Morning light washed the room in a soft gray. Cordelia had dressed but was still tying her hair when a knock came.
Cordelia opened the door and saw a dark-haired woman in the hallway. She was slightly taller than Cordelia herself, her hair braided and thrown over her shoulder. Her skin was warm brown; her eyes were a clear hazel that caught green when the light moved. She looked about Cordelia’s age.
“Welcome,” the woman said, smiling. “May I?”
Cordelia stepped back and nodded. The woman entered and looked around: a shawl, books, and a small coin with a wolf symbol on the back. The room seemed ordinary, but so human.
“You’ve settled in nicely,” she said. “Your wing doesn’t boast a breathtaking view from the window, but in summer this part of the house has the best view of the stars from the balcony.”
Cordelia didn’t know how to respond, so she just nodded.
“I’m Leah,” the woman added. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Cordelia,” she said.
Leah lowered her voice, almost playful. “I’m also glad because I’m no longer the only Luna.”
“The Luna?”
“In our pack, any fated mate who keeps a house is called Luna,” Leah said. “I’m Silas’s mate.” She spoke gently, as if she knew the name might land oddly.
Cordelia felt a small surge of curiosity. Perhaps it was because Silas did not give the impression of a wolf capable of love for anyone. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to take you for a walk and show you everything,” Leah said, smiling wide. “Dante asked me to skip some very beautiful places—he probably wants to visit them with you himself to impress you—but that’s all right. I’ll show you things more interesting than hidden places for cuddling.”
Cordelia laughed quietly, which surprised her. Since her father’s death, she had been unable to muster anything more than a faint smile.
They walked into the corridor. Leah set an easy pace and pointed things out as they went. “This wing holds guest rooms and the small baths. Our healer’s stillroom is at the end—if you smell mint and smoke, you’ve gone too far and someone will hand you a mortar. The kitchen is below the central hall. ”
They turned left. “This is the long hall,” Leah said. “Meals. Feasts. News.” She tapped a slate board by the door. “We post the week’s work here. You won’t be on the list for common chores unless you ask. Many Lunas do. It helps to learn names.”
“I’d like that,” Cordelia said.
Leah led her past a door banded with iron. “Armory. Herrick keeps the keys. If you need a clasp or buckle mended, ask him when he isn’t shaping bows. He’ll grumble, then fix it.”
The door opposite opened to crisp air. They stepped into a narrow yard hemmed by stone. Two pairs of young wolves were already running drills with staves under a sergeant’s eye. Leah raised a hand; the sergeant nodded without breaking rhythm.
“We set times for training,” Leah said. “Morning drills for day patrol. Evening for night watch. Dante expects everyone to hold to hours. It keeps one rhythm.”
“Other rules I should know?” Cordelia asked.
“Some are written,” Leah said. “Some aren’t. Written: no one crosses the ward-stones alone. No hunting on the west slope for three days after a snowfall; the ground hides holes. No food from the human markets without tasting it first in the kitchen. Unwritten: don’t listen at doors. Don’t repeat what you hear by accident. If you see two people speaking with hands and eyes, give them space. When a wolf returns from long patrol, don’t press him with news before he eats.”
“And if I don’t know what to do?”
“Ask,” Leah said simply. “Ask me. Ask Daniel. Ask Dante. Many will be glad to help you help us.”
They crossed back inside. Leah showed her a small chapel with plain stone and low candles. “You can leave anyone’s name here,” she said. “It doesn’t matter whether they worshipped human gods or the moon and stars. They all hear the same thing.”
Cordelia’s throat tightened, but the steadiness of the room helped. She touched the stone and moved on.
They headed toward the kitchen. Heat rolled out as a woman pulled a pan from the oven. “This is Mira,” Leah said. “She runs this room.”
Mira wiped her hands and smiled. “We eat on the hour today,” she said, as if Cordelia were already part of the schedule. “Broth at noon for the ones who ran too hard in the cold. Don’t let Daniel pretend he doesn’t like broth.”
“I’ll try,” Cordelia said, surprised into a small laugh.
Leah cut past a storage cell where salted fish hung, then down a short stair to a door that opened onto the herb garden. Even in winter the beds were neat and labeled; hardy greens nodded under frames of glass. A child traced letters in the thin frost and scurried when he saw Leah, squeaking a hello.
As they walked, Cordelia began to feel a map of the place in her mind: where the halls turned cool, where the floorboards gave slightly, where the smells changed from wood smoke to iron to bread. The den was not like her father’s house, but it had a shape that made sense once someone named the parts.
They were passing the long hall again when raised voices spilled out—quick, low, edged. A growl followed, and then the sharp bark of a command. Feet shifted. Silence fell, heavy but watchful.
Leah stopped at once. She listened only long enough to be sure of what it was, then touched Cordelia’s elbow and turned her into a side passage. “This way,” she said.
“Is that… Dante?” Cordelia asked.
“Yes,” Leah said. “He set this morning to deal with Daniel. You should not see or hear it.”
“Why?” Cordelia asked.
“Because he doesn’t like being overheard,” Leah said. “He thinks it dishonors the man being corrected. If someone he cares for listens at the door, it makes it worse. So we walk the other way.”
They took another path, past a narrow window cut high in the wall. Outside, two boys dragged a straw dummy across the yard while a dog followed, hopeful. Leah opened a small door and showed Cordelia the laundry room, where steam rose from tubs and a girl sang under her breath to keep time with her work.
“Do you miss your rooms yet?” Leah asked.
“I miss knowing how to do everything,” Cordelia said honestly. “Here, even my good intentions might step wrong.”
Leah nooded. “Give yourself a time for mistakes. You won’t break us. We’re harder to break than that.”
They came to a quiet corner near a set of stairs. A bench sat under a window that held a square of winter sky. Leah touched the sill. “At this hour the sun comes here,” she said. “Good place to read. The little ones hide under this bench when they want to avoid washing their hands before meals. If you hear giggles, you’ve found them.”
Cordelia smiled. “Thank you. For the tour.”
“You’re welcome,” Leah said. She hesitated, then added, “Silas’s work keeps him close to hard choices. He may look past you when he thinks. It is habit, not insult. If he cuts too close, tell me.”
“I will,” Cordelia said. She didn’t know yet whether she would, but she liked being invited to try.
The low sounds from the hall rose once and faded. Leah listened and gave a small nod. “It will be done soon,” she said.
“I am glad he does not hurt people for sport,” Cordelia said. Her father had sometimes enjoyed a show of power more than the result. She was relieved to hear this was not that kind of place.
Leah’s mouth softened. “We are not perfect,” she said. “But we try to be fair. If we fail, we try again.”
They finished the loop back to the south rooms. Leah paused at Cordelia’s door. “Rest. I will come at noon and walk you to the meal.”
“That would help,” Cordelia said honestly.
Leah squeezed her hand. “Welcome, Luna,” she said, quiet but official, then left at her easy pace.