Offered to the Lion

The First Night

The trip to Ashveil took four hours.

Kael Ashford spent the first hour on calls – she could hear his quiet controlled voice from the front seat, although she didn't understand any of what he said. He spoke in short bursts, gave some instructions, asked one or two questions, and listened to pauses which seemed to say enough that the people he spoke to understood perfectly well that they were supposed to fill them appropriately. After he hung up the phone and fell silent for the next three hours, she didn't mind in the least, because she was too busy watching the scenery change to the most distant she had traveled from the compound in four years, and the experience that came with this feeling was immense enough that she had to take the time to simply be immersed in it before she could do anything about it.

They stopped only once, just to grab some coffee. One of the guards returned from wherever he got it and placed the cup in the cupholder without a word. She hadn't ordered it. Black with two sugars, she hadn't specified.

She gazed at the back of Kael's head, and suddenly she knew that somehow someone must have told him – or he must have noticed. That someone took note of this fact. And since she didn't really know what to do about this information, she drank the coffee and watched the landscapes change from the scrubby country of the Voss territory to the lush greenery of the northern lands, where the forests grew dense and the trees old.

Ashveil announced itself gradually. From the first signs that the territory had been managed rather than tamed, from its careful wilderness. Gates, eventually – but nothing like the Voss gates – those were large, iron and dark timber gates which opened up without fanfare because whoever was keeping watch already knew exactly whose visit they should allow. The road was paved but narrow and winding and leading straight to Ashveil House itself, which was another mile further.

She had been trying to prepare herself, and she was glad she had, because even then the sight of it still took a good few seconds to register properly.

Ashveil House – that was apparently its name, with the understatement that was typical of English-speaking people – was not a house but a fortress. Stone, dark and old-looking, the structure consisted of three separate wings surrounding the central courtyard, with two medieval towers rising on either corner – structures which had remained after successive renovations. Its grounds stretched into the forest beyond, and the mansion itself was three stories tall, consisting of the formal gardens which led into wild meadows which merged seamlessly into the woods around it. The main doors were twenty feet tall, and currently open.

She didn't wait for anyone to open the doors of the limo before stepping out into Ashveil's territory, which apparently surprised the security guards. She was greeted by Kael Ashford, coming around the front of the limo to look at her with that strange level, gold stare.

"Welcome," he said, and she couldn't tell if he meant it, but he had said it, which was more than she expected.

· · ·

She was shown to her suite in the west wing by someone named Lena – a small, slender human lady with silver-haired and intelligent, critical eyes, which seemed to say she had been around those in power long enough to form her own opinion about them and did precisely that.

"West wing is quieter," Lena told her efficiently, checking that everything had been prepared to her liking. "The east wing belongs to Mr. Ashford, the pride's seniors have quarters in the south wing. You don't have to follow a schedule – you'll have it only if you want to. Meals at seven-thirty AM and PM. Otherwise, the kitchen is accessible during those hours." She laid a paper in front of Rielle. "My number. You might need it."

Rielle put down the little bag she had insisted on bringing along herself and gazed around the room. It was a big room with a fireplace and a window looking onto the rear gardens. The bed was four times bigger than the cot she had been sleeping on in the Voss compound for twenty-one years. There were shelves packed with actual books, not mere decoration, and a small, private bathroom with a clawfoot bathtub.

In other words, objectively speaking, the living conditions here were significantly better than she had ever experienced before.

"Do you need anything?" Lena asked.

"I'm trying to figure out if this is a better cage," she admitted.

Lena didn't seem upset by the answer. "That is indeed the question worth asking," she said. "I've been here for eleven years now, and if you're ever curious to know the answers, I will gladly share my experience with you." Lena left without waiting for a reply.

· · ·

For the first two days, Rielle mostly stayed within her suite. She explored Ashveil – and while she still didn't get anywhere near the entire grounds, three days of exploring had shown her plenty of rooms that were completely unexpected. She found the library on the second day, which made her pause in the doorway for a full thirty seconds because of the sheer amount of bookshelves covering the walls, the reading table covered with scars of many uses, and windows opening out to the rear meadows. It was the best room she had been in in her life.

On the first two evenings, she ate dinner with the staff. They observed her silently, measuring her in the same way she measured them, and although she did nothing to please them – merely listened to them, occasionally answering their questions and asking her own – the impression they formed of her was probably positive.

During those two days, she saw Kael Ashford only at a distance, twice passing through the courtyard, and once through a window – in each case surrounded by guards and obviously performing daily activities he found important. He didn't come to greet her, and she wasn't sure whether it was his indifference or simple consideration that kept him away. And the distinction mattered in many ways which were still unclear to her.

By the time of the third evening, she was too restless to sit still, unable to sleep. She hadn't been able to fall asleep in years, in her father's compound, so the insomnia was not unusual. Except that here, in this new environment, it felt different – more alive, as if it was part of her natural awareness rather than of constant survival. Her brain was working, curiously observing and recording everything she encountered.

At two o'clock in the morning of her third night, she gave up and went to the library.

· · ·

She had been reading for roughly forty minutes – an old atlas with extensive hand-written notes on territorial changes through decades, which fascinated her – when she suddenly realized she was not alone anymore.

Kael Ashford had walked into the library.

He wore a white shirt untucked over dark slacks, and he looked like a man who had not been sleeping for quite some time now. But for the lack of jacket and the guards, he looked large and quiet and present.

He looked at the map she was reading. "That map is about sixty years old," he commented.

"Yes," she agreed. "I'm reading the annotations – the person who wrote them seems to have been quite convinced that the last three claims on the northern corridor were actually 'disputed, disputed, also disputed.'"

A slight shift in his expression. "My grandfather," he murmured, reaching for something on a wooden shelf behind him. "Someone who was fond of maps." He walked to the opposite end of the table from her and opened a wooden cabinet, pulling out a decanter and two glasses from it. "Will you join me in drinking something?"

"What is it?"

"It's whisky. An old brand."

"Yes."

Kael filled two glasses and brought her one before going back to pour himself some. He stood at the opposite end of the table – not close to her, but in such a way that it was possible without seeming standoffish.

She drank – it was strong, with warmth and complexity and slow-burning smokiness that she found pleasant. She placed the glass down and looked at him.

"You told me that I'm a guest here," she began. "Not a possession."

"Yes."

"Do you intend to tell me what that really means? How exactly? In practice?" She deliberately kept her voice calm. "My father believes he has negotiated the type of arrangement where everyone gets something that they want. Do you feel the same?"

"Your father thinks that I want a companion who will make his offer sound more palatable," he said quietly. "That our arrangement is as follows: he offers me something I want, I offer him something he wants, and you are the bridge."

There was another pause. "And I am not interested in the deal."

She waited for a moment. "So why —"

"You father possesses the information that I need," Kael Ashford said evenly. "Not the type he thinks I'm after – but something that will give me an advantage that I desperately need."

She stared at him for a second. "And so you pretended to negotiate with him so you could see what kind of a person I am?"

"He offered me a good enough reason to visit his house and obtain the information," he answered. "And you walked willingly into it because it is what you wanted to do."

The silence in the library was deep and warm. The fire crackled quietly.

"Information?" she asked after a minute.

"Not yet," he answered. "Not yet."

It took a moment before she decided against pushing it – she had been living in that compound for twenty-one years, and she knew how to play the game. She picked up her atlas again. "Teach me which of those annotations are wrong."

He sat down at the table opposite of her, and for the next hour taught her the territorial history of the northern corridor. His answers kept shifting to match the quality of the questions she asked. Fire burned low and died. He refilled their glasses with whisky, unasked. For the first time, she realized that he had read every book in that room, and that he seemed to have some opinion on most of them.

Eventually, around three o'clock, he stood up. "You should rest."

"So should you," she replied.

Another smile. "Goodnight, Ms. Voss."

"Goodnight."

Watching him walk away, Rielle realized that she had just talked to him as if she were someone worth talking to – and it felt strange and new and exciting.

Later that night, in the privacy of his study, Kael Ashford was gazing out of the window into the woods outside and saying to Soren, who materialized silently in the doorway: "Find out everything about her mother. Her name was Sera. Her background. Whatever else."

"What I find might affect us," Soren said.

"It might," Kael acknowledged. "Find it, anyway."