Grimolfr smiled. “It has nothing to do with proof. It has to do with not troubling you with a problem that is not your concern, when there are many,
many
problems that do require your attention.”
Isolfr swallowed. “But how am I supposed toâ”
“You're not.” Another man would have cut Isolfr silent with a gesture, a flat-palmed hand. Grimolfr did it with the touch of his eyes. “You are not a wolfheofodman yet, Isolfr. But you have the instincts of one. You're like your little girl, a heart full of the need to be doing and not yet the sense to know what must be doneâno. Listen. You do not need to know because your place is not to choose for the wolfheall; your place is to learn what you must know when it will be your duty to keep the wolfheall strong. And then fighting trolls will be the
least
of your problems.”
Isolfr pressed his palms to his thighs and considered, chewing his lip lightly. It made sense; he could
see
the sense in it. But something in him chafed at backing down so easily, and he squared his shoulders and asked, “And when will that be, wolfjarl?”
Grimolfr shrugged. “Three, five years or so?”
Isolfr crossed his arms, uncertain whether he should say
so soon?
or
so long?
and anyway uncertain how he and Hrolleif would keep Vigdis and Viradechtis from killing each other in the meantime. “Three years?”
“At the earliest,” Grimolfr said. “It depends on Viradechtis. And when she comes back into season.” He crossed his own arms and permitted himself a wicked, unsubtle grin. “And whether she gives you one year or two between matings.”
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H
e thought about Grimolfr's words for the rest of the day, in between a thousand and sixteen other things that somehow needed his urgent attention. Skirnulf shyly
came to talk to him about the trouble Authun was having with Frar; Frar was an older wolf, a gray-muzzle like Hroi, and he seemed to have decided Authun was a threat to him. Skirnulf didn't know why, assuring Isolfr anxiously that Authun didn't want to hurt Frar at all, and Frar's brother would only laugh and say, “Let them sort it out themselves, pup.”
Skirnulf's pride was hurt, Isolfr thought and felt the sting of too-close empathy. And through the pack-sense, he caught a memory of Kolli's scent and understood that Skirnulf was afraid for Authun, who was a big gangly creature without an ounce of vice or malice in him. He listened more widely, letting Skirnulf tell him about Authun, and felt Frar, old and wise and angry.
Why angry? Isolfr did not ask, exactly, and the wolfthreat did not answer, exactly, but he felt the gaps the dead wolvesâsix now, after Ravndalrâhad made in how the wolfthreat thought of itself, and he could see that Frar stood too close to the edge of one of those gaps, and Authun too close to its other side. And Frar, disliking change and feeling himself too old for fighting, was trying to back Authun off from threatening his place in the pack.
“Frar doesn't want to fight, either,” he said to Skirnulf. Skirnulf was all but deaf to the pack-sense, and Isolfr abandoned after only a moment's thought any attempt to explain to him exactly what was going on. “You'll have to be patient. It's part of Authun growing up, and you can't stop that, or help with it, either.”
“Oh,” Skirnulf said. And then, “Oh! You mean Frar thinks Authun's an adult now.”
“Yes.”
“Oh!” Skirnulf was almost beaming. “I thought we'd done something
wrong
. Thank you, Isolfr.”
For what?
Isolfr thought, watching Skirnulf call to his brother and stride out into the beautiful spring day.
I told him exactly what Frar's brother told him.
Viradechtis, resting her chin on his shoulder, pointed out that dignity was something wolves and men both needed,
and Isolfr grinned and said, “What do you know of dignity, sister?”
She laughed back at him and licked his ear.
But that was how his day went, that day and the days that followed. He had less and less time for himself, between drilling the tithe-boys, talking with those members of the werthreat, mostly the youngest, who did not want to bring their problems to Hrolleif, and learning everything he could from Hrolleifâeven though he had to send Viradechtis away with Sokkolfr or Frithulf to do it. He and Hrolleif could not talk with Vigdis and her daughter both beside them, for every hint of dissent or dissatisfaction between them was immediately caught and magnified by the konigenwolves, and it took no more than minutes for the snarling to start.
Isolfr had been right; Viradechtis didn't roll over.
She hated to be sent away from him. She thought it was punishment and was anxious and clingy with the need to understand what she had done wrong. But Isolfr could not explain it to her; her instincts were too deep and too clear. And even if he could have, he would not have ordered her to submit to Vigdis, firstly because Viradechtis was konigenwolf as much as her mother and she might do as he asked but it would rip her heart out, and secondly because Vigdis was konigenwolf as much as her daughter and there would be no way for Viradechtis to submit
enough
.
So he told her to go play with Kothran, or sleep with Hroi, and Vigdis relaxed and even liked him a little again. She appreciated his understanding of her place in the wolfthreat.
He knew now what Grimolfr had meant, as Hrolleif talked to him more and more openly about what the wolfsprechend's job entailed. It was too big for him, too big for his sister, and he could admit that. Spring warmed to summer, and Asny's pups chose their brothersâTindr choosing Leif, as everyone had known he would, and the last of Isolfr's tithe-mates became the Great Ulfbjorn and laid his bedroll in the roundhall. Isolfr concentrated on taking as much of the load off Hrolleif's shoulders as he could.
And in dealing, most often scarlet-faced and flustered, with the increasingly obvious attempts of certain members of the werthreat to court him.
Eyjolfr led them, but he was far from the only one. Fostolfr and Skjaldwulfâand also Ulfgeirr, which so consternated Isolfr that even Sokkolfr could not help laughing. Other men, the brothers of young wolves, strong wolves, wolves who wanted standing in the packâmen who would like to be wolfjarl and knew it would not happen while they were wolfcarls under Grimolfr and Hrolleif. Men who saw in Isolfr their way to power.
It terrified him, and only partly because it forced him face to face with a destiny he wasn't sure he could stand up to; Viradechtis was konigenwolf, he would be wolfsprechend, and he could do nothing but pray he would not fail. But more than that, what made his hands icy and his face hot was that the men courting him were not simply courting a wolfsprechend-in-waiting. They were courting
him
. Isolfr.
You are very beautiful,
Eyjolfr had said, and he saw that same truth in Skjaldwulf's eyes and those of some of the others. They wanted him, and he thought of Hringolfr and felt cold fear like deepest winter in his bones.
He did his best to keep it to himself, not to let it influence Viradechtis. She wasn't afraid, but showed lively interest in each of her suitors. He thought she liked Glaedir best, but she liked Mar as well, and sometimes scorned them both in favor of another wolf.
“Your little girl's a flirt,” Hrolleif said in his ear one late summer afternoon.
“I know,” Isolfr said helplessly. “I thought she'd â¦
choose
.”
“Like Vigdis and Skald? It is not the only way of doing things in a wolfheall, although it suits us very well. Viradechtis knows what she wants.”
“Yes,” Isolfr said, and could not help the note of long-suffering in his voice.
Hrolleif laughed and tugged gently on one of his braids.
“Do not worry so much, Isolfr. I think you may be sure that your wolfjarl, whoever he is, will wish to please you.”
And Isolfr found himself blushing again.
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T
he long summer offered a reprieve from troll raids on into autumn, and Viradechtis' second season came on her just before the equinox. This time, she recognized its coming and woke Isolfr from a sound sleep, very early one morning, with an emphatic thought of
male-wolfness
.
As Hrolleif had said, she knew what she wanted.
Isolfr was awake on the instant, rolling out of his blankets. Frithulf made a small complaining noise and cuddled closer to Kothran without waking. Sokkolfr and Hroi were nowhere to be seen. Isolfr, not waiting to find his boots, crossed the roundhall to the records-room, where he found Hrolleif awake and placidly awaiting him.
“How ⦔
“Shut the door behind you,” Hrolleif said, and when Isolfr had done so, he said, “Vigdis has been konigenwolf for twenty years. And she is very aware of her competition.” He smiled as Viradechtis bumped his knee, demanding attention. “Yes, you, little girl.” He looked up at Isolfr, one hand gently stroking Viradechtis' massive head. “I will be glad when she is grown, though saddened that it means you must leave us.”
“Yes,” Isolfr said, to all of it.
Viradechtis snorted, impatient, and that insistent
male-wolfness
hit Isolfr againâand, to judge by his startled blink, Hrolleif as well.
“Don't be pushy, sister,” Isolfr said, and Hrolleif laughed and rumpled Viradechtis' ears.
He said, “We want a litter from Hroi.”
“Hroi?” An iron weight seemed to fall away, and only in its absence did Isolfr realize how frightened he had been. “You mean, Sokkolfr?”
“Who is Hroi's brother, yes,” Hrolleif said dryly. “We also thought you could use a respite from your eager suitors, and I must say Sokkolfr was very pleased to be asked.”
Stop blushing,
Isolfr said furiously to himself, though it did no good. “Sokkolfr”âa deep breath, to settle his gut, as Viradechtis whinedâ“does Sokkolfr know already?”
“Sokkolfr's gone on ahead.” Hrolleif reached out and gave Isolfr a rough hug before he quite realized he was gaping. “Go, get your boots and your bedroll, Isolfr. I think you know the way, and your sister won't wait for sunrise. Besides, Ingrun's season is due, and your sister isn't yet konigenwolf enough for her scent to put a stop to it.”
“Hrolleif?”
“Don't hurry back,” the wolfsprechend said with a grin, and pushed him toward the door.
The frost lay heavy on the swell of the earth; man and wolf left footprints like dark pearls in silver as they ran across it side by side. He did know the way, and his wolf's urgency drove him. He felt her heat, familiar now, a craving need that sparked along his spine and made his testicles ache. She whined, running ahead, pacing to and fro when he did not move fast enough to suit her, ranging out and back, and for the first time he wondered what
his
need felt like to her.
She ran him through the tail-end of the night and into morning, her desire gnawing holes in him, so strong that even when he was staggering with weariness, he could barely force himself to stop long enough to suck cold water from the summer-dried streams they crossed. This was nothing like her first heat; there was no tentativeness in her this time, no fear of the unknownâonly desire. And it worked in Isolfr, too, until he found himself strangely eager.
He smelled smoke before they came up on the lean-to. They were met by Hroi, bounding to them, ears up and tail waving like a king's banner in greeting, his scent-name, freshly turned forest loam, like a benediction in the pack-sense. Viradechtis took one look at the old wolf and fled,
running flat-out with her long brindled body stretched low to the ground. Hroi laughed at Isolfr and took off after her, flashing through the trees in the dappled sunset light. Isolfr drew up, panting, limbs leaden, and watched them until they vanished over the breast of the rise. Then he turned down the long slope to the lean-to, and Sokkolfr.
The apprehension had returned, but the need burned stronger than ever. He found himself hurrying, and he was gratefulâinsanely gratefulâto find Sokkolfr waiting for him in the shelter of the lean-to, propped on his elbows on a bed of cut pine boughs, his bare shoulders pale and freckled against the blankets.
There was no room for embarrassment. No
time
for embarrassment: Isolfr yanked off his boots and socks, stripped off his trews and tunic and jerkin, tossed his clothing and bedroll into the back corner of the lean-to, and slithered under the blankets beside Sokkolfr before the autumn chill could prickle his skin to gooseflesh. He was sweating anyway, lightly, as he turned to Sokkolfr and drew a breath full of the scents of damp wool and sex.
Sokkolfr still hadn't spoken, but his eyes were wide, pupils dilated, breathing light and fast and high in his throat. Somewhere, Viradechtis was running, moist soil denting under her nails, Hroi's breath at her flank, making the old wolf work for what he wantedâwhat she wanted too. Hesitantly, Sokkolfr reached out, touched Isolfr's cheek with the back of his hand. Isolfr shivered at the touch, almost moaned. Sokkolfr, startled, drew back.