Heir to the Shadows

woman let out a screech that made all three men jump. As Lord Magstrom dabbed at the spilled coffee and murmured apologies, a young wolf leaped into the drawing room. Friall let out a screech of his own and leaped behind his chair. Veering away from the screeching human, the wolf bounded behind the couch, came around the other side, and finally pressed himself against Saetan's legs, his
    head and one paw in Saetan's lap and a pleading expression in his eyes.
    Saetan reminded himself that, compared to most days, they were having a quiet afternoon. He rubbed the young wolfs head and sighed. "Now what have you done?"
    "I'll tell you what he's done." A red-faced woman filled the drawing room doorway.
    Friall whimpered.
    The wolf whined.
    Lord Magstrom stared.
    Mother Night, Mother Night, Mother Night. "Ah, Mrs. Beale," Saetan said calmly while he pressed a damp palm into the wolf's fur.
    Mrs. Beale wasn't fat. She was just . . . large. And she didn't need to use Craft to lift a fifty-pound sack of flour with one hand.
    Mrs. Beale pointed a finger at the wolf. "That walking muff just ate the chickens I was preparing for tonight's dinner."
    Saetan looked down at the wolf. "Bad muff," he said mildly.
    The wolf whined, but the tip of his tail dusted the floor.
    Saetan sighed and turned his attention back to the huffing woman. "If there's no time to prepare more of our own, perhaps you could send someone to the butcher's in Halaway?"
    Mrs. Beale huffed even more and said in a voice that rattled the windows, "Those chickens had been marinating in my special plum wine sauce since last night."
    "Must have been tasty," Saetan murmured.
    The wolf licked his chops and whuffed softly.
    Mrs. Beale growled.
    "What about a different meat?" Saetan said quickly. "I'm sure our young friend could find a couple of rabbits."
    "Rabbits?" Mrs. Beale waved her hand, slicing the air in several directions. "I'm to fill rabbits with my nut and rice stuffing?"
    "No, of course not. How foolish of me. A stew perhaps? I noticed last week that Jaenelle and Karla had second helpings of your stew."
    "Noticed myself that that serving dish had come back empty," Mrs. Beale muttered. She pointed at the wolf. "Two rabbits. And not scrawny ones either." She turned on her heel and stomped away.
    Lord Magstrom signed gustily.
    Lord Friall stumbled into his chair.
    Saetan wondered if he had any bone left in his legs. This was turning into a typical afternoon after all. He scratched the wolf behind the ears. "You understand?" He held up two fingers. "Two plump bunnies for Mrs. Beale. Tarl says there are plenty of them fattening themselves up in the vegetable garden." He gave the wolf a last scratch. "Off with you."
    After nuzzling Saetan's hand, the wolf trotted out the door.
    "You let a woman like that work here when there are children in the house?" Friall sputtered. "And you keep a wolf for a pet?"
    "Mrs. Beale is an excellent cook," Saetan replied mildly. Besides, he added silently, who would have the balls to dismiss her? "And the wolf isn't a pet. He's kindred. Several of them live with us. Another sandwich, Lord Magstrom?"
    Looking a bit dazed, Lord Magstrom took another sandwich, stared at it for a moment, then set it on his plate.
    "What's going on?" Jaenelle asked. Smiling politely at Magstrom and Friall, she settled next to Saetan on the couch.
    "We're having bunny stew for dinner instead of chicken."
    "Ah. That explains Mrs. Beale." Her lips twitched. "I suppose I should explain human territoriality to the wolves to avoid further misunderstandings."
    "At least Mrs. Beale's territory," Saetan said, smiling at his fair-haired daughter, aware that the way Jaenelle sat so close to him was open to misinterpretation.
    "Is that your usual way of dressing, Lady Angelline?" Lord Friall asked, once more dabbing his lips with his handkerchief.
    Jaenelle looked at the baggy overalls she had acquired from one the gardeners and the white silk shirt Saetan had
    unknowingly donated to her wardrobe. She lifted one loose braid and studied the feathers, small bells, and seashells attached to the strips of leather woven into her hair. Then her eyes swept over Friall. "Sometimes," she said coolly. "Do you always dress like that?"
    "Of course," Friall said proudly.
    "Why?"
    Friall stared at her.
    *Remember their delicate sensibilities, witch-child.*
    *Screw their delicate sensibilities.*
    Saetan flinched. Her mood had shifted.
    He dropped one arm around her shoulders. "Lord