“You are of the Gray Wolf line, but you are also clan royalty, through Lord Demonai. Marry me, and our children will be three-quarters clan. Our children can marry into one of the other camps, strengthening the line further. Together, Valefolk and clan can rein in the excesses of the wizards.”

“By that reasoning, Lord Bayar would say that since I am already of mixed blood, I should marry a wizard, to join wizards to the throne.”

“Wizards had five hundred years of the Captivity to mingle their seed with the Gray Wolf line,” Nightwalker said, his voice low and bitter. “That’s enough.”

“Marrying me will not win over most Valefolk,” Raisa said, thinking of flatland attitudes toward the Spirit clans. “What makes you think they will ally with you?”

“All I need is you, Briar Rose,” Nightwalker said. Digging into his carry bag, he pulled forth a bundle wrapped in deerskin and extended it toward her.

Raisa cradled it in her arms, her heart sinking, knowing what it was before she unwrapped it.

Nightwalker must have seen the hesitation in her eyes. “Look at it, at least,” he urged. “It is Marisa Pines–made, and it comes with Averill’s blessing, since I am his adopted son.”

Raisa unfolded the leather, revealing a handwoven blanket of wool and linen spun together, lightweight and warm. It was decorated with stitched and painted symbols: Gray Wolves, the clan symbol for Hanalea the Warrior; the Demonai unlidded eye; the mortar and pestle of Marisa Pines.

It was a handfast blanket, given to signify betrothal among the Spirit clans, the joining of two camps and two beds.

“I have a question for you,” Raisa said, fingering the fabric. “Who offers this blanket—the boy I hunted with, or the heir of Demonai?”

Nightwalker shrugged. “You cannot stop being queen, and I cannot stop being Demonai.”

“I am sorry,” Raisa said, folding the leather back into place. “I cannot accept this.”

“Are you worried about my reputation between the blankets?” Nightwalker said, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. “I am not perfect, but there is no one else in the uplands that heats my blood the way you do.”

“Am I to assume, then, that if you succumb to temptation, I would be free to take other lovers as well?” Raisa snapped back.

“Please don’t be angry.” Nightwalker leaned forward. “I am no poet, to whisper lies in your ear and do as I please, after. You will be as free as you want to be. None of that matters. What matters is what happens between us.”