Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

later.” Aralorn let a note of apology creep into her voice.
    Irrenna shook her head. “You get to explain to your brothers why your pet gets to come in while theirs have to stay in the kennels.”
    Aralorn smiled. “I’ll tell them he eats people when I’m not around to stop him.”
    Irrenna looked at Wolf, who tilted his head winsomely and wagged his tail. “You might have to come up with a better story than that,” Irrenna said.
    Hart frowned; but then, her brother had seen Wolf when he wasn’t acting like a lapdog.
    Having heard the acceptance in Irrenna’s voice, Wolf ignored Hart and leapt silently up the stairs to wait for them at the door to the keep.
    Aralorn stepped into the great hall and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She could pick out the earthy smell impregnating the old stone walls that no amount of cleaning could eradicate entirely, wood smoke from the fires, rushes sweetened with dried herbs and flowers, and some ineffable smell that no place else had.
    “Aralorn?” asked her brother softly.
    She opened her eyes and smiled at him, shaking her head. “Sorry. I’m just a bit tired.”
    Falhart frowned, but followed Irrenna through the main hall, leaving Aralorn to fall in behind.
    The cream-colored stone walls were hung with tapestries to keep out the chill. Most of the hangings were generations old, but several new ones hung in prominent places. Someone, she noticed, had a fine hand at the loom—she wondered if it was one of her sisters.
    She tried to ignore the red carnations strewn through the hall: spots of bright color like drops of fresh blood. Red and black ribbons and drapes were hung carefully from hooks set in the walls, silently reminding her of the reason she had returned to Lambshold. The joy of seeing Hart and Irrenna again faded.
    This was not her home. Her big, laughing, cunning, larger-than-life father was dead, and she had no place here anymore. Wolf’s mouth closed gently around her palm. A gesture of affection on the part of the wolf, he said, when she asked him about it once. She closed her fingers on his lower jaw, comforted by the familiar pressure of his teeth on her hand.
    The hall, like the courtyard, was subdued, with only a minimal number of servants scurrying about. On the far end of the room, the black curtains were drawn across the alcove where her father’s body would be lying. Wolf’s teeth briefly applied heavier pressure, and she relaxed her hand, realizing she’d tightened her grip too much.
    At the bottom of the stairs, Irrenna stopped. “You go on up. I’ll let the rest of the family know that you’re here. Your old dresses are still in good condition, but if they don’t fit, send a maid to me, and I’ll see what can be done. Falhart, when you have taken Aralorn’s bags up, please attend me in the mourning room.”
    “Of course, thank you.” Aralorn continued up the stairs as if she had never refused to wear the dresses fashion dictated a Rethian lady confine herself to—but she couldn’t resist adding dryly, “Close your mouth, Hart. You look like a fish out of water.”
    He laughed and caught her easily, ruffling her hair as he passed. He drew his hand back quickly. “Ish, Aralorn, you need to wash your hair while you’re at it.”
    “What?” she exclaimed, opening the door to her old room. “And kill off all the lice I’ve been growing for so long?”
    Hart handed her bags to her with a grin. “Still smart-mouthed, I see.” When Aralorn tossed her bags into a heap on the floor, he added, “And tidy as well.”
    She bowed, as if accepting his praise.
    He laughed softly. “Irrenna will probably be sending something up for lunch, in case you don’t want to eat with the crowd that will be gathering shortly in the great hall. I’ll see that someone carries hot water up here as well.”
    “Falhart,” said Aralorn, as he started to turn away. “Thank you.”
    He grinned and flipped her a studied gesture of acknowledgment (general to sublieutenant or lower), then strode lightly down the hall.
    Aralorn stepped into the room and, with a grand sweep of her arm, invited Wolf to follow. As she closed the door, she glanced around the bedchamber and saw that Falhart was closer to the mark than she’d expected. Her room wasn’t exactly as she’d left it—the coverlet was drawn neatly across the bed, and the hearth rug was new—but it was obvious that it had been left largely as it had been the last time she’d slept