Fitchner is gone in the morning. In his chair lies the standard. It is a one-foot length of iron tipped with our howling wolf; a serpent coils beneath the wolf's feet, the star-tipped pyra- mid of the Society beneath that. A five-foot oak pole connects to the iron end. If the castle is our home, the standard is our honor. With it, we are able to turn enemies into our slaves by pressing it to their foreheads. There a wolf sigil will appear until another standard is pressed to the forehead. Slaves must obey our express com- mands or forever be Shamed. I sit across from the standard in the morning dark, eating Apollo's leftovers. A wolf calls out in the mist. Its howl comes through the keep's high window. Tall Antonia is the first to join me. She glides in like a lonely tower or a beautiful golden spider. I haven't decided which way her person- ality runs. We exchange glances but no greet- ings. She wants Primus Cassius and raspy Pollux saunter in next. Pol- lux grumbles about having to go to bed without having Pinks to tuck him in. "A positively hideous standard, don't you think?' Antonia complains. "They could at least have given it a splash of color. I think it should be draped with red for rage and blood." "It's not too heavy." Cassius hefts the standard by its pole. "Reckoned it'd be gold." He admires the golden Primus hand within the block of black stone. He wants it too. "And they gave us a map. Swell" A new stone map dominates one of the walls. The detail near our castle is remarkable. The rest less so. The fog of war. Cassius claps me on the back and joins in eating. He doesn't know I heard him weep again in the night. We shared a new bunk in a barracks in the keep's high tower. Many others still sleep in the main tower. Titus and his friends have taken the low tower even though they don't have enough bodies to fill it. Most of the House has woken by the time Sevra drags in a dead wolf by its legs. It's already gutted and skinned. 'Goblin has brought victuals!" Cassius ap- plauds daintily. "Hmm. We will need firewood. Does anyone know how to make a fire?" Sevro does. Cassius grins. "Of course you do, Goblin." "Found the sheep too easy to kill?" I ask. "Where'd you get the weapon?" "Born with them." His fingernails are bloody. Antonia wrinkles her nose. "Where in the hell were you raised?" Sevro presents his middle finger to her, the crux. "Ah," Antonia sniffs. "Hell, then." "SO, as I'm sure you've all noticed, it will be some time before anyone has enough bars of merit to become Primus," Cassius declares when we've all gathered around the table. "Naturally I was thinking that we need a leader before Primus is chosen.' He stands and scoots away from Sevro so that his fingers rest on the edge of the standard. "In order for us to function
we must have immediate and coordinated deci- sions." "And which of you two fools do you think it should be?" Antonia asks dryly. Her large eyes glance from him to me. She turns to regard the others, voice sweet like thick syrup. "At this point, what makes any of us better suited to lead than anyone else?" "They got us dinner ... and breakfast, Lea says meekly from beside Roque. She gestures to the leftover picnic victuals. "While running right into a trap-" Roque re- minds everyone Antonia nods sagely. "Yes, yes. A wise point Rashness can hurt us." "-but they did fight free," Roque finishes, earning a glare from Antonia. "With table legs against real weapons," Titus rumbles his approval, with a qualification. "But then they fled and left the food behind. So it was Fitchner who gave us the food. They would have given it to the enemy, delivering food like Browns." "Yeah, that's a twist on what happened," Cas- sius says. Titus shrugs. "I only saw you running like a lit- tle Pixie." Cassius goes cold. "Watch your manners, goodman." Titus holds up his hands. "Merely observing; why so angry, little prince?" "You watch your manners, goodman, or we'l have to trade our words for blades." Cassius wields his looted pitchfork and points it at Titus. "You heed, Titus au Ladros?" Titus holds gaze with him, then glances over at me, grouping me with Cassius. Suddenly Cassius and I form a tribe in everyone's eyes. The para- digm shifts that quickly. Politics. I take my time twirling my looted knife between my fingers. The whole table watches the knife. Sevro espe- cially. My Red right hand has collected a million metric tones of helium-3 with its dexterity. My left, half a million. The dexterity of an average lowRed would startle these Golds. I dazzle them. The knife is like a hummingbird's wings in my nimble fingers. I look calm but my mind is rac- ing We have all killed. Those were the stakes. What are they now? Titus has already made it clear that he wants to kill. I could stop him now, I wager. Drive my knife into his neck. But the thought almost makes me drop my blade. I feel Eo's death in my hands. I hear the wet thump of Julian dying. I can't bear the blood, especially when it doesn't seem necessary. I can back this huge puppy down I level my eyes coldly at Titus. His smile is slow, the disdain barely noticeable. He's calling me out. I have to fight him or something if he doesn't look away-that's what wolves do, I think.