Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
VICTORIA
It had been two days since I’d seen my husband, and I was perfectly content with the arrangement.
You lie to yourself with a lot of conviction, Acorn said from his perch on the headboard. The alpha wolf sleeps elsewhere while you claim his den, and yet you tell yourself this brings you cheer, my friend.
On the third morning after our wedding, I pulled the covers back and climbed out of bed. “I’m not lying to myself. This is exactly what I wanted.”
The lady protests with words so bright, while she wakes alone after another night.
“Enough.” I strode over to the wardrobe and selected a practical day dress in deep green. “I have work to do. That’s all that matters.”
And it was true. This marriage had always been strategic. A political alliance. Feral’s absence wasn’t a rejection, it was efficiency. I didn’t need a hovering wolf king underfoot while I put my laboratory back together and continued my research.
The fact that the bed felt too large without another person in it was simply the adjustment period. Nothing more.
After bathing, I dressed quickly, pinned my hair into a practical bun, and left the bedroom. The suite opened into a small sitting area, and off to the left, a door I’d discovered the morning after the wedding that led to what had once been an office.
I pushed it open and surveyed my new domain.
The rectangular room had been carved from the living wood like everything else in this tree, with two window openings that overlooked the canopy.
Dust had coated every surface in a thick layer.
Cobwebs had stretched across the corners in delicate lace.
The desk against the left wall hadn’t been touched in years, if the layer of dust was any indication.
What an inefficient use of space. Poor resource allocation.
I’d already cleaned and claimed two-thirds of the right side of the room for my laboratory.
My equipment sat neatly arranged on tables I’d requisitioned from storage and the smaller, antique desk that had been hidden in a corner.
My glass beakers, copper distillation coils, and collection of carefully labeled ingredients in jars spelled to maintain perfect preservation conditions rested on the smooth wooden surfaces.
A small cauldron sat over a fire in the hearth, flames dancing without fuel thanks to a simple sustainment spell.
The other section of the room remained untouched. Feral’s office, clearly abandoned.
I moved to the desk, running my finger through the dust and noting the thickness.
No one had used this space for a very long time.
A good number of books sat on a shelf, their spines cracked with age.
I cataloged a few of them automatically, texts on pack law, territorial disputes, and a manual on combat tactics.
Sitting in the enormous, Feral-sized desk chair, I opened the drawers, not finding much.
But in the last lower right drawer, pushed to the very back, I found a small wooden carving.
I picked it up, turning it over in my palm.
A wolf, crudely shaped, the work of a child’s hands.
The proportions were wrong, the legs too short, but someone had taken care with it. The wood had been sanded smooth.
I set it on the bookshelf and closed the drawer.
Acorn had claimed the windowsill, stretching out in a patch of sunlight, and I’d placed his sleep basket in one corner.
He started humming, then singing softly. Dust and cobwebs, such a sight, an alpha’s office lost to blight. No wolf has prowled these floors of late, perhaps he’s given up his fate.
“He’s been busy managing a kingdom,” I said, rising and walking over to my work table. “Unlike some creatures who spend their days napping and stealing food.”
A squirrel’s work is never done, storing nuts beneath the sun.
I checked my current experiment, a crystallization process that required precise temperature control. The dragon scale fragments I’d been analyzing had formed interesting patterns overnight. I made a few notes, adjusted the heat with a small spell, and stepped back.
Before I returned to my regular research, I needed to do something else.
The wolf’s shifting sickness kept surfacing in my mind like an unsolved equation I’d left on the board, and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help.
My reasoning for intervening was purely logical.
I was here. I was a researcher. It was a problem that needed solving, and I had the skills to at least investigate.
Feral had made it clear he didn’t want interference, but gathering information wasn’t even close to that.
It was simply a prudent use of available resources.
I pulled out a fresh notebook, asking my enchanted pen to hover over it. The pen would take notes automatically once I started dictating, the text appearing in my own handwriting across the page.
It was time to start asking questions.
I left the room and took the stairs down to the second level.
The kitchen took up the entire floor, a big space that smelled of roasting meat, sweet cakes, and spices. Heat rolled from multiple ovens, and at least a dozen people moved through the room chopping, stirring, and hauling bowls and supplies.
The moment I stepped inside, the noise stopped. Every head turned. Eyes tracked my movement, assessing my shape and probably my reason for arriving in their space. I was an outsider. A witch. That was enough to set even the strongest wolf shifter on edge.
I ignored the stares and approached the woman who appeared to be in charge.
She stood at the central preparation table and was rail-thin with bright red hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her sharp gaze looked me over, her expression giving away nothing.
“Lady Victoria.” Her tone came out neutral. Polite. “I’m Helen, the head chef. May I help you? Would you like a snack perhaps? Or a slice of bread still warm from the oven?”
“Actually, bread sounds yummy.”
Her face only softened a fraction as she grabbed a loaf and cut off a thick wedge, placing it on a plate and putting it in front of me, followed by crocks of butter and jam.
“Thank you,” I said. “This looks amazing.”
“We make the best bread in the realm,” she said with a stiffening of her spine. “I’m sure you’ll agree.”
I slathered it with butter and bangleberry jam and took a big bite, groaning as I chewed because it tasted fantastic. “Wonderful,” I mumbled around the bite. “You’re right. Best in the realm.”
I took that opportunity to get to the matter at hand.
“I’m looking into the shifting sickness,” I said. “I’d like to ask you some questions if you have a moment to spare.”
Her eyebrow rose. “Does the alpha know you’re asking about this?”
“I’m gathering information. I haven’t interfered with anything.”
She studied me for a long moment, then gestured to the bowls covered with towels. “I have work to do. You can talk while I knead.”
While she flipped a towel off a bowl and dumped the dough onto the floured surface, I laid my notebook on the counter beside my now empty plate, eyeing the rest of the loaf. Helen’s eyes tracked my pen, her expression flickering with suspicion.
“When did the sickness start?” I asked.
She smacked the bread and started kneading. “I can’t pin it to an exact date.”
“Approximately how long ago?”
“After the trouble at the northern border.” She didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push. Not yet.
“What’s the first sign when someone is affected?”
Her hands stilled on the dough. “They stop wanting raw meat. It’s subtle at first. They’ll pick at their portions and claim they’re not hungry. But us wolves always want raw meat. It’s instinct. When that goes, you know something’s wrong.”
My pen scratched across my notebook, recording every word.
“How long is it between a loss of appetite and the loss of the ability to shift?”
“It varies. A couple of weeks, maybe a month.”
“Is there any pattern to who it affects? Such as age, gender, or position in the pack hierarchy?”
“Adults.” She frowned. “I’ve never seen it in a pup.” She resumed kneading, pounding, and folding the dough. “There’s no other pattern I can see. It affects strong wolves, weak wolves, male, and female. Details like that don’t seem to matter.”
I nodded, my mind already working through possibilities. Could it be an environmental trigger? I doubted a contagion, or the pups would show symptoms as well.
Something affecting only fully developed wolves. Very interesting.
Acorn had hopped up onto another counter and was creeping toward a bowl of nuts and dried fruit.
Helen lifted a knife and tossed it his way. A thunk rang out when it hit the wooden wall beside him. “That rodent of yours is trying to steal my ingredients.”
“Acorn,” I huffed.
He froze, a walnut clutched in his tiny paws. What’s thine is mine, and mine is mine. This is simply the squirrel divine. Hoarding food is nature’s call, redistribution serves us all.
I sighed. “He says it’s redistribution.”
“It’s theft.”
“I apologize. He has poor impulse control.”
Helen made a noise that might’ve been a laugh, though her expression didn’t change one bit. Acorn leaped off the counter and scampered over to climb up to my shoulder, the walnut still clutched in his incisors.
“What sort of treatment are you using for those impacted by the shifting problem?” I asked.
“Silverleaf. It helps with the weakness.”
I scanned the prep area, noting the herbs hanging to dry near the fire, the various pots simmering. A bundle of silverleaf, tied with twine, sat beside what looked like medicinal supplies.
“And how do you prepare it?”
“We dry it. Steep it in a tea.”
“With anything else?”
“No, why would we?”