Knight of the Wolf

7: Zenith

That night, at the moon's peak, Crew had half a mind to shake her two charges awake and beg for some form of entertainment. If it were up to her, they'd have caught up to the wolf by now—not sleeping.

Hunting wolves wasn't a part of Crew's impressive resume, nor was it a common request from the Empire. The only times she hunted wolves were due to reports of the damned beasts terrorizing innocent towns. She took those jobs, only to realize afterward that the towns were killing the wolves' young. Young wolves, after all, were easier targets and slaying one was considered a mark of adulthood.

She still performed her duties those two times, but she wasn't all that pleased about it and stopped taking marks that dealt with werewolves.

The death of the princess was a werewolf mark Crew simply couldn't refuse. Literally. Most marks were shared communally and respected when another hunter claimed it, but others were handpicked—a call. The princess' killer was a call for Crew alone, and it came as no surprise to her as to why.

Crew closed her eyes, her hat cushioning the tree behind her as she reclined back. Devesh Cormaic wouldn't be able to see her here even in the daylight, but as for Crew, she could see her charges in perfect clarity. The daylight made judging distance more of a challenge, but her sight was still better than the average human and therefore made stalking a breeze.

And boring.

Crew lifted a hand of two cards, lips pursed. She studied the distressed paint on them before double-checking her imaginary opponent's cards on the tree root beside her.

She had been playing joust since she was a kid and living north of the border. As many vampires who disagree with the policies regarding werewolves do, her family opted to move south. She was still considered a vampiric infant in all ways that matter to her kind, so whatever opinions she had were null and void even now.

She played her hand—the target card, which was then followed by her imaginary opponent's own target card. It was a small triumph, though neither party won. If she couldn't win, at least her imaginary opponent couldn't, either.

Like most night, she played until dawn when the ominous, hollow sounds of the forest and distant creatures subsided and her charges woke to dappled sunlight in their eyes. Out of pure chance, that night she lost every single jousting round.

Among the many card games that circumnavigated the globe, joust was one known to only a fraction of Inveralwyn, the country across the lake on the Holy Empire's north shore. It was known to an even lesser number of Odranic people and therefore, difficult to teach in taverns where Crew often absorbed her share of socializing. Odranic people, especially this far north, preferred gambling for drinks which Crew might not have minded if she had the sluggish metabolism for liquor.

That morning, Dev glared suspiciously around the forest behind them. They had descended further into the wilderness, and so too did the cold. Frost had built up on the exposed roots and fused Dev's cloak to it with crystals that she tore up with a ripping sound.

Zoyla stood at a distance, studying Dev's paranoia with wary suspicion. She spared quick glances around them, saw nothing nefarious, and said, "Do you think she's out there?"

It took a second for Dev to answer, at which point Zoyla's skin was already prickling with unease. "Definitely," she said at last, turning to continue onward. "Her eyesight is worse in the sun, so if we stay in lighter areas we might catch a glimpse of her."

"Does she sparkle?" Zoyla asked.

Dev nearly answered before realizing what she was asked. She rose an eyebrow at Zoyla. "Of course not. Where did you hear that?"