Knight of the Wolf [GxG]

9: Earthshine

When they arrived at the barracks, it was well past the border's 9-5. In fact, it was pitch black, and Dev was expected to explain herself and the circumstances of her leaving the Empire. Which she would have to do in the morning anyway for the border patrol officer checking her identification.

But now it was in an effort to secure an actual bed to sleep in that night.

"We weren't expecting any imperial city folks so soon—you're here early," the guard who greeted them said.

"That's probably because I'm the first," Dev admitted. Her words slogged through her brain and what was left of her blood on their way out of her mouth. "When did you hear the news?"

"The morning after it happened," he said.

Hot tea was steeping when they arrived at the barrack's kitchen hearth. Curious eyes lingered in stone archways to other rooms, and weren't at all put off when Zoyla made direct eye-contact with them.

Dev was quick to realize that they were more interested in Crew than they were of Dev. That would change if the topic strayed close enough to the truth of why Dev was there.

Crew was an ink blot on the room with her all-black ensemble. She had shed her cloak and hat once they were indoors, and now appeared a touch closer to the most attractive person on the planet—according to the soldiers peering in. The guard attending to them, Dev realized, was also known to get distracted by every move Crew made.

Luckily, Crew remained abnormally still and bored. She didn't have to breathe, after all.

"I see," Dev said, and the attention in the room returned at last. "I was there when it happened."

This struck the guard with a laugh. He swatted an amused hand and said, "Aye, I'm sure, mate." But neither Dev, nor Zoyla, reacted to this.

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I understand if you don't want to house us for the night," Dev said. "I plan on avenging the princess and have been tracking the wolf since that night."

"And... you think it got past our keep? Unscathed?" he said, the amusement back—this time with a more hostile edge. His jaw tensed.

"I'd like to see your records since that night. It may have crossed two days," Dev said.

"What, like we keep detailed descriptions of each one we fell? Are you mad?" he laughed, and the observing soldier gave a chuckle.

"No, but I reckon you have keepsakes." At his annoyed eye-roll, Dev said, "I'd like to see the pelts. So close to the full moon, you must have encountered a couple."

"Aye," he agreed, and when Dev didn't budge, he gave an annoyed sigh. "Aye, for the princess, then."

He walked the three of them and their dozen or so spectators across the barrack. Though the kitchen had its own cellar, the one dedicated to hellhounds was closer to the armory where the pelts could stay dry.

Werewolf elts were notoriously expensive despite not being sought after. They were a reward for a personal triumph—one did not simply wear a werewolf if they did not aid in killing it—or a mark of honor for those who died in the fight. If Tove had perished in the fight, the beast's pelt would have been gifted to her remaining family. It was assurance that their daughter was avenged, but would never be tailored to be worn.

The only exception Dev could see from her observations in the imperial city were for children borrowing the pelts of their parents in the guard to play pretend.