Among Wolves Read online

  Among Wolves

  Book One of The Wolves of Llisé

  NANCY K. WALLACE

  HarperVoyager

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street,

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2015

  Copyright © Nancy K. Wallace 2015

  Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015.

  Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com

  Nancy K. Wallace asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

  Ebook Edition © May 2015 ISBN: 978-0-00-810358-3

  Version: 2015-04-08

  Among Wolves is dedicated to my family.

  My husband, Dennie: without his love and support I would never have become a writer. My daughter, Mollie, who provides technical assistance, and my daughter, Elizabeth, the most tireless and dedicated proofreader ever! I cannot thank you enough for believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER 1: The Beginning

  CHAPTER 2: Leaving Viénne

  CHAPTER 3: The Marie Lisette

  CHAPTER 4: Allies and Adversaries

  CHAPTER 5: Rough Seas

  CHAPTER 6: Revelations

  CHAPTER 7: Snow in Ombria

  CHAPTER 8: The Stones of Ombria

  CHAPTER 9: Night in Briseé

  CHAPTER 10: Divided Loyalties

  CHAPTER 11: Suspicion

  CHAPTER 12: Armand Vielle

  CHAPTER 13: Inconsistencies and Allegations

  CHAPTER 14: “Lisette’s Lament”

  CHAPTER 15: A Bard’s Life

  CHAPTER 16: Mäìte

  CHAPTER 17: Night Terrors

  CHAPTER 18: “Emeline”

  CHAPTER 19: The Forêt d’Halatte

  CHAPTER 20: Among Wolves

  CHAPTER 21: The Beast of Gévaudan

  CHAPTER 22: Unavoidable Delays

  CHAPTER 23: Family Secrets

  CHAPTER 24: The Quest for Truth

  CHAPTER 25: Armand

  CHAPTER 26: Secrets

  CHAPTER 27: News from Home

  CHAPTER 28: The Edge of Sleep

  CHAPTER 29: Acquainted With Death

  CHAPTER 30: Investigation

  CHAPTER 31: Aftershocks

  CHAPTER 32: The Storyteller’s Sack

  CHAPTER 33: High Stakes

  CHAPTER 34: Undercurrents

  CHAPTER 35: Sticks and Stones

  CHAPTER 36: Solutions

  CHAPTER 37: “Remi Reynard”

  CHAPTER 38: Celebration

  CHAPTER 39: Admonitions

  CHAPTER 40: Bishops and Blacksmiths

  CHAPTER 41: Death and Secrets

  CHAPTER 42: The Last Supper

  CHAPTER 43: Changes

  CHAPTER 44: Unexpected Visitors

  CHAPTER 45: Lac Dupré

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER 1

  The Beginning

  “There’s an urgent message for you, monsieur,” Isaac La Salle said, handing Devin a rolled parchment sealed with the gold signet of the Chancellor Elite. The proctor’s whispered message boomed in the compulsory quiet of the examination hall.

  Devin nodded silently, aware of the handful of other graduate students still bent feverishly over their exams. He squared the edges on his sheaf of examination papers and retrieved his jacket from the back of the bench. His friend, Gaspard, glanced desperately his way, eyes rolling, his exam barely started. Shooting him a sympathetic grin, Devin walked to the back of the room. La Salle now sat propped against the Académie’s stone wall, the seventh volume of Blade’s Laws spread across his lap. Devin handed the proctor his completed papers and left without comment.

  Devin pocketed the parchment. It was so like his father to think nothing of interrupting final exams with an urgent missive to report home. He knew without reading it what it required of him. He’d already planned a visit to his parents into the flurry of tonight’s activity but it would have to be brief. His ship sailed at dawn and he doubted he would even find time to sleep.

  He crossed the wide entrance hall, with its two elegantly curving stairways. One led to the Archives, the other to the lecture halls. He mounted neither but walked through the massive double doors into the late spring sunshine. Spray from the central fountain dampened his hair and shirt as he passed through the courtyard. He welcomed the sprinkle of cool water after the stuffiness of the examination hall. Blossoming trees and early bulbs in bloom flanked the perimeter of the cobbled expanse. The fragrance of flowers hung heavy in the air. The sun lying low in the west silhouetted the trees lining the street before him. Horses and buggies hugged the curb, their drivers soliciting fares. He passed by them, content to walk.

  Today marked the completion of his first two years of apprenticeship in Llisé’s Historic Archives. His Third Year was his own – to explore optional careers – or to rethink his decision to become an archivist. If he returned for the Fourth, and final, Year at the Académie, his choice of profession would be sealed and there could be no changes.

  He didn’t anticipate any alteration of his plans. He had never been happier than studying Llisé’s ancient documents, recopying those whose condition was deteriorating, and compiling meticulous chronological records.

  When he reached Independence Square, the clock high on the cathedral arch, chimed seven. He quickened his pace. The windows of the houses bordering the square already glowed softly with candlelight. His family would be waiting and tardiness on his part would only lead to teasing about his possible lack of proficiency in exams.

  The Chancellor’s mansion dominated the western end of the square, its pillared gates lined by a dozen guards, in blue and silver uniforms. They waved Devin through as he climbed the front steps in the fading light.

  Girard, his black suit and white shirt immaculate, opened the door.

  “How did it go, monsieur?” he asked, with a smile. “Did you pass your exams or should I inquire about a post in the provinces for you?”

  “I did well,” Devin assured him. “I finished first. The others are still up to their ears in essays.”

  Girard laughed. “Your father will be pleased.” He pointed to the right. “They’re in the petite parlor. They’ve been waiting.”

  Devin crossed the threshold expecting to have a quiet dinner with his parents. But all five of his older brothers had gathered to see him off. He was not surprised to see that none of their wives had been invited. That was his mother’s doing. She actively sought time alone with her sons, where she could claim their complete attent
ion without any distractions.

  His father had neatly slotted his first five sons into every branch of the powerful government he controlled. As the youngest, only Devin had been free to pursue his own interests.

  His brothers stood clustered in the parlor, waiting for him. Their expressions ranged from anxious to grave, as though they had gathered to stage an intervention.

  “It’s a celebration not a wake!” Devin exclaimed, clapping his oldest brother on the shoulder. Jean was a district judge; staid and solemn, already tending toward plumpness around the middle. A few gray hairs highlighted his dark temples.

  “We’re just concerned,” Jean replied. “This plan of yours seems ill-conceived.”

  “Ah,” Devin laughed, “and your Third Year was a model of convention? I’ve heard stories about the places you visited!”

  “A few wild oats are understandable…” Jean sputtered. “You, on the other hand, seem to have taken this quest to heart.”

  “Hello, dear,” his mother said, extending her hand to pull him closer. “I think it’s a shame to waste this opportunity, that’s all. The Third Year is intended as a carefree time. You should spend it with friends or traveling before you lock yourself away in the Historic Archives for the rest of your days.”

  Devin bent to kiss her on both cheeks. “I will be spending my time traveling and with friends, Mother. Gaspard’s agreed to go with me, if he can finish his exams in time.”

  “Oh well, Gaspard,” she commented, one hand falling languidly to the side. “Why didn’t you choose someone more…” Words apparently failed her.

  “Intelligent?” André asked with a laugh. He was already Head of the Department of Sciences at the Académie; well-liked and highly respected. “Gaspard will be good fun, Mother. He tempers Devin’s bookishness.”

  “I don’t understand your motivation, Devin,” Ethan said, stalking to the table to refill his wine glass. “You’re a trained historian, why would you want to spend your Third Year gathering Chronicles in the provinces?”

  Ethan, a Colonel in Llisé’s army, was most like their father, though he lacked Vincent Roché’s humor. Devin suspected that he, too, might be Chancellor one day.

  Devin extended a glass to his brother to fill. “The current process of preserving the Chronicles seems so fragile,” he explained. “Did you hear the Master Bard, who held the Perouse Chronicle, died suddenly last month? He didn’t have time to pass on even half of the information to his apprentice. Those stories are lost forever.”

  “Well, you can’t write them down,” Jean told him. “Canon Law forbids it.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” Devin answered. “They can’t be recorded as historical data.”

  “You can’t record them in any manner,” Ethan clarified, his index finger stabbing Devin’s chest. “Your degree lends credibility to anything you write. I wouldn’t want to see you brought up on charges over this. It could ruin your chances of ever working in the Archives again.”

  “I know that,” Devin assured him. “I only plan to memorize them.”

  Jacques, an under-secretary in their father’s cabinet, hoisted himself from a chair by the fireplace. “Only?” he said with a chuckle. “Devin, no one has ever memorized the Chronicles from all the provinces – no one – in over a thousand years.”

  Devin, his defenses beginning to crack, took a gulp of wine before answering. “Perhaps, no one has ever tried.”

  “Give him a chance,” his father said from the doorway. “Devin memorized the first volume of Bardic Songs before he was six.”

  “But the Chronicles are of little importance, darling,” his mother protested to her husband. “The work Devin will be doing here, in the capital, is so much more valuable. Surely, the Chronicle of Perouse is only of value to the people who live there.”

  Devin sighed. He’d fought this battle before and he wasn’t about to repeat the arguments over and over again. The Chronicles were not officially sanctioned history but they recounted the important events in each province. They deserved a better means of preservation than to be passed down orally from one generation to the next. He patted his mother’s shoulder, knowing she would never understand. “I intend to go, Mother. Tonight’s my last night here. Let’s not argue.”

  “Let’s not,” his father said, “Besides, I’ve brought you a present.”

  Money, Devin thought, even though his Third Year stipend would be more than sufficient in the remote areas he intended to travel to. His father would think it necessary that he carry half the treasury along, just in case. “That’s not necessary,” he protested.

  “Ah, but it is,” his father continued, “and I must exact your promise that you will take my gift with you.”

  Devin bowed his head, acquiescing, knowing the futility of attempting to argue with the most powerful man in the empire. “Thank you,” Devin murmured. “I’ll take it, if you insist.”

  “I do,” his father replied. “Stand just there, if you don’t mind, while I make the presentation.” Something about the curve of his mouth told Devin he’d been conned.

  His father motioned to someone in the hall and then Marcus, his father’s bodyguard of some years, loomed into sight. Devin waited expectantly, anticipating some sort of package or little ritual, until the chuckles began behind him.

  “You’re not serious!” he cried, when the full realization hit him.

  “Oh, I’m quite serious,” his father replied, putting an affectionate arm around him. “Marcus will accompany you for the full fifteen months that you’re gone, or until you’re safely home.”

  Devin ducked out of his embrace, furious. “I won’t take him! I’m not going to travel the empire with the Chancellor Elite’s bodyguard trailing behind me!”

  “Then you won’t leave the city,” his father said quietly. “I’ve been sympathetic to your wishes so far, Devin. I even think I understand your motivation but I won’t allow my gentle, scholarly son to travel the provinces with no protection but his scatter-wit friend.”

  “Gaspard’s not a scatter-wit!” Devin protested. “And I’m going to be memorizing stories, for God’s sake! Who would want to harm me?”

  “Your naiveté astounds me,” Ethan murmured, finishing his wine in one gulp, and reaching for the decanter.

  “My empire is certainly not immune to cutthroats and thieves,” his father said tightly.

  “And if we’re traveling students, no one will think we have anything worth stealing! A bodyguard implies wealth and valuables. You might as well put a sign around my neck, proclaiming that I’m your son!”

  “Believe me, I considered it,” his father replied. “Marcus isn’t negotiable, Devin. Should he come back alone, because you’ve ditched him in some backwater, I’ll issue a warrant for your arrest in all fifteen Provinces. I’ll have you brought back in irons if necessary.”

  “Vincent, please!” his mother protested.

  Anger had momentarily hardened his father’s face. He had not, after all, reached his elevated position by compromise, nor was he about to negotiate on this issue.

  “That’s my final word on it, Devin.”

  “Well, you’ve ruined dinner!” his mother said. “How do you expect Devin to eat after all this? And who knows what kind of meals he’ll get for the next year!”

  “People eat in the provinces too, Mother,” Devin replied.

  “Then we’ll call it settled,” his father said, taking his wife’s hand and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s sit down to dinner and forget this unpleasantness.”

  Mathieu, an attaché in the diplomatic service, passed Devin without speaking, but landed one hand sympathetically on his younger brother’s shoulder.

  Devin jockeyed for a position next to his father as they left the room and walked down the hall toward the dining room.

  “Marcus will jeopardize my work, Father,” he pleaded. “People are suspicious of the government in the provinces. A man in uniform will make them think I’m conducting some
kind of investigation. They won’t speak as freely.”

  “I have no problem with Marcus wearing casual clothing,” his father said. “That should solve the problem.”

  “But he still looks and acts like a soldier,” Devin complained. “It’s in his nature, he can’t help it.”

  Marcus towered over him, a massive wall of toned muscle. Weapons strained the seams of his uniform.

  His father stopped dead, tucking his wife’s hand into the crook of his oldest son’s arm.

  “Jean, take your mother to the table, please. I’ll only be a moment.” He smiled cordially, as the rest of his family passed them by.

  Devin cringed when his father placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him back against the wall. For a moment, he felt as though he were seven again, facing a spanking for breaking his mother’s favorite vase. He stood quietly in his father’s grip. He was a man now, and he’d done nothing wrong.

  “I want no further discussion on this matter,” his father said, his voice held well below the level which might be overheard further down the corridor. “Either you accept my offer of a bodyguard or you do not go at all.”

  “I’m just asking you to see this from my point of view.” Devin begged.

  “And I’m asking you to see it from mine,” his father retorted. “This quest of yours has ruffled some feathers. Your intentions have been misunderstood. Four council members took me aside last night. They fear you are trying to elevate the Chronicles to the same level as the documents in the Archives. There’s some resentment. You are Académie educated, and besides, you are my son. That lends an official tone to your trip whether you intended it or not.”