III - Return to the Kingdoms
He'd been watching the scene over and over for quite awhile, wondering how he was going to survive having Virginia see it. A vague plan had formed in his mind of somehow managing to show the program only to Wendell when his ears caught the sharp hiss of indrawn breath. He jerked his head towards it, horrified to see Virginia standing in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the television, her face white. He felt as if his entire body had turned to lead. She had seen it. She knew.
It seemed to him that Virginia stood there, motionless, staring at the television for long minutes. Then she turned to look at him. He began to shake uncontrollably as he envisioned what she would do next: run, screaming for the door or cower away from him, flinching at his touch. It wasn't until he ran out of air that he noticed he'd forgotten to even breathe.
He tried to say her name, but no sound came out. He struggled with himself, trying to gasp, sob, anything, but nothing would come. Then he could no longer even see.
She was there, then, beside him, holding him. He shuddered, gasping, his breath a ragged panting as he clung to her in desperation, tears stinging his eyes and flowing down his cheeks. Through it all, he could think of nothing but that she hadn't run away. She hadn't run away.
Virginia sat on the sofa and held him, her mind still reeling from the discovery. This is what he's been hiding! she thought. His deep, dark secret that he couldn't share. Instinctively, she suddenly understood why: he'd been terrified she would leave him. The realization nearly undid her; she understood so well what he was feeling that she almost lost herself in sympathetic reaction. She imagined what he must have thought she would do: run away in fear, never to return, and yes, to the nearest abortion clinic. Her own tears flowed unchecked as she held him tighter, her eyes shut, murmuring, "I'm right here, I'm right here", over and over like a litany.
His fears were in no way founded. Her reaction at seeing the truth about him graphically depicted on the television was not one of shock and fearfulness, but more of incredulity that she hadn't figured it out before. After all, the signs had all been there for her to see, she just hadn't believed them. Werewolves didn't exist. All her schooling said so. But if she had accepted the Nine Kingdoms and all it's impossibilities, why not that? The discovery raised a lot of questions, yes, but this wasn't the time to ask them. He had first to be convinced that she would stay. That would take work, she knew, but she could do it. He had, for her. And right now, he just needed to be held.
In a few moments, after the worst of his shaking had calmed, she reached over and turned on the lamp, then shut off the TV. He laid back a bit on the sofa, staring at her reverently as if he couldn't quite believe she was really there. He raised his hand to touch her face and she caught it and pressed it to her cheek.
"I'm right here," she repeated again. "And I'm not going away. I love you."
She saw his eyes fill with tears again. She stood and, slowly, led him by the hand into the bedroom and set him down on the bed. After turning on the lamp, she climbed into bed after him and held him beside her there until he finally fell asleep, exhausted.
King Wendell Winston Walter White, grandson of Snow White, and ruler of the Fourth Kingdom, sat at the desk in his ornately appointed office and rubbed his eyes. He was barely twenty-one years old and had been coronated less than a month before. Two days following that, he had issued what he'd thought was a progressive and forward-looking decree. But now, after a period of reflection, he was having second thoughts about it.
The decree actually did nothing more than prevent his half-wolf subjects from being imprisoned (or executed) without a fair trial. That's what he kept telling himself. But what he had failed to see (and he felt it was his failing as a ruler) was the effect that ruling would have on his other subjects. Already he had received an enormous number of petitions (he'd stopped counting at fifty) asking him to rescind the pardon. The vast majority of them were from people frightened out of their wits. And he really couldn't blame them.
The full moon was only three days away. People were panicking at the thought of what even one half-wolf run amok would do, let alone their entire population. Always before, the unwritten rule that a wolf was always guilty of any crime that appeared to have been committed by one had kept them, for the most part, in line. Hidden for most of the month by a disguise of normality, many people believed they had kept their natures secret only by physical restraint during the full moon. But with this new decree, the arguments ran, would there be any incentive for them to remain in hiding?
Wendell frowned. Most - well, virtually all - of the complaints had listed the usual widely accepted catalogue of the undesirable traits of wolfs in order to support their argument. The trouble was, having spent an entire month (including the full moon) in the company of a wolf, he knew that most of those traits were simply untrue. Even unrestrained during the full moon Wolf had never hurt anyone. Wendell himself had helped to prove his innocence in the murder of that girl. In fact, it had been that very incident which had brought to his attention the need for some sort of legislation to protect the half-wolfs in the first place. He simply hadn't realized it until later, when Wolf had surprised everyone (he thought) by doing the honorable thing and preventing all the heads of state from being poisoned (one of the supposed traits of wolfs was their complete lack of honor). Wendell had realized only then that it hadn't been the first time Wolf's behavior hadn't followed his low expectations. So he had devised the pardon. None of the dignitaries present at his coronation (whose lives Wolf had incidentally saved) had ventured to oppose it, including Riding Hood, though she hadn't bothered to stay for the award ceremony. But he understood now that they were only waiting to see him hoist by his own petard. And there was nothing he could do about it. If he rescinded the pardon before the full moon, he'd only succeed in appearing weak while not even giving the wolfs the chance he thought they deserved. But if the full moon brought out the worst of the wolfs' behavior and people were hurt or killed, then he, Wendell, would be responsible for their suffering. So there was nothing left for him to do but pray that the wolfs would restrain themselves as they always had - and worry.
His brooding was interrupted by a servant who brought him the news that "Lady Virginia and her companion" had arrived. Upon questioning, Wendell discovered that Virginia and Wolf had been taken to a private chamber to refresh themselves while they awaited the King's favor. This statement had the effect of exasperating the young king.
"The Lady Virginia is my stepsister," he declared. "She does not need to 'wait upon my favor!' She may see me any time she cares to, unless I've given orders to the contrary."
The servant bowed low.
"Yes, sire," he said. "About her companion, sire . . ."
It was on the tip of Wendell's tongue to say, 'What about him?', but he was too tired of officially arguing about the rights of half-wolfs to bring that into the conversation when it wasn't strictly necessary. Instead he said, "Anyone in my stepsister's company is to be accorded the same privilege as she."
The servant nodded, bowed, and began to leave. Wendell stopped him.
"Where are they?" he asked.
"Sire?"
"What room have you put them in?"
The man looked shocked that his king wished to find someone himself instead of waiting for them to come to him, but provided the information. Wendell smiled to himself as he climbed the three sets of stairs to their room - the same room they'd occupied before leaving for Virginia's world. The indignant expression the servant had worn when confronted with his king's insistence upon throwing formality out the window reminded him forcibly of Rupert. Only Rupert would have argued with him about it. Ah, well, he thought, he'll unbend a bit eventually.It'll just take time. Not like getting changed into a dog. But right now Rupert was gone, away at his hold like all the lords, to protect the people under his care in case any problems arose during this month's full moon. Wendell sighed and kept climbing.
The door was shut. Well, really, did you expect it to be wide open, Wendell? he asked himself. He rapped on the door hesitantly, not liking to think what he might be interrupting. Just before they'd left, Wendell knew Virginia had accepted Wolf's ring, and though he no longer doubted the half-wolf's honor, he didn't really want to see any graphic evidence of their passion. But when Virginia opened the door he had to admit she didn't look in the least bit ravished.
"Wendell!" she cried, surprised to see him.
"Hello, Virginia," he said, thinking how much better she looked than the last time he'd seen her. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever seen her this full of life before. Not that she was bouncy or anything as Wolf was - she just had that look of absolute purpose and determination he'd seen on her fleetingly in the past, along with something else he couldn't quite define. Wolf had been right, returning to her home had helped her tremendously.
She gave him a brief hug, invited him in and closed the door behind him. It was then that he saw Wolf. And was as surprised by his lifelessness as he had been by Virginia's vibrancy. Though, to be fair, he thought, it wasn't as if Wolf could be called lifeless by normal standards. It was simply that he was no longer so energetic. And was there something otherwise odd about him as well, he wondered? Wendell didn't know. Wolf had been sitting on the bed, and had risen when the king had walked into the room, though his eyes had rested on Virginia until the door had closed. Then he nodded to Wendell.
"Your majesty," he said by way of greeting.
No, he sounds perfectly normal, thought Wendell. Maybe I'm just imagining things.
"Wolf," he said, nodding in return.
Wolf walked over and stood beside Virginia. She put her arm around his waist and they all stood there for a moment, looking at each other awkwardly.
"What's brought you back?" asked Wendell, finally. He wished he was a better conversationalist. It wasn't something he had to be as King; the members of his court were supposed to excel at that. Wendell had been so long without a real family that he'd never bothered to learn it. Well, now I have a sister, so I'd better start, he thought.
Virginia had looked up at Wolf, then gone to rummage in one of the two duffelbags they'd brought. Wolf was no help, either. He simply stared after Virginia, silently. Part of Wendell thought this odd. He remembered the half-wolf almost as being a chatterbox, but then he'd never had a chance to be alone in their company after he'd returned to human form. And when he'd been a dog, they hadn't been able to understand him.
Finally, Virginia returned with a fold of blue-colored paperboard. She handed it to him. He looked at it. The 10th Kingdom, it read, just above a picture of a castle, and right across the face of a troll. Wendell realized then that it opened like a book. Inside were two flat, round objects, recessed in. One had a picture on it that repeated the motif on the cover. The other appeared to be a mirror. More magic? he wondered as he looked up.
"It's a play," explained Wolf. "Preserved so it can be watched whenever a person wants."
"And it's the story of our adventure in the Nine Kingdoms," Virginia told him. "Beginning when my mother got out of prison."
Wendell was stunned.
"They can write plays and record them that quickly?" he asked.
"No, they can't," she said. "That's the point. This was made before our adventure ever began. Here," - she turned it over and pointed to the bottom of the back cover - "See, it's dated. They always date these things the year they're made. In my world, this is last year's date."
He gave it a cursory glance. The number itself was meaningless, but what Virginia was saying about it seemed incredible.
"How is that possible?" he asked.
"It isn't," she said. "That's what we don't understand."
"It's some kind of magic," said Wolf simply.
Wendell was not surprised.
Virginia turned to look at her fiance.
"But there isn't any magic in my world," she argued.
"The dragon dung bean still worked," he pointed out. "So did the dog spell on the king, here. He didn't change back just because he went through the portal."
"But we can't do magic there," Virginia insisted. "From our point of view, it's all only in stories told to entertain children. Make-believe."
"Oh!" said Wolf, "The stories! Yes, you said that the whole history of our Golden Age is told as a make-believe story! So is . . ."
"Really?" asked Wendell, interrupting him. What a strange thing, he thought. "Well, could this just be more of the same, then?"
"That is what I was going to say," Wolf muttered.
"No," said Virginia. "No, it can't. Dad and I found out how that happened. There's an inscription on a beam in one of the cells of the dungeon here by the man who wrote those stories. So we know how they got to my world."
"The dungeon in this palace?" asked Wendell.
"Yes, in the cell the Huntsman put us in. I'm sure that must be in this too." She pointed to the recorded play Wendell still held.
"Well, how would he have gotten here?"
"Through one of the mirrors?" asked Wolf, as if the answer to Wendell's question should have been obvious. Wendell got the impression he'd just barely stopped short of rolling his eyes. Suddenly he remembered why it had taken so long for him to warm to Wolf in the first place. If he'd ever warmed to him, that is. Still, he thought, Virginia is engaged to him. And that thought reminded him of what Antony had said at the trial in Little Lamb Village, when Wendell had thought Wolf obviously guilty of murder: Virginia believes in him. And I believe in Virginia. Virginia had been right then, and her faith had later saved the lives of over two hundred people. Wolf was an honorable fellow. An honorable fellow who grates on my nerves, he thought. But I need to be civil to him, even if its only for Virginia's sake. He's going to be my brother-in-law. He blanched. Why did I have to think of that? he wondered dismally. Quickly, he fastened his attention on Virginia.
"You said you were sure that must be in this play," he stated. "You don't know it for a fact?"
"No, we . . . haven't watched the whole thing yet," she admitted.
"Then how do you know the whole thing is about our adventure?" he asked.
"Because," Wolf told him, "It came with a list of scenes." He bent over the duffel himself, reached in and started drawing out articles of clothing, tossing them casually aside. "It's in here somewhere," he announced.
Virginia watched him with dismay, though she said nothing. Most, if not all, of the clothing appeared to be hers.
"Never mind, Wolf," said Wendell. "I believe you."
Wolf kept digging.
"I said I believe you," he repeated, louder this time.
Virginia put her hand on Wolf's shoulder just as he extracted a small sheet of blue paper from the bag. Wendell took it from his outstretched hand.
"Thank you," he said, glancing at it perfunctorily. "I suppose the thing to do, then, is for us to watch it to see if there's anything we can discover from the play's content?"
They both agreed.
"Well, then, let's see it," he said. "How does it work?"
"It only works on a machine that only works in Virginia's world," said Wolf.
Wendell thought a moment, following through the chain of conditions.
"Oh," he finally said. "Then we'd need to go there, wouldn't we?" Only that would present a problem, he thought.
Virginia and Wolf exchanged glances, and Wendell had it again. The same odd impression he'd gotten upon seeing Wolf when he'd first come in. Almost as if Wolf were enduring a fleeting moment of pain. Wendell had opened his mouth to explain why he couldn't possibly leave the kingdom right away, but stopped. If he let it pass, he might not have a better chance to find out what was going on.
"Was there something else?" he asked. They both stared at him somewhat uncomfortably. He took a deep breath, determined to find out. "Is something wrong?"
Virginia glanced at Wolf, then back to Wendell.
"There's something wrong with Wolf," she finally said. "He's not well."
Wendell looked at him questioningly. In reaction, Wolf's eyes suddenly blazed.
"It's just my cycle, okay?" he said irritably, biting off the words. "It's messed up. Does that satisfy your curiosity?" He shuddered then, glancing quickly to Virginia, his expression suddenly contrite. "Oh, cripes, Virginia," he said, sounding miserable. "I'm so sorry." He found her arm almost blindly with his hand and squeezed it. She reached up and squeezed him back. He let her go and sat down on the edge of the bed, putting his head in his hands. Wendell could see that he was shaking.
Wolf's emotional state disquieted him. He'd never seen the entire effect of the full moon on the half-wolf; he'd been turned to gold at the time, and though he could hear perfectly well, his attention had been rather wasted on fuming to himself about his predicament. Then again, most of his time during the beginning of the harvest festival in Little Lamb Village, he'd been carted everywhere Antony went. And Antony didn't spend a great deal of time around Wolf. Wendell began to wonder now if he wouldn't have been wiser to witness first hand exactly what the full moon could do to a half-wolf before issuing his proclamation - after all, Wolf would have been perfectly satisfied to get a medal. But he tried to keep all these thoughts out of his expression when he looked at Virginia.
"We had to come back," she said. "We have to find him some help."
"Of course," he agreed, though he wondered privately how that would be possible. Though, possibly because of the pardon, some half-wolf doctor . . . healer? . . . shaman? might come forward. Or perhaps Wolf knew how to find one in any case. He supposed they must have some method for that, though he knew the common perception was that any half-wolfs who were sick or injured were killed (and possibly eaten) by the rest. Wendell supposed he was about to find out the truth (though, to be fair, he'd never believed they were cannibals, except possibly during the full moon). "What do you plan to do?" he asked.
There was another awkward silence while Virginia looked down at Wolf, who was still sitting on the bed. He didn't seem to notice, just turned his head and stared out the window. She laid her hand on his shoulder and looked back at Wendell.
"We wanted to ask you if we could use one of the cells in your dungeon," she said. Wolf flinched as she said it, but made no comment. "Just during the full moon," she added.
That was not at all what Wendell needed to hear. If Wolf, whom he knew and trusted (if he didn't entirely like) needed to be locked away in order to control himself, what would a weaker individual be likely to do? He had to struggle to keep his dismay from showing.
"Yes, of course," he agreed.
"Thank you," she said, though he noticed she seemed somewhat hesitant. Wendell wondered if she could tell how upset he was. He hoped not.
"Was there something else?" he asked.
"Well," she began, "Would you mind very much if we stayed here until then? I know it's three days away, but . . ." she stopped and looked down at Wolf, who appeared to be resolutely not looking at anyone, then continued, "He's really not well at all. And if something happened in my world, I don't know how I'd find help."
He wondered eerily what she meant by 'something happening', but he merely said, "Certainly you can." If Virginia was afraid of something Wolf might do it was even worse than Wendell thought. But he realized that her request also meant there would be no need to explain why he himself couldn't travel. Even though he was fairly well convinced by now that he'd have to rescind the pardon, he wouldn't need to tell them so. Not yet, at any rate. Not until after the full moon.
Well, that's done at least, thought Wendell as he left his secretary to draft the statement he'd just dictated. Though they're not going to like it. He'd decided to stop wasting his time hearing petitions from people who wanted the wolf pardon rescinded as soon as he'd firmly come to the conclusion that he'd wait until after the full moon before acting. When it came right down to it, he thought he'd rather be considered wrong than to be considered weak. His youth might excuse the wrong. Weakness was eternal. He only hoped no one would have to die to preserve his image.
As he passed the main audience chamber he thought he heard voices coming from within it. Oh, no, he thought. Not more petitions against the wolfs' pardon. Who's let them in? He was in a hurry to get to the luncheon he'd scheduled with Virginia and Wolf, and had a fleeting thought of quickly slipping past hoping not to be noticed. But a quick glance around showed him he was alone in the main passage. And he couldn't just let petitioners run wild around the palace. Where's a servant when you need one? he wanted to know. Someone's going to hear about this . . .
He rounded the corner into the audience hall and came face to face with Wolf.
"Oh, huff, puff! Here he is," said the half-wolf. "So where is the food?"
"Food?" Wendell was really taken aback. Wolf was the last person he'd expected to see.
"Yes, you invited us to lunch!"
"Wolf," said Virginia, "I told you, we're in the wrong place."
Wolf replied to her. Wendell could hear his voice. But he had absolutely no idea what he was saying because all of his attention was suddenly focused on the large oval mirror hanging at the south end of the great hall: his coronation gift from the dwarves of Dragon Mountain. It held Virginia's reflection, though she wasn't looking at it, but rather off to one side, at Wolf. She was dressed now in a pale blue morning-dress in the Fourth Kingdom style. And she was not enormously, but certainly unmistakably, pregnant.
"Wendell?" she asked.
He tore his eyes from her reflection just in time to see her turn to look at it. Her mouth dropped open and she glanced instantly down at her middle, her hand flying up to touch her still quite flat stomach. Slowly, her eyes looked back up at her reflection, her brow furrowed. Then, suddenly, a look of realization came into her face.
"Oh!" she said. "Is that the Mirror of Truth?"
They were already nearly through the first course of the meal and Wendell's mind was still reeling from Virginia's casual attitude towards her pregnancy. He had gotten over wondering when it had happened - well, actually, no he hadn't. Was it in Kissingtown or later, after the coronation - in his own palace, he wondered? But he did concede that that - at least now after the fact - was none of his business. What was his business was getting his ruined step-sister married as quickly as possible. Yet he'd quickly come to realize that his attempts to force her to see the seriousness of her situation did nothing more than irritate her, though Wolf had remained strangely silent on the subject, he thought. He decided to try a different tactic.
"Virginia," he began, "I'm truly sorry if I've offended you, and I realize that your personal life is none of my business" - here he expected a comment from the half-wolf and was surprised when none was forthcoming - "but I want you to understand that I do think of you as my sister and I only want the best for you."
Virginia laid the soup spoon she was holding down in its saucer.
"I know, Wendell," she said. "It's just that the customs of my world are very different from this one. Making sure I'm married before the baby is born just isn't my highest priority right now. After all, it isn't as if Wolf would desert me - I know he wouldn't . . ."
"Of course not!" Wolf interjected, apparently aghast that anyone should even consider it.
" . . . So I can't see the enormous importance attached to having a piece of paper that says so," she finished.
"Well, regardless of what is customary in yourworld," he began, privately wondering what sort of place of iniquity her world was and that maybe he should be glad he had visited it while only a dog, "Herewe have a very strict moral sense and a young lady who is pregnant is expected to be married. Even if it's not something you personally care about, Wolf is from this world, and your father lives here now as well. Think of them."
"Oh, Virginia," declared Wolf, finally joining in the discussion as Wendell thought he ought to have been doing all along, "I don't care so much about what people think! It's just that I want our baby to have a father!"
She stared straight ahead across the table at nothing in particular.
"Will you both please leave me alone about it?" she demanded quietly. "It's my decision. I won't be forced into it."
Wendell realized he was pushing her too hard, and that if he kept on he would only succeed in angering her. But he fumed, nonetheless, at how intractable she seemed under the circumstances. Why does she have to be so stubborn? he wondered. She doesn't have all that much time to get herself married before her condition becomes obvious!
Wolf was staring down into his soup, dejected, as Wendell considered he had every right to be. Virginia seemed to notice this, too, because she suddenly apologized and said, "I'm sorry, it's just that I never envisioned myself married. And I don't want to feel like it's something I'm being forced to do for the wrong reason."
She put her hand on Wolf's and he looked up at her.
"It's nothing to do with you," she went on, "I love you. It's just me, okay?"
Wolf took her hand and squeezed it, though he said nothing, just stared lovingly at her face.
Wendell watched the two of them together and mentally rolled his eyes, though he kept his face impassive. This is worse than having to control my expressions in front of petitioners! he thought. At least there the ultimate decision is always mine! This line of thought, however, made him suddenly understand that in this case it was he who was in the position of petitioner. And he knew how he would react to someone coming in and ordering him about, even if the order were reasonable. He realized he'd have to change his approach somewhat if he expected to ever sway her.
"Virginia," he said, "I am sorry. I didn't realize until now that I was essentially trying to force you into anything. I will try not to do it in the future. But may I make a suggestion in case youshoulddecide to marry?"
She looked somewhat confused, and, he suspected, a trifle suspicious of what he'd said, though he certainly couldn't blame her. He'd react the same way if a previously forceful petitioner suddenly appeared to give in as much as he had just done. But she only said, "Yes, go ahead."
"I should like it very much if you would agree to have the ceremony here," he told her.
"Here?" she asked. "In the Fourth Kingdom, you mean, or . . . ?"
"Here at the palace," he clarified. "You are my step-sister, after all, and both of you are heroes of the Nine Kingdoms. It would only be fitting for you to have a state wedding."
He'd expected the offer to flatter her and spark her imagination. He remembered being in some dancing and deportment classes with his cousins when he was younger, and how the girls had seemed to prattle on endlessly about their own future weddings, what the colors would be, who would be there, how everything would look ad infinitum, while their maids had all sighed and wished their own weddings could be as grand. Virginia, however, merely looked at him in horror.
"A state wedding?" she whispered. He could even hear dread in her voice. Only then did it occur to him that a woman who had never wished to be married in the first place might be a bit apprehensive about taking that step in one of the world's largest weddings. To make matters worse, even Wolf seemed taken aback by the idea.
"I wanted my family to be there," he said simply.
It was on the tip of Wendell's tongue to say there was no reason why they could not, when he remembered that he would in all likelihood be rescinding the pardon the wolfs had been granted. And even if Virginia were to agree to a date before the following full moon, he couldn't ask Wolf's family to openly declare their status just before the pardon terminated. Such an act would amount to entrapment. Fortunately he was saved from needing to comment by Wolf's next statement:
"Most of my family live in the Second Kingdom," he said. "If they appear in public as wolfs, even here, they'll be subject to persecution when they go home."
"Yes," agreed Virginia, "If we do get married, I'd certainly want Wolf's family to attend without putting themselves in danger."
Wendell thought a moment.
"If I were to think of some way to keep Wolf's family safe - a way satisfactory to Wolf - would you agree to it then?" he asked, adding hurriedly, "Provided the ceremony was kept small."
Virginia stared at him levelly.
"Very small," she said. "Our families and a couple of friends, nothing more."
Wendell nodded, privately much more satisfied than he appeared. If Virginia was going to argue about the size of the guest list, then she was already considering the possibility of marriage. He'd managed to plant the seed. Now all he had to do was devise some way of shielding Wolf's family. He sighed, realizing that no matter what plan he came up with, the both of them would hate him in the end when the pardon was rescinded, and that if Virginia didn't agree to set a date within the next month, the entire scenario he'd built up for her would fall apart.
Virginia sat cross-legged on the cot in front of Wolf's cell, dressed in her cotton batiste nightgown and blue chenille robe, still needing the quilt from the bed pulled up around her for warmth. The dungeon was chilly and damp, more so than she remembered, though she supposed it was only natural now with summer virtually gone by. Wolf, however, didn't seem to notice the chill in the air. She could see him, just his head and shoulders, sitting on the floor in the corner on the far side of the cell already sweating profusely, his breathing labored. A slight breeze wafted in from the tiny barred window and Virginia worried that, as wet as he was, he would become sick in a more prosaic way from the cold. She acknowledged, however, that there was nothing she could do about that; nothing she could do about any of it except be here with him.
For the past four days she hadn't left his sight. That was the promise she'd made to herself, if not to him. She knew he'd needed her there, though. He'd been much more physical than he usually was - which was saying a lot - touching her at every opportunity, needing that contact throughout the night even as they slept. It was one more reassurance that she was really still there, with him; that she hadn't left when she found out. But Virginia knew it wasn't over - that it wouldn't be over until after the full moon had passed. He had to know she could see everything, witness the entire transformation and all that went with it in person - not just as a special effect in a fantasy tale - and still stay. She knew, from the way he'd held her just before he locked himself in the cell, that he didn't yet believe she really would: He'd closed his eyes and hugged her as hard as he could for the longest time, and she could feel him shaking with emotion. Then, as they parted, he'd gazed at her face as if he weren't sure when he'd ever see her again.
He'd gone into the cell then. Gone in and changed his clothes, so, he said, her scent would not be there to tempt him. He was afraid of it setting him off, he told her; afraid of some extreme reaction with his cycle so unpredictable. That was also why he'd gone to sit in the farthest corner from her, under the window.
He'd chosen this particular cell three days ago, when Wendell was still trying not so subtly to plan their marriage for them. Wolf had wanted the window for the ventilation, but he hadn't wanted a view of the moon at any time of night, so the window faced north. After selecting it, he'd tested every bar, both in the window and in the dungeon door. When he was satisfied they'd hold, Wendell ordered the cots installed: one outside the cell for Virginia, another identical to it inside for Wolf (though for something called a cot they more nearly resembled a queen-sized bed, she thought). There was little for them to do then but wait.
Most of the waiting time had been spent alone in their chamber since whenever they ventured out, Wendell would pop up with some 'hypothetical' wedding plan he wanted Virginia's opinion on. Virginia had wanted to ask Wolf more about his family; she had so much yet to learn about him - but he would only turn her questions aside, saying they'd wait until later. It hurt her, because she knew what he really meant: that he suspected there might not be a later, that his sharing would come to nothing, and that the less said the better. So their conversation was restricted to pleasantries and discussion only of the present - nothing of the past, or the future. Not that Wolf needed to speak in order to communicate; Virginia had learned that the day he'd found her in the swamp, been surprised at how uncharacteristically quiet he could be, though maybe it simply hadn't been until then that she'd been able to listen. Now she could. She could feel everything as he felt it and she hurt along with him. But there had been nothing they could do except wait. She was very glad the waiting was nearly over.
This morning he'd wanted to shut himself in the cell immediately, but she had convinced him to wait until he felt at least one of the symptoms. So the day went by much as had the previous two, with nothing in it to really remark on. They'd eaten lunch in their chamber and dinner with Wendell. Wolf became neither feverish nor argumentative. The only out-of-the-ordinary occurrences were the looks that both the servants - and Wendell - threw in Wolf's direction: From the servants, Virginia read apprehension and fear; from Wendell, curious speculation. She knew Wolf had read them too.
After dinner Wolf insisted he be locked away. The meal had been served much earlier this evening than usual, so that it was still an hour away from sundown - and moonrise - when it ended. All of them, Wolf, Virginia, Wendell, and two servants, had traipsed down into the dungeon together as if locking him up were some sort of processional ceremony. Just before entering the cell, Wolf had turned to Wendell.
"I'll need to eat," he said simply, his voice and manner weary as they had been much of the day, "A lot."
Wendell nodded, and gestured to the two servants.
"These two will bring you whatever you need," he said.
Wolf's eyes shifted to the servants and Virginia could see they were nearly in a panic. She knew Wolf couldn't have missed seeing it either, but all he said was, "I'll need fresh meat. Lamb or mutton is best, but any kind of meat will do, just so it's very fresh. Still alive would be preferable, but there's no way to get it into the cell without opening the door, so as close to being alive as possible. Definitely still warm and I don't mean cooked. Is that clear?"
They'd nodded, still quite overcome with terror; Wolf's description of what he needed had only added to their nervousness. With a quick glance in Wendell's direction for dismissal, they beat a path back up to the main floor, barely managing not to run.
Wolf had then turned to Virginia to say goodbye. That's what it was, she thought, even though neither of them was leaving the other's sight. She remembered how he'd taken her face in his hands and seemed to be memorizing it.
"Are you starting to feel it yet?" she'd asked
He'd shaken his head.
"No," he'd said. "But I don't want to wait any longer. After the moon comes up . . ."
He hadn't finished, just looked away for a moment before taking her in his arms and crushing her to him. When they parted, he'd gazed longingly at her, then stepped backwards into the cell. Wendell closed the gated door, locked it, and handed Virginia the key. Then he'd left, and they were alone together on opposite sides of the bars.
Wolf had changed his clothes and gone immediately to the far side of the cell. She had changed into her nightclothes and climbed into bed while it was still daylight. The moon had been up for over two hours before he'd begun to be affected by it.
She now watched him press as much of his feverish body as he could against the cool stones of the wall and wondered, as she had for the last four days, if the child she was carrying would have to go through that kind of agony every month. It wasn't something she felt she could ask Wolf quite yet, however. In the state he was in, he was far too likely to take any questions she had about the baby's nature in the worst possible light. Thinking back over the last few days since she'd discovered his secret, she suddenly realized that the only time he'd mentioned the baby in all that time was at the first luncheon they'd had with Wendell. Nor had he caressed it as he had so frequently before. He's already giving it up, she thought. A weight settled on her chest and she felt her eyes start to burn. At the far end of the cell, Wolf shifted position. He didn't look at her, hadn't looked at her since he'd gone in. Nor had he spoken beyond telling her once that he thought it would be better if she remained silent.
It would all be over in two days. She had to think of that, try to focus on it. Her father should be arriving about then, as well, she thought. Wendell had sent for him the day they'd arrived, and had estimated the time it would take for her dad to receive the message and return from Kissingtown, where he'd gone to research some material for his bouncy castles, to be about five or six days. She'd missed seeing him. It had been a tremendous disappointment to her when Wendell had told her he was so far away, though it had meant she could put off for awhile telling him about the baby. That wasn't going to be easy. If left to herself, she'd probably put off telling him until it became obvious, only she knew Wolf wouldn't be able to wait that long. He was too excited.
Not any more. The thought crept in, demanding attention. Live in the present, Virginia. It was a familiar litany, well-worn. She'd said it to herself countless times in the years since her mother had left. But she'd thought it finally gone, buried, no longer necessary. Her eyes clouded over with tears. She reached up to brush them away.
Opposite her, in the corner of the cell under the window, Wolf moaned. She looked up. His eyes were tightly shut, his face twisted in a grimace as he clutched his stomach. His cramps had begun. She remembered his cramps from the last time, at Little Lamb Village; brutal, intense, and agonizing. Fortunately they hadn't seemed to last long. Not to me they didn't, she realized. I didn't stay with him. I went to eat with Dad. It was at least thirty minutes before he joined us, maybe more. To him it must have seemed like hours. But the recollection also made her wonder if she should give the signal for his food now. He'd been ravenous when the pain had finally left him.
He cried out again, then gasped. She could just barely see him, lying on the floor, bent nearly double. No, she thought. No food yet. At this stage the smell might only make him nauseous, she decided. It would her. She got up, put on her slippers, and walked over to the cell. Sweat poured from him as he wrestled with his pain. Not for the first time, she wondered exactly what was causing his cramps in the first place.
Her hands fastened on the bars. Wolf's breathing was stentorian. Subconsciously, Virginia matched it. A cramp seized him and he bit his lip, holding his breath until it passed. Virginia held her breath with him, her knuckles turning white where her fingers grasped the bars of the cell. She shivered slightly, unsure if it was from the cold or not. Another spasm began building slowly, until it formed a rock-hard ball inside her. Abruptly she jerked her hands from the bars and backed up, gasping, half bent over, clutching herself. Then, slowly, it washed away and she was able to find the bed and climb up on it before another started in to replace it. As it did, she whimpered and cried out loud, more from knowledge of what had to be happening to her than from pain. She was losing the baby.
Virginia's cry pierced the fog in Wolf's brain. He looked up. She was lying on the bed, curled up, her arms folded across her middle, tense. Something's wrong, he thought. He half-stumbled to his feet, pulling himself up by the corner of his own cot and sat on it, panting, peering at Virginia. He hadn't been able to see her face from the floor. Now he could, and what he saw hurt him far more than his transformation pains: she was suffering badly - his immediate thought was that she was somehow also undergoing the metamorphosis - but he brushed that aside almost as soon as he thought of it. The baby . . . our cub, he thought. No.
His own cramps were not really that bad - much less painful than the previous month, and in fact much lighter than any he'd ever had. It was only the fighting against what they did to him that made them so agonizing. He'd managed to succeed so far in avoiding any of the change through constant attention, but all thoughts of himself were forgotten as he hobbled to the front of the cell, still slightly hunched over, his left arm folded across his stomach.
"Virginia . . ." he whimpered, fastening his free hand on the bars. A whine built up in him and he let it out as he sank to his knees, pressing his head against the cell door. He was crying and sobbing, nearly choking himself with a deep gasping breath as he exhaled in a mournful howl.
Virginia stirred, opened her eyes and looked at him.
"Wolf?" she whispered. Her voice was shaking.
"Oh, Virginia . . ." he cried miserably.
"I'm so sorry," she went on, her voice faint. Her eyes were swollen and red, and he could see that she was still crying. She bit her lip and scrabbled around with one hand in the bedclothes in front of her, finally finding what she sought. She threw it roughly at him. The object clanged off the lower bars of the door, coming to rest in the corridor, though still well within Wolf's reach. It was the key to his cell.
"Please come here," Virginia begged him.
Wolf stared at the key. It glinted enticingly at him in the lamplight. He ached for it. But should he, he wondered? He'd already let go too much; he could feel the change sliding in. He could hurt her. He'd be so very hungry with no food here, she couldn't order it for him now but he wasn't hungry yet, not now, but he would be very soon, he thought, ravenous, and then what would he do if he got free? Rafe was laughing at him, teasing him like he always had about his 'control' why do you care why can't you just accept it but he couldn't, he couldn't, not now, Virginia, he had to be with her the cub is dying but he might make it worse she wants him, needs him there. The key smelled like her, had her scent on it, he sniffed it and rubbed it on his face.
He was leaning over her, stroking her hair, before he realized what he had done. He gasped, but he was already out. Too late, no going back now. She looked up at him and he saw her eyes widen just a bit.
"Wolf?" she whispered. Her hand touched his face.
He took the hand and kissed it, his fangs just grazing her fingers.
"Shhh . . ." he said. She was in pain, afraid of the pain, but he was here now to protect her, his mate who carried his cub. He wouldn't leave, not ever. Not ever. She needed him. He would keep her safe. He lay down beside her, cradling her in his arms, and nuzzled her face. The scent of his mate fed him, filled him, but for her pain and fear. They were bad for her, bad for the cub. He wanted to lash out at them, but they weren't an enemy he could see. He whimpered and snuggled closer, stroking her face, her arms, the part of her where the cub lay, where the pain was.
Cripes! What was he doing out of the cell, he wondered? How had he gotten here? Think about it later! Right now . . . ?
He felt the contraction beneath his hand and splayed his fingers out instinctively in a futile attempt to stop it. She panted as it slid slowly away, sobbing "I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry" in a nearly inaudible voice.
He drew his eyebrows together. Something didn't make sense.
"How many is that?" he asked.
"Four." Her voice shook and she barely got the word out before dissolving into more sobs.
He propped himself up on one arm and looked down at her, licking his lips, concentrating.
"How much time in between them?" he asked.
"I don't know!" she wailed.
"Well, about?"
"Not much. More between the last two, maybe."
"Virginia, you shouldn't be having them," he said. "There's nothing wrong."
"Well that's too bad!" she cried hysterically. "I'm having them anyway!"
"No," he began, then tried to recall what she'd said in New York when she'd told him how the pregnancy 'test' worked. Hurry up! You don't have much time! he thought to himself.
"There's no chemical change in your body," he told her. "None." Except her being afraid, he thought. But that would have happened afterwards.
"Then why is this happening?" she whimpered.
"I don't know," he said, "But there's nothing wrong with the baby." For now, he thought.
"This can't be good for it," she said, echoing his thoughts.
"No," he agreed, distractedly. Did this remind him of something? Had to do with Rafe? No. What?
"You need to relax," he heard himself saying.
"Oh, right," she said sarcastically, "Relax or else. That's such arelaxing thought!"
He remembered. Yes, that was how! But how can I do that here? Something else, then? What? No time! - he started to panic - she'll have another contraction soon! He looked wildly around, his eyes fastening on her slippers, still on her feet. Feet, he thought, and with the thought, pounced.
Virginia screamed.
"Stop it!!! Stop! Stop! Stop!" She gasped for air, writhing all over the bed, pounding on him to no avail, screaming wildly. He had to do it. It was the only way. When at last he saw that she couldn't catch her breath, he released her and helped her sit up.
She gasped. And gasped again. He could tell she wanted to speak, knew she would yell at him, but didn't care. What he did was necessary. But hearing her continue to gasp, he hoped he hadn't gone too far.
Finally, she caught her breath.
"What did y . . ?" she croaked.
"Shhh," he said, "Don't talk now. You can yell at me later. Can you breathe well enough now to lay back down? Just nod or shake your head."
She nodded, and lay down on her back.
"Turn over," he said.
She gave him a suspicious look and started to protest.
"I won't do it again," he said. "Wolf's honor."
She turned over. He pulled her robe off - it hadn't been fastened anyway - threw the quilt over her lower body, and climbed up to straddle her legs.
"What are you going to do?" she murmured.
"This."
He began kneading her lower back with his hands. She closed her eyes and exhaled in a little sigh of pleasure. He felt a bit of the tension flow out of her with the sigh and kept on, encouraged. All the muscles in her back were very tight, as he had expected. One by one, he worked them until Virginia seemed relaxed enough to be almost asleep, but he didn't stop. He wanted to be sure. What he had not expected to do was arouse himself.
Cripes, he thought miserably, hating himself for the physical reaction. It was the moon again, he thought. Always the moon, making him behave now like an animal rutting, when he'd just almost lost his cub. And poor Virginia - sweet, creamy, delicious Virginia - how could he even think of that when her body hadn't even begun to recover from the near loss? Rationally, however, he knew that the moon was not pulling him at all at the moment. Earlier she had, yes, but not now, though he didn't know why. Did it have something to do with the emergency, he wondered? He didn't know. Nothing this alarming had happened to him since he was eleven years old well, thank goodness! so he had nothing to compare it to. Probably it was nothing more than the problem he was having with his cycle, but if so, he was grateful for it at the moment. So he was aroused. It was nothing he couldn't handle; hadn't had to handle on almost a daily basis from the moment he'd met Virginia until that day in the woods - the day they'd conceived the baby. He simply felt guilty for responding that way now.
He sighed and plied his fingers to the sinews of her neck and shoulders, drawing out the last of her tension. She tilted her head away from his hands with a satisfied moan. It had been at least fifteen minutes, he thought, since that last contraction, and so far as he could tell she hadn't had another. He wasn't about to disturb her by asking, though.
An almost overwhelming ache to lay beside her gripped him. He wanted to feel her in his arms - not a sexual desire this time, but simply a need to hold her; hold them both. He eased off a bit on the massage, just enough so that he wouldn't stop too abruptly, and was just about to lie down when he heard a noise in the passage to his right.
Careful not to disturb Virginia, he climbed off the bed and crept carefully up the corridor. He knew it must be someone from the palace; the passage he'd taken led up to the main floor. But although it had been lit with hanging lanterns at widely spaced intervals, it was still relatively dark for someone without Wolf's nocturnal eyesight, and whoever was coming was not carrying a lamp. Maybe they're just bringing that meat I asked for earlier, he thought. Only he knew they weren't. He couldn't smell it. He did smell something familiar, though. And he recognized who it was at nearly the same time as the king rounded a corner, approaching him warily, a long sword upraised before him in classic offensive posture. Wolf stopped.
"Why aren't you in the cell?" asked Wendell pointedly. His voice was not loud, but it echoed back off the stone walls nonetheless.
"Shh!" Wolf raised his finger to his lips for emphasis. He didn't want Virginia to be disturbed. And he certainly didn't want her getting out of bed, which he was afraid she might do if she got too curious about what was going on in here.
"The guards heard a scream," the king announced in what seemed to Wolf to be the exact same pitch as before.
Wolf nodded. Yes, she did scream pretty badly when I was tickling her, he thought. He gestured for Wendell to come closer. The irony of the king's guards being so useless that Wendell had to protect them from him was not lost on him, though he didn't plan to say anything about it. Not now, anyway.
Wendell stood his ground. Wolf sighed.
"Virginia nearly had a miscarriage," he hissed as loudly as he dared. Apparently Wendell heard him because he lowered the sword ever so slightly. "She's resting now, so please be quiet!" he whispered.
"Let me see her," insisted Wendell, his voice still quite cold, though much quieter now. He flicked the point of the sword to indicate that Wolf should walk ahead of him.
Reluctantly, he led the king back to where she lay. He'd nearly reached it when he saw her raise her head.
"Wolf?" she called.
"I'm right here, my creamy dumpling," he answered, sitting down on the bed and brushing the hair away from her face with his hand. "How are you feeling?"
She'd put her head back down as soon as she'd seen him and now turned onto her side to face him.
"All right now, I think," she said. "Just tired." Suddenly she noticed Wendell and tilted her head back on the pillow to look at him, her brow furrowed.
"He heard you screaming," Wolf explained.
Virginia blushed.
"Wolf told me what happened," said the king gently as he slid the sword into its scabbard. "Would you like me to call the doctor?"
"No," she said. "Thank you, but I think it's stopped now. I just want to go to sleep. Really."
He nodded.
"Very well," he said. "If you decide you need him, though, just pull the cord, as you would for the food." He looked at Wolf. "By the way, do you need it yet?"
"No," Wolf replied. The question reminded him once again of how erratic his cycle had become. "No, I don't. I might not need it," he added, "But I can't be sure. Not now, though."
Wendell nodded once and turned to leave.
"Oh, Wendy," called Wolf after him, "Next time you go to fight a half-wolf single-handedly during full moon - take some light with you."
The king scowled. Wolf replied to the expression by allowing the feral wolf into his eyes for just a moment. Outwardly Wendell reacted very little, but the smell of shock and surprise which came from him gave Wolf more than a little satisfaction.
When he'd disappeared from sight, Wolf finally lay down beside his poor Virginia. She put one arm over him, pulling him closer to her, and sighed contentedly. He brushed her hair back from her face, then ran his hand down her arm and let it come to rest on the lower part of her stomach.
"Everything quiet in there now?" he whispered.
She put her own hand over his and murmured that it was. He closed his eyes and tried to make himself relax, releasing what tension he could from his own shoulders. The near-disaster had made him realize how foolish he had been to distance himself from his dear Virginia and their cub in his fit of self-pity. He'd come perilously close to missing the final four days of his child's existence, and why? Because he was afraid Virginia would no longer want it - or him - after she'd seen the truth about him - which was ridiculous. She'd seen what was probably the worst of the transformation in that play that told their story. So what if it was an actor and some special effects they used to do it? It got the point across very well. And had she reacted as he'd feared? No. She'd rushed to his side and stayed beside him - he realized now - constantly. It had been he who had kept himself apart.
He felt the thin cotton beneath his palm and the warmth of her stomach beneath that, sensing that he had only to press lightly - though he wouldn't dare do that now - to feel her womb. When he'd last touched her, that hadn't been possible. But the contraction he'd felt had been very close to the surface. His cub had grown, and he had missed it.
Frightening though it had been, the experience had showed him something else as well: his beloved Virginia loved and wanted the baby as much as he did. He'd been afraid, from her reaction to the news, both initially and later when she'd performed her own 'test,' that it was something he'd thrust upon her, unwanted; a burden rather than a blessing. Not that he had meant to - and he cursed his own inexperience in that matter. In the future he would be able to identify the scent of her fertility. By the time he had done so this time, however, it had been too late.
He sighed. Beside him Virginia stirred a bit.
"Wolf?" she asked.
He opened his eyes and looked straight into her wide blue ones. Unable to resist, he kissed her on the nose. She smiled.
"How did you know what to do?" she asked.
Yes, he thought, she's been asking about your family ever since we came back to the kingdoms and you've refused to tell her. I guess now is the time, he decided, even though he would've rather she went to sleep. But he wasn't going to put her off any more.
"I told you once before that my brother and I went to live with our aunt," he began.
Virginia nodded.
"My auntie was - is - a midwife," he told her. "And Rafe and I would help her when she went to see her patients."
"You're kidding!"
Looking at her astonished expression, he suddenly realized what she had concluded, and he laughed.
"No," he said, "Not that way. We didn't help with deliveries or anything. Just babysitting, mostly - watching the other cubs in the household and keeping them occupied while their mother was busy giving them a little brother or sister."
"Oh," she said, though she still looked slightly amazed to him. He didn't understand why.
"Anyway," he continued, "One time we went to this house and Auntie told us, after she'd been in to see her patient, that she wanted us to pretend we were fighting with each other and come in and wreck the inside of the house. She gave very specific instructions about it - thinking about it later I was surprised she asked us to do it at all, because Rafe and I fought constantly anyway, and we weren't pretending - but I know now how desperate she must have been. All she really insisted on was that we'd better not hurt any of the cubs there or she'd have our hides later. It was okay, though, she said, to pretend we might hurt them. And we weren't supposed to stop, even if she told us to, unless her patient actually got up and collared us. Well, of course we thought that was great and really tore the house to pieces. I remember I pulled over this huge cabinet full of dishes and almost hit this boy with it - scared him so much he carried on like he'd been hit anyway - but I didn't care, really, cause he was such a little monster. That got the mother up, though, and she made us stop. So we had to go outside then and wait for Auntie to get finished.
"Later, after we got home, I asked her why she let us do that and she said the woman was having something like moon cramps that were going to make the cub come too early if she couldn't get them stopped. And that she was too scared to move or do anything, so she wanted us to distract her with something that would make her forget completely about what was happening to her."
Virginia had listened to his story with an expression of absolute incredulity. When he finally finished, she thought a moment and then said, "So that's what you did? Distract me?"
Wolf touched the side of her face.
"There was no reason for you to be having contractions, Virginia," he said softly. "But you said yourself you couldn't relax because you couldn't stop thinking about what was happening."
"Oh," she breathed. He felt her snuggle closer to him and he gave her a little hug in response.
"Your auntie sounds a lot like you," she said.
The comment shocked him, especially coming from his mate. Had he reacted much worse than he'd feared about her finding out about him, he wondered? But then he realized Virginia knew nothing but this one little story.
"Not really," he said. "Although I know I've been too worried lately about the possibility of losing you, which I know now is ridiculous." He glanced at her as he spoke and was rewarded with the biggest, happiest smile he thought he'd ever seen on her face. The sight of it brought a lump to his throat. She raised herself up a bit to kiss him. He caught her and laid her back down.
"You probably should just lay down completely for awhile," he said. "Like all night."
He gave her the kiss, though. She studied him.
"Was your auntie a very sad person, then?" she asked.
A couple of weeks before my parents were killed, her mate - my uncle - and she were attacked by a couple of Red dragoons. He was killed in front of her. She was injured pretty badly but survived. When we first went to stay with her she was confined to bed - there were other people there too, then, that we didn't really know. I think probably they were some of her mate's relatives. And then after that we had to help her get around until she could do it on her own. Later, a lot of people who didn't know what had happened used to wonder why our sisters didn't go to live with her instead of us, since they thought girls would have been more appropriate helpers for a midwife, but they were a bit young at the time to help look after her in the beginning. She was always very sad and quiet. I used to want to make her laugh - and I did sometimes - but knowing what I know now I don't understand how she stood it. She did - she does - love children, though, so I guess having us there helped her in other ways too. They weren't together long enough to have any cubs of their own."
His voice had gone hoarse; he'd barely been able to finish. It hadn't been until he'd met Virginia that he completely understood what his poor Auntie had suffered. Now he felt his own mate put her hand on his heart and then pull him to her. He kissed her softly on the lips and buried his face in her hair.
Wendell leaned back in the chair behind his desk and tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. It hadn't been that long since he'd sent for the royal physician, but waiting at all agitated him. Virginia'd nearly had a miscarriage! He knew she'd told him she didn't want a doctor now; that she'd gotten over it. But what if she hadn't? Wendell couldn't force his physician on her - and he wouldn't - but he certainly intended to make sure the man was informed of the situation and prepared for a possible emergency.
He got up and began distractedly to pace. She'd been screaming. He couldn't get that thought out of his mind. The guards said they'd heard bloodcurdling screams. He tried to tell himself that their imaginations had made it sound much worse than it actually was, but that didn't explain away the fact that they'd had to have heard something. He knew very little about childbirth - well, actually he knew next to nothing about it - but he seemed to recall hearing that it was quite painful, though he'd always thought that must have to do with the baby's size. But perhaps not - perhaps more pain was involved if the child came before its time?
He stopped abruptly in the middle of the floor, suddenly realizing he was not only chewing his nails but growling at them as well. Purposefully, he forced himself to walk back over and sit down at his desk, keeping his back rigidly at attention. He hated doing that - reverting to anything dog-like - and though it occurred less frequently now than it had in the beginning, it still did happen when he was under extreme pressure.
It wouldn't have been so bad - for him at least, he thought - if he didn't feel so blasted guilty about the way he'd reacted to the news of Virginia's pregnancy in the first place. He couldn't help feeling now as if he'd wished her baby dead. And though he knew rationally that he was much too ordinary a fellow to have the sort of psychic power necessary for that, and that what had happened to his step-sister would have happened no matter what he'd thought, he still felt somehow responsible.
He rubbed his face, feeling the invisible blonde stubble, and looked again at the clock. Where is the man? he wondered again. As if in answer to his silent question, he suddenly heard footsteps outside in the corridor.
Dr. Mellifict appeared in the doorway, his medical bag in his hand. He nodded once in deference as he murmured the greeting, "Your majesty."
Wendell rose and walked over to him. Mellifict was tall, nearly as tall as Antony, and could look his king straight in the eye. His florid countenance and stout girth hinted at a man better given to telling people how to live healthy lives rather than showing them how to do it by example. But he had an ease of manner and a knowledge of his craft that made him popular.
"What seems to be the problem?" he asked heartily, his sharp eyes taking in all of Wendell speculatively, although unobtrusively and without rudeness.
"Oh, it's nothing to do with me," the king assured him, indicating that he should sit down. When Mellifict had done so, Wendell related to him the entire episode. But it didn't take long for the king to notice that something was very wrong.
Though he said nothing, not wishing to interrupt his king, Mellifict's face had taken on a distinct look of disapproval which deepened as Wendell spoke. An uneasy chill made the hair on the king's neck stand up. He had not anticipated Mellifict's stance on the half-wolf question.
"I would certainly be willing to see the Lady Virginia," the doctor began smoothly, "However, I very much doubt whether anything can really be done to save the life of the . . . er . . . cub."
Wendell listened silently to him, a dread growing within him for his step-sister.
"You see," Mellifict went on, his voice taking on a slightly pedantic tone, "Interspecies couplings aren't natural; the offspring of such unions are - if you will forgive the term - monsters. They rarely survive birth, and even those that do are condemned to a short and unfortunate life. Believe me, if the Lady Virginia miscarries, it will be a blessing."
The king kept his face carefully impassive. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Mellifict sarcastically if he thought mules were 'monsters' of delicate health, but he forced himself to remain silent. The past month of seemingly futile arguments he'd had with what seemed like the entire human population of his kingdom over the nature of half-wolfs had at least taught him how little good a verbal riposte would do. In any case it wasn't the real issue, and he knew it.
"And I might make a recommendation," continued the doctor, "to preserve the health of your step-sister. While I understand that she would prefer not to see me, as you say, because of the necessity of admitting she has coupled with an animal, there is an herbal concoction which is easily brewed, and may be administered by anyone, that will bring about a spontaneous abortion. This seems harsh, I know, but it will be better for her health in the long run if the pregnancy is terminated as quickly as possible. A union such as she has entered into is extremely dangerous to the mother's life. Surely it has not escaped your notice that the event you related to me took place during the full moon? The older the cub becomes, the more violent will be the episodes. She can literally be torn apart from the inside out."
Wendell's face remained frozen, but his mind raced. Could that be true? he wondered. She had been screaming in agony . . . He didn't care for the way the doctor had twisted his own words and called Wolf an animal - that was nothing more than dogmatic adherence to the prejudiced beliefs the king had battled all month. But suppose he was right about the baby hurting her? It certainly seemed within the realm of possibility. And the man was a doctor, after all . . .
"If you could give me the name of the Lady Virginia's maid," Mellifict went on, "I will be happy to explain to her what needs to be done."
Wendell frowned.
"My step-sister doesn't have a ladies' maid in the usual sense," he replied. "There's only Emma, who takes them their meals and collects and folds the laundry, that sort of thing." He didn't bother to add that Emma had gotten the job because she was one of the few servants at the palace that wasn't intimidated by Wolf's nature.
"Well, then, Emma will have to do," said the doctor jovially, "Provided you think she can be discreet. But I suppose there's no question of that or she wouldn't have that position in the first place."
Wendell nodded, unsure if he was comfortable with the turn this was taking. He didn't care for Mellifict's attitude; the doctor seemed a bit too anxious to act, he thought. Before the king was willing to agree to such drastic measures he preferred to make absolutely certain they were necessary. Even if he's right, he thought, Virginia's not likely to suffer any more tomorrow than she has tonight. The thought bothered him somewhat, because he disliked the idea of causing her any pain whatsoever - and he felt certain the doctor's argument against waiting would involve this sort of reasoning - but it had to be risked nonetheless.
"I'd prefer to wait until I've completely satisfied myself that terminating her pregnancy is the only solution" - he saw the doctor begin to protest and cut him off - "No, that's final," he said evenly. "But I assure you I'll come to a decision before the next full moon."
Mellifict glowered disapprovingly, but nodded. He collected his bag and took the king's leave.
Wendell sat down at the chair behind his desk and rested his head in his hands. He'd already resolved to spend the next night in the dungeon with them in order to see exactly what happened to Wolf. Tonight he'd been almost ready to conclude that there was no difference whatsoever in his behavior whether it was full moon or not, until the half-wolf had disturbingly altered the way his eyes appeared just before the king had left. And if there were no difference, why would he have wanted to lock himself in a cell in the first place? he thought. Wendell had too many questions about it, and now he'd been given one more. Suppose Mellifict is right and Virginia has another near-miscarriage tomorrow? I've promised her a doctor, and now I can't call him; she'd never agree to the abortion, and I know he won't help try to save the child! It occurred to him that what Mellifict had said might be nothing more than superstition - his views on half-wolfs were so obviously dogmatic - but he also knew that it hadn't been that long ago that he himself had blindly believed Wolf's kind were nothing more than particularly nasty animals. He couldn't allow this one flaw to alter his own judgment of the doctor's medical ability, which was outstanding. No, he couldn't afford to believe that what Mellifict had said about the baby was simply another misconception; he'd have to find out for certain whether it was true, and soon. He'd have to ask a half-wolf. And the only one of those he knew was Wolf.
Mellifict closed the door to the king's study softly behind him. He sighed and his frown deepened. It was all very well to be the king and make decisions in your own good time, he thought, but there were some times when it was necessary to act quickly! He thought Wendell should have been able to see that, but the boy had changed since he'd had that spell put on him by his wicked step-mother.
The doctor shook his head and took himself out to the front of the king's living quarters, where the butler brought him his coat.
"Thank you," he said, "But not just yet. First I need to discuss something with Emma."
"Yes," said Virginia, "I think I finally am ready to marry you."
"Oh, Virginia!" cried Wolf happily. Carefully he placed his corded, liver-spotted hands on the arm of her chair, trying to pull himself up off the floor where he'd been kneeling, but he succeeded only in toppling into her lap. He came to rest with his weathered face pressed against her left breast.
"Luscious as ever," he murmured.
She looked down onto the perfect head of snow white hair and pushed him away.
"Now, now," she told him, "I think you can wait until after the wedding for that."
He whined.
The dress she'd worn to the awards ceremony all those years before still fit, though it had to be taken in a bit. She tottered into the foyer of Westminster Abbey. Her father was waiting for her on his motorized go-cart. He patted her hand. He had grown quite stoop-shouldered over the years, his face a solid mass of wrinkles like an old prune, the only hair remaining on his head a few wispy white strands which he grew long and combed into a concentric circle over his crown.
"Like a ride?" he wheezed.
She sat down beside him, trying with some success not to throw her hip out of joint, and looked through the door at the huge crowd already jammed into the church.
"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "I told Wendell I only wanted our families and a few friends! Who are all those people?"
Her dad shook his finger at her, or tried to. He really should just go with the timing of the palsy instead of trying to fight against it, she thought.
"Don't you remember them, honey?" he asked querulously. "They are our family. Your children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. You and Wolf have five children, you know, three girls and two boys. That makes for a lot of descendants."
Wolf was waiting for her at the end of the aisle wearing the black silk evening suit he'd first worn the same night she'd worn her dress. Stiffly, he managed to negotiate the steps, his balance aided by leaving his tail unconfined - it had been a long while since he'd been able to leave it concealed - and helped her up out of the go-cart.
"Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
Wolf looked at her. His face was still quite handsome, she thought, despite the age. His skin was both tanned and translucent, and his hair, including his always-present whiskers and improbably long eyelashes, had entirely gone to white. But the tropical sea color of his eyes seemed to show up all the more by the contrast.
"I . . ." he began to reply. Then he vanished.
"Wolf?" she asked. She turned around to look at her father.
"What'd he say?" Tony demanded, an enormous golden ear trumpet jammed into his right ear. On it were painted peacocks intertwined with white lilies. "Heh? What'd he say?"
"DADDY!" she shouted. "DID YOU TAKE YOUR PILLS? HAVE YOU EATEN?"
She ran back down the three steps towards him, but her hip gave out halfway down and she tumbled onto Wolf, who had been rolling from side to side in an effort to sit up.
"Where did you go?" she demanded.
"I fell off the platform," he explained, grabbing ahold of her.
After a brief struggle, they managed to attain a sitting position by holding onto each other for support. As they turned over onto their hands and knees to begin the long process of standing up, they noticed a length of white fur lying on the floor. In a panic, Wolf's hand shot to his behind.
"Oh, NO!" he exclaimed dismally. "It's my TAIL! QUICK! Get a band-aid!"
Virginia sat abruptly up in bed, gasping. She had barely enough time to recover from her momentary disorientation and realize she was still in the dungeon cell before she felt Wolf's arms around her. She hugged him violently back, pressing her face to his chest as she tried to catch her breath. He held her tightly for a few moments, then pulled back to look at her.
"Virginia, are you all right?" he asked.
She was almost afraid to look up at him, and her relief at finding the Wolf she remembered, virtually the same age as when she'd met him, brought tears to her eyes and she hugged him close again.
"Virginia?"
She felt his hand touch her lightly on the stomach and heard the worry in his voice.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, "I just had a bad dream, that's all. I'm fine." She put her hand over his. "The baby is fine, too."
"What happened in the dream?" he asked. But though he no longer sounded so worried, there was still a lot of concern in his voice, she thought. More than would be accounted for by just curiosity or politeness.
"It was stupid," she said. "I can't explain it, it would just sound silly. It's just that there was something about it that really frightened me. I know it was just a dream, though. I'm sorry I'm acting this way."
He tilted her chin up so she looked at his face. She didn't know why, but the idea still frightened her; as if she were half afraid he would have aged sixty years in the last few moments.
"Virginia, if it's still affecting you now, it must be very important," he said. "You can't ignore it, and it wouldn't be wise to try."
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling in an overly dramatic gesture, trying to feign a casualness she didn't really feel.
"Oh, yeah, right," she said. "Thank you Dr. Freud. Can't a cigar just be a cigar?" The sarcasm bounced right off of him; he softly pushed the hair away from the right side of her face and continued to regard her with gentle concern. She swallowed. The words 'Think about where you are' sprang to the front of her mind and echoed there repeatedly.
"Wolf, can I see your tail?" she asked.
He reached under the blanket and drew it out. Though he still wore his trousers - he'd said he might need to get up suddenly because of his cycle, though she thought it might also be because Wendell was sleeping in the corridor just outside the cell in the bed she'd occupied on the previous evening - his tail had not been tucked away as it usually was. Everyone in the palace knew he was a wolf anyway, especially since he was confined to the dungeon for the full moon (albeit a self-imposed confinement), so he'd seen no reason to add to any of the physical discomfort he usually expected to suffer.
"It's not as long as it usually is this time of the month," he commented, sounding vaguely apologetic.
She stroked the black-tipped silvery fur and he twitched it a bit. His tail felt soft and warm to her; alive. Nevertheless, she ran her hand back around behind him to feel where it joined his body. He jumped and let out a slight gasp.
"Virginia!" he hissed, taking her hand away, though he didn't let it go. After taking a couple of deep breaths, he said, "I think we should wait a little while for that, after what happened last night, don't you?"
She realized then what she was doing to him, and laughed nervously.
"I'm sorry," she said. Nothing she had done so far had really helped, but that hardly surprised her. The dream was too silly. Of course none of it had happened.
"What did happen in that dream?" he asked curiously.
"Nothing," she mumbled. Was that the problem? Nothing had happened? She knew what the dream meant, really. The answer was right there in the corner of her mind. She didn't want to look at it, not at all, but it kept jumping in front of her trying to make her see it.
"Wolf . . ." she began. The rest of the words stuck in her throat. It was more difficult than when she'd told him she loved him - even though then a part of her had still feared rejection, at least she'd always believed that love was possible. But what she was about to say now went against her entire philosophy of life, at least up to this point. Even the baby had been easier to accept, although she acknowledged now that it hadn't been very real to her up until yesterday - until it was nearly taken away. She knew now she couldn't make herself change her mind about the baby. Not that she'd wanted to, except she'd always told herself before that it was only because she couldn't stand to disappoint Wolf. Now she knew differently. But the baby's conception hadn't required conscious thought. If it had, she knew she'd probably never have agreed to it - at least not until it was too late. Too late . . .
Part of her tried to push the fear back down, labeling it maudlin sentimentality. It's just a piece of paper; it's meaningless! she insisted to herself. But then came the internal reply: If it's so meaningless, why do you object so much?
Wolf was waiting quietly for her to continue. She looked up into his eyes, then away, though she had no idea why looking at him made it harder for her to say what she needed to say; he so obviously loved her. Maybe because he seemed to look right down into her so she couldn't hide for that last little bit of hesitation; those last few moments before she said . . .
"I want to marry you," The words tumbled out in a rush. It was a relief to finally say them; a huge weight lifted from her. She looked back up at him. He was regarding her with an expression of amazed wonder. She smiled hesitantly as he touched her face, lightly brushing her hair behind her ear.
"Splendid!" exclaimed another voice behind her. Wendell had sat up on the cot out in the corridor, and was beaming happily at them.
He knew he was intruding. But he'd been awakened by Virginia's cry at the same time as Wolf, and try as he might, he simply couldn't ignore what they were saying and go back to sleep. He felt somewhat guilty for not letting them know he was awake before now, though upon reflection he decided it might have been for the best. Virginia might not have gone on to say what she did, and if what she'd said had been left for another time, she might well never have spoken at all, he thought. And though he felt that what he'd said was awkward, he also felt it wasn't likely to get any easier from there on. Certainly he didn't want to be an unwitting witness to their lovemaking.
They were still staring at him, however.
"Sorry," he said apologetically, "But I was awake, and . . ." his voice trailed off into silence: no 'that's perfectly understandable, Wendell's' rushing in to fill the void. He coughed nervously.
"So do you have any idea when you'd like the wedding to take place, Virginia?" he asked. Might as well be a cad to the bitter end, he thought.
Virginia shook her head slightly - Wendell hadn't realized how much he'd shocked her until then - glanced at Wolf, then back to him.
"As soon as possible," she replied.
He did a bit of mental arithmetic. It would have to be quick, he agreed with her on that, though probably not for the same reason. Her haste would be the result of whatever message the dream had sent her; he very much doubted she cared how gravid she appeared. The question was, how much time could he get away with for the preparation? Not to mention trying to figure out some way to keep Wolf's family from being recognized? Fortunately it wasn't the time of year for society functions of any consequence. A short notice on a wedding invitation should be no hardship; not in the kingdoms, anyway. He had no idea what the wedding customs might be in Virginia's world. If they have any, he thought sardonically.
"A month from now, then?" he suggested.
He thought he saw her blink.
"That long?" she asked.
Wolf smiled.
"There has to be time enough for the guests to receive the invitations," Wendell explained, "And reply to them, as well as time to travel."
"Oh," she said, sounding quite disappointed.
"I suggest we all get some sleep, then," he said brightly. Too brightly, he knew, but he couldn't seem to help it. "And we can discuss it at length in the morning."
"Well . . ."
"If you want to, that is," he added, hoping he hadn't put her off. That was the last thing he wanted to do at this stage.
"Let's go to sleep," he heard Wolf say.
The two of them lay down. Wendell did the same, turning on his side, his back to them, and tried to get comfortable under the quilts. He found himself staring at the stair-stepped crack in the wall, where the foundation had settled and the mortar between the stones had failed, as he had earlier that evening. He closed his eyes.
He'd felt awkward from the beginning, telling them he intended to spend the night with them in the dungeon. They'd already spent the day together, playing Old Maid, Go Fish, and Crazy Eights to ease their boredom until he thought they'd probably never want to see another pack of cards again in their lives. Wolf had been no different than he'd ever been, so far as Wendell could see. Virginia, too, seemed quite recovered from her ordeal the night before except that she'd grown fatigued early in the afternoon and had lay down to take a nap. Wendell had taken that opportunity to ask Wolf what he hoped would not be too sensitive a question.
"Is it possible that what happened to Virginia last night could be somehow related to the full moon? What I mean is, might the baby be affected by it?"
He'd expected Wolf to reply with either a confirmation of his worst fears or an outraged denial, so he was surprised when the half-wolf accepted the question as if it were a perfectly natural one.
"No," he'd said. "We don't have a physical reaction to the moon until we're around twelve or thirteen years old. It's a fascination in cubhood, but nothing more."
Wendell might have asked more, especially about the nature of the physical reaction, but he was interrupted by Virginia, who had not been asleep as he'd assumed.
"Really?" she'd asked in a relieved voice. "Oh, I'm so glad."
Wolf's head had snapped up to look at her.
"Were you worried about that, Virginia?" he asked, sounding quite worried himself. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"No, not that," she replied. "It never even occurred to me. I was just worried about the baby having to go through that after it was born."
Wolf had gone to sit with her then, and they talked for quite a long time, murmuring words Wendell couldn't quite catch - not that he'd tried. He knew they'd wanted him to leave, but he'd stubbornly remained where he was, trying to absorb what he'd so far learned.
So it's an element of sexual maturity, he thought. How very interesting.
But the information brought him back to Mellifict. Wendell had to wonder now if the good doctor was among those who advocated genocide. The king knew such a movement existed, although he himself had never approved of it, even before he'd discovered that so much of what was considered 'common knowledge' about the nature of wolfs was simply untrue. But the doctor had tried his best to convince the king that the baby had to be aborted. Had the man really believed what he'd said about it killing Virginia, or had he known better, wondered Wendell? Mellifict was a doctor, after all . . .
Wendell sighed and fished under his pillow for his watch. He flipped it open and squinted at the face. It was no use. The light was far too dim for him to see the hands. Wearily he closed it and put it away, recalling uneasily the warning Wolf had issued to him the night before about taking a light with him to fight a half-wolf during full moon. The way his eyes had changed had been quite bestial in nature. And that was what wolfs were reputed to do during the full moon: transform into beasts; beasts so vile and vicious they killed every living thing in their paths. Wolf's own expectations had seemed to support this: he'd been beside himself when Virginia had insisted on sleeping inside the cell with him (not to mention feeling the cell was somehow necessary in the first place). But it was from Virginia that Wendell got his only scrap of what the 'physical reaction' was actually like. She'd informed Wolf quite casually that he'd undergone the 'change,' as she put it, the night before, when he'd let himself out of the cell to come to her side. And all he'd done, she'd said, was kiss her hand and hold her. Not exactly vile and vicious behavior, thought Wendell, however what had been even more interesting to him was the fact that Wolf obviously had no memory of his actions at that time whatsoever, and, that when questioned, Wolf admitted to never remembering most of his actions during the full moon.
"No wolf does," he'd said.
It seemed to Wendell that that fact had a lot of implications attached to it, but he was far too tired by now to sort them out. Surely they'll wait until the morning, he thought.
He fell asleep staring at the crooked crack in the wall.
Tony stuffed a pillow under him in an attempt to cushion the ride, then remembered why he hadn't done it before: It made him sit up so high he had to bend his neck sideways to clear the ceiling. Heaving a disgusted sigh, he yanked it from beneath him, coming down hard on the springs of the seat with his already sore posterior. He winced. How much farther is it? he wondered. He wished there was some convenient way he could ask instead of having to stick his head out the tiny side window, twist his neck in an unnatural direction, and shout at the coachman hoping to be heard. He decided, though, that it was probably just as well. Otherwise he'd probably ask every five minutes like a little kid on a long ride in the car. He just wished his butt didn't hurt so much. In his mind's eye, an image of Murray or one of his multitude of relatives trying to kiss it to make it better suddenly formed. He blanched. Now there's a mental image I don't need, he thought.
The memory served to remind him, however, that present sore ass or not, he was a whole lot better off in the kingdoms than he had been in New York. And though he'd been violently cursing the seats in the carriage, he knew it really wasn't their fault. The coach was brand new and quite plush, with an excellent set of leaf springs; a gift from the king along with the promised titles and land (which he had yet to inspect). Though slightly smaller than the royal coach (which was only to be expected) it was a beautiful glossy black with a team of four horses to match. The interior was done entirely in a pale aquamarine, the doors and headliner in a small monochromatic sateen print and the seat cushions in a solid velour, well-stuffed, with many tufts and buttons. To Tony's amusement, the hardware for the door - the latch and window handle - was identical to that in an automobile. But there was no carpet; the road conditions made having that impractical. And it was the damned road conditions that were giving him an aching butt.
He leaned over to one side, trying to give his tailbone a rest at the same time he stared out the window at the rutted dirt road below. Why can't they pave them? he wondered. Maybe I should work on that next. Wendell wanted a damned industrial revolution anyway. Except he knew that was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. The entire trip to Kissingtown had been made with that in mind - avoiding the introduction of plastic into the kingdoms with all its attendant pollution problems. As it turned out, the balloons he'd seen there were made of latex, which he wasn't absolutely sure he could use. It would be costly, he knew that, to import the stuff from whatever tropic locale it came from, but not as expensive as mounting an entire industrial revolution from scratch, he surmised. He did think he'd be able to at least get away with experimenting with it for awhile - he just hoped his experiments wouldn't be in vain. It was all very well to make your living in plastics in a world where they'd exist no matter what some peon like him did anyway. It was another to single-handedly ruin a beautiful unspoiled world through sheer greed. Maybe that's what he's counting on, he thought. My greed. He remembered the introduction Wendell had given him at the award ceremony and just hoped that if it ever came to it he'd have the strength to resist that kind of temptation.
He sighed heavily and gazed absently out across what, until recently, had been a cornfield. In the distance, the road bent around it, apparently following someone's property line. Just at the bend walked a figure with an odd gait, going the same direction as Tony. As he drew closer, he saw it was an old woman limping.
He pulled the cord to signal the coach to stop. It came to a halt only a few feet ahead of the woman, who stopped at the same time. He took her in: thin and gaunt, her thick white hair confined in a bun at the nape of her neck, skin tanned from the outdoors. On her feet were sensible black shoes like Tony's grandmother used to wear, covered now with the dust of the road, and which somehow belonged with the brown calico dress and white crocheted shawl that she hugged to her shoulders. He opened the door and stepped out.
"Hello," he began cheerfully. He really was cheerful at that moment, it felt so wonderful just to stand up, though he hoped the stiffness he felt as he unbent himself didn't show. "Would you like a ride?"
She regarded him warily and didn't reply. It was only then that it occurred to him that his offer might be perceived as threatening.
"I really mean it," he tried to assure her. "I'm on my way to the royal palace, so I can drop you off anywhere along the way."
She did an odd thing then: she cocked her head and lifted her chin. Tony felt he should recognize the gesture, but his mind stubbornly refused to identify it. Her eyes narrowed as she continued to stare at him silently. After a moment, she walked up to him. At close range he could see that she was quite a bit younger than he'd at first thought; possibly no older than he was himself. Her skin, though tan, was not leathery, but smooth and nearly unlined, with a few freckles scattered across the fragile bridge of her nose. Her eyes, however, a clear light gray, were ancient. She studied him for a moment, trying to decide, he supposed, if he could be trusted.
"Thank you," she said, apparently deciding that he could.
He held his arm out gallantly for her to take to help herself up into the coach, but she ignored it and began climbing in by herself. Whatever it was that caused her to limp when she walked made the climbing a slow, awkward process. Tony reached over to support her by the elbow and waist so he could lift her in. Her reaction startled him: She recoiled so violently from his touch that she struck her head and shoulders on the side of the carriage and nearly fell sideways down onto the rutted road. He jerked his hands away, feeling embarrassed and guilty for no good reason. Christine at her strangest had never reacted to him like this.
Slowly, the white-haired woman caught her breath, her arms folded tensely in front of her, her eyes fastened on his shoes.
"I was only going to help you into the coach," he explained.
She nodded and licked her lips.
"I . . . I need to climb in by myself," she stuttered.
He let her.
She took a little while arranging her skirts just so behind her, then sat primly, her knees together, hands folded in her lap, staring out the window.
"I'm Tony Lewis . . ." he introduced himself.
She glanced once at him, nodded politely in acknowledgment, and returned her attention to the countryside.
"How far are you going?" he asked.
She looked back at him. He could almost see her deciding that yes, that was something he would need to know.
"To the palace," she said. Her thumbs began agitatedly describing circles into her palms. She looked away, then back.
"I'm sorry," she told him. "It's not the custom of my . . . my people to give out our names."
"Oh," he replied, vaguely recalling to mind some lore about true names and using them to gain power over a person.
She took a deep breath.
"Millie," she said. "I'm Millie."
"You didn't have to tell me."
"No, it's all right."
She returned her attention to the window.
"It may be none of my business," he began, thinking even as he spoke the words that it was certain to be the case, "but what are you planning to do at the palace?" He had some idea that she might be a new servant to replace one of the several the queen - Christine - had killed. The thought gave him a cold chill; suddenly he wished he hadn't brought it up.
Instead of telling him to shut up or ignoring him completely, however, she did that little head-cocking thing again. At close range he could see her chest rise as she inhaled deeply. Where have I seen that before? he wondered. But her eyes didn't squint at him this time. Their expression was almost one of complete understanding, as if she was somehow able to read his mind. He swallowed uneasily. No, that can't be true, he decided. If she could do that, she'd never have jerked away from me when I was helping her into the coach.
"You may wish to put me out if I tell you," she ventured.
"Oh, no," he assured her. "I won't do that. No matter what it is." He thought a moment, then grinned. "Unless you're planning to kill someone."
She smiled briefly, though it didn't reach her eyes.
"No, not that," she replied as if his little joke had been completely serious. "I'm going to beg a . . . a pardon for my son. He's in prison."
Tony raised his eyebrows.
"The Snow White Memorial Prison?" he asked.
She nodded. He considered telling her that he'd been there himself, but thought better of it. He hadn't really gotten to know anyone and so was unlikely to recall who her son was, if he'd ever even met him. And he realized uncomfortably that if he pressed a friendship with her, he might end up in the unenviable position of feeling obligated to argue in her son's favor before Wendell - and who knew what the kid had done? She seemed quite content to stare out the window. He should let her.
He leaned back in the seat and thought about his own child. Virginia was why he really wanted to hurry and get back - why he'd pressed the coachman on despite the man's irrational fear of traveling when the moon was full. He hadn't been away from her for this long since the day she was born, even in the early days when he still traveled a bit on business. She was a grown woman now, though, he realized, and entitled to her own life, but it was still difficult getting used to being without her company. She'd been all he'd had for so long. But at least he had something useful to do with his life here to keep himself occupied instead of being stuck in a job of pure survival now that she'd finally found someone to make her happy.
That thought brought Wolf instantly to mind, and he found himself dwelling on the half-wolf's parting words to him: See you soon . . . Grandpa! He hadn't been able to think of very much else whenever he thought of them in the whole time they'd been gone, and he had absolutely no idea what to make of the comment. The literal truth? he wondered. That's not possible - well, yes, of course it's possible, but how would they know? The abnormally long time they'd spent looking for wood that day - and come back without any! - hadn't been lost on him; he remembered a similar situation with Christine, just before they'd gotten married. And he knew they'd unofficially shared the same room at the palace. Only there hadn't been enough time gone by - at least at the time they'd returned to New York - to find out she was . . . pregnant. It had to be wishful thinking on Wolf's part, he thought. No, he decided, he wasn't really worried at all that she was actually pregnant. What worried him was that he knew she didn't want children - and he didn't want Wolf forcing one on her as he'd done with Christine. But he wasn't really sure what he could do to stop it, aside from sounding like a meddling in-law. Besides, he knew deep down that he really ought to let Virginia handle her own problems. He just hated to see her get hurt.
Wendell greeted him at the postern that gave onto the carriage-yard. Millie had remained silent for the remainder of the journey, until she'd stiffly thanked him for the ride when he dropped her off at the front drawbridge, near the petitioners' entrance. Tony had waved goodbye and promptly forgotten about her. Now, he smiled distractedly at Wendell's reception, looking around and beyond the king for his daughter. She was nowhere to be seen.
"Oh, yeah, mmm," Tony replied to whatever it was Wendell had just said. "Look, I know this is probably going to sound rude, and I don't want to seem ungrateful for your hospitality, but where is Virginia?"
"Oh," Wendell answered, sounding as if he understood perfectly, "She and Wolf are still in the dungeon, I believe."
Tony stared. He wasn't sure he'd heard that last part right.
"The dungeon?"
Wendell smiled, apparently just realizing how what he'd said might sound.
"Oh, they're not prisoners," he clarified. "Wolf just wanted to stay there during the full moon."
Now Tony was even more mystified.
"What is it with this full moon crap?" he asked. "Why is everyone suddenly so terrified of it? I feel like I'm in the middle of a haunted forest in Transylvania on my way to Dracula's castle at midnight!"
Wendell, though looking a bit confused himself at Tony's comment, started to answer. But before he could utter a single word, a piercing scream ripped through the air. Their heads snapped towards the sound in unison. More, though slightly lesser, screams followed. Wendell was the first to start running towards them. Tony caught up to him at a massive door set in a high stone wall.
"I think it came from the kitchen garden," offered the king as he waited impatiently for a lackey to unlock the door-gate.
Inside the garden, several female members of the kitchen staff huddled together near the scullery door, glancing furtively now and then towards the rear of the walled enclosure.
"What's happened?" Wendell demanded.
His question seemed to cue the red-faced, sobbing woman in the midst of the gathering, a rather heavy-set matron wearing a soil-smudged white apron, to a renewed outburst of hysterics.
"A wolf!" she cried, "It was a wolf! A wolf! A wolf! That's what it was!" She broke down into a frenzied series of gasps, but after a moment, managed to continue, moaning, "Oh, I knew it! I knew it! I knew it would happen! Ohhhhhhh!" before collapsing at last into the arms of her co-workers.
"WHERE?" demanded the king, obviously irritated.
The youngest, a thin girl who might have been no more that twelve, answered him.
"Back there, your grace," she said, pointing to the rear of the garden while trying awkwardly to curtsy, "I reckon he must have got her last night."
Wendell stormed back to where she had pointed. Tony followed him. In what looked to the New Yorker like a patch of weeds but must not have been since they had so obviously been cultivated, face up, eyes wide and staring, her throat torn savagely out, lay his daughter's maid, Emma.