Mortal Ties (12 page)

Another name was called out. Isadora responded, then looked at Isen and nodded. “All
of mine are accounted for.”

Lily’s voice dropped even lower. “And Leidolf meshes with everyone?”

“Leidolf just swallows,” Cynna whispered back. “Doesn’t matter if they mesh or not.
Sooner or later, they subsume any subordinate clans. I think it’s the high-dominant
thing. Their first Rho was high dominant.”

Two more names were called out. Pete responded loudly, then said much more quietly,
“All of mine are present or excused.”

Rule had expected to hear that. It brought him no relief.

Isen spoke, his deep voice rumbling up as if it came from the soles of his feet, magnified
by his barrel chest. “Group leaders! Are there any others missing from your groups?”

Silence answered him. Rule focused on his breath. In, out. Slow. Deliberate. Calm.

Isen held that silence for a long moment. The pulse in the mantle stayed steady…steady,
but too fast. Not calm.
When Isen spoke again his voice dropped to a low growl. “We are at war. We are at
war with the Great Enemy. The Lady’s enemy. And we have been betrayed.”

There was a reaction this time. Not words, but a soft susurration, from dozens of
indrawn breaths. A quivering in the air. Isen had named the stakes. War. Betrayal.
He had told them there would be no clemency.

Isen flattened his voice. “I would speak first with the Leidolf Rho.”

Rule stepped out from his father’s side and moved to stand in front of him. He stood
nearly a head taller than Isen. He looked into eyes shadowed by heavy brows set in
a face carved by time and will into stone. His Rho’s face.

But now, tonight, he was Leidolf. “I greet Nokolai’s Rho.”

Isen moved his head in the barest token of a nod. Rhos did not dip their heads. That
would suggest a baring of the nape. “I greet Leidolf’s Rho.”

Rule inclined his head the same fraction of an inch. “Leidolf agrees that this is
a time of war. The loss of the object Cullen Seabourne has been working on could be
a blow to all the clans.”

“Will you ask your people what, if anything, they know of this theft? Of this thief?
Will you ask them here and now?”

“As a favor, and so that none here will be distracted by suspicions that take them
on the wrong trail, yes. I will ask.” Rule continued to face Isen and spoke quietly.
“Leidolf! To me.”

There were sixteen Leidolf at Nokolai Clanhome—the guards who took turns protecting
Rule and Lily. Sixteen men who moved toward him with silent ease…and he felt them.
That had never happened before. He hadn’t known it was possible, but he felt his Leidolf
clansmen moving toward him. It was nothing like what he felt through the mate bond,
a sure and certain sense of where Lily was. It was far more subtle, more like feeling
the faintest wisp of a breeze
on a hot day. Something stirred behind him, and he knew what it was, that was all.

He turned. He let his gaze touch each of them briefly, and he
knew
them. Knew them personally, yes, and of course the mantle recognized them. But for
the first time, his knowledge and the mantle’s recognition blended into a seamless
whole.

He knew them, and they were his. “Leidolf,” he said, his voice raised enough for Nokolai
and the other clans to hear. “You will answer truly and fully now. If I have given
you orders on some previous occasion which might cause you to withhold information
or mislead or lie, you will disregard those orders. Do any of you have personal knowledge
of this theft or of this thief?”

Some shook their heads. Some said no. A few did both.

“Have any of you spoken to someone not present tonight about Cullen Seabourne’s workshop?”

Most of them spoke their
no
aloud this time, firmly. So that Nokolai would hear. One didn’t respond. Rule’s heart
gave a single hard thud in his chest. He controlled it quickly. “Scott. You didn’t
answer.”

“I wasn’t sure how to answer. LeBron and I talked about it some. He’s not here.”

This time the relief was real and vivid. Rule turned to look at Isen. “LeBron died
saving my
nadia
’s life. I can’t call on him to testify for himself, so I will speak for him. He did
not betray Leidolf or our alliance with Nokolai. I so pledge on the honor of Leidolf.”

Isen didn’t react. Others did. Breaths sucked in, feet or bodies stirred. Rule could
have made the pledge on his own honor. That he’d backed it by Leidolf’s meant it could
only be disputed if Isen were willing to call Clan Challenge.

It was probably overkill. Rule didn’t care. LeBron’s name would be honored, not smudged
by doubts.

Isen nodded again, a fraction more deeply—acknowledging a favor. “Nokolai accepts
Leidolf’s pledge and thanks you for your help. Does the Leidolf Rho have further comment
or questions at this time?”

“Leidolf has no more to contribute at this time. We are on your land. We acknowledge
your rights and responsibilities in this matter.”

“Then I would speak with my Lu Nuncio.”

Rule had switched roles with his father many times now, going from Lu Nuncio to Rho
and back. It had sometimes been tricky in the way that a puzzle can be, but never
truly difficult.

Tonight it was.

The Nokolai Rho wished to take him out, use him, then stuff him back into the lesser
role when it suited him? And do so publicly, demonstrating to all that Leidolf answered
Nokolai’s bidding. That was…Rule drew a slow breath. That was entirely proper. When
Rule first was thrust into the leadership of Leidolf, his Rho had spoken to him about
the problems inherent in being Rho to one clan and Lu Nuncio to another. He had agreed
that here at Clanhome he would be Lu Nuncio to Nokolai, not Rho to Leidolf. Tonight
Isen had agreed to his assumption of the other role so he could clear Leidolf of complicity,
but that did not abrogate their original agreement.

Isen had noted his hesitation. No doubt of that. Others might have as well. “I have
thought of one thing Leidolf might do to assist. I would send my men to guard Toby,
releasing more of your men to assist in other ways.”

“I accept your offer.”

Rule turned and gave quick instructions to his men. As they melted away into the crowd,
he faced Isen again. This time he dipped his head low, baring his nape. “My Rho wishes
to speak with me?”

Isen’s face held no emotion. “Change.”

R
ULE’S
heart gave a single, frightened leap, but he obeyed.

The moon was new and hidden now behind the curve of the earth. It didn’t matter, not
for Rule. Her song was as much a part of him as his pulse. He didn’t rush, not wanting
to pull others into the Change with him. He
listened
and opened himself to moonsong, distant and muted and impossibly pure, and it slid
through him like falling water. The earth answered easily, shooting up through him,
and the two met and ripped the world apart, starting with his body.

The pain was instant and intolerable—and over, the memory of it lingering faintly
like an afterimage of the sun imprinted on the retina. Then that, too, was gone. He
stood on four feet in a world vastly different from what he experienced on two, his
vision both expanded and contracted. Expanded, because wolves have a full 180 degrees
of vision, compared to a human’s 100 degrees. Contracted, because wolves are myopic—unless
something moves. That they’ll spot quickly even at a great distance, though the object
itself may be an unidentifiable blur.

Even two-footed Rule’s sense of smell was better than a human’s, but in this form
smells burst upon him, wrapping
him in a more deeply dimensional world. The air was alive, textured with information
more layered and complex than any of Rembrandt’s paintings. His ears pivoted, helping
him read that world. He heard Isen’s heartbeat now as well as feeling it pulse through
the mantle. He heard the throb of all the other hearts timed to it, and realized his
own heart had fallen into that rhythm the way a rock obeys gravity.

Rule stood on four feet and felt a whine try to rise in his throat. This was worse
as wolf. Far worse. Wolves live wrapped in instinct, and his were at war. Rule remained
four-footed but pulled himself more into the man.

Sometimes thinking helped.

His own men were away from the crowd now, no longer surrounded by the scent of the
clan who had been their enemy for so long. They would do well enough even if their
hearts did beat faster for a bit. But he didn’t want to be compelled into the rhythm.
He was Nokolai and obedient to his Rho, but he was also Leidolf, and he would not
be compelled. He turned part of his attention to his breathing once more. His breath
answered him, but his heart didn’t want to obey. Fear was clutching at him with clammy
hands, trying to wrest control. He knew what the order to Change meant. He knew.

This was the form for Challenge…or judgment.

Isen signaled for Rule to resume his place at his side. He obeyed. Quietly Isen said,
“Pete. Name two squads who are all on the field now that you trust completely.”

Pete paused. “Seven and Eight.”

“Squads Seven and Eight!” Isen boomed out. “Change!”

They did. Two of the newer wolves were inadvertently caught up in it. They immediately
lowered themselves to the ground in apology.

“Seventh and Eighth squads—disperse so that at least one of you stands with each group.”

Wolves began to move through the crowd. As they did, Isen turned slowly, letting his
gaze sweep over the gathering. He made a full circle before he spoke again. “I require
you now, all of you, to think. To remember. Who have you
spoken with about Cullen Seabourne’s workshop? About what he has been working on?
You’ve discussed it with other Nokolai, of course. But perhaps someone who is not
Nokolai was curious. Perhaps one of our guests. Such curiosity is natural, but you
were told not to discuss this outside the clan, so you will remember if someone asked.
Think about this. Call it up in your memory.”

Silence. Several moments of it, hearts beating together…but not all of them. Not Laban.
Not Vochi.

And not female clan.

The pull of that demanding pulse continued to build.
Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump…

Isen raised his voice once more. “Everyone who remembers being asked about these things
by someone outside Nokolai will come forward now.” Then he lowered his voice. “Pete.
Make room for them. Forty or fifty, I suspect. Don’t move Laban and Vochi.”

Pete moved away and began directing those groups closest to the center to other parts
of the field. Others began moving up in ones and twos. It wasn’t silent now, not with
so many moving forward or back, the inevitable
excuse me
s, feet shuffling as some shifted to allow others to pass. Lily was asking Cynna something
again. She kept her voice so low that Rule caught only a few words over the noise…enough
to guess her question. She wanted to know what happened to a subordinate clan that
screwed its dominant.

Cynna’s whispered response was clear to a wolf’s ears. “Anything. It can be anything,
up to and including clan death, if the dominant gets two other dominant clans to agree
that a betrayal took place. But if the Rho of the subordinate clan admits his guilt,
it’s kept between those two clans. It’s all on him then, see? Not his clan.”

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump…

Lily asked what happened to that Rho.

Cynna whispered, “He submits and is killed.”

Lily didn’t ask any more questions. She waited. Rule waited.

Most of those making their way forward were female clan.

That, too, he’d expected. Women were the obvious targets for someone out-clan to question.
Female clan obeyed their Rho, but they were human, not lupi. They obeyed the way a
human obeys a policeman or doctor—from habit, from respect, from the assumption that
the cop or physician knows what’s best. They knew that disobedience had consequences,
but they didn’t have a gut-deep certainty that it was
right
to obey. And the consequences of disobedience were different for them.

Lupi didn’t harm women. Ever.

A lupus who erred in a minor way was chastised physically. He might be given some
onerous job as well, but the physical defeat was what mattered. It proved that he
wasn’t
allowed
to disobey; those with authority over him could force his obedience, and there was
comfort in that. Comfort, too, in the simple expiation of guilt—first pain, then healing,
both physical and emotional.

Women couldn’t be punished physically. The idea was deeply repugnant. Besides, it
would bring fear, not comfort. For a minor transgression, a female clan might be given
chores, a stern talking-to, something along those lines.

Serious disobedience was rare, but it happened. When it did, shunning was the usual
consequence for both male and female clan. During the shunning—which traditionally
lasted from one day to one week—no one would speak to you, look at you, acknowledge
your existence in any way. No one except your Rho. He was the only one who knew you
were alive, who might—if he chose—meet your eyes for a moment.