“So,” Lane said, when she was back in the navvies’ camp, early in the morning. She couldn’t help grinning at David. “Guess what: You were right, Morgulon is going to have kids. And Greg is one of the potential fathers.”

David stared at her with a blank face. “Not funny, Lane,” he grumbled after a moment.

“I’m not kidding,” Lane said. “Morgulon says it happened on full moon.”

“You talked to her?”

“We communicated,” Lane said. “I’m serious, David. It might have been Greg.”

“Sun’s bloody ashes, Thoko’s going to kill him,” David sighed. “So will mother, if it turns out to be him and we don’t bring them to Courtenay straight away. Any idea how long till we’ll see?”

“No,” Lane said. “We can ask on new moon, but I don’t know if Morgulon knows.”

David rubbed his face. “Think about it,” he said. “First werewolves born in Loegrion since Morgulon herself, right?”

“Not quite,” Lane said softly.

David frowned. “You know anyone else?”

“No,” Lane sighed. “But Morgulon had two younger brothers. They died when the circus burned down. That’s why – why Morgulon killed my mother, later. As revenge for the family she lost.”

They had never really talked about her family. David could talk about his brothers for hours, switching seamlessly from complaining about Nathan’s recklessness to singing praise of his woodsmanship and endurance, rolling his eyes about Greg’s love for classic literature and worrying about him in the next sentence, or grumbling about Andrew’s sluggish pace in the saddle to praising his precision with the crossbow. David only ever spoke in highest tones about his parents – they weren’t quite so comfortable around each other yet, that he would tell her what had made him go out hunting alone when he had been just fourteen. Lane suspected it was quite a story.

David didn’t ask anything more about her father. Someday, Lane thought, she would tell him more, but not here, in the middle of a camp full of strangers.

Eyal, and the other leader of the navvies, Digger, were already ambling over. They wanted to know if Morgulon was all right, of course.

“She’s fine,” Lane sighed. “Pregnant, but fine.”

“Pregnant,” Eyal echoed. “You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure, yes,” Lane said.

“Well, that’s – unexpected.” He exchanged a look with Digger. “It’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

“She’s built herself a nest, and probably won’t come out of there, unless there’s a major problem with the Rot,” Lane said. At least she hoped that Morgulon would come out, if necessary.

Eyal seemed to catch her tone. “You’re not entirely sure she will come?”

“Not entirely, no,” Lane admitted. “But on the other hand – you’re nearly at Mannin, and haven’t had any problems with the Rot? Have you?”

“Didn’t have much rain, either,” Eyal pointed out.

“I suppose it’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Digger chimed in. “It’s not like we’ll be entirely without protection. And also – if she’s anything like other expectant mothers, it might have the opposite effect on the Rot.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Eyal said. “All right. Did you get a chance to talk to her about the elder werewolves?”

Lane shook her head. “We’ll be around until new moon, I suppose,” she said.

“Fine,” Eyal said, but he didn’t look happy. “Try not to spook the younger werewolves too much, will you?”

“We’ll do our best,” David promised.

Eyal nodded, and the two big men wandered off again, to supervise the rest of the navvies getting ready for the workday.

Lane sighed and sat down on a piece of tree trunk next to one of the abandoned campfires. David took a seat on the ground beside her and poked the embers with a handy stick. He seemed comfortable with the idea of just sitting here and wait, but Lane was restless.

“What do we do the next eight days?” she asked softly.

“You’re bored already?” David asked. “I bet they wouldn’t mind a couple of extra hands for felling the trees,” he said, grinning up at her.

“Tempting,” Lane said sarcastically. “But I think I’ll pass.”

“Well, other than that, it’s a little thin for entertainment out here,” David said. “We could go hunting again, make sure Morgulon is well fed. Or we take the risk and push forward to Mannin. Six miles should be doable, even in this forest. We’d need to leave right now, though,” he added. “I wouldn’t want to get stuck in the forest at night.”

“That – actually, I like that idea,” Lane said slowly, a little surprised at herself. “We could bring some food back for Morgulon, something special for new moon.”

“Think that’ll raise our chances she’ll talk to us?”

“Yes,” Lane said. “Absolutely.”

“In that case: sounds like we have a plan.”

They both got up at the same moment, and Lane smiled. She was still a little surprised at how easy it was with David. Travelling alone had been her definition of independence, even peace. But then, she had never had someone like David for a friend. Someone who didn’t try to stop her from going out hunting, but rather had her back, someone who knew when to shut up and when to fill the silence with chatter. Someone who valued her opinion not just on flowers and needlework, but in the profession she had chosen for herself, too.

They checked the horses over before they went to talk to the guy in charge of provisions. In this area, six miles through the forest were risky enough, even on a sunny day like today, with a half dozen werewolves at this end of the distance. There was no reason to do so without at least some food and water, just in case.

David seemed to know the man, Nosson. The cook shook his head about them. “You guys are crazy, you know that?”

“We hunt werewolves for a living,” David pointed out. “You don’t think that answers that question?”

“True.” Nosson rummaged around his cart. “I can give you some bread that’ll keep, and some dried meat,” he said. “And I’ve got some apples left. You’ll find water at the other end of the camp, there’s a little spring there. You’ve got bottles, right?”

“Yes, thank you.”

They found the small well easily enough, and filled their bottles, before saddling the horses. They stopped at where Eyal was watching over his men to let him know where they were going.

He looked sceptical, too. “Good luck then. We can’t send a search party,” he warned them.

“We’ll be fine,” Lane said, and reached into her saddlebags to pull out the ugly winter hat she had bought on the hunt after Morgulon. It was just as ugly as when she had bought it, but unlike her old helmet, it could be rolled up and stuffed into a corner of her pack. She had taken out the thick woollen lining, too, so it was a lot less warm now, and folded up even smaller.

“Cute,” David teased. “Especially the ear-flaps.”

“Haha,” Lane growled. “I know what it looks like, but it’s kept me alive on the Argentum Formation, so it can’t be completely useless.”

“I’m not saying it is. I just didn’t expect you to wear something covered in heathen Loegrian fertility goddesses and their symbolism.”

Lane felt her face turn pink, but asked: “How come you recognize Loegrian fertility goddesses?”

“Greg’s interested in folklore.”

“Of course he is. What are those symbols, then?”

David’s own cap, right above the forehead, showed what looked like an eye, with an eyebrow above and two sweeping lines like tears. David took it off to look at it himself.

“This isn’t Loegrian at all; my mother made this for me,” he explained. “It’s an ancient symbol from where her family comes from, Lower Nubia, as the Valoise call it. It’s always been a protective sign.”

“It’s certainly nicer than mine,” Lane said.

“Well, that’s not hard,” David said, grinning, and put the cap back on. Unlike Lane’s own, it had an actual shape to it.

They set off into the forest, and Lane was very glad that she had taken the lining out of hers. It got very warm, anyway, but at least they made good speed even in the dense forest. The sun was still high in the sky when the thick underbrush of the primeval forest gave way to the orderly columns of what looked like it might be a crop of pines. It certainly was cultivated – there was hardly any undergrowth. Nothing for the Rot to sink into.

“I didn’t realize there was so much farmed forest around Mannin,” Lane said. “Or did we go faster than I thought?”

“No, we didn’t,” David said. “We still have about four miles to go. This is all forest plantation grown for charcoal burners. I was surprised, too, the first time I came here.”

“You’ve been here a lot?”

“Oh, no,” David said. “You know how it is, there’re hardly any bounties up here worth the travel-time. Father and I only helped out twice. One was this huge affair with about two dozen beaters, went right through this area. We’re several miles away from the Savre here,” he added. “It makes a large bent to the west right south of where it meets the Man. Have you ever been to the city?”

“No, I’ve never been up here,” Lane said. “I’ve been out west, but not north. Not a fan of the cold. Or Duke George Louis.”

“Same reason I’ve never stayed long,” David said. “It’s a nice city, though. City of bridges.”

More prominent than the bridges, Lane thought when the city came into view, was the large castle sitting on an outcrop high above the city, right at the confluence of the Man and the Savre. Not the fairytale type of castle, but a proper, medieval stronghold with a keep, and massive stone walls that looked like they could withstand even a cannonball barrage. And of course the rivers on two of three sides.

“Does George Louis live up there?” Lane asked, pointing to the fortress.

David laughed. “Can you see him up there, between all the cold stones, no window, no heating, no – no latrine facilities? I don’t think there’s anything up there these days beyond a military posting. George Louis got a niece little palais – large palais, really – in one of the finer parts of the city.”

Lane looked down onto the city again. “It’s bigger than I expected. Much bigger.”

“Yes,” David said. “I’m sure Greg could tell you more exactly, but I’m pretty sure it’s among the five biggest cities in the country. Maybe top three. Nearly a million citizens and growing, thanks to the factories. They’ve got all the coal deposits needed to feed thousands of mechanized spinning wheels and looms, and whatnot. It helps that the steam engine was invented right here, of course. What?”

Lane grinned. “It’s just funny,” she said. “How you keep claiming you’re not the scholarly type, not a politician and all that, and then you can tell me facts like that about a city you’ve been to a grand total of twice.”

“Greg’s fault,” David claimed.

“Right,” Lane said, drawing the word out. “Because you spend so much time around him.”