“Is it true her squirrel speaks in rhymes?”
Acorn sat up straighter.
“He does,” I said.
“Could we hear one?”
I glanced at Acorn, who was puffing up with the self-importance he got when he had an audience. “What do you think? Shall we demonstrate?”
The squirrel who performs upon request, does so because he knows he’s best.
I translated, keeping my expression neutral.
Laughter rippled outward from the high table, spreading through the nearest groups before reaching the outer edges of the gathering. The wolf shifter grinned and returned to his seat.
Bastian blinked slowly. “Does he always do that?”
“Always.” I slid a piece of bread toward Acorn, who stuffed it into his cheeks.
As we finished the main courses, more platters arrived. The promised pastries had been arranged on wooden boards between piles of dried fruit and nuts.
Acorn’s eyes widened. He took one pastry. Then another. I slid a third toward him without looking up from my conversation with Bastian about optimal planting depth for willavines in different soil compositions.
When I finally glanced over, Acorn had constructed a small fortress of pastries around himself and was working through them, filling his cheeks.
“Your companion has strong opinions about territorial boundaries,” Bastian observed.
“He’s very food-motivated.”
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
A woman approached the high table. She was about forty, with dark hair pulled back in a braid. The set to her shoulders looked like it came from holding power long enough to forget it required effort.
Bastian scrambled to his feet, tugging on his tunic hem. Color rose into his face. “Arana. You’re here.”
“The roads were clear. It didn’t take long to get here after I received your message.” Her gaze swept across the table before landing on me. “You must be the witch who solved what Bastian’s been failing at for over a decade.”
Direct. I appreciated that.
“Victoria,” I said, offering my hand.
She took it with a firm grip. “Arana. Eastern pack alpha.” She glanced at Bastian. “I’ve been trying to tell him the structure required more than one of us for years. He said I was overthinking it.”
Something in her tone told me this was a well-worn argument between them.
“How many times did you try?” I asked.
“Four. He stopped taking my letters after that.”
“I suspect he’ll be more responsive going forward,” I said.
Arana smiled. “It’s remarkable what a crisis and a woman with solid knowledge can accomplish.”
Bastian shifted his boots. “I thought I could handle it alone.”
“You thought a lot of things.” Arana settled into the chair on his other side without waiting to be invited. “Most of them are wrong.”
Was there history between them? The way Bastian’s expression softened when she sat down told me yes.
