The Thorn (wlw)

In the grand scheme of things, Leonore shouldn't have worried about the werewolf. Between Guire and Nahu and Kabran, she should have punted all thoughts of the werewolf into the sun.

With her own hair falling out—presumably from stress—the werewolf should have been of no consequence. She kept finding tufts and strands of her hair in bed, and it was only a matter of time before the bald spots became obvious, even if Gabriel said she didn't notice Leonore ripping her own hair out in her sleep.

But it came back to the werewolf, one late evening in town.

"My lady, I fear we may have done ourselves in," said Argus, wringing her hands. "We have to consider the worst scenario. If the Governor decides on invasion, Irve can put up a fight, but it'll be a losing one—we're just farmers."

Leonore came to the bookshop late, to a harried Argus bustling around her shop. Despite this, she was welcomed in.

"Farmers make the sturdiest soldiers, or so Cato says. Either way, it's done. I have to see it through. If that happens, the Queen's forces will be diverted here, where it's needed," bluffed Leonore, who had accepted the offer of tea and now pretended to drink it.

Argus pressed her lips together and said, "Cato the Elder counted on farmers actually working in farms before they could become soldiers. We've only just gotten our land back."

Another thud from behind the door into the backroom, cutting off Leonore's rebuttal. She said, "Should we see to that?"

"No, it'll only encourage her."

Argus had explained that she kept her goat in at night, because of the prowling beast. But it seemed that being locked in a closet distressed the goat almost as much as being eaten.

"Argus," said Leonore, ignoring the noises. "You've been to court, haven't you?"

Argus sighed. "I was raised in Yraad, as a scholar. I visited court once, and decided to leave the fortress. It's where I saw you."

"I had suspected," exclaimed Leonore. "Cato convinced me. Why else would you have read De Agri Cultura?"

"I could have only just been perusing for a casual read," said Argus, defensive.

"And what kind of person would casually read that?"

Scholars from Yraad, the library fortress, came to the Queen City to present their research and beg for funding. She didn't remember Argus, but the bookseller might have been much younger then; Argus had the air of someone raised and taught inside Yraad's walls—which is to say, insufferable but incredibly useful when it came to knowledge and application.

Leonore said, "You knew who I was, right from the beginning?"

"I did. I'd thought I would stay out of it, but it was only a matter of time. I didn't tell anyone, if you were wondering. Except my wife."

Leonore ran a hand through her hair, without any strands coming off. "I'm grateful you didn't. It's given me peace."

"I did it for my safety as well, Your Highness. Your mother, she's a cunning woman. If you being here was kept secret from the public, then I shouldn't tread on machinations I don't grasp." Argus leaned closer, with an air of conspiracy. "Why have you been sent here?"

"Call me Leonore," she said, and nothing else.

She didn't yet truly know why she was sent away. She had theories and excuses; to get her out of Queen Carmilla's hair, her mother thought it was time for her to bear a child, or—and she only let herself think this sparingly—for her own safety. Refusing to grapple with the implications of that, Leonore turned the conversation around.