Chapter Thirteen
THIRTEEN
“That went well,” Julius says once we’re away from the building.
“Exactly as planned?” I say to Bishop, one brow raised.
Julius lifts his hands. “I didn’t know either. Suspected, yes, but I’m happy to stay out of Bishop’s schemes if he needs me to pretend there isn’t one.”
“I didn’t count on it working,” Bishop says. “Despite what Rufus said, we could have arrived without an enforcer. Bringing one with an envoy isn’t required—it’s simply that protocol allows the Alpha to bring his enforcer without it being seen as a threat.”
I nod. “So Rufus is claiming it’s required as an excuse for coming along.”
“More as an excuse for protecting us. As you noticed, he really does struggle to accept that we’re grown men. He left the Pack shortly after his first transformation. He would have been eighteen or nineteen, Julius and I were seven and six.”
“You do want him for your enforcer then. Permanently.”
“I do. However, as you saw, it must be his idea. I can tell him the job is his, should he want it, but I can’t push.”
“It’s not a trap,” Julius says. “That’s Rufus blustering, as he is wont to do. Or, if there is a trap, it’s of his own making. He left the Pack. He tells himself he doesn’t want to be part of one. And yet…”
“He was in a sort of a pack,” I say. “With you and Bishop and your fathers.”
“Yes. And we’ve stayed in contact, knowing that eventually he would come around. But if we did the luring, he’d run the other way. For a very big and powerful wolf, Rufus is—at heart—a stray cat that really would rather not be a stray.”
I glance over. “But, according to Bishop, not a stray cat that fled abuse. It does seem odd that he wouldn’t have been considered for enforcer. He’s as big as Henry, younger, and seems less of a brute.”
“Definitely less of a brute. Also far more intelligent.”
“Henry saw Rufus as a threat, didn’t he?” I murmur, working it through. “Even if Rufus didn’t get Henry’s job, Henry was raising his son to inherit his post. But there’s Cousin Rufus, poised to shoulder either of them aside if he wants the job.”
Julius smiles over. “Exactly so. The older—and bigger—Rufus got, the more Henry saw him as a threat. Arthur’s reign was coming to an end, and Silas could choose a new enforcer.
Henry was worried and so he made Rufus’s life hell.
Silas could have stopped it. He should have stopped it—who wouldn’t want two wolves that size in their Pack? ”
“But my father liked the idea of them fighting for the future position. He probably encouraged it. To him, it’d prove who was the best enforcer … but at the cost of one very valuable wolf. Shortsighted as always.”
Julius nods. “Rufus would have ignored Henry’s bullying if he’d had Silas’s support. But without it? That just proved Pack life wasn’t for him, and so he left.”
Bishop says, “I would very much like Rufus as my enforcer, but again, must be his choice, with minimal enticement from me and absolutely no sense that he owes us.”
“Or he’ll whine about that forever,” Julius says.
“Not whine, per se, but be very clear, to everyone who will listen, that he’s repaying a debt. I need an inner circle who choose to be there.”
We turn down another street.
“We need to talk about something else,” Bishop says. “As you saw, Julius allows me to plan in secret when I need him to act as if there is no plan. When he can seem honestly confused.”
“I am a terrible actor,” Julius says, leaning toward me. “Even when it comes to acting confused, which you would think comes naturally.”
Bishop and I both give him a hard look. Bishop might be the leader, but it’s not because he’s the smarter cousin. In fact, one might argue that Julius is the wiser of the pair, content to sit back and let Bishop lead while he reaps the benefits of being second-in-command.
I jest, of course. Both roles come with their risks, as they learned when Silas tried to punish Bishop by threatening Julius.
I wouldn’t even say that Bishop is the more ruthless cousin.
Julius acts the part of the charming doctor, and he fully admits he doesn’t like to fight, but while he didn’t kill Henry, he had suggested doing it by “misjudging” his sedative dosage.
It’d been Bishop who vetoed that plan. Pack wolves don’t kill their Pack brothers, and Bishop wouldn’t start his reign with murder.
No, the only real difference is that Bishop has the ambition that Julius lacks, which makes theirs the perfect partnership. I could be jealous, but instead, I view it as an example. Through Julius, I see what Bishop needs and also what he lacks, leaving a space for me to squeeze in.
“Julius does act better when he’s not actually acting,” Bishop says. “But, I realize, you may want something different, Cordelia.” He looks over. “If such a situation arises again, where I need you to behave as if you are unaware of my plan, do you actually want to be unaware of it?”
I don’t answer immediately. In fact, I consider the question all the way to the train station, where our bags will be waiting, along with Kenric.
Then I say, “I would have a problem if I felt like a fool for not knowing. That wasn’t the case with Rufus.
I would also have a problem if not knowing put me at risk, but I trust you wouldn’t do that. ”
“I would not.”
“Then my answer is that for now, do the same as you’d do with Julius. I’m not sure how good an actor I am either. If we decide I can pull it off, we can change things. Does that work?”
“It does.”
We’re on the train. Bishop hadn’t bought an advance ticket for Rufus—perpetuating the fiction that he hadn’t anticipated him joining us.
While we get another first-class ticket, our compartment only holds four.
Kenric is quick to sit in another compartment.
A little too quick? Damn it. Now that Rufus has expressed concerns, I’m going to interpret everything Kenric does as suspicious.
We start the journey in conversation, mostly between Julius and Rufus. Rufus teases Bishop about being quiet, and he can be, when he’s content to relax and listen. I’m not nearly as reticent, but here I will be, when I’m listening and learning.
At a lull, Rufus looks at Bishop’s hand, clasped with mine, and smirks. “I don’t think she’s going to run away, boy.”
Bishop only adjusts his grip and gives Rufus a cool, half-lidded stare.
“Are you sure you ought to bring her along?” Rufus says.
“She is my wife. My mate.”
“Do you plan to lord that over them? In defiance of a tradition shared by the Caledonian Pack?”
He means that the Caledonian Pack doesn’t allow wives, which the Albions had also forbidden until I came along.
Bishop says, “The marriage was Silas’s decision, and we had no say in the matter.
Would it look better if I’d left Cordelia behind?
Perhaps also left her out of my story? And then, when their spies discover Silas’s daughter is my mate, as they will, it will seem as if everything I said might be a lie?
That Silas gave me his only child, and I repaid the kindness by killing him?
Or, if I tell them about Cordelia but leave her with my Pack, it might suggest she has a different accounting of events?
Or that I don’t trust the Caledonians around my mate?
Or that I don’t trust my mate around them?
Or that I am so uncertain of my power that I dare not bring—”
“Enough.” Rufus lifts his hands. “I yield.”
“Bishop knows what he’s doing,” Julius says. “And Cordelia really is another fighter at his side. One they will not expect.” He looks at me. “Do you have your knife, Cordelia?”
I take the folding blade from my pocket.
Julius chuckles. “Ask Bishop about that knife. He bears the scar of it from their first meeting.”
Rufus tilts his head as he looks at me. “Witches use weapons? Is that because they lack offensive spells?”
“Careful,” Julius says. “That treads dangerously close to being offensive itself.”
“No,” I say. “It’s a valid question. While we did have offensive spells, yes, we’ve lost most of those. I know sorcerer magic, though.”
“And witches can cast sorcerer magic?”
My lips twitch. “I will spare you the history lesson, but there is a school of thought that believes we were once a single spell-casting race. Witches and sorcerers can use both types of spells, though it’s easier to learn their own.
Most sorcerers refuse to cast witch magic, considering it beneath them, which is to the advantage of witches who know both. ”
“And the knife?”
I shrug. “It was a weapon of opportunity that I kept.” I try not to think of where it came from—Henrietta, the cousin I accidentally killed.
“I was trained in pugilism, though having been with the Pack, I realize I need more. As for why I need to physically fight, spellcasters have a limited supply of power.”
I’m ready to leave it at that, but Rufus leans forward, hands on his thighs. “Limited?”
“Yes, which I suppose is useful information if you’re fighting one. An experienced and older spellcaster will have deepened their well of energy through practice. But for a young or inexperienced caster, if you duck and dodge their spells, they’ll eventually run out of power.”
“Like a man spent after—”
Julius coughs.
I give Julius a look. “Really? You should know by now that you don’t need to censor yourself around me.”
“And if you do,” Bishop murmurs, “she will mistake your consideration for shyness.”
I grin at him. “It was adorable, though.” I turn to Rufus.
“In answer to your question, that wouldn’t quite be the right analogy.
When a man spends his passion, it is all at once and then he is done until he is rested.
While it is possible to cast a spell so great that we’d be unable to cast anything afterward, it’s more like…
” I wave at him. “As strong as you are, you’ll still tire if you overextend yourself in a fight. ”
“Takes a long time, though.”