Chapter 13 Alarik #2
‘While spying on my wrangler?’ he said, turning to the snow-spattered window and straining to see the arena below, where he knew his beasts would be training, hard as ever, even despite the weather. ‘Are you afraid her regiment is better behaved than yours?’
Vine didn’t rise to the bait, instead offering him a sly smile. ‘Don’t act like you don’t come up here to spy on her, too. Servants talk, you know.’
Alarik looked away, sharply. It wasn’t as if he spent his days lurking up here.
He only came this way every now and then to keep an eye on his wrangler – to make sure she was safe.
Hell, she was his best friend’s little sister.
He owed it to Tor to watch over her. It was as simple as that …
And so what if he liked to watch her train his beasts? That’s what he was paying her for.
‘Oh dear,’ muttered Elva. ‘I think you’ve touched a nerve, Captain Vine.’
They pealed into laughter.
Alarik huffed as he looked between them. ‘I think I’ll leave you two to your mindless giggling and do some real work.’ He cracked his knuckles, thinking of those Vaskan spies in the dungeons.
‘You’ll miss out,’ said Vine, idly turning back to the window. ‘Your wrangler is down there dancing with your wolves.’
Alarik was only mildly embarrassed by how quickly he returned to the window.
He pressed his palms against the pane, his breath fogging the glass as he squinted to find her.
She was standing in the middle of the arena, the hood of her frock coat pulled up to stave off the gathering blizzard.
The fur lining made a silver halo around her face, and even despite the snow, he could see her smile from here.
Her mouth was open mid-laughter, and he found himself straining to hear it over the howling wind.
Twenty wolves arced around her, hanging on her every breath.
They rose to their hind legs at the click of her teeth and danced – no, pranced, like the prized ponies of Caro.
She clapped her hands and they returned to all fours, before springing back up again and repeating the shuffle.
Up and down they went, left and then right, hopping on their hind legs while the wrangler twirled and clapped, creating her own rhythm.
‘What on earth is she doing?’ murmured Elva, her nose snubbed against the glass. ‘It looks like she’s holding royal court out there.’
‘Perhaps she’s training them for your official welcome ball,’ said Vine.
Elva crowed with laughter. ‘Or maybe she’s as bored as I’ve been around here and has decided to make up her own fun.’
‘No,’ said Alarik, more to himself than to the others.
‘Whatever this is, there is a method to it.’ His gaze roamed along the courtyard as he tried to unpick the mystery of what she was up to.
He made note of the soldiers crowding around the arena, peering over the outer wall to look down on the spectacle.
They were captivated by the wrangler and her wolves, glued to the way she darted across that arena, a slip of a thing dancing between beasts that were three times her size.
More soldiers came, pouring out from the dining hall and the hut, to see what all the commotion was about.
Most of them were laughing.
As though oblivious to their sneers, Iversen kept moving, twirling her way among the wolves until she stopped abruptly.
Her hand shot up and the wolves froze. She moved her wrist – barely a half turn.
The wolves crouched in a circle, their sharp teeth bared.
Gone was the merriment of a moment ago. Now, they looked like the beasts they truly were, poised to lunge.
Another flick of her wrist and they turned around, showing their backs to her. The circle widened as they prowled towards the outer wall.
The soldiers stationed there stopped laughing.
Alarik smirked.
The wrangler whistled through her teeth.
The wolves leaped – higher than he had ever seen them jump before. The largest of them reached the lip of the wall, its claws gleaming as it swiped at their gawking audience.
The soldiers yelped, drawing back in fright.
Another sharp whistle and the wolves retreated, circling the wrangler once more.
The wrangler tucked her hands behind her back, waiting for her audience to gather their courage.
The wolves sat in utter stillness.
Slowly, cautiously, the soldiers crept back to the wall. More arrived, growing bolder as they crowded the periphery. Soon, the arena was fuller than Alarik had ever seen it.
Iversen gave a subtle nod. At the other end of the arena, three stuffed mannequins were dropped into the pit. The one in the middle was dressed in the colours of Gevra – a midnight-blue frock coat, trimmed in silver. The other two wore the colours of Vask – crimson and gold.
Iversen stomped her foot, her cry soaring on the wind. ‘ATTACK!’
The wolves thundered across the arena, setting upon the mannequins with a viciousness that made Alarik’s heart leap.
‘Look!’ said Elva, gleefully. ‘They’re not even touching the middle one!’
‘And they’re ripping the others limb from limb,’ said Vine, with a huff of laughter. ‘Clever beasts.’
Clever wrangler.
Down below, the soldiers watched on in awe. Some whooped and hollered at the spectacle, while others clapped their hands in triumph. In a matter of moments, the Vaskan mannequins were utterly dismembered, their uniforms strewn across the arena in tattered red ribbons.
At a sharp whistle from the wrangler, the wolves returned to her. The largest of them carried the head of a mannequin in his maw. He dropped it at her feet. She leaned down to scratch under the wolf’s chin. He preened, arching his back like a spoilt pup.
‘They adore her,’ said Elva, in a quiet, awestruck voice.
‘Who? The soldiers or the beasts?’ said Vine, and Alarik had to stop himself from saying, both, obviously.
By wrangling the wolves, Iversen was wrangling the soldiers that feared them.
Not simply telling them there was nothing to fear, but showing them.
Using her own body as a demonstration, as a promise that they were safe with these beasts. They were safe with her.
This was not some frivolous spectacle. It was a show of skill and control. A demonstration of power. And more than that, it was an invitation to the king’s soldiers to trust the beasts that would soon be their allies again, to stow their fears and hold fast to their courage.
Alarik almost smiled. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any more brilliant, his wrangler stepped backwards and sketched an elaborate curtsy, as though she were a princess departing at last from the dance floor.
When the wolves bowed their mighty heads to mirror her gesture, the king burst into laughter.
Elva turned to stare at him in surprise.
Vine stepped back from the window. ‘So, that’s what your real laugh sounds like. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it.’
Alarik stiffened, quickly strangling the sound. ‘That was a cough, Vine.’
She arched a brow, but before she could issue a retort, Elva whirled on them. ‘Damn this snow, I want to pet a wolf!’
She squared her chin, silently daring the king to forbid her.
He only shrugged. If he couldn’t trust his wrangler after that demonstration, then he never would. He looked to Vine. ‘Take the princess down to the arena. I’m sure your soldiers can spare you for another hour.’
‘Join us?’ said Elva, tugging at his arm.
‘I’d hate to make Nova and Luna jealous,’ he said, dryly. ‘You two go ahead. I’ll watch.’
They scurried off in a fit of excitement, leaving Alarik alone in the corridor. He returned to the window, tracking his wrangler as she marched up and down, effortlessly spooling every wonderstruck soldier and dutiful beast around her little finger.
As Alarik stood transfixed at the window, watching his wrangler for far longer than he would ever dare to admit, he couldn’t help but think she had spooled a part of him, too.