A Flight of Ravens by John Conroe (books to improve english .TXT) 📕

A corn farmer near Allby had lost a pig to predation a week ago.  That kind of thing happened to farmers all the time, but this was a Drodacian farmer.  Every citizen of that country is a skilled hunter.  This farmer couldn’t identify what had killed his pig, but was pretty sure it wasn’t a bear, cat, canine, or even giant fisher.  There were some odd creatures that came out of the wilds, but a big, unknown predator that could kill and haul away a heavy pig sounded most like a woldling.  Except only one pig of three was killed and taken.  Woldlings tend to travel in groups and mostly they are kept under close rein by their Lashes.  And they leave lots of sign. The only woldling that I had come across that operated singly was the one I called Silver Girl, and she was a definite exception.

There was nothing else to catch my eye, so I locked the report in my files and turned to the correspondence which had come during my time at the castle. There was a single letter from a business I had a relationship with in Lachia, and most of the rest were invitations to parties and galas.  The public reestablishment of my social standing by Brona and her father a bit more than a month ago had punched the intricate, ever-changing society circles in the gut.  None of the influencers who had so publicly shunned me during my supposed fall from grace knew exactly how to treat me.  The fact that I was back in obvious excellent position with the Warcans had left many a social climber shaken and anxious, the result being an inordinate number of invitations to society events.  I generally turned down most of them, albeit with a neutral response.  This time, there were two that I couldn’t so easily ignore.  One was a fundraiser for a widows and orphans group that I supported, as did Brona.  I would have to go to that one.  The other envelope carried a wax seal that I had known almost from birth—the DelaCrotia family crest.

Chapter 5

I broke the wax, opened the expensive parchment, and read:  You are forthwith summoned to the naming day of Gracid DelaCrotia’s newborn son and heir, Ircian DelaCrotia, on the anniversary of his thirtieth day of life.

It was a family event for my oldest brother’s newborn son… my nephew.  It seemed a little soon, as most naming days came after the first month of life to ensure the baby was hale and healthy.  But holding it on the thirty-day mark wasn’t unheard of, especially among the more aggressive and powerful families.  For my father’s heir to now have an heir was a big deal. It moved my second brother, Tallen, farther down the lines of family succession.  Not that it mattered to me—I wasn’t even in the line of succession.

My father’s signature was at the bottom, Rucian DelaCrotia, Lord of High Family DelaCrotia.  It wasn’t an invitation, but a summary command.  I doubt I would have received it if I still appeared to be out of favor, but now my father saw my presence as beneficial to the family standing.  Therefore, he was ordering me, from his position as head of the family, to attend.  Like he had any power over me.  I was already out of any inheritance, had not received support since I was fourteen, had been estranged from the family during my time in the military, been shunned during Brona’s spy ploy, and now he thought to command me.  Not likely.

I set both aside for consideration and then went to check with Soshi about Rose.

Two hours later and I was back on Tipton, headed for the castle, a young messenger riding by my side.  I glanced at the girl, although she didn’t look at all girlish at the moment.

Rose is small, not even Soshi’s height, and my medical people who have examined her feel that while she is now in excellent health, her lack of nutrition as a very young child may have stunted her adult height.  That’s not certain, as she is young yet and eating the best of food, a condition that wouldn’t change if she were placed near Brona.  For all her lack of height, though, she made up for it in attitude.  Soshi had named her Rose, yet some of the boys called her Fisher, after the fierce carnivore of the forests.  Since the Punishment, the fishers of Nengled have gradually grown in average size, now regularly reaching the size of a hound.  Already an incredibly aggressive creature, the giant fisher thinks nothing of fighting full-sized war dogs and winning.  Our little Miss Rose had much of that attitude and even through her baggy boy clothing and hair-hiding cap, it still shone through in the way she carried herself.  Today, though, anyone seeing her slim form in unflattering clothes would likely think her just a confident lad.  Close examination might cause them to wonder at the boy’s smooth skin and delicate features, but no one should get that close to her while she was with me.

“Nervous?” I asked.

She was quiet for a moment.  Any of the boys we trained would have likely denied it immediately.  “A bit.  What if she doesn’t like me?”

“You are not there for Her Highness to like or dislike.  Your job will be to help protect her.”

“I know that.  But it always matters if a woman likes another woman.  It’s very hard to have someone around you all the time if you don’t like them.”

“Just be honest with her. Mind your training, keep your eyes and ears open, and tell her anything you see, hear, or even feel.”

“Yes sir,” she said.  For a street waif, she’d taken to our command structure and discipline rather well—within certain boundaries.  Failure to find sufficient direction for her formidable energy and intellect would result in boredom, followed quickly by chaos.

We were halfway to the castle when a