For about half an hour, during lunch, Nathan was almost back to the guy Lane remembered him being, talking animatedly, teasing Andrew in a more good-natured way than before, and laughing with Thoko. But by the time a serving girl brought in dessert, his expression had turned wooden again. One of his hands was clamped around his knee, and he didn’t touch the small cake-squares.

“They’re from my home country,” Imani explained before Lane could ask. “Baseema.”

“They’re very good,” Lane said. They were, but had a flavour she couldn’t place at all.

“We have to enjoy it while we can,” Imani sighed, taking another piece. “It’ll be impossible to get the ingredients soon.”

Andrew helped himself to seconds, and, just as Lane excused herself from the table to help Nathan upstairs, thirds too. She was therefore a little surprised when she had barely closed her door behind herself and he knocked.

“Want to go for a walk?” he asked.

Lane glanced at the window. Outside, there was a mix of rain and snow falling. She grimaced but nodded. “Think I can borrow a raincoat and hat?”

“Sure,” Andrew said. “This way.”

Just as Lane stepped out of the room, Lady Feleke came up the hallway. She smiled when she saw Andrew. “I see you’re already on it,” she said, and walked away again.

Lane couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“So how’s Nathan?” Andrew asked, as soon as they were out in the street.

“You know, you could just talk to him directly?”

“I’d love to. Unfortunately, he isn’t really speaking to me. Unless you count insults.”

Lane grimaced. “He’s in pain.”

She wasn’t sure herself if that was an answer to his question or a defence of his second statement.

“Still?” Andrew asked, clearly surprised. “The healer said the wound was closed and he couldn’t do anything more.”

“He feels pain in the foot that isn’t there anymore,” Lane explained. “I don’t think a healer can fix that. He certainly doesn’t think so.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that. But how can a limb hurt that isn’t actually there? That’s – that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Don’t tell him that. In fact, that might be why he’s no longer talking to you, you realize that?”

“But you can’t tell me –“

“I’ve heard about it before,” Lane interrupted him. “I used to sometimes help with the Salvation Effort as a girl, saw a lot of war invalids from the Kujawen campaigns. Many people who have lost limbs still feel like it’s there, or feel like it hurts. I already wrote a letter to my friend Theresa, I'll add a question about it when we get back. She’s worked with the Salvation Effort all her life, I’m sure she’ll know more.”

“So what you’re saying is he is in pain, and there’s nothing a healer or a doctor can do.”

“He’s certainly in pain,” Lane said. “And no, the healer can’t do anything about it. The doctor should at least know about it.”

“Think there’s any chance it’ll get better?”

“I have no idea,” Lane admitted. “As I said, I’ll ask Theresa.”

“Damn,” Andrew muttered, kicking a stone across the path. “After this morning, I had really hoped we could start getting him in the saddle again properly. Maybe even figure out how he can walk on a wooden leg.”

He buried his hands in his pockets and walked on in silence, his strides long enough that Lane had to hurry a little to keep up. Only when they reached Brines proper did he slow down again. He seemed to know most of the other people in the street, who greeted him friendly. He didn’t stop to chat, though.

“What are your plans for the future?” Lane asked, once the village lay behind them. It was just a hunch, but something about his disappointment at Nathan’s condition struck her as personal. “I was just wondering – David said you wanted to quit hunting even before Greg got bitten? What were you going to do instead?”

“My plans?” Andrew laughed wryly. “Nothing grand. Just, you know, survive the war, keep my brothers alive, find a nice girl, settle down. I wanted to go to university, but now I’m not sure anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I originally wanted to get into botanical studies, travel Valoir and my mother’s home country. Can’t do that now.” Andrew shrugged. “Mind you, I’d still like to travel. Maybe introduce some of my mother’s favourite vegetables from her home around here. Maybe found my own orangery, you know?”

“Really? That sounds awesome!”

Lane looked at him. He actually looked embarrassed at her outburst.

“Yeah, well, I like food. I’d like to learn how to grow more of it. More variety.”

“I’d like to see it,” Lane said. “Maybe you can go west instead. If you can figure out how to grow coffee around here, people’ll make statues of you.”

Andrew laughed, pulling up his shoulders awkwardly.

“I’m serious,” Lane added, because she wasn’t sure he believed her. “People always need food, don’t they? Good food is important.”

“Says the woman who seems to fast every other day.”

“That just means I appreciate some nice vegetables on the days when meat is forbidden,” Lane countered. “Got a girl in mind to settle down with?”

Andrew shook his head, looking down at his feet. “Not really.”

“That sounds more like a yes. Come on, what’s the catch?”

Andrew bit his lips. “You know how you’re technically a mile above David’s station? Same thing. Her father will never allow it. Not even if you and David marry. Not even if the duke makes him a count in his own right.”

“What’s her name?”

“Charlotte de Burg.”

Lane blinked. “Oldest daughter of the Marquess of Southshire?”

“Quite so.”

Well... that was a bit of a problem, Lane had to admit. De Burg was a rich, powerful Marquess, probably second to only the Dukes George Louis and Desmarais.

“I mean, if George Louis makes David a full duke...” Andrew stopped himself, shook his head. “Even then. I’d have to tell him that David talked about making me his heir, and well. Can’t risk that.”

“Does she know?” Lane asked. “Or rather, feel the same way?”

“Why do you think she’s still unmarried?”

“I thought that was because her father and brother are rather overprotective,” Lane said. Charlotte had turned down her fair share of suitors, even men from the mainland. Rumour had it that her father was holding out for a prince.

Lane had to grin when she realized that the prince Charlotte was waiting for was walking right next to her. It did seem unlikely that her father would ever agree to this union. But then again, it had seemed impossible a year ago that they might ever beat the Valoise.

“It’s – well, I was hoping Nathan would get better soonish,” Andrew said quietly. “So we could both go to Deva. Help David. And I’d see her again. You know, at least for a bit.”

He shook himself. “Can’t be helped, though.”

Lane nodded slowly, glancing up to him. She had never involved herself in other people’s relationships before. But she had never had friends like the Feleke-brothers before, either.

“I could write to Charlotte,” she offered. “Just – as one young lady to another. We do usually talk a bit when I’m at the palace, so I doubt her father would notice, if, you know, there happened to be a flower or two between the pages.”

“You’d do that?” Andrew asked, sounding unnecessarily surprised.

“Sure. I’m writing a lot of letters anyway, it’s not like I got much to do around here.”

“Asides from getting dragged out of the house in all weather by us.”

Lane raised her eyebrows at him. “What, you really think I’d rather sit inside and do needlepoint?”

Andrew just smiled wryly in reply.

Back at the house, Lane added a few lines to her letter to Theresa, to ask about the strange pain Nathan still felt. Then she wrote to David, too, to thank him for the telegram and tell him about the ride Nathan and she had taken in the morning. Also to ask him about what exactly he would need Nathan to do if he came to Deva. The letter to Charlotte had more time; Andrew wanted to think about what he might include for her.

Nathan rode into Brines with her the next day to drop off the letters at the post office, which had been added to the railway station only recently. Half the people of the village seemed convinced that it had only been placed there because of the new Feleke-estate. Nathan clearly wasn’t comfortable with the attention he got while he waited for Lane in front of the small office – bringing his crutches would have been too much of a hassle, so he just stayed in the saddle and Lane dropped the envelopes off.

“If you really want to go to Deva, you’ll need to get used to people wanting to shake your hands,” she warned him when they rode back.

Nathan grimaced. “Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “Honestly? Two months ago this whole attention wouldn’t have bothered me. It’s not like I’m not used to being hailed a hero for killing monsters, you know? But this whole ‘sorry for your loss’ bullshit is hard to take.”

He clicked his tongue to spur his stallion.

“Are we in a hurry?” Lane asked.

“Nah. My thighs are killing me, though. I wouldn’t have expected riding to be so much more exhausting.”

He was quiet on the way back, until the house came in sight and he said: “I’d never thought I’d say this after barely an hour in the saddle, but I wanna go home and just sit down in a chair for a bit.”

So that was what they did, sitting around Morgulon’s nest and playing board games. Nathan was good at chess, which surprised Lane because he seemed rather bored by it. Maybe that was just the way he looked when he concentrated.

The doctor came around the next day to check on Nathan. Lane wasn’t in the room to hear exactly what was said, but when Nathan walked the elderly man to the door, she got the feeling that the doctor was impressed with his patient’s progress. He complimented Nathan on how nimble he was on his crutches and encouraged him to keep practising.

Nathan seemed relieved when he walked into Lane’s room afterwards, enough so that she asked: “Good news?”

“Fairly good, yes. Doctor said there’s no telling when, but there’s a good chance that this weird pain will get better. Less often, at least.”

“I’m glad.”

“Yeah, me too. He says he’s going to get in contact with someone who can make me a pegleg, too. If I’m lucky, I’ll be walking come new year.”

“Allready?” Lane asked, surprised.

New Year, that was less than two weeks away.

“Well, standing without crutches at least,” Nathan amended. He ran a hand through his hair. “Any word from David?”

“Not yet. He may not even have my letter yet,” Lane reminded him.

The mail’s speed had improved with the railway lines, but it was also harder to predict how long it took for a message to get anywhere.

“Right,” Nathan muttered.

He had written a couple of letters himself, so they went on another ride to the post office, and after that, it was another slow afternoon spent watching the cubs. One of the male ones had opened his eyes, and in complete overestimation of his abilities promptly tried to push out of the nest. He didn’t get very far, of course.

As soon as he was off the blankets and on the colder wooden flooring, he began to whine pitifully.

Morgulon rolled her eyes, ears flattened back against her head.

“Hey now, nobody made you crawl out of the blankets and onto the floor,” Thoko voiced what his mother was clearly thinking. She picked up the little runaway and raised him to her face. The tiny werewolf’s nose worked quite hard, and then he sneezed into her eyes. “Oh really? First you try to escape, then you complain about the cold, and now you’re not happy about who’s rescuing you?”

Thoko laughed and put him back down next to Morgulon.

“They’re much closer in development to human babies than wolves, aren’t they?” she added. “I don’t know much about wolves, but I feel like dog puppies should be walking around at two months?”

“Oh, yes,” Lord Feleke answered. “If they were following the same timeline as regular wolves, they’d be up and about by now, playing and mock-hunting.”

Morgulon sighed and rolled onto her side. She probably couldn’t wait for that day to come. Lane felt uncomfortable, stuck inside as she was. Morgulon had never left the cubs for more than a quarter, half an hour at the most. That had to get exhausting after two months.

Especially since the family probably wouldn’t get out until spring came around.

“Are you wishing for an emergency at the railway yet?” Lane asked the werewolf.

Morgulon laughed her wolf-laugh, tongue lolling out of her muzzle. She thumped her tail lazily but shook her head at the same time.

Lane smiled back. It was a nice afternoon, with Nathan’s good news and another cub opening his eyes. But time was ticking by fast, even though it felt like it was crawling – three more months, maybe four, and the Valoise would be standing at their coasts again. And there was no word from Greg, and very little good news from the south of the country.