and sister. Had Tessa fallen ill, had something happened to the festival party…surely a falcon would have been dispatched south.

Katherine took a deep breath, the sound of which Amelia knew well: it meantI’m not going to worry about that because if I do I’ll lose my mind. “The Sutcliffes have just arrived.”

Amelia lifted her brows. “Both?”

“Do they go anywhere without the other? Yes. Both. And they’re already making noises about the wines I have on offer.” She sniffed in aggravation. “Oh, there’s only a war on, and dragons in the garden, but let’s worry about thewine.”

Amelia was surprised to feel a chuckle build in her throat. “Priorities, I suppose.” Then she took a deep breath. Once the Duke of Nede arrived, the council could begin: a gathering of all the lords of eastern Aquitainia, the Drakes’ closest neighbors.

Not all the lords, she thought, hands tightening in her lap on reflex. Though, she supposed she would have to do.

The breeze lifted through the branches of the apple tree, rustling them, and the drake lifted his head again with a low, inquiring sound.

Voices reached them.

Bickering voices.

“…honestly, do you even wash it? My horse’s mane is cleaner.” That was Reginald.

Connor said, tone unbothered, “We’re fresh out of scented soaps in the middle of the forest, Lord Priss, though we do put together an excellent charcuterie board, if I may say so.”

“You slept here last night. Drakewell may not be Hope Hall” –you little shit, Amelia thought…and with no small amount of fondness, to her chagrin – “but they havesoap.”

“If my hair offends” – the voices drew closer – “you can always look the other direction.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t help with the smell.”

“Stop being in the same room as me all the time, then.”

“Someone has to watch and make sure you don’t abscond with the silver, Mr.Outlaw King.”

Connor chuckled, and Reginald huffed an annoyed sound.

They appeared together through the arched garden gate: Reginald in white and ice-blue silk, his hair gleaming and carefully styled above his ears, sword on his hip. Connor in the browns, blacks, and drab greens of an Inglewood Stranger, sword on his back, a variety of knives hanging off his belt. He’d tied his too-long hair back in a hasty knot, a few wisps lying along his temples, and it wasn’t dirty, as Reginald had suggested; it shone faintly beneath the sun, along his crown, where he was growing gray at the temples.

Katherine sighed as they approached. “Your esteemed generals,” she murmured. “Gods, I still can’t believe that’s Connor Dale. What a waste.”

Amelia snorted. “I actually think this new version is an improvement.”

“Youwouldsay that, impetuous girl.” It didn’t sound like an insult, though, a few weeks before, Amelia would have read it as one.

So much had changed.

“Amelia,” Reginald said, as they arrived – stopped on the far side of the drake’s half-coiled tail. Both men shot the dragon wary glances before they smoothed them: Connor into the bland, nonchalant expression he’d worn when she first met him in the forest, and Reginald the lofty, chin-lifted countenance of a young duke who styled himself as prince. “Lord Edward and his retinue have just arrived.”

Amelia took a breath, and stood; dusted flecks of dead grass off her breeches. “Well, then.” The flutter of nerves in her chest left her voice a little unsteady. “I guess they’re all waiting for me.”

“Or for the dragons, more like,” Reginald said, with a smirk. The light in his eyes wasn’t mocking anymore, though, and she didn’t hate him on sight.

She kicked her chin up. “Without me, there are no dragons,” she said, primly, and Connor grinned.

“Oh, there’s dragons, but they don’t mind worth a damn.”

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