Wolf's Cross (17 page)

“That is not what I am suggesting.”

“You just informed me that these monks created this wolf-demon they’re hunting.”

“Much in the same way the Duchy of Masovia is responsible for creating the Teutonic State that so annoys us.”

Telek’s uncle leaned back and looked at him silently for a moment. Telek could almost see all the permutations of his suggestion playing out on his uncle’s face, until he said, “You mean something inadvertently unleashed?”

“An attempt to use something that they were unable to control,” Telek said. “The text betrayed knowledge that by necessity must have been gleaned from contact with many of these creatures. There is talk of how these things could be trained, Uncle. Like a dog or a warhorse.”

“They would corrupt themselves by using demonic forces?”

“According to the Brother Semyon who authored this treatise, these beings are not demonic, any more so than any other worldly beast. And, if the words are to be believed, his interpretations had the favor of the pope.”

Bolesław held up his parchment. “The pope doesn’t seem to hold so anymore.”

“There’s a gap in the book between the notes of Brother Semyon and those of another scribe who did not name himself. Afterward, there is no reference to Brother Semyon, or to what he did to acquire his knowledge of the wolfbreed. However, the other scribe’s observations do contradict Brother Semyon’s original interpretation. In the last third of the book, the wolfbreed are clearly portrayed as the work of Satan.”

“So perhaps Semyon was mistaken.”

“When you hear this change of heart, that is your first conclusion?”

Bolesław sighed. “No, it is not. I may hesitate to see the German Order meddling in the black arts, but I have little trouble believing that they would throw a diabolism shroud over an embarrassing mistake.”

“What shall we do?”

Bolesław laughed. “Leadership, my nephew, is in part knowing when to do nothing.”

“We should inform the Duke.”

“Why? I may serve my liege, but this knowledge—aside from the debatable means of its acquisition—will gain him little. These are his lands, and the Order will wish not to provoke him more than they have already. He has all the power he needs, papal letter or not.”

“But why keep it secret?”

“Because the Order is also on my land, and there may come a time when we want slightly more than the threat of the Duke’s hand behind us.”

A
fter serving her duties at the feast for the Duke, Maria came late to Josef’s room. As soon as she entered, she saw that his clothing had been moved, then tossed casually aside. Josef lay in his bed, flushed and sweating.

“You got out of bed.”

Josef turned his head, as if he had just noticed her arrival. “I needed to talk to my Komtur. I went walking for a bit.”

“You aren’t healed enough for that.” She ran to his bedside, setting down the supper tray she had brought him from the feast. She pulled aside the bedding and the nightshirt to see his wound. Josef made only a token protest, grabbing her wrist but putting little force behind it.

“I am fine,” he said. “It was just tiring.”

She took off the dressing and said, “I am surprised you haven’t pulled this open again.” She didn’t want to admit it, but he was healing much better than she had expected. The scar was red, but unbroken and free of discharge.

“See?” he said. He leaned back and stared out at the window as she replaced his dressing with a clean one.

“You need to take more care,” she told him, placing a hand on his chest. She could feel his heart under her fingers, strong but
too fast. She bent over to look into his face. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“It’s late,” he said, placing his hand on hers. “You’re very late today.”

She flushed at the contact. “The Duke’s visit has kept everyone busy.”

“I missed your company.”

He squeezed her hand, and she felt her heart race ahead of his. Suddenly his skin felt very warm, and she didn’t think it was from fever or exertion.

Then he let go and said, “But you must go. Now.”

She drew back, his words feeling like a slap on her face. “What?”

He sat up, even though the pain it caused him was visible. “Please, go now. Go home before the sun sets. Don’t face these woods after nightfall, I beg of you. And please don’t ask me why.”

She saw pain and fear in his eyes and said, “You’re scaring me.”

“Good.”

“Josef?”

“Please, now. There is nothing more important for you to attend to here.”

The intensity of his words, and of his look, pushed her away. “As you wish,” she said, backing out of the room.

She left wondering if, somehow, he knew about Darien.

E
ven so, there was little chance of her leaving before nightfall. The feasting had still been ongoing when she had brought Josef his meal. She couldn’t go until the revelers themselves had decided that the evening had concluded. So when she left Gród Narew, the sun had long since set.

Once she had no work to occupy her, her thoughts drifted to
her face. On her way out, she stepped through one of the display halls where the devices of many allied clans hung on the walls: the threefold cross of Bojcza, the double-headed arrow of Bogorya, the cross-studded horseshoe of Dabrowa, the split-tailed cross of Kostrowiec.

What stopped her wasn’t the collection of arcane glyphs of the many clans allied with Wojewoda Bolesław but the weapons on display between the painted shields and banners. The blades had been polished before being set to peacetime rest in this hallway, and she could observe her reflection in the flat of an axe blade.

Her face was clearly unmarked.

It made no sense to her. Yesterday her eye had been inflamed, her cheek livid with the bruise from Lukasz’s blow. Josef had been right to wonder. But perhaps she had been mistaken about the severity of her bruise, because it was clearly healed now.

It took an effort of will not to rub her cheek, drawing even more attention to her sudden healing, as she left the fortress.

Outside, the night was starless and without a moon. Dense clouds glowed a dull silver, giving the landscape an unearthly aspect beyond her lantern’s reach. She walked to the edge of the woods, thinking of Josef. His warnings frightened her, but some other part of her welcomed his concern. She had spent so long being burdensome, irrelevant, beneath notice, that just an interest in her welfare from someone without any obligation to care was comforting.

If only …

But even though she could still feel Josef’s heartbeat beneath her fingertips, she didn’t finish the thought, because there was nowhere good it might lead.

When a man finally took her, it would not be someone young or handsome or noble. Her marriage would be to an old widower looking for someone to care for his children or his household. The best she might hope for would be some measure of kindness.

She walked home on the path, her mood darker than the woods around her. Was that her life? Was that all she could look forward to? A reward in Heaven? And what would she have before then?

Perhaps she should follow Josef’s example and join a holy order.

With her downcast mood, it wasn’t surprising when Darien chose to reveal himself.

Why are you haunting me?
she thought when she saw his lithe, muscular form stride out of the woods in front of her. She stopped walking and they stood facing each other, just a few steps beyond arm’s reach. For several moments, the only sound came from the wind rustling through the treetops.

The woods always turn silent around him
.

“So you took it off, didn’t you?” he said finally.

She caught her breath, then placed her hand over her heart, holding the cross, and shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”
I’m still wearing it. It’s still protecting me
.

“Lies do not become you,” he said. “The marks on your face are gone.”

She touched the side of her face where Lukasz had struck her.

“Do you understand yet?” he asked.

“Understand? You talk in riddles that don’t make sense! How could I possibly understand?”

He took a step forward, his smile sharply underlit by her lantern’s flame. “I told you, Maria. That chain around your neck keeps you imprisoned. You remove it, even momentarily, and you become much more than you think you are.”

“What do you mean? Why is my bruise gone?”

“It is gone because you chose, however briefly, to be who you really are. It means that you need only cast off your chains and you can become as free as I. It means we’re fated, sweet Maria.”
He reached up and gently touched her cheek. The feeling of his skin against hers sent a jolt through her body. He looked down at her and said, “I have been looking for you for a long, long time.”

She sucked in a breath and whispered, “Are you the Devil?” She wondered if, right now, she cared what the answer was.

Darien laughed and shook his head. “I have nothing to do with God or the Devil, or anything so common from the world of men.”

His hand slid back, caressing the nape of her neck and sending shudders down the length of her body. She breathed in his scent and felt the muscles in her legs melt like wax in the sun. His face was now so close that his breath danced across her lips as he spoke. “You must know how much better you are than the rest of them. You’re stronger, faster. You can endure so much more than they can, even with their chains on you. You must know how beautiful you are.”

You lie
, she thought.
But they’re such lovely lies
.

He brought his other hand around her back, pulling her gently toward him. She let go of the cross and touched his chest. His shirt was loose and open down the front, and her hand slid in to touch skin. She felt downy hair, and a warmth that almost burned. She felt him breathe.

Then she remembered Josef’s skin under her hand, the feeling of Josef taking breath. And something in her felt as if this was a betrayal.

But before she could push herself away, Darien’s lips touched hers.

The feeling made her forget every reservation she’d had. It didn’t matter who he was, or where he came from, if he could make her feel like
this
. For a brief, ecstatic moment, she tasted him, almost became a part of him. She lost herself in the smell, the touch, the
need
.

Then he let her go and took a few steps backward, chuckling to himself. Maria’s pulse raced, and her breath caught in her throat.
Why did he stop …

“No.” She saw something dangling from Darien’s hand, and her own hand went to her neck. “Give it back!” She stepped forward and grabbed for her cross, but Darien skipped backward like a child teasing a hungry cat.

“You heartless cur, you are nothing more than a thief!”

Darien backed away again, dodging her grabs. “Oh, I am not a thief. I will gladly give this back to you.”

“Then please return it.” Maria held out her hand, surprised at the coldness in her voice and the tone of command she found there.

Darien shook his head. “This is my game. If you want this back, you’ll have to catch me.” Then he turned and ran down the path ahead of her.

Maria ran after him, her pulse thudding in her ears. In her gut churned a mixture of embarrassment, self-loathing, and growing anger. How cruel and thoughtless could one man be, coming to her just when she was aching for someone to care for her, then making a game of the most precious thing she owned?

He knew what it meant to her. How could he do something like this?

The anger throbbed in time to her pulse, pushing her legs to move faster. She barely noticed when the lantern’s flame guttered out. Darien reached a straight part of the path, and he was little more than a blurred shadow against the silver-lit darkness.

“Stop!” she yelled at the retreating shadow. Darien refused to listen, diving into the woods with an infuriating grace.

She was not going to allow him to get away with this. She couldn’t. He was
not
going to steal her father’s cross.

Her lungs worked like a bellows as she turned to follow him into the woods. She grabbed the trunk of a downed tree and leapt
over it without caring about dropping the lantern, or the rip torn in her surcote. She focused all her attention on the fleeing form of Darien, barely a shadow within a shadow ahead of her. But even though she couldn’t quite see him, she still heard him running through the woods, crunching dead leaves and branches, tearing through the underbrush.

Even more than that, she
smelled
him. The intoxicating, earthy maleness that had turned her insides to water hung in the air, marking his trail more clearly than any sounds or any footprints.

She pushed herself, racing after him until it hurt. Past the point where it hurt. Not only her muscles but her skin and bone burned, as if she were running through hellfire after him. The pain throbbed through her core until it became something else—a pulsing release that pushed her forward, her body shuddering in rage, her attention focused completely on the object of that rage.