Wolf-speaker by Tamora Pierce Read Free Book Online Page A

actually I
do
need to speak with you. We’ve been invited to dine tonight at the castle.”
    â€œWhy?” the girl asked, rubbing her eyes.
    â€œIt’s typical of nobles who live out of the way. A newcomer is worth some attention—it’s how they get news. I don’t suppose you packed a dress.”
    Since her arrival in Tortall, when her Rider friends had introduced her to breeches, she had worn skirts rarely, and always under protest. When the village seamstress showed her the only gown that would be ready in time, Daine balked. The dress was pink muslin, with lace at collar and cuffs—a lady’s garment, in a color she hated. She announced she would go in breeches or not at all.
    Numair, usually easygoing, sometimes showed an obstinate streak to rival Cloud’s. By the time their escort came, Daine wore lace-trimmed petticoats, leather shoes, and the pink dress under a wool cloak to ward off the nighttime chill. A maid had done up her stubborn curls, pinning them into aknot at the back of her neck. Kitten’s mood was no better than Daine’s: told she could
not
go with them, the dragon turned gray and hid under the bed.
    Their escort came after dark to guide them across the causeway to the island and its castle. Hostlers took charge of Spots and Cloud, and servants took their cloaks, all in well-trained silence. A footman led them across the entrance hall to a pair of half-open doors.
    Behind those doors a man was saying, “…know wolves like th’ back of m’hand. I tell ye, these have
got
to be werewolves or sommat from th’ Divine Realms. They don’t act as wolves should act! See this? An’
this? Laughin’
at me, that’s what they’re doin’!”
    â€œMy lord, my ladies,” the footman said, breaking in, “your guests are here.” He bowed to Numair and Daine and ushered them in ahead of him. “I present Master Numair Salmalín, of Corus, and his student, called Daine.”
    They were in an elegant sitting room, being looked over by its occupants. The footman announced, “My lord Belden, master of Fief Dunlath. My lady Yolane of Dunlath, Lord Belden’s wife and heiress of Dunlath. Lady Maura of Dunlath, my lady’s sister.”
    Numair bowed; Daine attempted a curtsy. Yolane, in her thirties, and Maura, a girl of ten, were seated by the hearth fire. Though introducedas sisters, there was little resemblance between them. Yolane was beautiful, with ivory-and-rose skin, large brown eyes, a tumble of reddish brown curls, and a soft mouth. Her crimson silk gown hugged a trim body and narrow waist; deep falls of lace at her wrists drew the eye to long, elegant hands. Diamonds glittered around her neck and at her earlobes. Maura was painfully plain, a stocky child with straight brown hair, attired in a blue dress that fit badly.
    Lord Belden was of an age with his wife, a lean, bearded man who showed more interest in his wine-glass than in his guests. His brown hair and beard were clipped short. His clothing was equally businesslike, though his maroon brocade tunic and white silk shirt and hose were of the finest quality.
    Before the nobles stood a man in rough leather. He bristled with weapons, and held a pair of wolf traps. Yolane fanned herself, trying to disperse the aroma that came from the traps; Maura held her nose. The wolfhounds that sat or sprawled at the hunter’s feet rose when they saw Daine. Slowly they went to her, their wire-haired faces eager. She offered her hands for them to sniff.
    â€œHere!” barked the hunter. “Them ain’t ladies’ dogs! They’re fierce hunters, and no’t’ be cosseted!”
    Daine snickered as the hunters crowded around her, tails wagging.
    â€œYes, you’re fine dogs,” she whispered, returningtheir welcome. “You’re
lovely
dogs, even if you do hunt wolves.”
    We
try
to hunt them, the chief of the wolf-hounds