Chapter 9: The Captain

The captain drank alone on Thursdays, in the guardroom under the east wing.

Maud told me that, and she told me the wine he liked.

She poured a cup of it herself and put it in my hands.

"Spiced," she said. "Strong. He'll talk."

"And if he knows my face?"

"He looked at a tray in the great hall. He didn't look at the girl carrying it."

She was right.

He glanced up when I came in with the cup, a thick man with a claw on his thumb.

Then he went back to his dice.

"Leave it."

"The cook says it's from the princess, sir. For tonight."

"Does she." He grinned. "She's in a generous mood, then."

He drank it, and poured another, and by the third cup his tongue had come loose.

I stood by the door with my eyes down and let him talk.

He talked about the border patrols and the pay.

He talked about the long boring years of guarding a girl who wouldn't shift.

"She doesn't, you know," he said, loud and pleased with himself. "Not a growl. Not once."

I said nothing.

"But I do what she asks. Always have."

He held up his thumb to the lamp.

"Look at that. Pure silver. Do you know what a claw like this is worth?"

"No, sir."

"More than your whole village, girl. I took it off a wolf-bitch this autumn."

He laughed.

"You know what the silly thing kept saying while I held her down?"

"She kept saying the princess would call me off."

The room went white at the edges.

"She begged," he said. "They always do."

I put down the empty tray.

"What did you do with the rest of her?" I said.

He looked up.

For the first time he really looked at my face.

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