Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

here. Given the size of Lambshold and the number of people in her family, it was quite a statement.
    “So,” commented the distinctive gravel-on-velvet voice that was Wolf’s legacy from the night he destroyed a tower of the ae’Magi’s keep, “tell me. Why haven’t you come here in ten years?”
    Aralorn turned to find that Wolf had assumed his human shape. He was taller than average, though not as tall as Falhart. There was some of the wolf’s leanness to his natural form, but his identity was more apparent in the balanced power of his movements. He was dressed in black silk and linen, a color he affected because it was one his father had not worn. His yellow eyes were a startling contrast to the silver player’s mask he wore over his scarred face.
    It wasn’t actually a player’s mask, of course: No acting troupe would have used a material as costly as silver. The finely wrought lips on its exaggerated, elegant features were curled into a grimace of rage. She frowned; the mask was a bad sign.
    Aralorn wasn’t certain if he’d chosen the mask out of irony or if there was a deeper meaning behind it, and she hadn’t thought it important enough to ask. He used the mask to hide the scars he’d gotten when he’d damaged his voice—and to put a barrier between himself and the real world.
    It was her vexation with his mask rather than a reluctance to answer his question that prompted her to ignore his query and ask one of her own. “Why did you leave me again?”
    She knew why; she just wondered if he did. Ever since he’d first come to stay with her, even back when she’d thought he really was a wolf, whenever they grew too close, he would leave. Sometimes it was for a day or two, sometimes for a month or a season. But this time it had hurt more, because she thought they had worked past all of that—until she awoke alone one morning in the bed she’d shared with him.
    She might not need him to tell her why he’d left, but she did intend to discuss it with him. She needed to tell him, if he didn’t already know, that the change in their relationship meant that some other things would also have to change. No more disappearing without a word. Anger would distract her from the bleak knowledge that her father was gone, so she waited for Wolf to explain himself. Then she would yell at him.
    He caught up her bags in a graceful motion and took them to the wardrobe without speaking. He closed the door, and, with his back to her, said softly, “I—”
    He was interrupted by a brisk knock at the door.
    “Later,” he said, then with a subtle flare of shape and color, he flowed into his lupine form. She thought he sounded relieved.
    Aralorn opened the door to four sturdy men bringing in steaming buckets of water and a woman bearing a tray laden with food.
    Watching them pour water into her old copper tub in the corner of the room, she rethought the wisdom of pushing Wolf. He was a secretive person, and she didn’t want to push him away or make him feel that there was a price to pay for staying. She didn’t want to lose him just because she needed to yell at someone before she collapsed in a puddle of grief. She stuffed both anger and grief down to pull out later. She wasn’t entirely successful, judging by the lump in the pit of her stomach—but the tub offered an opportunity to find another way to relieve her emotions.
    When the heavy screen had been placed in front of the tub to reduce the cold drafts, she dismissed the servants.
    She stepped behind the screen and began stripping rapidly out of her travel-stained clothing. Perhaps it would be best if she answered his question; it would give him a graceful way out of answering hers. Now, what had he asked?
    “It seemed best,” she said with playful obscurity, stepping into the tub.
    “What seemed best?” From the sound of his voice, Wolf had moved from where she’d last seen him, curled before the fire with his eyes closed—a pose that seemed to reassure the servants, who had eyed him uneasily.
    “That I leave here and not come back.”
    “Best for whom?” He is closer now, she thought, smiling to herself.
    Sinking farther down in the luxuriously large bathing tub, she rested her head on the wide rim. Should she give him the short answer or the long one? She laughed soundlessly, then schooled her voice to a bland tone. “Let me tell you a story.”
    “Of course,” he replied dryly.
    This time Aralorn laughed aloud, a great deal of her