Page 47 of Blood of Wolves

“Only sometimes.” Leif offered a smile he hoped was encouraging. “But I’m a good listener, either way.”

Náli scowled and looked away. But, after a few silent moments filled only with the gentle crackling of the fire, he drew his knees up and hugged them to his chest. His frown melted into an expression more like worry, and he chewed at his lower lip. He looked nearly childlike, in that moment. In so many ways, Leif knew, he’d been forced to grow up too quickly – but in others, he was wholly innocent.

As gently as he could, Leif said, “It’s Mattias, isn’t it?”

Náli sucked in a fast breath. “Of course it is, you already knew that!” he hissed.

“All right. I wanted to verify.” He waited until Náli had calmed, fractionally. “Have you told him?”

“Told him what?”

“That you want…what you tried to get from me just now. But from him.”

Náli stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Youhavetold him, haven’t you?”

He blinked. “That isn’t the sort of thing a lord says to his guard captain.”

“But it could be.”

Náli turned away again, unhappy color staining his cheeks. “He doesn’t want me.”

“You don’t know that – not if you never ask. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve seen how he looks at you. He’s your captain, yes, but he doesn’t gaze upon you the way a captain should.”

“And what would you know aboutgazes? You couldn’t even keep your idiot brother from stealing your betrothed.”

“Hey, now–”

Náli surged unsteadily to his feet, and retrieved the wine bottle.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

Náli tipped the bottle back, throat bobbing as he swallowed. He gasped when he was done, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “And I think” – hiccup – “think that I’m – tired of being…” His lashes fluttered, and he swayed where he stood. “Treated like – like–”

“A child?” Leif guessed.

“Like breeding stock!” Náli spat, eyes blazing behind their sheen of alcohol. “Like-like I’m nothing more than-than-than a stud! Mind the mountain, and make an heir, that’s-that’s-that’s all I’m g-good for!”

The bottle slipped from his hand, and shattered on the floorboards.

Leif started to stand – and promptly found himself with a lapful of wriggling, uncoordinated Corpse Lord again. This time, he couldn’t get his hand up in time, and a pair of chapped, wine-sticky lips slammed into his own, hard and clumsy enough their teeth clacked together.

Leif got a handful of Náli’s hair and pulled him back, wincing. Before he could scold him, though, Náli’s face crumpled, and the tears finally spilled over.

“It’s not f-fair,” he whispered, furious, anguished. Leif’s heart hurt for him. “I don’t want to m-marry. I don’t want to do – to do any of this.” Softer: “Why doesn’t he want me? Why doesn’t he love me?”

Leif petted the side of his head, awkwardly. “I think he probably does.”

Náli blinked. “Oh,” he breathed, and then promptly passed out.

~*~

The fortress hummed with the quiet, constant movement of an armed outpost. Watches changed, and the men of Long Reach went about their nightly rounds; extra hands had been called in to assist with the harness fitting, and the forge rang out with hammer blows: a chiming like bells across the snowy courtyard. Most of the lords had sought their beds already, weary from travel. But a few still sat up in the mess, with mugs of cider, talking quietly across the long trestles. Of these, five were Náli’s Dead Guard.

They sat huddled together, separate from the others, distinct in their muted grays and browns, their sewn tunic patches that marked their rank, their identical hairstyles: heads shaved save the long, lone braid down the center of each skull, hanging nearly to their waists in back.

Leif recognized Mattias, but he was the only one he knew by name. The Dead Guard kept to themselves and their master, never fraternizing with the guardsmen of other houses.Elite, Náli had called them, and they held themselves apart, as evidence.

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