Jonmarc bowed and kissed Astasia's hand. Cailan watched with a look of distaste bordering on jealousy. Astasia giggled, seeming to enjoy Cailan's discomfort, and let her fingers tighten around Jonmarc's hand. Her thumb stroked his palm provocatively.

"So you're the new Lord of Dark Haven." She made no secret of looking him up and down. Cailan's eyes darkened, but he said nothing. "You must visit my home. I give the best parties," she said with a glance toward Gabriel and Riqua which clearly said they were not among her guests. "You're more than welcome to spend the night." Both Astasia's manner and her eyes made the double meaning of her words expressly clear.

"Your invitation is gracious," Jonmarc replied, hoping he could be half as diplomatic as he'd seen Tris be in similar situations. He guessed that spurning Astasia's proposition outright might not bode well, although her offer did not appeal to him in the least. "There's a great deal of work to be done at Dark Haven before winter. It doesn't leave much time for parties."

Astasia's eyes narrowed. "I heard you'll be bringing a guest back from the royal wedding in Margolan. Even among our kind, Lady Carina's reputation is well known. Will she be staying long?"

Jonmarc disliked the undercurrent to her voice. He kept the same neutral expression that had let him win many a hand of cards. "That's up to Lady Carina."

Astasia smiled and laid a hand on his arm. "My offer still stands. Bring her, too, if you like. I'm flexible." She let her hand slip over his in parting. Cailan's eyes made it clear that he did not second Astasia's welcome. Jonmarc's throat was dry as Astasia moved away through the crowd, and he was grateful for the glass of brandy that Gabriel offered.

"That's all of the Blood Council except one," Gabriel said. Jonmarc made a mental note to ask him later what the role was of the Council's seconds. Bodyguards? Consorts? A little of both?

In one corner of the huge room, a string quartet played courtly music. In addition to the Blood Council and their seconds, many other vayasb moru mingled, carrying goblets of what looked to be red wine. Jonmarc was quite sure it was not. Although the candles sparkled and the fire danced in the fireplace, the reception was notable for its lack of food. Except for me, Jonmarc thought darkly. Maybe I'm the guest of honor and the main course. Cailan looked like he'd have happily gone for my throat.

All of the Blood Council had seconds, except for Gabriel. Jonmarc knew that Mikhail, Gabriel's second, was in Margolan, helping Tris rebuild his army. Tonight, Yestin functioned as Gabriel's attache. Eiria was never far away. Jonmarc watched the pair with interest. The vayash moru treated the young couple with deference. If I'm right, and those violet eyes are the same as the she-wolf.

"Yestin and Eiria are shapeshifters," Riqua said. She had come up beside him so quietly that he startled. "There are small clans of them in the Black Mountains, not far from here."

"Then the wolves—"

"Yes. They're vyrkin. The wolf-clan's alliance with the Lord of Dark Haven goes back many generations. That's not true of all the clans."

"There are more?"

"Each clan has a totem animal whose spirit they honor and from whom they seek wisdom. Most shifters can only take one shape. Some, the unlucky ones, can shift into many shapes."

"Unlucky?"

Riqua watched Yestin and Eiria. "Over time, the shifting becomes involuntary. Eventually, the shift becomes permanent. Most shifters die young or go mad. It's worst for those who can take many shapes."

"I thought that sort of thing only happened on a full moon." ' .

Riqua's eyes darkened. "For many generations, shifters were hunted by superstitious fools who believed so. Those who were hunted and tormented by the light of the full moon— if they survived—found the sight of that moon triggered their pain, forcing them to shift. When that happens, they lose their memory of time and know only that they must defend themselves, even when no threat is near. They become a danger to all. Eventually, their pack has no choice but to destroy them."

"Being mortal doesn't seem so bad, compared to the alternatives."

"While it lasts."

Behind them, the doors to Wolvenskorn slammed open. "Where is he? Where's the Lord of Dark Haven?"

The questioner was a dark-haired man with the coloring of a Nargi native. His voice was rough and his features lacked the same fine breeding of the rest of the Blood Council. The man's clothing made an extravagant show of wealth compared to the relatively subdued elegance of the other guests. Gold necklaces adorned his throat, and heavy rings covered his fingers. With him were a half dozen young men who moved with predatory grace. The crowd made room for the group to enter, parting with a palpable distaste.

Jonmarc did not doubt that this was Uri, the last of the Blood Council. Although Gabriel's description beforehand had been carefully neutral, Jonmarc had no difficulty detecting Gabriel's dislike for the fifth member of the Council.

Jonmarc stepped forward. Gabriel moved closer, as did Riqua. "I'm Jonmarc Vahanian."

"Mighty fine company for a fight slave."

"I've heard you know something of betting yourself." It took a moment for Jonmarc to realize that Uri's taunt had been spoken in Nargi, and that he had reflexively answered in the same language.

Uri's black eyes glinted. His young men moved around him like feral dogs, and Jonmarc drew on his battle skills to avoid showing the fear he felt. These vayash moru were unrepentant predators, and it was clear Uri was in the mood for a fight. One of Uri's brood looked intently at Jonmarc. The young man hair that fell to his shoulders. He was dressed completely in black with the exception of a foppishly frilled white shirt; the sleeves flounced beneath his cuffs, nearly obscuring his hands. The young man's smile was cold, and Jonmarc was sure it was no coincidence that the man's eye teeth showed plainly.

"So you were General Kathrian's champion." , Uri shook his head. "Guess you're not so tough any more. I heard Darrath nearly sent you to the Lady."

It took all of Jonmarc's control not to let his hand fall to the pommel of his sword. "State your business," he said in the Common tongue.

Uri stepped closer. Had the man been mortal, Jonmarc would have sworn him drunk, or besotted on dreamweed. His face was flushed, evidence that he had recently fed well. Jonmarc guessed that Uri had once been in fighting shape, although his love of fine living rounded his jowls and softened his profile. "My business? I have no business with a mortal Lord of Dark Haven. And you have no business here at all!"

"That's enough, Uri." Gabriel moved forward, but Uri brushed past him.

"Let the pup speak for himself, Gabriel.If he's going to be Lord of Dark Haven, then he needs to be worthy of the title." Uri turned his attention back to Jonmarc, who stood his ground although Uri was now nearly toe to toe. "What gives you the right to rule over your betters?" Uri's breath smelled of stale blood.

Jonmarc consciously willed himself not to clench his fists. This is a fight you can't win. Surprise Carina and show that you can think your way out of a brawl. "The title was a gift from King Staden. The lands were his to bestow. Maybe you're better off asking him."

Uri snorted. "What do I care for mortal kings? They come and go like dust. We are the rightful lords—of Dark Haven and the Winter Kingdoms. That day is coming, sooner than you think." He gave an ugly smile that made his yellowed teeth plain. "Now if you'd like to be brought across, that changes things."

"No, thank you."

"I offer you immortality, and you decline!" Uri roared.

By now, the guests around them were plainly uncomfortable. Most of the partygoers had stepped back to give Uri plenty of room. Although Jonmarc kept his gaze focused on Uri, out of the corner of his eye he saw motion. Riqua's brood moved toward the front of the spectators. So did others, whom he knew to be among Gabriel's family.