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its considerable length, the manse spanned the entire width of the flat. All along its breadth the windows were protected with heavy-planked shutters, most of them closed as if for a blow. Even so, enough were open so that warm and yellow lanternlight shone out onto a stone courtyard cleared of snow. Atop the high river bluff it sat like a great aerie for surveying the wide world below.
    As the prince and the pack crossed the flat and came unto the courtyard, ’neath a sheltering portico great double doors were flung wide, and some ten bundled servants, all men, stepped forth and formed a double line.
    Borel and the Wolves slowed to a walk, and as he passed through the short gauntlet all the men bowed, and Borel nodded in return, while the Wolves, noses in the air, tails wagging, scented friends of old. At the head of the line a slender, dark-haired man dressed all in black straightened and stepped forth and smiled. “The Sprites told us you were coming, my prince. Welcome home.”
    “Arnot,” said Borel, acknowledging the steward of Winterwood Manor.
    Borel strode inside, followed by his Wolves and then the men, the great double doors swinging to after, and they passed along a short corridor to come to a great welcoming hall. And there assembled were the rest of the mansion household—maids, servants, footmen, seamstresses, bakers, kitchen- and wait-staff, laundresses, gamekeepers, and others—men to the left, women to the right, and they smiled in welcome and bowed or curtseyed accordingly.
    Borel stepped across the heavy-planked floor to a wide marble circle inset in the wood, within which was a great hexagonal silver inlay depicting a delicate snowflake. As his Wolves gathered about, smelling the air, their tails yet awag for here were many friends as well, Borel said, “Thank you for this warm welcome,” and all within the hall applauded his return.
    After a moment, to one side Arnot raised a hand, and when silence fell he asked, “What would you have of us, my lord?”
    “For my Wolves a fair bit of cooked meat will do, not overdone, mind you, along with a few bones to gnaw,” replied the prince. “As for me, I would have a warm bath and a good hot meal and then a pleasant bed, for I have come far these last four days and need a good long sleep.”
    At these words, and with a gesture from Arnot, the staff bustled off—some to the kitchen, others to Lord Borel’s quarters, and still more to the sculleries and other chambers—for there was work to be done.
    The prince and his Wolves were home at last.

8
    Turnings

    G ingerly, Borel eased into the hot water. Nearby, Gerard, laying out the towels, paused long enough to pour dark red wine into a crystal goblet, and when the prince was well immersed and had leaned back with a sigh, “My lord,” said the small redheaded man, and he held out the drink to Borel.
    “Thank you, Gerard,” said Borel, accepting the glass and swirling the contents about. He took a sip. “Ah, some of Liaze’s finest.” He set the crystal on the flange of the bronze tub and glanced up at the valet. “I just realized: I’m famished. What does Madame Chef have in mind as tonight’s creation?”
    “I believe, Sieur, when the Sprites came and said you were on the way, Madame Millé began marinating venison.”
    “Ah. The dish with the white cream sauce?”
    “She said it was your favorite.”
    “Your mother knows me well, Gerard.” Borel took up the goblet again and in one long gulp downed the drink. “Tell her I will be ready in a candlemark or so.”
    “Yes, my prince,” said the manservant. “Will you have more wine?”
    “At dinner, I think. But now I just want to soak away the toil of travel.”
    “As you wish, Sieur.” Over a rod on the fireguard Gerard draped a towel to warm it for the prince to use, and placed a washcloth on the edge of the tub and said, “Along with your linens, I have laid out a white silk shirt with pearl buttons and a grey doublet with