Among Wolves. Nancy Wallace K.

dear,” his mother said, extending her hand to pull him closer. “I think it’s a shame to waste this opportunity, that’s all. The Third Year is intended as a carefree time. You should spend it with friends or traveling before you lock yourself away in the Historic Archives for the rest of your days.”

      Devin bent to kiss her on both cheeks. “I will be spending my time traveling and with friends, Mother. Gaspard’s agreed to go with me, if he can finish his exams in time.”

      “Oh well, Gaspard,” she commented, one hand falling languidly to the side. “Why didn’t you choose someone more…” Words apparently failed her.

      “Intelligent?” André asked with a laugh. He was already Head of the Department of Sciences at the Académie; well-liked and highly respected. “Gaspard will be good fun, Mother. He tempers Devin’s bookishness.”

      “I don’t understand your motivation, Devin,” Ethan said, stalking to the table to refill his wine glass. “You’re a trained historian, why would you want to spend your Third Year gathering Chronicles in the provinces?”

      Ethan, a Colonel in Llisé’s army, was most like their father, though he lacked Vincent Roché’s humor. Devin suspected that he, too, might be Chancellor one day.

      Devin extended a glass to his brother to fill. “The current process of preserving the Chronicles seems so fragile,” he explained. “Did you hear the Master Bard, who held the Perouse Chronicle, died suddenly last month? He didn’t have time to pass on even half of the information to his apprentice. Those stories are lost forever.”

      “Well, you can’t write them down,” Jean told him. “Canon Law forbids it.”

      “I’m well aware of that,” Devin answered. “They can’t be recorded as historical data.”

      “You can’t record them in any manner,” Ethan clarified, his index finger stabbing Devin’s chest. “Your degree lends credibility to anything you write. I wouldn’t want to see you brought up on charges over this. It could ruin your chances of ever working in the Archives again.”

      “I know that,” Devin assured him. “I only plan to memorize them.”

      Jacques, an under-secretary in their father’s cabinet, hoisted himself from a chair by the fireplace. “Only?” he said with a chuckle. “Devin, no one has ever memorized the Chronicles from all the provinces – no one – in over a thousand years.”

      Devin, his defenses beginning to crack, took a gulp of wine before answering. “Perhaps, no one has ever tried.”

      “Give him a chance,” his father said from the doorway. “Devin memorized the first volume of Bardic Songs before he was six.”

      “But the Chronicles are of little importance, darling,” his mother protested to her husband. “The work Devin will be doing here, in the capital, is so much more valuable. Surely, the Chronicle of Perouse is only of value to the people who live there.”

      Devin sighed. He’d fought this battle before and he wasn’t about to repeat the arguments over and over again. The Chronicles were not officially sanctioned history but they recounted the important events in each province. They deserved a better means of preservation than to be passed down orally from one generation to the next. He patted his mother’s shoulder, knowing she would never understand. “I intend to go, Mother. Tonight’s my last night here. Let’s not argue.”

      “Let’s not,” his father said, “Besides, I’ve brought you a present.”

      Money, Devin thought, even though his Third Year stipend would be more than sufficient in the remote areas he intended to travel to. His father would think it necessary that he carry half the treasury along, just in case. “That’s not necessary,” he protested.

      “Ah, but it is,” his father continued, “and I must exact your promise that you will take my gift with you.”

      Devin bowed his head, acquiescing, knowing the futility of attempting to argue with the most powerful man in the empire. “Thank you,” Devin murmured. “I’ll take it, if you insist.”

      “I do,” his father replied. “Stand just there, if you don’t mind, while I make the presentation.” Something about the curve of his mouth told Devin he’d been conned.

      His father motioned to someone in the hall and then Marcus, his father’s bodyguard of some years, loomed into sight. Devin waited expectantly, anticipating some sort of package or little ritual, until the chuckles began behind him.

      “You’re not serious!” he cried, when the full realization hit him.

      “Oh, I’m quite serious,” his father replied, putting an affectionate arm around him. “Marcus will accompany you for the full fifteen months that you’re gone, or until you’re safely home.”

      Devin ducked out of his embrace, furious. “I won’t take him! I’m not going to travel the empire with the Chancellor Elite’s bodyguard trailing behind me!”

      “Then you won’t leave the city,” his father said quietly. “I’ve been sympathetic to your wishes so far, Devin. I even think I understand your motivation but I won’t allow my gentle, scholarly son to travel the provinces with no protection but his scatter-wit friend.”

      “Gaspard’s not a scatter-wit!” Devin protested. “And I’m going to be memorizing stories, for God’s sake! Who would want to harm me?”

      “Your naiveté astounds me,” Ethan murmured, finishing his wine in one gulp, and reaching for the decanter.

      “My empire is certainly not immune to cutthroats and thieves,” his father said tightly.

      “And if we’re traveling students, no one will think we have anything worth stealing! A bodyguard implies wealth and valuables. You might as well put a sign around my neck, proclaiming that I’m your son!”

      “Believe me, I considered it,” his father replied. “Marcus isn’t negotiable, Devin. Should he come back alone, because you’ve ditched him in some backwater, I’ll issue a warrant for your arrest in all fifteen Provinces. I’ll have you brought back in irons if necessary.”

      “Vincent, please!” his mother protested.

      Anger had momentarily hardened his father’s face. He had not, after all, reached his elevated position by compromise, nor was he about to negotiate on this issue.

      “That’s my final word on it, Devin.”

      “Well, you’ve ruined dinner!” his mother said. “How do you expect Devin to eat after all this? And who knows what kind of meals he’ll get for the next year!”

      “People eat in the provinces too, Mother,” Devin replied.

      “Then we’ll call it settled,” his father said, taking his wife’s hand and pulling her to her feet. “Let’s sit down to dinner and forget this unpleasantness.”

      Mathieu, an attaché in the diplomatic service, passed Devin without speaking, but landed one hand sympathetically on his younger brother’s shoulder.

      Devin jockeyed for a position next to his father as they left the room and walked down the hall toward the dining room.

      “Marcus will jeopardize my work, Father,” he pleaded. “People are suspicious of the government in the provinces. A man in uniform will make them think I’m conducting some kind of investigation. They won’t speak as freely.”

      “I have no problem with Marcus wearing casual clothing,” his father said. “That should solve the problem.”

      “But he still looks and acts like a soldier,” Devin complained. “It’s in his nature, he can’t help it.”

      Marcus towered over him, a massive wall of toned muscle. Weapons strained the seams of his uniform.

      His