《Consort of Gaul [Fantasy Horror]》 Detailed Content Warnings === OVERVIEW - MINOR SPOILERS AHEAD === Body Horror and Medical Horror: - The main character must ¡®feed¡¯ a demon with her own blood to use magic. She usually does this by cutting or stabbing herself with a knife. - A character has a wasp colony implanted in her skin via magic. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. - People are forcibly transformed into horrific monsters via magic. Relationships: - A past sexual assault is repeatedly alluded to. - A character has a panic attack during sex, leading to their partner becoming frustrated. === SPECIFIC DETAILS - MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD === Before the events of the story, the female protagonist is forced to marry a man who frequently pressures her into sex. While with that man, she becomes pregnant, and discovers that one of her fetuses is not developing correctly. She attempts to use her magic to ¡®fix¡¯ it, but fails, leading to her miscarrying. These events are alluded to as vague traumatic flashbacks. Chapter 1: End of the Road The sky was the color of a drowned corpse, and its effluvia fell heavy on the city, coursing off the rooftops in narrow streams and pooling in the gloomy streets below. The lanterns were out, and the few people outside the carriage windows rushed by as little more than shadows. Anya shivered, and drew the hood of her cloak tight around her drooping ears. ¡°We¡¯ll be at the manor soon enough. Here, this is for you to wear.¡± The plump beaver sitting across from her, so close their kneecaps touched whenever the carriage hit a loose stone, reached into a pouch on his belt. He wore the breastplate and fine livery of a knight, and a tall sword wrapped in cloth was propped at his side. ¡°After seven days of silence, I had thought you were not permitted to speak with me.¡± The beaver had come to Rus to collect her, but they had ridden in separate carriages until the final leg into Parisi, capital city of the Gaulish Empire. ¡°I imagined you would be disinclined to speak to the man delivering you to the proverbial slaughter.¡± He spoke Gaulish with a mild provincial accent, and his off-orange incisors showed whenever he opened his mouth. He handed her a red ribbon, bound at its front to a wooden medallion depicting a wolf biting into the neck of a unicorn. A claim-seal, indicating she belonged to Clary family and was otherwise off-limits for hunting. The beaver had the same seal embossed in his breastplate. ¡°The man whose consort I am to become - I presume you know him? What is he like?¡± Anya tied the ribbon around her neck. It was smooth against her fur, like the scales of a constrictor-beast that at any moment might spring to life. ¡°Marquis Yvon? He was given significant responsibility over the Parisi Mercantile Company - the Clary family business - from a young age, and that responsibility became the river that carved the banks of his soul. He cultivates honesty, dignity, and a sharpness of pride, and is in many ways a remarkable man.¡± The beaver looked wistful for a moment. ¡°Oh, right. I will need to take your arts-focus before we arrive. It¡¯s the knife hidden in your sleeve, isn¡¯t it?¡± Anya removed the knife, a thin iron blade carved with spindly runes. As she touched the hilt, something stirred in the dim recesses of her mind. The carriage pulled past a large gate flanked by guards, and Anya was surprised to find herself in a field surrounded by a small forested park. At one end, a lake stood next to a stave lodge, its surface whipped into whorls by the rain and wind. Anya swallowed, and instinctively reached for the saint-icon that hung just above her chest, running its smooth metal back and forth under her fingers. Saint Georgei and Saint Ascalon slew the great fire-draugr, because they were quick and clever and banished prey-fear from their hearts. I too will be quick. I too will be clever. I too will be unafraid. Swallowing, she took the beaver¡¯s offered arm and stepped into the waterlogged grass. Behind her, a second carriage pulled up, and a disheveled wolf emerged, his face criss-crossed by scars. Some important general captured during the war, who had been sent with her as a part of the peace treaty. ¡°Alain!¡± A voice boomed across the field, and Anya looked through the rain to see a wolf bounding towards them. He was young, and perhaps twice Anya¡¯s height, with narrow, angular features atop a surprisingly soft physique. The fur on the back of his head and neck was tied in intricate braids, and he wore a richly embroidered doublet and knee-high paw-boots. ¡°Master Yvon. I am glad to be returned.¡± The beaver knelt in the mud, and Anya hurriedly executed a clumsy curtsy. Yvon ran a familial hand through the beaver¡¯s - Alain¡¯s - fur. ¡°Knock it off, Alain. There is only us and the consort.¡± He seemed to become aware of her presence, and slowly lowered his body until his head was just above hers, his fangs mere inches from her skin. Unlike Alain, he had not masked his scent - it was strong and earthy. She could see herself shaking in his amber eyes. ¡°Anna, once Princess of Rus, heritor of the crimson arts, now Consort of Gaul. Enough to hold a fraction of my curiosity, I suppose. Alain, give me her focus.¡± He looked at the knife for a moment and stowed it in his cloak. Alain began to say something, but Yvon waved a hand, and leaned closer until his snout was just at the base of Anya¡¯s ear, his breath hot against her clammy fur. ¡°At the moment, I have decided it is in my best interest to play along with this charade of consortship. Perform your role, and do not give me a reason to change my mind.¡± He stood up and waved them away. ¡°Alain, come find me after the ceremony. I would hear your opinions on Rus.¡± Only a half minute after Yvon¡¯s departure did Anya realize she was still holding her breath. ¡ª ¡°Do you know what is to happen at the ritual?¡± The last hour had passed in a daze. Alain had handed her off to a maid - a weasel who spoke Gaulish quickly but roughly, and whose hands moved with near-manic efficiency - and she had been stripped, bathed, combed, lathered in scent-masking perfume, and finally thrown into a dress made from thin white layers that seemed only a marginal improvement over nudity. She was now once again with Alain, arms tight over her bosom, shivering in a antechamber filled with seemingly disused furniture. ¡°Perhaps I would if you had told me during our journey.¡± ¡°Better you kept your mind off such things. It is a modification of the rite of predation. You will take a meal with Yvon and his family. Towards the end of the meal, you must try to escape. Yvon will catch you, and bite your neck just enough to draw blood. He has some practice, so it should not hurt much.¡± ¡°Practice?¡± ¡°The Clary family performs the rite of predation only symbolically. A blood-hetaera is paid to perform, and the bite is only to bleed.¡± ¡°As opposed to¡­¡± Anya drew a line across her neck, and Alain nodded. ¡°Then Yvon must be in possession of both generosity and extraordinary self-restraint.¡± ¡°The family has a royal monopoly on the sale of certain goods, but must still rely on grass-eater artisans for their manufacture. It is easier to do business when you do not regularly make meals of your partners¡¯ children.¡± Alain checked her over, then motioned for her to follow, leading across the lodge to a great hall. Its construction was entirely wood, and brightly painted carvings wound around the wall-posts and across the ceiling beams - ferns, mice, and badgers near the floor, then deer and wolves locked in circular chases, then squirrels and birds as one reached the apex. At the end of the room stood a heavy triptych embossed with gold leaf, showing a wolf and a deer locked in mortal struggle. St. Hughbert of the Lupi and the sorceress Morgana, before their reconciliation and marriage. Before Morgana lay on her deathbed, and Hughbert took her flesh within himself. Anya shrunk into herself as she saw several wolves seated around a stone altar-table, and before them a mass of well-dressed, bored-looking people of all species on wooden benches. A beautiful goat woman with flowers woven around her horns turned her head, and Anya¡¯s heart skipped - there was something unnerving in her gaze, like looking into a deep lake and seeing nothing but a hollow void below. ¡°The people at the table are Yvon, his parents the Count and Countess Clary, Yvon¡¯s younger sister Marie, and Duke Hugh Artois, who is representing the royal family. Count Clary may use crude speech, but Marie is kind. Now, when you try to run, move slowly and keep to a straight line. Yvon is not known for his dexterity,¡± Alain whispered, before offering a sheepish smile. ¡°Yvon won¡¯t truly hurt you, and it will be over soon enough.¡± Alain cleared his throat and guided her into the doorway. ¡°Anna Vasilyev, formerly Anna of Rus, eldest kit of Patriarch Vadim III, consort-to-be of Marquis Yvon Clary.¡± It felt as though gaze in the room was upon her, worming past her useless dress and burrowing under her skin. She gripped her icon tightly and let Alain lead her to the table, heart hanging like lead in her chest. As she passed the front row, someone snarled at her - the general from before. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Yvon barely glanced at her as she took her seat next to him at the altar-table. To his left was a stern wolf couple, a younger she-wolf wearing priest¡¯s robes, and at last a wizened old wolf sitting in a wheelchair. Behind the veiled wolf sat an ram with polished horns, his Clary seal an inconspicuous button. The meal had already been set out, and Alain inconspicuously retreated to the benches. Silence, the air tense as a bowstring. The wolves¡¯ eyes orbited around her, sneaking glances without making eye contact. At last Yvon took his cutlery and began to work on his fish, every scrape of metal on plate seeming to ring throughout the hall. ¡°How goes the Hunting Council, father?¡± Yvon asked. ¡°If our aim was to hunt each other, one would think it a success. Ten weeks to agree to Rus¡¯ offer of twenty million livres in war reparations, and not a sentence can pass without someone bringing up the succession. Duke Artois, I daresay the late king would-¡± ¡°Twenty million? You have all been played for fools. Peace only gives them more time to outbreed us,¡± the general interjected. ¡°Silence, Gaspar,¡± the duke said, his voice like leaky bellows. ¡°The Council has made its decision.¡± ¡°And what of the company, boy?¡± the count asked. ¡°Well enough, considering the circumstances. The contracts for military supply have mostly run their course, but trade across the White Seas will no longer be disrupted. As Rusyn nobles appear to now speak perfect Gaulish,¡± Yvon glanced at Anya, ¡°we may find a ready appetite for Parisian goods.¡± ¡°May? Why is it not already done?¡± ¡°There are tariffs and monopoly rights to be negotiated around, and the few open roads are still infested with deserters and brigands.¡± ¡°Do not waste my time with problems and hypotheticals. There is money to be made, so make it.¡± ¡°Father, could dear Jean not join us? With the war over, I imagined he would be free to return to Parisi and his post at the Royal Institute more frequently.¡± The young she-wolf, Marie, spoke up. ¡°Peace with Rus only relieves pressure on the other fronts. Your brother is still returning from the frontlines at Aquileia, and I do not expect him to return for another few days.¡± Anya saw that she had no cutlery for the bread and herbs before her, no doubt part of the ritual. Gingerly, she brought her snout forward and began to eat. ¡°Ah, the tapeworm takes its fill. I do hope it finds the Clary corpus a pleasant home,¡± the count said. ¡°Marie, I have heard on good faith that rabbits have no season, and are instead eager in perpetuity. It may only be a few hours until our bloodline is desecrated.¡± ¡°Father!¡± ¡°Mind your words, sir,¡± the duke growled. ¡°Your son receives the honor of consortship by will of the Hunting Council, and hence by will of the late king. The crimson arts are no small gift.¡± ¡°No small gift! It is clear as day the Hunting Council means to water down our lineage with craven blood.¡± The duke glared at the count, as if waiting for an apology, but none was forthcoming. Anya buried herself in her plate, her ears red with shame. As she began to eat, the conversation settled into a dialogue between Yvon and his father on the more arcane points of Imperial economic policy, and she became increasingly aware that she occupied a large part of the duke¡¯s intention. ¡°Miss Vasilyev, you do carry the arts of Fyodor the Terrible, do you not?¡± He at last spoke, and wheeled his chair to face her. His fur was falling out in many places, and a scarf was tightly wrapped around his head. ¡°Yes, I believe so. Are you likewise a magus?¡± ¡°I was a close companion of the old King Henri, back when we were both young and the Dawn Army was still full of fresh blood. His solar arts were like golden tapestries filling the sky, and we felt we could march to the ends of the earth beneath that light. Alas, I am solely an observer.¡± ¡°I do not think you would find my arts as beautiful.¡± ¡°I have heard there is a field in Rus where Fyodor once felled an army with a single stroke, and the flowers bloom crimson to this day. A queer sort of beauty, but I would like to see it.¡± ¡°The smell is unpleasant, and the flowers hide snares and thorns.¡± ¡°After you had seen it - the next time you drew your focus and called upon your draugr, what did you think?¡± That if I pushed a little harder and reached a little further, perhaps I could grasp that power with my own hands. ¡°Only that Fyodor¡¯s boyars stole his focus, threw him from the palace roof, and stabbed his corpse until they were sure he was dead. And that I should remain a healer.¡± He chuckled and reached forward, cupping her hand in his skeletal fingers. His touch was gentle, but his hands were cold. ¡°I think you lie, and a sliver of Fyodor¡¯s spark lives in you. Henri was the same, you know, always looking towards the light. A shame your issue are condemned to be half-bloods.¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± The duke stared blankly forward, as if trying to glimpse something with his mind¡¯s eye, and it was a long few seconds before he turned back to her. ¡°Ah, no need to mind the ramblings of a lost old man. It appears Yvon is close to finishing, and you ought to make your move.¡± He smiled, all crooked fangs, and began to wheel himself back to his place. It was time. She realized she did not feel fear, only a dull finality that pressed heavy on her skin. She took a deep breath, and gripped her icon one last time. On her first step, she tripped on her dress and went tumbling to the floor. It still took Yvon a moment to reach her, but soon his teeth found the scruff of her neck and she was dragged before the triptych. ¡°Listen,¡± he whispered, his saliva dripping down on her. ¡°If the pain is too much when I bite, squeeze.¡± They both went on their knees in front of the triptych, facing the crowd. Yvon placed his free hand on her shoulder, and her heart began to race - some ancient part of her brain knew what was coming, and wanted her to scream and writhe and bite. Marie stood, and approached Anya with an ornately carved chalice. ¡°We are gathered to witness the holy union of Marquis Yvon Clary and Royal Consort Anna Vasilyev. They walk in the footsteps of St. Hughbert, who took his bride in soul and flesh, and Morgana of Avalon, who was made pure in his love.¡± Anya¡¯s eye caught something shiny. It was in the front row, quickly passed between a servant and the general. Before she could flinch, Yvon dove down on her, lips pressing wetly in broad arcs across her neck and shoulder. She began to shudder, but his hand and bite held her down, and he slowly increased the pressure, teeth sliding into the gaps between her bones. Her skin yielded and broke, and blood-spots blossomed across her dress. Her nerves screamed, but it reached her mind as only a faint whisper. ¡°There, there. It is done,¡± Marie whispered, coming forward. Yvon released his teeth, and Marie used a spoon to carefully direct Anya¡¯s blood into the chalice. She handed it to Yvon, who took a tiny sip, and turned to bring it to the table. ¡°The saint¡¯s will is done, and the blood shall bear his blessing,¡± she spoke. ¡°Wait. With more force, boy. You hardly tickled her,¡± the count interjected. Behind him, the general fiddled with something in his mouth. He was a magus, wasn¡¯t he? How did his arts work? Yvon sighed. ¡°The priestess has confirmed the ceremony, father. It is done.¡± ¡°Are you a mewling grass-eater, or a wolf of Clary? I will not accept a pittance of blood.¡± His draugr was¡­oh. Yobaniy v rot. ¡°Traitor!¡± The general lunged at the servant, tearing through his throat in an instant. His mouth glinted in the candlelight - steel dentures, his preferred focus. Anya felt a pressure in the air, and smelled the familiar corpse-stench of a draugr forcing its way into the corporeal world. ¡°Yvon!¡± Anya gasped. The general¡¯s flesh began to boil, and his skull split open with a wet crunch, revealing a maw filled with dozens of rows of jagged teeth. His body grew to nearly triple its former size, and dozens pustulesswelled along his back and flank, bursting to reveal mouths ringed with serpentine red eyes. ¡°Get the family back! Ready silver speartips!¡± someone shouted. The draugr pounced, far quicker than a creature of its size should be able to move, and the ram pulled Jean away a moment before the draugr¡¯s claws cleaved a chunk from the stone table. The thing looked at her for a moment, eyes quivering and rotating in their sockets, before fixing on the Count and Countess. Anya felt a second presence, and thorny vines erupted from the ground, shattering the floorboards and wrapping around the draugr¡¯s legs. Alain held a flat-tipped executioner¡¯s blade wrapped in flowering vines, and he rushed forward, interposing himself between the draugr and its prey. Thorns burst through his neck in a green ring, and he grimaced in pain. She turned to Yvon, but he stood dumbfounded. The draugr grunted and raised its foot, ripping the encircling vines from the earth. Red-black blood oozed from hundreds of thorn-wounds, sizzling where it struck what was left of the floor. Alain changed tactics, weaving new vines into a thorny dome, but he was running out of time. Blood. It if had blood, it was fully corporeal. And if it could bleed, it could die. She kicked Yvon in the groin and snatched her rune-knife as he fell to his knees, drawing it across the scar on her left arm in a single practiced motion. The knife drank her blood, and sensation flooded into her - dozens of beating hearts, vessels pumped full of adrenaline and fear. And a familiar presence, something made of flesh and sinew that didn¡¯t fit right in her reality, hovering just at the edge of her perception. Enkidu, emerging from the Draugr-realm of Nowhere. My, my. I take my eyes off you for a moment, and you¡¯re about to be offed by the Leviathan. The guttural voice she knew so well entered her mind. ¡°Enkidu, with me. I¡¯ll wither its legs.¡± Pain shot through her arm as her blood began to evaporate, and she turned her mind to the draugr. Its transformation had already left its organs unstable, and she overlaid her will on its flesh. ¡°Work of life, be unmade.¡± The draugr roared, a sound like glass on stone, and its legs began to putrefy to organic muck. Agonizing hunger backscattered through Anya¡¯s mind. Hmmm. You¡¯re only getting skin, nowhere near all that juicy bone and muscle. Want to put some oomph behind it? Anya¡¯s pulse raced, and her limbs felt weak. The usual symptoms of rapid blood loss. The draugr reared up to strike. ¡°I¡¯ll enter its bloodstream and burst its heart. Take as much blood as you want, just don¡¯t kill me.¡± She swallowed and plunged the knife into her chest, severing a key artery. Her throat felt unbearably tight, and could feel the adrenaline in her system struggling to keep her afloat. She slipped a will-cord into the draugr¡¯s blood, letting it be carried to the thing¡¯s heart. ¡°Flesh, forget your form, and grow beyond your end.¡± Surging power, hot under her skin. The draugr froze and turned to her, and Anya thought she saw panic in its eyes. Then its torso bloated and burst open, revealing a mass of tumors where its heart had been. It collapsed, spraying viscera across the altar, and Anya let out a screeching laugh. She had turned its flesh against it, and the monster was no more. The last thing she registered before her consciousness faded was Yvon¡¯s eyes, wide with shock. Interlude Pain. White, hot pain. Her vision was blurry, but she was somewhere cramped and dark, and she could barely move her arms. She smelled of sweat and urine. What happened¡­right. I almost killed myself. I hope my organs are still there. She tried to reach out to Enkidu, only to recoil in pain. Instead of his presence, there was a cold, dark box around her mind. They¡¯ve got me in silver bindings. A light burned to life just beyond where she could focus, and a tall figure stepped out of the shadows. The prince? No, a woman. ¡°Can you hear me?¡± The voice was soft and sonorous, with an accent Anya couldn¡¯t place, but there was an edge to it. Like a knife wrapped in velvet. Anya tried to speak, only to taste hot, salty blood in her mouth. She spat it out and managed a croak. ¡°Good. Listen carefully.¡± The woman raised something in her hand, and Anya felt something loom in the dark recesses just beyond her mind. Enkidu? No, Enkidu was warm, and this thing had no temperature at all. It lunged, burrowing through her mind and wrapping around her thoughts like a worm within a carcass. Her vision wavered, and Anya barely suppressed a scream. She¡¯s using some kind of draugr. ¡°Get out of my head.¡± The woman¡¯s hoof collided with her skull, and Anya felt something shatter as she lurched to the limit of her chains. Blood welled up in her throat, and she dug her claws into her legs to keep herself lucid. ¡°Do not waste my time. Did you know General de Bouresse intended to kill Marquis Yvon Clary? If you cannot speak, shake or nod.¡± Even in anger, her voice was distant. ¡°Nhg¡­no.¡± The thing in her mind pulsated, each movement causing a wave of intense nausea. ¡°Do you know how de Bouresse obtained the dentures he used as a conduit?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Were you privy to any other plan to harm the Marquis or the House of Clary?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Do you intend to harm Prince Yvon or the House of Ascalon?¡± ¡°No. Why would I.¡± The woman lowered her voice. ¡°Why did the Patriarch of Rus give up his firstborn daughter as an imperial consort?¡± Words began to form on Anya¡¯s lips, but she was at her limit, and even the thing in her head could not keep her from oblivion. ¡ª Cannon boomed in the distance, and bonfires filled the winter sky with ash. Anya trudged through the camp, her hood pulled tight against her ears. It was nearly impossible to pitch tents in the frozen mud, so the soldiers around her clustered under tarps tied between trees. They had seen two days of combat at the Wistla Crossing before being ordered to the rear. ¡°Oi! Miss Anya! Vanya¡¯s got a question for ya!¡± ¡°What is it, Dimitri? Are Vanya¡¯s stitches holding up?¡± Anya walked over to the circle of young bucks, who quickly shuffled to make space for her around their campfire. They were conscripted tercios, trained to fight with pikes in formation with magi. Ivan flashed an embarrassed smile. ¡°You ask her, Dima! You called her over,¡± Vanya said. ¡°Listen, we¡¯re all straight-ears, and you¡¯re a lop, so Vanya was wondering what would happen if one of us shagged ya. I said that the kits always come out straight, but Vanya thinks it matters if the doe¡¯s on her back.¡± A few giggles, but Anya could tell their heart wasn¡¯t in it. They had been twice number before the battle, and many of them sported jagged black scars from where Gaulish ice-arts had necrotized skin. ¡°The offspring would have a partial lop. It¡¯s not all-or-nothing like coat color, and position has nothing to do with it. Anyways, you lot are changing your bandages like I showed you, right?¡± Slow nods. These ones, at least, would make it to tomorrow. ¡°Miss Anya, you hear we killed their king?¡± A small buck, Pyati, spoke up. Anya didn¡¯t know his real name. ¡°Pyati, that¡¯s rotten hay and you know it!¡± ¡°No! Heard it from the messenger! Our mages planted a bunch of those honum-homunc-those little beasties just under the soil before we retreated, and when the king moved his camp up they burst out and killed the lot of them!¡± ¡°We came up with that trick over a year ago. Their mages know to sniff for homunculi now.¡± ¡°But what if-¡± ¡°Keep changing your bandages, and if your wounds start smelling off, get to the hospital tent as fast as you can. You¡¯re tough, and with luck you¡¯ll make it through.¡± Anya rose to leave. None of these bucks were dying, and she was needed elsewhere. ¡°Hey, Miss Anya,¡± Dimitri spoke up. ¡°You¡¯re a lop, and ya speak Rusyn a little too proper, so odds are you¡¯re one of those noble twats. But you¡¯ve done well by us, and we mean it. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Don¡¯t say that. Not when half of you are corpses in a frozen ditch. ¡°Thanks.¡± Anya gave them a last look, and rushed over to the cluster of long tents that held the field hospital. They had been pounded into a frozen lake, and while they stank of fear hormones, the stench of decay was mercifully absent. In this weather, the cold took the dead long before rot could do its work. She pushed the doorflap aside. There were four rows of soldiers lying on rough wooden pallets, and doctors and junior magi swarmed like flies between them. Someone had set up a few fires under holes cut in the tent ceiling, and the air was thick with smoke. Somewhere, a soldier let out an animal scream. ¡°Princess Anna. You are here to train in blood arts, not encourage wanton behavior in bucks far below your station.¡± A magus with disheveled black fur stood up, her red hood and gold-tasseled apron indicated her status as a magus of the Crimson Conclave. Her focus, an old bloodletting needle, hung from a chain around her neck. ¡°They are good men, Reverend Mother Petrova, and I was seeing to their care.¡± ¡°They are good to you, because they know not to cross a blood-mage. The next poor doe they set their eyes on will not be so lucky. Now come, princess. I do not have all day to watch you play at arts.¡± The reverend mother grabbed Anya¡¯s shoulder, and led her further into the tent. They came to a tall soldier with heavy bandaging on his torso. Anya immediately recognized him as a blood-child - quasi-homunculi spawned from does altered by blood arts, birthed by the dozen and growing to adult size in just under three years. His features were lumpy, like unbaked clay, and he was hairless except for a few blood-matted patches of fur. His hands were in a vice-grip around a necklace bearing the holy leaf of St. Katerina the Merciful. ¡°You need to go back. You need to go back to the cold place, my brothers are there, someone needs to go back and get them before more bad men come,¡± the soldier murmured, rhythmically rocking his hands as if in prayer. ¡°Brothers? Which regiment were you-¡± ¡°Anna. Diagnosis.¡± ¡°Yes, Mother.¡± Anya reached down, placing her hand on the soldier¡¯s arm. Her clean white fur stood out against his frostnipped skin. ¡°I¡¯m going to see what¡¯s wrong with you, alright? Then we can make you better.¡± His eyes rolled over to her. ¡°Your ears. Like the people who come see ma in the nursery.¡± ¡°Please, just relax your arms. You¡¯re going to be ok.¡± The Crimson Conclave had hailed the project as a great success for Rusyn war-arts, but the blood-children were only truly useful as bodies with which to slow down the enemy. ¡°Enkidu. Time to work.¡± She slipped the knife from her belt, making a small cut on her finger. ¡°Shut up. Overlay with the patient¡¯s body.¡± She felt Enkidu¡¯s power flow through the soldier¡¯s body, spreading out like roots along the major blood vessels. Phantom pain burned up and down her nerves as she focused on the damage. ¡°Fractured ribcage and heavy internal bleeding on the right side of the abdomen. Another magus sealed most of the bleeding, but it was done quickly and he¡¯s still losing blood. It looks like a glancing impact by a large blunt object.¡± ¡°That would be called a cannonball, Princess.¡± ¡°May I continue, Mother?¡± Silence in response. ¡°Large portions of the small intestine and liver, along with the entire right kidney, were completely pulverized. Tissue in that area is starting to die off due to circulatory disruption. No major damage to the spine, heart, lungs, or brain. With arts, it¡¯s repairable.¡± ¡°I did not ask if it was repairable. Perform an exaltation.¡± ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± ¡°As long as his heart beats, he may be of use to us. Do it.¡± ¡°But¡­yes, Mother.¡± The soldier¡¯s hands shook away from her. ¡°You¡¯re going to fix me, right? So we can go back to the cold place and find my brothers.¡± ¡°Yes, you¡¯ll go back. I promise. Now close your eyes, and think about your mother.¡± She took the soldier¡¯s hands again and forced them onto his chest. Half his fingers were crooked, and his right index finger. ¡°Less talk. More arts. Induce unconsciousness if you must.¡± Her heart began to lose its rhythm as she raised the knife. No. If she was anything less than exceptional, her father would never permit her to study arts again. ¡°Enkidu, you know what to do. Start with the brain. She touched the knife against his plexus and fixed her mind on guiding Enkidu to the soldier¡¯s forebrain. The roots coiled into place under her fingers. ¡°Goodbye.¡± Enkidu¡¯s miasma burst into the soldier¡¯s mind, instantly liquidating the parts Anya indicated. He hardly needed her guidance - this ritual was old, and her ancestors had performed it with him many times. Brain first, then down to the stomach, intestine, liver, the remaining kidney, at at last the genitals, each organ withering to nothing. The soldier¡¯s face went slack the moment it began. ¡°Return the life you have harvested. Follow my lead.¡± She began to trace her knife over the soldier¡¯s now-hollowed body, sculpting its essence. She bade the cells in the heart, lungs, and diaphragm to proliferate, stretching out the ribcage as the organs engorged. Next, she carefully burned away the nerves responsible for sensing pain, before moving to the arms and legs - as they grew, she hardened the bones and weaved the muscles into new, more efficient forms. The soldier¡¯s bandages tore, but the skin beneath was now whole, and covered in a thin layer of fresh grey fur. At last, she shattered his hands, slipping the necklace into her own sweaty palms, and grew his ulna into long blades piercing through the skin. It was easy, even enjoyable, as long as she could think of the body as nothing more than clay to be shaped by her craft. As long as she kept her eyes from the soldier¡¯s unliving face, now far too small for his engorged body. ¡°It is done, Mother.¡± Petrova stepped up to the soldier, pricking his own finger on his conduit before placing a hand on the soldier¡¯s chest. ¡°Quick work, and no tumors. Muscles and bones are acceptable.¡± He turned to the caretakers. ¡°We¡¯ll need to get this one to the front lines. It will wake up soon.¡± It¡¯s as good as the work of any court magus, and he knows it. Enkidu placed a weightless claw on her shoulders. ¡°Quiet,¡± Anya whispered. Her hands were shaking as she pried the necklace from the soldier¡¯s overgrown hands. What? You¡¯re thinking the same thing. The soldier - or whatever he had become - would soon awaken with a ravenous hunger, and be herded with others of his kind into the enemy lines, where it would blindly kill until its energy reserves burned up after a few hours. A biological automaton that felt no pain. ¡°How do you feel?¡± Petrova asked. ¡°What does it mean to you?¡± Anya¡¯s voice came out as broken warble. ¡°When a mother¡¯s body cannot nourish the kits it carries, it breaks them down so that the mother may live. War is likewise an act of survival. If you cannot see this, you are unworthy of that blade.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine. C¡­continue the evaluation.¡± Anya swallowed and placed the necklace in a pocket of her robe. Petrova led her to a new patient, and then another. Some, she healed. Others were too far gone even for exaltation. The faster she worked, the more focus she applied to perfecting her arts, it easier it became to push down the rotten feeling in her chest. It was dark when she left the tent, and amorphous shadows hugged the featureless grey plain beyond the camp. She stared out on the edge of the nothingness, and something in her head told her to run, run until her white fur was lost in the snow and the biting wind stole the warmth from her body. She brushed frozen tears from her face, and tossed the necklace into the snow. Whatever mercy St. Katerina had to offer, it was not for her. The cannon still boomed in the distance, and tomorrow would be another long day. Chapter 2.1: Awakening Anya¡¯s eyes opened to brilliant sunlight. She lay in a clean bed, and the ceiling above her was adorned with painted stars. The sole window framed the distant dome of a grand reliquary. Despite the exhaustion permeating her body, she felt clean, and her scent was masked with mild perfume, so somebody must have bathed her. Her knife was in her hand. ¡°Welcome back, Miss Anna.¡± Anya started, and turned her head to see a maid sitting beside the bed. She was the same maid from before the ritual - a round-faced weasel, slightly taller than Anya, wearing an elegant black dress bearing the Clary claim-seal. She sat at a small portable table, and was putting the finishing stitches on a white-and-red dress accented. Behind her, a hastily-arranged home altar to the Saints Georgei and Ascalon had been placed in a corner, and its candles filled the room with a pleasant oak scent. ¡°Ah¡­hhh.¡± There was a sharp pain in her jaw, and a dull ache pulsed outwards from her chest. Easy does it. Still getting all those organs back to where they should be. ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°Renee, chambermaid and seamstress of the household of Yvon Clary. Master Yvon instructed that I serve you.¡± She spoke quickly, syllables blasting outwards like cannon-shot. She set down the dress and rose before performing a flawless curtesy. Anya noticed a butterfly pendant around her neck - the symbol of St. Niamh, whose followers used saint-arts to be reborn as the opposite sex. ¡°Oh, um, thank you. How long have I been asleep?¡± In Rus, Anya¡¯s maids had been young women from the middle nobility, performing menial labor while they sought husbands at the royal court. ¡°Thirteen days. The doctors didn¡¯t think there was much hope, but Master Yvon was real confident in that demon in your knife.¡± Anya sighed. Any longer, and she would¡¯ve risked serious neurological damage. Or waking up as Enkidu¡¯s draugr-puppet. ¡°Are you from Parisi?¡± ¡°Born and raised in the Market Quarter, and stitching before I could speak!¡± Renee smiled, revealing needle-like teeth, and some primitive part of Anya¡¯s brain conjured up images of the woman leaping forward and sinking her fangs into Anya¡¯s neck. ¡°I thought only grass-eaters wore claim-seals in Gaul.¡± The weasel laughed. ¡°Funny thing, isn¡¯t it? Supposed to go back to the Hunting Charter that founded Gaul. The bears and the wolves and whatnot say us weasels fought as mercenaries for the grass-eaters, so we get thrown in with them.¡± ¡°By the way, what do you think?¡± Renee continued, holding up the dress. The top of the chest was secured with a red ribbon, and red lace cascaded down from it over a white torso. ¡°Master Yvon wants you to debut soon, and the dresses you brought from Rus are decades behind the times.¡± ¡°It looks beautiful. Thank you.¡± Anya looked it up and down, and the placement of the lace clicked. ¡°Wait. It¡¯s meant to look like a bloodstain, isn¡¯t it?¡± Renee¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Yes! Exactly! The princess who cut open her own heart to slay the draugr! It¡¯s a wonderful story, and the whole court knows it by now. In addition, the first ball of the season happened just a week ago, and arts-inspired clothing was all the rage! You will draw every eye in the room.¡± Anya pulled her ears down against her face. ¡°Your craft is exquisite, but I would much prefer their eyes to be directed anywhere else.¡± Renee set the dress down, and picked up an accompanying hat. Its brim held an array of faux roses crafted from crimson fabric, and chalk lines indicated where embroidered stems were to be added. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°If I might be so bold, Miss Anna, people will form opinions of you whether you wish it or not. Better you give them a story to believe than let their prejudices fill in the blanks.¡± Before Anya could respond, mirth once again filled the weasel¡¯s face. ¡°Furthermore, you will look positively stunning in a proper mantua! Sofia has elegance in droves, but her figure simply will not fill out the latest styles. You, on the other hand, are more than ample.¡± ¡°Sofia?¡± There was a knock on the door, and Renee quickly rose to let Yvon into the room, carefully lowering her gaze as he entered. He wore breeches and a simple leaf-patterned waistcoat together with small rounded spectacles, and his eyes alighted on Anya for only a moment before turning to Renee. ¡°She is awake? Good.¡± He paused to place a hand on the incomplete dress, spreading the fabric under his fingers. ¡°Fine choice of colors, although I feel something more is needed to bring the whites and reds into proper harmony. Perhaps you should experiment with gold embroidering. Now, if you would excuse us.¡± ¡°Of course, sir. Thank you.¡± Renee quickly folded the dress and took her leave, closing the door behind her. Anya gulped as Yvon approached. The furniture in the room was sized for a person of her stature, and the wolf seemed a giant in comparison. He pulled up a particularly large chair and sat besides the bed, regarding Anya as one might a caged draugr-beast. ¡°The mastermind remains unknown, but you have been cleared of all suspicion, and the night ended with no worse than a few broken limbs,¡± Yvon began. ¡°Except yourself, of course. The doctors tell me you recovered from multiple mortal injuries. Your demon must be fond of you.¡± ¡°Draugr do not experience sentimentality. If I live, it is because mine knew he would be pierced with a dozen silver spears the moment he commandeered my body. Yvon half-nodded before slowly leaning forward, clasping his hands above his knees. Anya noticed his claws were carefully trimmed to bluntness. ¡°You have made a proper mess of things.¡± ¡°By saving your life?¡± ¡°Yes, precisely. Many of those present at the ritual were grass-eaters families with which the Clary business has significant dealings. They were quite enamored of your heroics, and have impressed on me that granting you anything less than the keys to the Clary estate would be a gross miscarriage of justice.¡± ¡°If you are concerned their opinions are ill-informed, I would suggest you allow me to make their acquaintance. A few minutes of conversation ought to demonstrate that I am wholly lacking in merit.¡± ¡°You will have the floor in two months. Against the traditions of the consortship and all rational judgment, I have had you provisionally registered as Countess Anna Vasilyev of Clary, and you will make your debut debut at the Hallowtide ball. No doubt you will commit a grave faux pas, and we will have legitimate grounds to revoke the title.¡± ¡°And then?¡± ¡°A comfortable life, well within the bounds of propriety. If you are faced with boredom, I am sure Renee would gladly teach you a craft. She is a skilled artisan, even if her manners leave something to be desired.¡± Anya¡¯s pulse quickened. It was a strange, heavy feeling, to have the arc of her fate so casually bent. ¡°There must be a way to earn my keep. Is your house in need of a doctor? I have a medical license from the Crimson Conclave, and two years of experience as a military physician.¡± Her voice faded as the wolf brought himself over her, pinning the hand that held the knife. His nose twitched, picking out her scent under her perfume. ¡°Let me be clear. There will be no negotiation. You have nothing to offer me, and I expect nothing in return for whatever charity my common decency impels me to bestow. You will certainly have no need for your bloody arts.¡± He plucked the knife from her palm. ¡°Hey!¡± She reached for the knife, wincing as Enkidu¡¯s presence flickered to a deadened void, but froze as low growl rumbled from Yvon¡¯s throat. ¡°That will be all. I am glad to see you in good health.¡± The wolf rose, tucking the knife into his waistcoat, and made for the door. ¡°Wait. There is one thing I am meant to offer you, is there not? As your consort.¡± ¡°What could¡­oh. The prospect holds little appeal, but I suppose we ought to at least keep up appearances. Let Renee know when you are in season, and she can find a time for you to visit my chambers.¡± ¡°Do you take after Ganymede? If my present form holds no appeal to you, it would be easy enough with my arts to lengthen a few bones and grow a proper-¡± ¡°I have a wife. Sofia.¡± For the first time, Anya noticed the golden braid-ring around his finger. ¡°¡°St. Galaad be damned, did no one tell you?¡± Yvon snarled, his ears twitching bolt upright. ¡°Well, you will meet her soon enough. Perhaps she will understand what goes on inside your head.¡± He left, and she was alone. She waited, expecting Enkidu to slither into her mind with some snide remark, but of course he would not come. Whispering a prayer to St. Ascalon, she let oblivion claim her once again. Chapter 2.2: Assassination ¡°I made a proper mess of things! If he truly represents a modern Gaulish gentleman, then they ought to do away with dancing at balls. Instead we shall sit on the floor and do ledgers, and remark on each other¡¯s inadequacies.¡± Anya leaned back, letting the tubwater wash over her. To her shock, the house¡¯s hot water came directly from pipes in the walls, and Renee swore no arts were involved. ¡°He was stressed from the disaster with the draugr, and hardly his best self. Give him time to warm up to you, dearie,¡± Renee replied, running a comb through Anya¡¯s ear. Three weeks had passed since the ritual, and Anya could now make a full turn around the garden without assistance. She had seen no more of Yvon, and Enkidu¡¯s absence had grown into a dull sliver in her soul. ¡°Speaking of balls, I don¡¯t see why you¡¯re so defeatist about Hallowtide. You have a fine figure and a cute face, and that¡¯s all the men see in any case. Just need to learn the new dances.¡± ¡°In Rus, my sisters said I danced like a drunken walrus.¡± ¡°Your sisters are a thousand miles away, and you have the hand of a Marquis!¡± Renee climbed into the tub, curling her sinuous body at its other end as she kneaded a sweet-smelling oil into Anya¡¯s fur. ¡°I can do this myself, you know.¡± ¡°Shh, this is the fun part of my job. Just like washing my baby brother, St. Don bless his heart.¡± Renee pinched Anya¡¯s cheek, and laughed as Anya felt a blush make its way across her face. After the bath, Renee chose a floral perfume to mask Anya¡¯s scent, and fitted her into a loose moon-patterned dress. There was a knock on the, and Renee stepped out for a moment to receive a message. ¡°Anna! Sofia wants to meet you!¡± Anya froze. It was as if a heavy weight had been thrust onto her chest. ¡°Come on! She hardly ever grants invitations to her personal chambers.¡± ¡°Renee. What should I say? Do you think she detests me? For intruding on her on Yvon.¡± Renee shrugged. ¡°None of you asked for this consort business, so just open your heart and be honest. Always works in the chapbooks.¡± She led Anya out into the steepled corridors of the house, passing a faded tapestry depicting a long-ago battle between two wolf clans, and a gilded painting of St. Culain slaying a draugr with a silver spear. ¡°Here we are! Good luck, dearie.¡± Anya was thrust into a dim parlor. Almost every wall was covered in silk tapestries, and the sound of her footsteps was muffled into nothingness by a rich carpet. Around her, a dozen paintings stood on simple easels. The largest showed a family of goats in shimmering golden robes, standing amidst a tiered garden. The youngest, a girl of at most five years, was frozen in the act of wrapping blue flowers around her horns. The proportions of the painting were odd, with the family occupying only a small space beneath an immense sandstone arch and an ultramarine sky, and looking at it left Anya with a strange mix of comfort and melancholy. ¡°Do you like it?¡± Anya¡¯s tail flagged in surprise, and a woman stepped from the shadows. Her voice was like a knife hidden in velvet. ¡°Oh.¡± The woman was a goat, but tall and thin, almost as tall as Yvon, and her polished horns rose from her head in exquisite spirals. She wore simple, flowing robes dyed in deep blues and purples, and fresh vines with hundreds of tiny pink flowers were wrapped around her horns. Somehow, Anya knew the woman was the girl from the painting. ¡°I am glad we may meet under more favorable circumstances, Anna Vasilyev. I am Sofia Augusta of Nicaea. Please, allow me to embrace you.¡± ¡°You¡­I¡­am also, um, glad.¡± Was she to be interrogated again? Anya vaguely recalled that Nicaea was a wealthy maritime kingdom far to the south. The woman stepped further into the light, and Anya realized she was stunningly beautiful. Her close-cut fur faded from charcoal to rich brown across her face, and her rounded face possessed a near-perfect harmony of form. Only her large black eyes seemed out of place - like twin lakes, hiding unknown depths beneath a placid surface. ¡°Safak, please grant us privacy,¡± she said, and Anya started as a small brown-headed jay in a butler¡¯s uniform stepped out from behind a painting. He bowed and stalked away with uncanny quiet. Sofia knelt down, leaning in to kiss Anya¡¯s cheek. Her perfume smelled of pine, and Anya felt a gentle warmth begin to blossom in her chest. ¡°Do you remember killing the draugr? You laughed, even as rivers of blood poured down your face.¡± ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, I don¡¯t-¡± ¡°It was an exceptional performance, delivered with utmost conviction. None of us could take our eyes off you.¡± She kissed Anya¡¯s other cheek and stood, her lips curving into a cryptic half-smile. ¡°Your demon is named Enkidu, is ¡®he¡¯ not? An old, wild draugr, last recorded in the Vasilyev bloodline seven generations ago. The crimson-horned beast that devastated the fields of Soltsy.¡± Sofia¡¯s eyes remained distant, but Anya increasingly felt that something behind those eyes had fixed its hungry gaze on her. ¡°Did you dig his name out of my skull?¡± ¡°Only a small detour to sate my curiosity. I am glad to see your jaw is fully recovered.¡± She beckoned Anya over to a heavy wooden table in the corner of the room. It was set for tea, and held a platter of pastries made from nuts and layers of thin dough. A small oil lamp burned brightly. ¡°I understand tea is quite popular in Rus, even if it remains an expensive novelty here in Gaul. Furthermore, this is yours. My husband may decree as he may beyond these doors, but I hope that we may meet as equals.¡± Sofia drew the rune-knife from her robes and slid it across the table. Anya snatched it up, sighing in relief as her arts-sense came back into focus. Salutations. Nowhere was getting dreadfully boring without my favorite mortal pawn. ¡°The runes upon it. They are no language I know,¡± Sofia continued. ¡°Can you read them?¡± The goat has a curious arts signature. Where have I seen it before? ¡°No. Supposedly Fyodor the Terrible made it from the iron in the blood of sixty prisoners, but I¡¯ve seen runes like these on old barrows. I think the knife is far older than Rus.¡± ¡°Interesting. And how did it come into your possession?¡± Sofia half-smiled. Her fingers idly rapped a pattern on the table. ¡°When I was eleven, I was playing in the garden with one of my imaginary friends.¡± Part of Anya¡¯s brain was screaming at her to stop talking before she further embarrassed herself, but she couldn¡¯t keep the words in. If this was the goat¡¯s arts, she was subtle. ¡°There was a bird that must have struck a window, because it was struggling on the ground with a broken wing. I felt sad, so my friend told me he could show me how to fix it. I could feel the parts that were broken, and he told me to bite my tongue and press my blood into the wound.¡± ¡°Were you successful?¡± ¡°I ran into the palace with it. By that point, it, um, it wasn¡¯t a bird any more. My mother vomited when she saw it, and had the court magi take me away to burn it. The next day, I was given the knife to see if it reacted to me, and I met Enkidu.¡± Sofia intertwined her fingers and leaned in. ¡°I began to hear others¡¯ thoughts at around fourteen, although my mother had warned me. My body had just begun to change, and to be privy to the minds of the men around me was often quite disturbing. I withdrew from court for several years.¡± ¡°I thought mental arts didn¡¯t exist any more.¡± ¡°Not in Gaul, perhaps, as long as there is fuel for the stakes. And not in Nicaea, until my father spent a king¡¯s ransom for a foreign princess and her unusual talents. Here, my arts remain a Clary secret.¡± Anya thought she saw something flicker across Sofia¡¯s face - anger? Then it was gone, and Sofia¡¯s expression was as a windless lake. Oh. You FUCKER. Anya, I remembered. Her draugr is dangerous. Do NOT let your guard down. Enkidu¡¯s vast form shivered, and for the first time in her life, the emotion Anya felt from him was fear. ¡°By the by, I encountered something odd inside your memories. A gap of about six months, where the fabric of memory broke into scattered threads. I only caught a single image: you, in a wedding gown, standing across an altar from a young man I did not recognize. It seemed unnecessary to prove your innocence, but I wish to know if you-¡± She means¡­ A burning sensation began to grow in Anya¡¯s chest, coiling tightly around her heart and lungs as her mind wrapped itself in tighter and tighter spirals. She knew this sensation, had spent the better part of a year trying to never feel it again. She wants me to think about it. So she can pluck it out of my head. Clammy hands, ripping fur from her body. Don¡¯t think about it! Kneeling on the stone floor. Hands stained crimson. ¡°-Anna. Anna!¡± The visions fell away, just as she felt something slippery vacate her mind. Sofia¡¯s hand was firm on her shoulder, and Anya squeaked as she saw the goat¡¯s eyes had gone wide and bloodshot. She leaned against the table and slowly gasped for air. ¡°I should¡­not have attempted to dig so deep, little rabbit. Whatever lies in your past, bury it. You have no need of such things here.¡± Anya wanted to scream at the goat for her cruelty, or bring Enkidu to bear, but there was something pathetic in the goat¡¯s eyes. ¡°Will you tell Yvon?¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Sofia looked down, as if making a mental calculation. ¡°I have no reason to.¡± ¡°Please.¡± The main door creaked behind them. A somewhat disheveled serving-maid rat, holding another pot of boiling water. She wore a necklace with pendant in the form of a bee - a saint-symbol, although not one that Anya recognized. ¡°I think I should go.¡± Anya made to rise, but a hoof pinned her paw under the table. Sofia leaned over, lifting the empty teapot to Anya¡¯s cup. ¡°Sit down. Act as if nothing is wrong,¡± she whispered. ¡°Good morning, Mirabel. I pray your father has returned to good health?¡± The maid slowly nodded as she approached the table. There was something wrong with her gait - an injury on one side of her torso? A minute buzzing began. Anya looked down, and saw that a hornet had crawled out from under the maid¡¯s cuff. It circled the table before alighting on the pastries. ¡°Mirabel, are you in good health? If you need to rest, I can easily find a replacement.¡± The maid nodded again, stumbling, and another hornet was dislodged from her neck-fur. It hovered, seeming to taste the air, and landed just next to Sofia¡¯s hand. ¡°I am truly, truly sorry.¡± Sofia leapt to her feet, smashing the oil lamp against the maid¡¯s face. Flames burst from the glass, and a grinding buzz filled the room. Anya tried to bring her knife to her finger, but found herself frozen in place. Then Sofia¡¯s body collided with her own, flinging them both into a tapestry behind the table. It ripped from its fittings and fell, covering them almost completely. ¡°Your arts!¡± Sofia said. The moment Anya pricked her finger, she felt it. Dozens of motes of unlife, filling the air and crawling on the other side of the fabric. They had the grave-scent of a draugr, but possessed only a rudimentary collective will. ¡°Can you kill it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s spread over what feels like insects. The physiology is different from what I¡¯m used to, and it¡¯s hard to keep a lock on something so-¡± Only blood magi with truly aberrant minds mastered insects. And if she failed, Sofia would¡­ ¡°St. Iseult be damned.¡± Sofia grasped the knife-handle, her fingers interleaving with Anya¡¯s as she pushed the blade into the rabbit¡¯s shoulder. Enkidu¡¯s presence solidified, and the pinpricks resolved into tiny, venom-bloated creatures. It was a hive, each member nurtured by a chain of older sisters until¡­there, the queen, its abdomen filled with spiraling rows of eggs. A machine for copying itself into the world. ¡°Enkidu, follow the path I traced. It¡¯s tight, so stay steady. Work of life, be unmade.¡± Enkidu¡¯s claws arced through the air, and one by one the insects began to fall silent. The hive wavered at each death, but it would not be enough. They were chewing at the tapestry now, buzzing just above her ears, and their stingers would need only the slightest opening¡­ Another life force burst into the room, and the swarm wavered, as if cut off from whatever sustained it. There was a wet thud, and Enkidu¡¯s miasma surged through the remainder of the hive. The infernal buzzing ceased. ¡°My lady.¡± The voice was gruff and masculine, and its owner carefully pulled back the now-ruined tapestry. It was the bird from earlier, and the glint of chainmail was visible where his uniform had come undone. He held a dagger, its blade dripping black ichor. He met her gaze, and Anya was immediately conscious of the fact she was still pinned down by Sofia. She could hardly move her legs, and Sofia¡¯s diaphram flattened her bosom with every shallow. Warm blood pooled between them and dripped onto her face. He saw it, and trained the sword on her neck. ¡°She didn¡¯t do it. We need to examine¡­yok ebesinin nikah?.¡± Sofia froze. The maid was splayed on the floor, her head cleanly separated from her body. A hole in her clothing revealed a cluster of neatly arranged hexagonal cavities dug into swollen red flesh, each filled with an engorged, squirming grub. Anya felt Enkidu shiver. Kill it. The bird brought his claw down, and the hive collapsed with a paper-like crunch. The maid¡¯s body released a spurt of ichor, and Sofia vomited. Anya made a silent prayer to St. Georgei. ¡°Is it a draugr?¡± the feline asked. His accent was much harsher than Sofia¡¯s. ¡°It looks like a partial manifestation. The wasps were a vehicle for some kind of draugr.¡± ¡°Her mind was hollowed out,¡± Sofia said. ¡°Only a sliver of consciousness remained, and she experienced no pain. Her death was a mercy.¡± She slowly inhaled, and continued.¡°We can request an appraisal from the Royal Institute. For now, lock down the house and make arrangements to examine the servants. Then send someone to find the maid¡¯s father. I will explain the situation to Yvon. Anna, come with me.¡± They left through the back door. It led to a narrow, nearly lightless corridor. There were peepholes set into the walls at regular intervals. ¡°Have you seen arts of that form before?¡± Sofia asked, her breath still heavy. ¡°You did not appear shocked.¡± ¡°Never. But I¡¯ve used all sorts of maggots and leeches, and seen more than enough infected wounds.¡± ¡°Once we find the culprit, I will have you burst every vein in their body and then¡­ah, never mind. For the moment, pay no heed to my words.¡± They came to a door at the end of the corridor. Sofia leaned down and used her sleeve to wipe the blood from Anya¡¯s face, then gently pried the knife from her shaking hands. A flash of yellow on her wrist. A single hornet. Its antenna swept back and forth, searching for a place where the fur parted. In a way, it was beautiful, with an iridescent body and shimmering scales. ¡°Sofia!¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Sofia struck her wrist against the wall, leaving a tiny smear of viscera. They stood still for what felt like an eternity, hair on end and ears straining at the slightest sound. Eventually, Sofia took Anya¡¯s arm and pulled her through the door. ¡ª ¡°Good morning, Anna.¡± Alain poked his head around the heavy door. He was dressed in full armor, although many of the straps had been left undone, and carried his sword in its scabbard. It was around an hour since Sofia had left Anya in Yvon¡¯s study. It was a large space, held up by wooden pillars that met in interlocking vaults. There was a balcony overlooking an overgrown garden and the manor¡¯s oblong lake, a desk piled with orderly papers, and several bookshelves. Anya sat on a couch that was far too large for her, across from a tapestry showing a crowned wolf wreathed in sunbeams, surrounded by armed vassals. ¡°We¡¯ve locked down the house, but there isn¡¯t much we can do until the Royal Institute sends its magi over,¡± Alain said. He looked anxious, and kept slapping the floor with his tail. ¡°Are you alright? I imagine it was terrifying.¡± ¡°The murderous wasps, or the mind-trawling goat?¡± Anya replied. Alain raised his eyebrows, evidently finding her comment in poor taste. ¡°I didn¡¯t know Mirabel well, but she shouldn¡¯t have been caught up in all this.¡± Alain looked guilty. ¡°When you saw her, was she in pain?¡± ¡°There was hardly any life left in her. I doubt she was even conscious.¡± ¡°Someone will have to go into the slums to tell her family. A letter won¡¯t do.¡± A heavy pause. Alain made a saint-sign Anya didn¡¯t recognize over his heart. ¡°Don¡¯t you have better things to do than keep an eye on me?¡± ¡°Yvon¡¯s orders. He and Sofia have Safak, but everyone in the house could still be in danger. Also, well, I¡¯ve been been worried about you ever since the ritual.¡± ¡°Made it through the Peninsular War. I¡¯ll find a way through this mess.¡± She offered a stiff half-smile. Footsteps in the hallway, and then two people entered the room. A wolf in magus¡¯ robes bedecked with military medals, his head covered in a black veil embroidered with symbolic eyes, and behind him an imperious black-wooled ram in a fitted doublet. Alain jumped from the couch and knelt. ¡°Sir Jean! I did not realize you had returned to the Institute. I take it you are here to aid-¡± ¡°I am here for the so-called consort. Out of the way.¡± His voice was guttural, and he brought his head forward, as if locking in on the beaver¡¯s scent. ¡°Wait! Sofia has already established her innocence!¡± ¡°How convenient. Now, stop debasing yourself for a harem girl.¡± The wolf took a step forward, his gait long and prowling, and placed a hand on hilt of a shortsword that hung from his belt. ¡°I can¡¯t let-¡± The wolf revealed a fraction of the blade, and it seemed to suck up all illumination in the room before releasing a flash of brilliant sunlight. Anya¡¯s vision whited out, and she heard a scream and a heavy thud. Then thick fingers were around her neck, slipping under her ribbon and its claim-seal to press down on her trachea. The light faded into broken afterimages, and she found herself looking into the wolf¡¯s veil-eyes. Alain was curled on the floor, his hands covering his face. ¡°Hmm. One would think that the esteemed Vadim III could offer more than a bloodstained doe.¡± The wolf chuckled, running a claw along the outline of her face and down the inside of her ear. He must be blind. ¡°Raphael. The bindings.¡± The ram moved behind her, roughly pulling her hands behind her back and wrapping them in silver chains. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°You are under arrest for use of heretical arts, and suspicion of attempted murder against a marquis.¡± ¡°I have done nothing but use my meager talents to prevent further death, and the marquis in question would certainly agree.¡± The wolf¡¯s scent, a mix of predator-musk and ash, clogged her nostrils. ¡°I fear my dear brother has allowed his lust to gallop upon his reason.¡± The wolf¡¯s mouth contorted in disgust. ¡°After your performance at the ritual, the draugr¡¯s corpse was sent to the Institute for dissection. Each and every organ was riddled with malignant growths. Its stomach was filled with teeth, and when we cut open its brain we found it lined with eyes. Do you take pleasure in such acts of defilement? Take pride in the thoroughness of your corruption?¡± ¡°I had only a few moments before the beast removed my head. No time for precise work.¡± Anya shivered, remembering the feeling of the draugr¡¯s body collapsing in on itself, failures cascading until no life was left. There was a certain manic satisfaction in such total annihilation. ¡°Jean! What are you doing?¡± There was a commotion at the doorway, and Yvon rushed into the room, Sofia holding on to his arm. He made for Alain, and lifted the beaver to his feet. ¡°Greetings, dear Yvon. It would seem your chambers have a rabbit infestation.¡± Jean pulled Anya up by the scruff of her neck, nearly spitting out the words. ¡°Let her go.¡± Yvon crouched as if to lunge, but Jean interposed Anya between them. ¡°Patience, brother. The rabbit arrives from a foreign land, once with which we were at war only three months ago, and suddenly every assassin in the country wishes to make your acquaintance.¡± ¡°Sofia already cleared her name, and you offer nothing but idle conjecture.¡± ¡°Oh, pardon me. I failed to account for the Nicaean princess¡¯ infallible arts.¡± Jean took a step closer - while he was likely the same height as Yvon, his natural slouch put him several inches below his brother. ¡°Tell me, do you bend the knee before joining her in bed?¡± Yvon pulled his lips back and let out a deep growl. ¡°Now, Anna, to whose tune do you march?¡± Jean continued. ¡°One of the old aristocratic families, upset that the Clarys have been allowed to rise so high through commerce? Or perhaps Vadim III wishes to remove a key financier of Gaul¡¯s military?¡± Anya flinched at the mention of her father¡¯s name. ¡°My arts are mine, and mine alone.¡± Anya¡¯s heart began to beat faster, and Jean tightened his grip. ¡°Really? How many troublesome boyars did your father have you eliminate?¡± ¡°I would never let¡­let¡­¡± She tried to force the words out, but her throat was too tight. Knotted memories uncoiled from the edges of her mind. A bird that was no longer a bird. Her mother¡¯s scream. Her father¡¯s proud smile. She strained around and sunk her incisors into Jean¡¯s hand. He let go immediately, and she dodged the ram¡¯s surprisingly quick hands to dash behind Yvon. Sofia put a protective hand on her head. ¡°Ack! When did you teach your little doxy to-¡± ¡°My wife was nearly murdered in her chambers, and all you have done is assault my knight, harass my consort, and bark at shadows! Do not disgrace this house with your presence! Get out!¡± Yvon growled. In an instant, the wolves lunged forward, interlocking their arms and snapping at air mere inches from each other¡¯s snouts. The tussle lasted perhaps three seconds, and Anya felt Sofia tense up. They broke off, and Jean¡¯s hand went to his sword. The ram quickly stepped forward, tapping Jean¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Do not, master. None of them are worth it.¡± ¡°Get out, Jean. I will not repeat myself.¡± ¡°So you would reject the assistance of the Institute?¡± ¡°You have done more than enough. Now. Get. Out.¡± ¡°Very well, very well,¡± Jean replied, turning to go. ¡°By the by, if you truly have faith in the rabbit, perhaps she can be of assistance. Her arts are gruesome, but first-rate.¡± Dead silence, except for the sound of Jean¡¯s and Raphael¡¯s footsteps retreating down the hallway. Alain rubbed his eyes, and gave Anya a weak thumbs-up. ¡°Anna. Did he harm you?¡± Yvon asked. ¡°Just a sore neck.¡± ¡°Hmph. I call on the institute for assistance, and of course that venom-blooded scapegrace leaps at the opportunity to insult me. If the army did not have need of his arts, I tear off that ugly veil and add a few new deformities to his face.¡± ¡°Dear, pay him no mind. The other magi found no further threats within the house.¡± Sofia replied, lightly brushing Yvon¡¯s cheek. She led him to the couch, and forced him to sit. ¡°And you!¡± Yvon turned to Anya, his eyes cold with fury. ¡°Why on the name of St. Lear did you bite my brother? Do you have no purpose but to scorn the privileges I have afforded you, or are you a mindless beast in the guise of a woman? Out with it!¡± ¡°Yvon. Enough.¡± Sofia sat next to her husband, and carefully wrapped her arms around his shoulders. To Anya¡¯s surprise, the wolf deflated, as if all the tension had suddenly escaped his body. ¡°Yes. Of course.¡± Yvon exhaled deeply. ¡°You plan to personally lead an investigation, correct?¡± ¡°They went after you!¡± Anya thought that Yvon would begin crying, but he shook his head and regained his composure. ¡°I will go mad if I am forced to wait within this house while others seek the plot¡¯s root. Do not try to persuade me otherwise.¡± ¡°I know when I am no match for your obstinacy. You shall go, and I shall bear the worry.¡± ¡°Um, Sofia?¡± Anya interjected. ¡°If I may, I could assist Yvon. I can heal, or hurt people, even if I never did the latter for my father.¡± ¡°Unacceptable,¡± Yvon replied. ¡°You will remain in the house, where you will be safe, and where your unique magnetism for catastrophe will not create further problems.¡± ¡°Anna, from what source does this interest originate?¡± Sofia asked. ¡°If my father is involved, I can¡¯t stand idly by.¡± Sofia tilted her head and let out a hint of a smile. ¡°A passable performance, but that is not the true reason, is it?¡± Anya sighed. ¡°My arts are my only gift. Without them, I am nothing.¡± ¡°Yvon, if she wants to be useful, let her. Her arts are much better suited to danger than my own, and come at far lower a cost. Besides, it will be challenging for her to bear an heir if you are dead.¡± Something seemed to flash behind Sofia¡¯s eyes¡­pity? And then it was gone, and her visage was as still water. Chapter 3.1: Merchant ¡°Miss Anna Vasilyev, right? Come in, come in!¡± Anna found herself pulled into a vicelike embrace by a young boar woman perhaps octuple her weight. The woman wore a floral hooped dress piled voluminously with overskirts and ribbons, and her coarse head-fur was arranged in tight braids. A prominent Clary claim-seal had been sewn into one of the arms of the dress. ¡°Good day, Miss Manon Beaufort. Would you be so kind as to announce us to your father?¡± Yvon said, stepping into the room. He carried a small wooden trunk, and was dressed in unusually plain clothing. ¡°Yes, of course, Lord Clary.¡± The boar released Anna before offering a deep curtesy to Yvon. They had taken a carriage to a fine townhouse in central Parisi, home to a family of clothiers who sold through the Clary monopoly. A taste of the family business, Yvon had said, before a visit to the kin of the deceased maid. He had returned her knife before they set out, and it was a great comfort to feel its weight rest on her arm. ¡°That we may meet so soon! Is it true that you fought off a whole swarm of draugr? Father said you were a monster, but I know the minds of men twist such things, and was sure you would be beautiful. Oh, before you debut, I must introduce you to my friends, and we will teach you to play quadrille and dance the forlana!¡± Manon led them down a hallway lined with paintings of imperious boars holding rolls of fabric. ¡°There was only one draugr, and another magus did most of the work,¡± Anna replied. ¡°Still! A real draugr! Father said there hasn¡¯t been a manifestation in Parisi for eighty years! You must have been so frightened, even as you faced it down!¡± ¡°Hardly,¡± Yvon said. ¡°One whiff of blood, and it was like watching a rabid bear go in for the kill.¡± ¡°All men should have their eyesight tested, for you never seem to catch our good side,¡± Manon retorted. She led them into an airy sitting room, its open windows covered by long translucent curtains that danced in the morning breeze. Much of the remaining walls was covered by displays of of very expensive-looking cloth, and a gold-plated grandfather clock stood in the corner. A corpulent boar with a large mustache sat a small table, and rose to his feet as they entered. An ornate metal claim-seal was pinned to his waistcoat. ¡°Lord Clary and his consort, father.¡± Manon curtseyed again to Yvon and took a seat at the table. ¡°And his consort, hah! And what a sight she is, my Lord. At this rate, every respectable grass-eater in the city will be locking up his daughter.¡± The boar pulled Yvon into a vigorous handshake, and led him to the table with a firm grip on his shoulder. Anya followed, taking a seat next to Manon. ¡°Please, let us keep to business.¡± Yvon glanced at Anya, making a quick look of exasperation. ¡°So, now that you have tasted both goat and rabbit, which do you find more delectable?¡± Mr. Beaufort continued. ¡°Of course, if you ever wish to sample boar-¡± ¡°Mr. Beaufort.¡± Yvon leaned forwards, glaring upwards at the larger boar. ¡°No time for pleasantries? So be it. Any news on tariffs on wool from Albion?¡± Mr. Beaufort obtained a bottle of wine from under the table, and Yvon shook his head. ¡°If you expect a reduction following the end of hostilities with Rus, you will be disappointed. When the new monarch is decided, their regent will likely launch a quick conquest to build legitimacy. Since every member of the Hunting Council imagines he or she will emerge as said regent, they seek to build up the state¡¯s reserves.¡± ¡°Damn shame. Merchants like us can only be stretched so far before we break.¡± Given the furnishings, Anya could not imagine the boar was anywhere near breaking, but she held her tongue. ¡°My father has made the Clary position clear, but you must understand that we are outmatched. Now, surely you did not call me here solely to discuss internal tariffs?¡± Yvon leaned forward, steepling his hands. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°You have met my youngest son, Benoit. He has gotten himself into a spot of bother.¡± ¡°Go on.¡± Mr. Beaufort pulled a letter from his surcoat. ¡°I recently received a letter from the gendarmes. It appears my boy was caught up in the arrest of a certain Mr. Lavosel during a sweep of a mead hall. The man and a few fellow disreputables were discussing abolition of the monarchy and¡­¡± The boar fumbled with the letter. ¡°So-called natural rights for grass-eaters. My son had the bad luck to be sitting one table over.¡± ¡°I have read a few of Mr. Lavosel¡¯s pamphlets. His prose is passable, but pinning down what his ¡®natural rights¡¯ entail is harder than catching a greased rat.¡± Mr. Beaufort brought himself forward, towering further above Yvon. Anger crept into his tone. ¡°Lord Clary, my son is currently in a solitary cell in the Bastille, for a crime he had nothing to do with.¡± Anya tensed, and looked to Manon, but she maintained a hollow smile. ¡°Have you traveled to the Bastille to explain his innocence? I hear the locks open to coin as well as keys.¡± ¡°The guards are all hunters, and they put me through three hours of humiliation before I could even speak to the warden. Miserable little cat, made me sit in a chair his size just to suggest I find a lawyer to negotiate on my behalf. A hunter lawyer, of course.¡± ¡°You think I ought pull a few strings and have him released.¡± ¡°My Lord, I chose to take a risk with your father when he was still Mr. Clary, and his corporation exclusively dealt in wool from newly-conquered Albion. I hope he has impressed on you the gravity of the relationship on which our mutual good fortune is built.¡± Mr. Beaufort¡¯s fingers dug into the arm of his chair. ¡°Benoit, Benoit. I saw him last at your Yuletide ball, handsome fellow. He knows I try to keep up with the latest intellectual babbling, and wanted to discuss the latest few pamphlets Mr. Lavosel had published. To tell the truth, his description of the man¡¯s ideas was far more coherent than the original, and I suggested he seek out a certain Albionese squirrel by the name of Locke.¡± Anya shivered. A breeze had picked up outside, and the drafty room suddenly seemed very cold. ¡°What are you insinuating?¡± ¡°Perhaps you are truly unaware, but your son may not be as innocent as you claim.¡± ¡°Not so innocent of what? Breathing in the vicinity of a man who will openly say what every grass-eater has thought at one time or another?¡± Mr. Beaufort nearly rose from his chair, and pulled back his lips to show the length of his tusks. ¡°Father, please restrain yourself!¡± Manon placed a hand on her father¡¯s arm, but he shook her off with surprising force. Yvon narrowed his eyes, but did not otherwise react. ¡°Now, your son was found in the company of anti-monarchist agitators, and can hardly claim to be a bystander. If it became known that I had tipped the scales in his favor, the other families of the Hunting Council would howl treason until their throats were bloody, and my family¡¯s situation could become very tenuous. In any case, the gendarmes should easily determine that your son¡¯s acquaintances are useless intellectuals, and he will go free.¡± ¡°In how many weeks, or months?¡± The boar sat down again, but his eyes were still aflame. ¡°Lord Clary. You know what happens in those cells.¡± ¡°If it were merely a question of debasing myself before the warden, I could be persuaded. Benoit is an intelligent, inquisitive man, and I have no wish that he comes to harm. Alas, the cost is one I am unable to pay.¡± ¡°Lord Clary, please consider-¡± Manon began to speak up. ¡°Hold your tongue, Ms. Beaufort. It would pain me too greatly to refuse you.¡± He looked down into his hands, refusing to meet her eye. Mr. Beaufort clenched his teeth. ¡°I had hoped this might remain a personal matter, but Benoit is my son. Surely your father does not wish to see our business relations jeopardized.¡± ¡°I have my father¡¯s full confidence, and you have nowhere else to turn. If I remember correctly, markets covered by the Clary monopoly make up seventy percent of your income.¡± ¡°You have far too much pride for a man who eats grass second-hand,¡± Mr. Beaufort whispered below his breath. ¡°Mr. Beaufort, if you have nothing else of worth to say, I will take my leave.¡± Yvon rose, before picking up the trunk and placing it on the table. ¡°Clary claim-seals. Fifteen of a new design, rendered in gold leaf. They were recently completed, and your family will be the first to have them.¡± ¡°Keep your baubles. I have seen what they are worth.¡± ¡°As you wish, then. Anna, come.¡± Anya stood up, her ears quivering as she followed Yvon out of the room and onto the stairwell. ¡°Anna! Wait!¡± She turned to see that Manon had followed her. The boar nodded to Yvon, who continued down the stairs and through the door. ¡°Anna, I am so sorry. Your mate seems a dreadful man, full of cruelty and ill-gotten pride. Whenever you need, you must see me, you understand? Regardless of his feelings towards my father, he cannot find an invitation between us unreasonable. Oh, you poor dear thing.¡± Manon took Anya¡¯s much-smaller hands and clasped them together in her own, pulling the rabbit close. Anna felt the boar¡¯s warmth on her chilled skin. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. I can survive one man.¡± ¡°All right, all right. You killed a whole swarm of draugr, so I should trust your judgment. Oh, one more thing!¡± Manon took two azure ribbons from her dress and quickly tied them in showy knots around the bases of Anya¡¯s ears. ¡°There. It¡¯s the new Parisi style.¡± ¡°Thank you. Thank you so much.¡± Chapter 3.2: Slums ¡°Anna! I am here.¡± Anna stepped down from the porch of the Beaufort residence, and noticed a stern reindeer waving at her from the street. He had short, polished antlers, and Yvon¡¯s clothing, and trunk, and¡­voice. Oh dear. ¡°Yvon?¡± The reindeer scraped a hoof against the ground. Anya noticed he had attached a wooden Clary claim-seal to his coat. ¡°Years ago, I spent a fortune on a glamour-ring from the Black Forest covens, but have had little opportunity to put it to use. Given our next outing, I thought it best to be inconspicuous.¡± Anya examined the illusion, it seemed perfect, down to the shine of the hooves and the twitching of his ears in the breeze, and he even smelled of prey-musk and hay. And something more, underneath. ¡°Um, are you meant to smell of estrus? It¡¯s not much, but-¡± ¡°Yes, I know. A slight error in the glamour. Well, with these horns, there should be no confusion.¡± Self-consciously, he drew his coat tighter. ¡°Yvon, I¡­don¡¯t think it¡¯s an error. Caribou women have horns too.¡± Yvon discreetly pulled his shirt tight to reveal a small bosom, his snout contorting into utter mortification. ¡°Why did no one tell me? Am I supposed to walk around all of Parisi looking like a cow?¡± He self-consciously drew his jacket tight. ¡°It will be inconspicuous. Just two ladies out for a stroll.¡± ¡°Saints preserve me,¡± Yvon whined. ¡°Oh, before we go, put this on. The seal on your ribbon is too discreet.¡± He pulled another wooden claim-seal from his coat and handed it to her. ¡°Too discreet for what?¡± ¡°Very few people in the grass-eater slums are claimed, so hunters often venture in to prowl for kills. It is something of a rite of passage for adolescents, even among the nobility.¡± ¡°Not so different from my brothers visiting the knocking-shops to plunder their first does.¡± They set off past rows of neat townhouses, the fa?ades all done up in stone and marble. The temperature had dropped precipitously while they had been inside, and slate-grey clouds had occupied the sky. The next thirty minutes passed in silence. The streets grew narrower, and the buildings changed to ramshackle half-timbers, their overhanging upper stories casting deep shadows. There were more people here - mostly small grass-eaters, but a few weasels and deer - but they were furtive, carefully flowing around the rabbit and caribou. Almost all of them had simple claim-seals. ¡°You think I treated the Beauforts too harshly.¡± ¡°You have made up your mind. Any thinking on my part seemed superfluous.¡± ¡°The Clary family employs over a hundred servants, cooks, tailors, et cetera. Add to that the few dozen families with which we do business, and we issue around five hundred claim-seals. Action on behalf of any individual must be weighed against its risk to the whole.¡± ¡°Oh? Do you have the values of our lives tallied up in a ledger? I would like to know what fraction of a Sofia I am worth.¡± ¡°There are certain matters I am not qualified to rationally judge.¡± Yvon sighed. ¡°The son should have known better, and the father must bear responsibility. But the daughter is wholly undeserving of the pain I have wrought. Perhaps I could send a surrogate to the Bastille¡­no, we are in enough danger as-is. Best to stay the course.¡± He pressed his hands together, as if trying to wring out something foul. ¡°If she views me with disdain, it is for the best. Grass-eaters should have their pride, and should not place their trust in the whims of hunters.¡± ¡°And I? Should I view you with disdain as well?¡± He paused, fixing her with the sensitive brown eyes of his glamour. He¡¯s pretty like this. ¡°If you like. It would simplify matters between us.¡± He spoke loosely, but a heavy silence followed. Anya thought about the airy room, and the way Yvon had spoken to Manon as one might an unreasonable child. ¡°If your cruelty is a mask, you wear it too well for my liking.¡± She expected him to argue, or snarl, or strike her, but he merely nodded and returned to his walk. A few more minutes, and they came to a place where the cobblestones broke up into dirt. The buildings down the road were like strange mushrooms, bursting from the earth as lopsided agglomerations of brick and wood. Most of them seemed to be built above burrows dug directly into the earth, their circular entrances covered with planks or scraps of colorful cloth. Plumes of charcoal-smog burst from dozens of hollow windows, mixing with the smells of dampness and sewage. Two marmot men leaned against a wall, guarding what seemed to be an invisible boundary. They wore no claim-seals, and carried rough spears. Anya and Yvon drew examining gazes, but the men did not move. Anya was surprised that Yvon had called this area a slum - in her home city of Kiev, she had seen far worse. ¡°Yvon, have you ever¡­prowled¡­here?¡± ¡°No. I have never killed, and even if I wished to, my hunting instincts are not the sharpest.¡± After many blocks, and several rounds of consultations of a surprisingly well-drawn map Yvon produced from his pocket, they came to a street with a single wizened tree. To Anya¡¯s surprise, Alain and Renee sat on the roadside. They wore plain clothing, and Alain did not have his sword. ¡°Yvon! Is that you? You smell like-¡± Alain said. ¡°I know. Come on, let us get this over with. Alain, you stand outside while we go in.¡± Renee led them across the street, to a sunken courtyard hemmed in by stone walls. The tree grew in its center, roots strangling the cobblestones, and several clotheslines were run between its branches and the surrounding structures. It shaded a dilapidated well. There was a single burrow-door, bearing a Clary claim-seal below a metal bee. The same saint-symbol the deceased maid had wore. ¡°Anna, can you use your arts to sense inside the building?¡± Alain asked. ¡°Alright.¡± She pulled the knife from her sleeve and ran it across her palm, feeling the loose vitality around her coalesce into distinct heartbeats. ¡°A dozen people, all my size or smaller. Nothing unusual.¡± Renee nodded. She approached the door and cautiously knocked. After a long silence, the door opened a sliver, revealing a gnarled old rat clinging to a staff. ¡°The lass with the coin purse hasn¡¯t come by just yet, and you got your share of her last take. You know we don¡¯t got anything else of worth.¡± ¡°Bernard? It¡¯s me, Renee. Mirabel¡¯s friend.¡± ¡°Oh, Renee! So sorry, so sorry, my eyes aren¡¯t much good now. What¡¯re you-¡± He trailed off as he opened the door and noticed Anya, Yvon, and Alain. ¡°Who¡¯re these folk? They look too posh to be anything but trouble.¡± ¡°Um, there¡¯s no trouble, but, but¡­¡± Renee shivered, bringing a hand to the saint-symbol she wore. ¡°Miri passed away. The prince wanted you to be told in person.¡± All emotion sloughed from the grandfather¡¯s face, and his claws dug deeply into the wood of the doorway. Anya felt his heart tremble, as if it meant to burst from his chest. ¡°¡­Alright. Guess you¡¯d all better come in.¡± He shuffled away from the door, and they followed him into a dim cubical space. The walls were ancient stonework, patched up by straw and mud, and the only objects in the room were a crude tripod stove and a crudely painted portable shrine depicting a dormouse woman holding an oversized bee. Anya carefully scanned the room for signs of wasps, straining her ears for the buzz that had spent the last few days seeming to linger at the ended of her hearing. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Anya, Renee, and Yvon squeezed into a corner - the room was sized for small people, and Yvon was forced to crawl. Ten other family members poured in from the other rooms, regarding them with apprehension. Based on the people Anya had passed on the street, she expected signs of malnourishment, but they all seemed healthy enough. A few of the children stared at her, and she realized they had likely never seen a rabbit before. ¡°Best to just get it out,¡± the grandfather said. ¡°Lord Clary?¡± Yvon removed a silver ring, and flickered back to his usual self. The rats shrunk back, and a few younger children screamed before adults could forcibly cover their mouths. ¡°Clary! Lord Clary! Um, please, please, make yourself at ease. Adele, get the cushion from the other room. Would you care for mead, my Lord? It will not be up to your standards, but-¡± The grandfather fell to his knees, straightening his jacket and making an obsequious bow. ¡°Whatever you have to offer, I assure you I have no need of it.¡± Yvon straightened, scraping his head on the sooty ceiling. ¡°Now, as I mentioned, your granddaughter, Miss Blanchet, passed away within my house. Someone planted a draugr-seed in her, with the aim of assassinating my wife. While my wife was ultimately unharmed, the draugr had overcome Miss Blanchet. Her end was a mercy.¡± Anya felt the rats¡¯ hearts tense and quiver. Some looked to Renee, who slowly nodded. Her hand found Anya¡¯s, and she squeezed hard, claws carving crimson lines in white fur. ¡°If she is¡­¡± A woman of the right age to be Mirabel¡¯s mother spoke in a whisper. She was heavily pregnant, her taut belly at odds with her slender frame. ¡°If she is dead, what have you done with her body?¡± Yvon revealed a miniscule metal box from his jacket, placing it before the rats. ¡°Her body was sent to the Royal Institute for a flame-consecration, in case any lingering corruption remained. This is all that was returned to us.¡± ¡°Cockshit.¡± A younger man, perhaps a nephew of the woman, spoke up. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± Yvon¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Ya ate her, didn¡¯t ya? Bet she tasted real nice in ya muzzle. But yer one o¡¯ the good ones, ya don¡¯t eat shitstains like us, so you and yer grass-eater buddies make up some dick-in-the-nob story about draugr and pass off some bloody dust. I told her to stay away from nobles¡¯ business, but she brought in more coin than the rest of us together, so she went to that saints-damned house again and again.¡± Yvon began to growl, but before the man could continue, the grandfather struck him across his head. The man collapsed, and Anya flinched as his blood oozed onto the floor. ¡°Lord Clary, please, you must forgive us. My grandson was possessed by grief, and didnae mean a thing he said to you.¡± ¡°Lay the blame on me, if you must. I told her about the job, and what to say for the the interview. I swear on St. Niamh I never meant¡­never meant to put her in danger.¡± Renee¡¯s claws dug further into Anya¡¯s palm, and the weasel choked back tears. Her accent had slipped, and she spoke nearly alike to the rats. ¡°Renee, we know you were only trying to give us some help. Without Miri, things would¡¯ve been a great deal harder.¡± The pregnant woman moved to Renee¡¯s side, carefully skirting around Yvon, and held Renee¡¯s other hand to her chest. ¡°Enough. Renee, control yourself,¡± Yvon said. He tried to speak with force, but the emotion in the room seemed to make him hesitant. He removed a bulging coinpurse from his trunk, handing it to the grandfather. ¡°Madame Blanchet¡¯s wages for the rest of the year, and four years after. In exchange, I need to know everything you remember about your granddaughter¡¯s last few months. Any suspicious acquaintances? Did she return from work with more coin than usual?¡± ¡°My Lord, I swear on St. Artimus my daughter was nothing but a pious lass.¡± ¡°Everything.¡± Yvon bared his teeth. ¡°My lord, our church is small, and our patron saint is hardly known in Gaul. We had a small¡­hiccup lately, one of our relics acting improper, and our priest¡¯s saint-arts weren¡¯t enough to make it right. Then a man comes with him one day, a real queer sort, and fixes everything up. He never says much, but our priest trusts him, and when Mirabel gets real sick, he offers to work some arts on her. Next day, two weeks ago, she seems right as rain, so she goes back to your manor.¡± ¡°I need your priest¡¯s name, and the location of your church.¡± ¡°We can put you in touch with the priest; he lives just down the road. But the church is holy ground, and we cannae just-¡± ¡°I nearly watched my wife die, St. Galaad be damned! Was four years not enough? Out with it before I have your heads, you ungrateful bastards!¡± Yvon snapped and nearly lunged forwards. Anya flinched, and she felt the rats¡¯ hearts jump in their chests. ¡°Lord Clary, the priest is enough, for now at least. You know as well as I the perpetrator will be long gone, and there is no point is disturbing their custom.¡± Renee spoke up, switching back to upper-class Gaulish. Silence. Anya felt the rats¡¯ pounding heartbeats, felt her own as Yvon¡¯s eyes stalked across the room. ¡®I have never killed.¡¯ Bastard. You smell our fear, and you like it. ¡°Grrh. Fine. Mr. Blanchet, you should hope this priest of yours proves useful.¡± Renee exhaled in relief. ¡°Konstantinos Levidis. He lives just to the south, in a burrow with a red door next to the broken wall with the apple tree. Renee will know where t¡¯find it,¡± the grandfather said. ¡°Papi?¡± The pregnant woman spoke. ¡°You¡¯re talking about the man with the hood, right? The one who did the healing for Miri? He looked at George too, and gave him some medicine.¡± ¡°George?¡± Anya replied. A weight settled in her stomach. ¡°My husband. He¡¯s resting just in there.¡± The woman pointed to a cloth covering the entrance to a side room. A vision lodged in Anya¡¯s mind. A family of corpses, wasps pouring out of every orifice, crawling through gaps in the walls and rising up into the city. ¡°Ma¡¯am, I need to see George. He could be in danger.¡± ¡°No. You¡¯ve brought enough misfortune for one day,¡± the grandfather interjected. ¡°Annette, my companion is a trained physician. I trust her,¡± Renee said to the pregnant woman. A few seconds of whispers between the grandfather and Eloise. ¡°The rabbit can come. You two stay.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have time for this.¡± Yvon shook his head in exasperation. ¡°Make it quick.¡± Anya was escorted into a bedroom. Fraying blankets were strewn across nearly the entire ground, and a fire in the corner filled the air with smoke. A sickly weasel - George - rested in a wall alcove. He woke at their entrance and made a weak smile at Annette. ¡°Dear, someone¡¯s come to take a look at you,¡± Annette said. She sat next to him, resting her head against his. ¡°The man Mirabel found? With the Jerusalem letters? Way he looked at her gave me the creeps.¡± George¡¯s voice was breathy and weak. ¡°No. A woman this time. If you don¡¯t like her, we¡¯ll have her leave.¡± Annette beckoned Anya closer. The nephew made eye contact and swiped his finger across his throat. Anya sat down, introduced herself, and dispatched the nephew to boil water and find a rag. As she began pulling blankets from the man, she realized her fingers were trembling - with every layer, she expected to find perfect hexagons, pulsating grubs. You¡¯ve done this hundreds of times, she thought. Get it together. With the last layer off and the man¡¯s bandages removed, she revealed patchy fur surrounding a deep gash in his flank. An awful scent of rot and pus filled her nostrils, and Annette turned to the side and vomited. The necrotic flesh around the wound seemed to have been shredded, and its recesses were filled with yellowish gunk. A few dead fly pupae fell out of the blankets. ¡°George? I¡¯m going to feel your heart and your lungs. If it hurts, please let me know.¡± She washed her hands and began her work, draping one ear over his bony chest. His heartbeat was weak but steady, and there seemed to be no fluid in his lungs. He moaned in pain when she touched one of his swollen lymph nodes. ¡°Wound infection, leading to localized necrosis and lymphadenitis,¡± she recited. ¡°It hasn¡¯t gone septic yet, so he has a chance.¡± ¡°A good chance?¡± Annette¡¯s voice wavered. Anya took Annette¡¯s furless hand and tried to smile. ¡°No. But a chance. Um, with my arts, I could fix it easily-¡± ¡°No. No arts. If we are marked when we pass, our souls¡¯ll never find the Golden Wood.¡± She seemed to be referring to an afterlife, although not one that Anya knew. ¡°Does that mean¡­Mirabel¡­¡± Anya regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. Annette nodded, quiet agony written across her face. Anya thought it best she remained silent, and so retreated into the work of cleaning and dressing the wound. Her fingers danced, maneuvering across the man¡¯s chest with only the slightest touch of conscious input. She worked efficiently, and was done within a ten minutes. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ve done what I could. The black flesh is dead, and the yellow gunk is caused by tiny creatures that are eating his body. Buy some honey and rub it into the wound; it helps kill off the creatures. Then find some maggots and place them in the wound. They¡¯ll eat the dead flesh and fall off.¡± Anya gave George¡¯s dressings one more check and stood to go, but Annette caught her hand. ¡°Miss, if I¡­Miri and Georgi both¡­he was always there when the kits came¡­ah, a hundred blessings on your heart,¡± Annette sobbed. Anya¡¯s skin tingled at the sudden contact, and she tried to worm away, but the rat was deceptively heavy. She relented and placed a hand on the velvety fur of the rat¡¯s neck. Perhaps Annette sensed Anya¡¯s discomfort, as she pulled away. ¡°Oh¡­I shouldn¡¯t have¡­¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s alright. I¡¯m just glad I could help. By the way, is everything fine with,¡± she gestured at Annette¡¯s belly. ¡°Yes. It¡¯ll hardly be the first time.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll be half-bloods, right?¡± ¡°My little lap-belettes. Miri too, though you¡¯d never know. Miss, do you have children?¡± ¡°No. Not yet.¡± The rat¡¯s nonchalance was strange to her. Anya imagined herself with child; her organs would contort themselves as her kits (cubs?) squeezed more and more space and blood from her. There seemed a terrible loneliness to it. You tried, once before. And all that came of it was blood. ¡°I should go.¡± Anya turned away and crouched under the doorway, stepping over a group of children who had clearly been listening. Yvon was still curled in the corner, holding his trunk between himself and the mass of rats. ¡°Before you go, my Lord,¡± the grandfather began hesitantly, ¡°I know we ain¡¯t in your employ no more, but we were hoping you¡¯d be so charitable as to let us keep the claim-seal on our door for a little while longer.¡± To Anya¡¯s horror, Yvon¡¯s lips began to form a negative. ¡°Of course!¡± She replied. Yvon¡¯s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, and his claws dug into the trunk. The trunk! ¡°We brought a seal for each of you. Least we could do.¡± Come on, you dumb cur. You hate losing control, but I think you hate people knowing you¡¯ve lost control even more. Yvon fixed her with a single murderous glare, then nodded and slid the trunk over. ¡°Save your flattery. I have heard enough grass-eater prattle today for a lifetime.¡± He began to leave, placing a hostile grip on Anya¡¯s shoulder and leading her to the door. Whispers behind them. ¡°The rabbit may visit our church, if she wishes. You too, Renee. Ask for the beekeeper at the old reliquary.¡± Anya tried to turn back and glimpse Annette one last time, but Yvon pushed her into the light. ¡°Did you find any leads?¡± Alain asked. He sat against the well, polishing his sword. He rose as he noticed Yvon¡¯s grim expression. He led her up the courtyard stairs and around the wall, just out of sight of the burrow, before his hand reached around her neck. She expected it to clench, for her to be dragged into the air, but he merely held it, fingers tensing a mere fraction of an inch from her skin. ¡°Why on St. Ferdiad¡¯s bloody corpse did you do that?¡± He whispered through clenched teeth. She tried to squeal a reply, but her throat was numb and some deep part of her brain was screaming at her to play dead. After what seemed like an eternity, he sighed and drew his hand back, and she collapsed to her knees in the dirt. He stared at his palm for a long while, as if it had surprised him. ¡°We should start walking. It will be a long ways home.¡± Chapter 3.3: Embrace ¡°Does it have to¡­you know? Might as well just let them hang out at this point.¡± ¡°Relax, dearie. You¡¯ll be out of the dress soon enough, but - hmphf - before that, you need to remind he¡¯s lucky to have such a beautiful girl.¡± Renee pulled Anya¡¯s dress tight, carefully forming it around the corset beneath. The rabbit could barely feel her abdomen, and was sure that at any minute her newly-sensitive breasts would leap free from the perilously low neckline of the dress. It had been a few days since the encounter with the Blanchets, and Anya felt she could not risk delaying her visit to Yvon¡¯s bedchamber any longer. She had let her contraceptive hexes fade - not that she could maintain them in any case, as Yvon held onto her knife within the house - and the familiar cloying buzz of heat had crept into her body. Over the last two hours, Renee had bathed, brushed, painted, and scented her, and she was at last presentable for the slaughter. ¡°Just remember, dearie, your mother, your mother¡¯s mother, and back down the line to when we all walked on four legs; they all faced the same as you.¡± Renee tied Manon¡¯s dusk-blue ribbons around Anya¡¯s ears, and finally fastened the claim-seal around her neck. My mother, Irina. I was fourteen when I did the math. After I was born, six litters in forty-four months. Rabbits are pregnant for seven, so¡­ ¡°Anna? Listen to me, Anna. You will be alright. Sofia will have warned him not to mistreat you, and he listens to her.¡± Renee took her hands, and then leaned into her ear. ¡°If it comes to it, he keeps your knife in the top left drawer of his writing desk.¡± Before Anya could respond, she was led into the halls of the manor. Her eyes were unfocused - there could have been no one watching her hesitant footsteps, or the entire citizenry of Tyre, and it would not have changed the sense of nakedness that clung to her skin. ¡°Head held high,¡± Renee whispered. ¡°You¡¯re not some wretched mistress, and even if you were, you must not act it.¡± Her warm fingers tightened around Anya¡¯s palm, and the rabbit tried to straighten her spine. They reached the door, and Renee¡¯s last words of encouragement flew past Anya like hollow wind. A pair of hands on her back, and it was over. She had stood in this room before, when she had first met Yvon¡¯s brother after the second assassination. But now the lake beyond the balcony reflected only tenebrous clouds, and darkness seemed to well from every corner to devour the scant light cast by the candelabra. Yvon sat at his desk, his loose evening robe lending him the appearance of a hulking bat. His nose twitched, and he twisted in his chair. For a moment, Anya imagined he would simply pounce and bear down on her. ¡°Come closer. One more step. There, stop.¡± He held up his fingers in a rectangle, as if framing a portrait. ¡°Perhaps Ms. Beaufort was onto something. In this light, Anna, the blue of your ribbons pairs wonderfully with your fur.¡± His eyes slid from her face to her waist and dress, carefully detouring around her bosom. ¡°Call me Anya, please. If we¡¯re going to shag, you might as well.¡± ¡°As you wish, Anya. The bed in the other room is made up, if you would like to prepare yourself. I have a few items to finish up.¡± Anya saw that he was writing a letter ¡°By the way, I realized I ought to apologize for my poor behavior over that claim-seal business in the slums. You acted impudently, but I let my temper take the lead, and responded in a way that was wholly undignified. It will not happen again. Of course, I expect in turn you will not make a habit of circumventing my decisions.¡± Even his apology is a negotiation. Insufferable man. Anya nodded, and began to step across the room, keeping to the edge of the prince¡¯s light. The room was tinged with his unaltered smell, and her abdomen clenched at a whiff of sexual pheromones. She reached the door to the bedroom proper, then changed her mind, padding to Yvon¡¯s side. The top of his desk was around the level of her shoulders, and she saw that next to the letter was a draft with half the lines crossed out. Behind them, a ledger-book was open, showing dozens of rows of tiny, precise handwriting. ¡°What are you working on?¡± ¡°Does it matter at all to you?¡± ¡°Yes, in fact.¡± Yvon threaded his fingers and pushed out his hands in exasperation. ¡°The Finance Minister - one of those tail-biting curs on the hunting council - wishes to impose a royal tariff of twenty-five percent on all goods sent to Rus. He has some moronic scheme about using the revenues to pay for the care of indigent veterans. I am writing to inform him that his proposal is madness, there will be no trade at all under such conditions, and he will have no money for the veterans he so loudly claims deference to.¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°What could we possibly want to buy? A quarter of our bucks are dead, and we will lose many more this winter.¡± ¡°Porcelain, furniture, clocks, perfumes, clothing in the latest Gaulish fashions. Sell a few at a discount to the high nobles, and within the month every aspiring blue-blood in Rus will need his or her own.¡± ¡°And the finance minister wishes to extract his cut.¡± ¡°Precisely.¡± There was something scribbled in the corner of the draft, and Anya stood on the tips of her paws to examine it. ¡°Hey! Is that me?¡± Yvon¡¯s hand moved to swipe it away, but Anya leaped up to pull it closer. It was her from the chest up, rendered in meticulous perspective in the clothes she had worn in Parisi, although Anya felt Yvon had made her face far too severe. Well, and her bosom was not that full. Yvon blushed, his inner ears turning red as cherries. ¡°A diversion. Nothing more.¡± ¡°Are you trained? It¡¯s fine work.¡± Yvon shook his head. ¡°Certainly the Clary firstborn has no time for such frivolity.¡± ¡°But someone must have taught you.¡± He ignored her and took the paper from her hands, carefully arranging it in its former position. ¡°Leave me be. Such things as tariffs and trade should be far from your concern.¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know about that.¡± Anya leaped onto an empty corner of the desk, sitting so that her legs dangled over its side. ¡°I¡¯m supposed to be raising your cubs, right? I feel I ought to know what their father does all day.¡± Yvon furrowed his brow, and the shadows encroached further across his face. ¡°Anya. The raising of an heir is a delicate matter, more so when the mother¡¯s position is¡­borderline. There are wet nurses, governesses, tutors, et cetera.¡± Anya¡¯s heart dropped. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°To be born a half-blood is damning enough. In a sense, to allow them to develop an attachment to their mother would only increase their burden.¡± The candelabra flickered. Come on, say something. Push it back for one more moment. ¡°Sand off the edges of their soul. So they can turn out just like you.¡± Yvon appeared struck unawares, and merely sunk in his chair. ¡°You have a frustrating habit of being correct.¡± They sat in silence for a long moment, listening to the rustling of leaves outside. The darkness pooled in Yvon¡¯s eyes. ¡°Now I am in no mood to write letters.¡± He leaned forward and looked to her. ¡°Do you still wish to see it through?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t really have a choice, do I?¡± ¡°If the time is not yet right-¡± ¡°No, no. I¡¯m here now. Might as well.¡± Yvon looked away, out to where the moon peeked through silver-laced clouds. His face betrayed anxiety. ¡°Everything alight?¡± ¡°Oh. Yes, of course.¡± Yvon collected himself and rose from his chair, opening a drawer to tuck a book under his arm. Beneath where it had been, Anya saw her knife. ¡°Planning to do some light reading?¡± The book was titled Discourse on the Method. ¡°Something to fill the time while we wait for¡­well, you will see. Sofia prefers I read aloud to her, and I may do likewise for you if you wish. Here, lean back.¡± He gently cradled her in his arms and lifted her off the table. His hands felt enormous on her back, and the heat-weight in her belly seemed to quicken at his closeness. In the next room, he placed her belly-up onto a towel strewn over a large four-poster bed. There was a household shrine in the corner of the room with a large statue of St. Hughbert and Morgana, their gold-leaf eyes catching stray strands of moonlight. His hands are shaking. He reached under her outermost dress and released her corset, then lifted the layers of her dress one by one. She felt a cold breeze on her newly-revealed groin. ¡°I will go slowly, but you need to tell me if it hurts, understand?¡± ¡°No need. When the pain comes, I can bear it.¡± He looked at her curiously, then got down on his knees, face level with her groin. His hands came forward to her inner thighs, rough, hot pads brushing against her soft underfur, and he applied the slightest pressure to spread her legs. His breath was hot, but his nose was cold, ice cold¡­ Just like- Clammy hands, crawling over her body. The memory reared up, and it felt as though a frigid dead hand was pushing through her abdomen, twisting her organs to mush and spreading crackling ice through her body. She gasped for air, but her throat was clamped tight. The hands on her felt alien, wrong; she needed to get out. ¡°Umph!¡± She realized she had kicked Yvon with both paws, and as he staggered backwards she saw a superficial claw-mark on his cheek. Shrugging off her clothing, she tumbled to the floor, and dashed on all fours to the desk. The knife found her palm, and she drew it across the back of her hand as she crouched low to the floor. Enkidu¡¯s presence coalesced around her, sinuous claws forming a protective cage as he sensed her terror. Yvon appeared at the bedroom door, face masked with fury, pawsteps like low drums on the wood. Do I even want to know. ¡°Heartbeat. With me.¡± I was taking a well-deserved rest, and dreaming of a world where metal spires pierce the sky and naked apes catch gods in books. She slapped the knife against the desk, and Enkidu reluctantly surged forward, snaring Yvon¡¯s heart between his many fingers. Anya felt its vitality, now quick and erratic. The pain inside her own chest writhed in response. ¡°She found the knife. Of course she found the knife. Anya, what in the name of Morgana¡¯s cunt is wrong with you?¡± ¡°Stop.¡± ¡°If I had an ounce of sense, I¡¯d - argh!¡± He fell to the floor, clutching his chest. Anya held her palm out, making and unmaking a fist. Pump. Pump. Pump. She guided his heartbeat, keeping it steady enough for him to rise to his knees. Focusing on the flow of the arts helped force the pain away. ¡°You have my heart.¡± He exhaled, the anger slowly fading from his face. It was replaced with something like awe. ¡°Sorry, sorry. Nu yobana, I¡¯m so sorry.¡± Tears flowed now, running off her face and onto her exposed bosom. The pain was going numb now, pushing deeper, becoming just another layer in the filthy sediment of her mind. She creeped backwards, towards the doorway. ¡°Wait. Even if you were not as naked as a beast, servants would see if you flee, and the rumors would be impossible to dispel. Let me call Renee. You can leave via the back corridor.¡± ¡°I can¡­I can get myself together. I can get ready, and we can try again.¡± ¡°Anya. I think we are done for tonight.¡± He pulled a handkerchief from his robe and tossed it to her. ¡°And take this. Tears do not suit you.¡± He disappeared into the bedroom, and Anya heard the servant-bell ring. And then the darkness was rushing forward, cascading in heavy waves over the balcony and pouring out of every corner, until she was wholly swallowed up. Q&A and Worldbuilding Notes Is this some kind of furry thing? Yes. Why does the protagonist have two names? Most Russian names have a diminutive version that can be used in more familial contexts. In this case, Anna becomes Anya, and while Anya thinks of herself as Anya, other characters will use Anna in except if she¡¯s close to them and they¡¯re in private. When/where is the story supposed to take place? Magic and animal people aside, the story is set in an alternate history version of Europe, roughly during the early 1700s. The main differences with our history are: 1) Europeans never sailed to the New World. 2) France (Gaul) has become a continental empire, occupying most of modern-day Spain, Italy, western Germany, and the UK (Albion). 3) Instead of conquering Constantinople, the Ottomans took control of the Byzantine Empire through intermarriage, leading to the kingdom of Nicaea. 4) Firearm technology is significantly behind its real counterpart, as magi are seen as far more effective on the battlefield. The guns that do exist are curiosities from the Far East, and Gaul and its neighbors strictly regulate their import. How tall is everyone? The characters have substantial height differences, somewhat reflecting their real-world animal counterparts. Yvon: 6¡¯2¡± Jean: 6¡¯3¡± standing straight, 6¡¯0¡± with usual slouch. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Sofia: 5¡¯9¡± Raphael: 5¡¯8¡± Alain: 3¡¯8¡± Renee: 3¡¯3¡± Anya: 3¡¯2¡± How old is everyone? Sofia is 25, while Yvon, Anya, and Jean are 23. Alain is 22, and Renee is 19. What are the rules for draugr-arts? Draugr naturally exist in an alternate dimension they call ¡®Nowhere¡¯, and while the exact nature of this realm is unclear, it seems to operate on very different rules than our reality. In order to influence our reality, draugr need to work via pacts with individuals known as magi, and crucially a draugr cannot influence reality against the will of its magus. Each draugr can only have a pact with one magus at a time, and a magus needs to be naturally aligned with the draugr for the pact to be formed. For each draugr, the set of potential hosts is a very small subset of the population. However, alignment seems to be somewhat heritable, leading to draugr hopping from one generation to the next within families. If a magus consciously allows it or is on the brink of death, a draugr can take over their body, becoming fully corporeal and being able to act freely. However, this effectively kills the magus, so draugr-manifestations are rare. If a manifested draugr ¡®dies¡¯, they merely return to Nowhere. Draugr can reproduce asexually or with any number of partners, and the nature of how this reproduction happens is very unclear. Generally, older draugr are more powerful. Draugr do not seem to naturally age, and cannot be killed by any means available to a magus, but can cease to exist within Nowhere. Each draugr is an individual with distinct abilities, but broad lineages of draugr with similar arts exist. For example, while Anya¡¯s draugr Enkidu is unusually old and powerful, many younger draugr with similar blood arts are active in Rus. In order to use arts, a magus needs to offer something in their reality for their draugr. This something isn¡¯t payment, but rather a necessary substrate that allows the draugr to bridge the gap between worlds and influence our reality. The something in question depends on the draugr. Rarely, a draugr may take a very large offering up-front instead of a small offering for each spell. What are the draugr based on? Enkidu (Anya): A mythological figure from the Epic of Gilgamesh, an epic narrative from ancient Mesopotamia. Marghek Gwyrdh (Alain): A character from the medieval romance Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, likely based on an earlier figure in British/Irish folklore. Mara (Sofia): A demon that tempts the Buddha in Buddhist scripture. Mithra (Jean): An ancient Iranian solar deity that later reappeared as the subject of a Roman mystery cult. Chapter 4.1: Lesson Renee screamed and writhed against the wolf at her throat, her weasel-cries echoing through the shadowed eaves of the chapel. Anya knew it was all acting, knew Yvon had only barely broken the surface of her skin, but still flinched as crimson splotches blossomed across the thin white dress Renee wore. Yvon¡¯s sister Marie directed the blood into a chalice, and signaled that he could release his bite. Renee collapsed upon the altar, leaving a single finger in contact with Yvon¡¯s hand. ¡°The saint¡¯s will is done, and the blood shall bear his blessing,¡± Marie intoned. A flash of golden light - far more than Anya¡¯s blood had yielded - and Marie handed the chalice to Yvon. ¡°The ritual is at an end. May St. Hughbert watch over your footsteps, and lead you to reconciliation with all those who cross your path.¡± Yvon drank from the chalice, and closed his eyes to whisper a prayer. I wonder what he prays for. St. Hughbert doesn¡¯t seem like the type to deal with money. It was a few days since Anya¡¯s abortive night with Yvon, and she sat for the first time in the manor chapel for the weekly sacrifice. Marie had arrived from Yvon¡¯s father¡¯s home in her vestments, and Anya, Sofia, Alain, and the senior servants had gathered in the chapel, and now the servants turned to go. The entire ritual had taken perhaps fifteen minutes. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Anna, I¡¯m fine, see? By the¡­erm, golly, you looked so scared! Yvon knows how to be gentle.¡± Renee sprung up, accepting Marie¡¯s offer of a towel with which to cover herself. She nonchalantly wiped a smear of blood from her fur, her eyes seeming to shine as she looked to Marie. Yvon stepped away, seemingly embarrassed by the whole affair. ¡°You should try the ambrosia. I cannot say if it is due to the piety of the anointer or the enthusiasm of the hetaira, but together they obtain a remarkable clarity,¡± Sofia said, nodding to the chalice. Anya rose, quickly curtseying to Maria before taking the offered goblet. The liquid inside was clear and slightly golden, and smelled of wildflowers. Bringing it to her lips, Anya found the taste similar to honey, and soon felt vitality blossom through her body. It was different from blood arts - she could induce a similar effect by adjusting a body¡¯s production of hormones, but this felt as though she was being warmly embraced. ¡°Yvon, I will not be available to perform the Rite of Predation for you next week. I have an interview and demonstration with the de Forbins. I know several priests who can perform in my stead, and will not object to use of a hetaira,¡± Marie said, taking back the chalice. ¡°Good for you,¡± Yvon said absentmindedly, wiping blood from his teeth with a handkerchief. ¡°They are of solid repute, and have never failed to show us proper courtesy.¡± ¡°Thank you, brother. You have always shown me more kindness than I surely deserve.¡± ¡°The de Forbins are traditionalists, though. The father or the son will kill some hapless claimee, and you will be expected to prepare the corpse to be eaten. Are you prepared?¡± ¡°You taste my ambrosia every week, and know there is no fault in my saint-arts.¡± Yvon raised an eyebrow. He glanced behind him, making sure all the servants but Renee had left. ¡°That is not what I meant. If Renee lay dead before you, could you gut her like a fish?¡± ¡°I would gladly exalt her, so that St. Hughbert may carry her soul to the Gold-Lit Wood.¡± ¡°And you would be prepared to bless the man who snapped her neck?¡± ¡°Yvon, I need not remind you that the de Forbins are a pious family, and kill only once a week and in the name of St. Hughbert, as sanctioned by the Church. Would you rather they be swayed by prey-lust, and send their sons to hunt in the streets of Parisi?¡± Marie replied, bringing a hand to the saint-icon at her neck. ¡°Of course not. I only wish to confirm you know what lies before you. Now, since I may not see you for several weeks, allow me to embrace you.¡± Marie let Yvon pull her into an awkward embrace, and quickly curtseyed to Sofia and Anya before leaving the chapel. Renee¡¯s eyes followed her to the door, though her eyes no longer shone. ¡°Sofia, I have urgent company business to see to. Would you-¡± Yvon began. ¡°No, you do not. You and Anna have dancing lessons to attend to. Renee, help Anna change into something more suitable, and come to the ballroom. Dearest Yvon, you are not to leave my sight.¡± Sofia rose, forcefully taking Yvon¡¯s arm, while Anya took Renee¡¯s hand and followed her to the exit. Alain followed them. ¡°Alain! You went with Yvon to meet the priest a few days ago, right? How did it go?¡± Renee asked. ¡°Not well. He gave the same story as the rats before running off, and he hasn¡¯t been back to the square since. Yvon wants to try going through the Archbishop¡¯s office next, see if we can find a reason to have the priest arrested. You aren¡¯t still considering going to the church, are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to. For Yvon, and Renee.¡± Anya replied. Alain shot an incredulous look at Renee. ¡°Guilt rarely leads to good decisions.¡± ¡°No guilt. Someone got my closest friend, and I don¡¯t want them to get anyone else. Besides, the Blanchets are honest folk. If it¡¯s their church, it won¡¯t be anything out of the ordinary.¡± ¡°If you say. Well, good luck. You¡¯ll be in the hands of a far more capable magus than I.¡± Before Anya could protest, Alain bowed and took the stairs, no doubt meaning to return to his room. Anya and Renee walked onwards. ¡°Um, thank you. For the blood,¡± Anya said. She could still feel the warmth unfolding within her. ¡°No need for thanks! It¡¯s fun to get up there and perform, even if it¡¯s for someone else¡¯s saint. It really does barely hurt with Yvon, and Marie makes a good partner. At least, I thought she did. The weasel squeezed Anya¡¯s hand. ¡°Yvon could not have put it more cruelly.¡± Renee shook her head. ¡°No, it¡¯s in their nature to hunt, and she will ensure the prey are sent off gently. Marie has a kind heart, and I¡¯m glad she is honest about what her work entails.¡± ¡°Then?¡± ¡°She knows I am sworn to St. Math, and intend to pass to his saint-field of Gwynedd of the mists upon my death. Even if she believes St. Hughbert¡¯s Wood to be a superior end, it is not her place to direct my soul.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Anya rarely thought of such things - she had been sworn to St. Georgei, as were nearly all people in Rus, but seriously doubted he had a place in his saint-field for a blood-crazed doe like her. ¡°You take the hunters¡¯ smiles and kind words, and think they see you as a fellow person, until they choose to show their fangs,¡± Renee replied. ¡°Yvon is an exception, at least.¡± ¡°Because he treats everyone with equal disdain?¡± Renee stifled a laugh. ¡°I will choose to hold my tongue.¡± They came to a hallway with a window to the lake, and Anya let out a surprised squeak as Renee threw her arms around her. They embraced for several seconds, and Renee¡¯s warmth seemed to rekindle the ambrosia, sending sparks of comfort shooting through her form. ¡°Gosh, Anna, I¡¯m so sorry. It¡¯s just-¡± Renee suddenly pulled away, her face overtaken by a deep blush. ¡°No, it was lovely! And, um, you should call me Anya.¡± ¡°Alright, Anya. Thank you.¡± ¡ª This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Your steps are too short. Those legs are for hopping, yes? Use them.¡± Anya forced her leaden feet to move. Her hands were lost in Yvon¡¯s massive grip, and her entire body lurched forward with every step he took. They came to the twirl, and she kicked her leg out for purchase¡­only to feel it slide as she collapsed to the polished wood floor. The musician in the corner jerked to a halt, and her cheeks burned red. ¡°Sofia! She¡¯s barely half my height, can¡¯t we find a better-¡± Yvon exclaimed. ¡°A prince does not adjust his stride for a mere consort. I trust she will find a way. Now, in position. We¡¯ll run the bour¨¦e again.¡± Yvon pulled her to her feet, and their fingers intertwined. Sofia nodded to the three musicians in the corner of the ballroom, and they played on. ¡°Just hold on and trust I¡¯ll keep you upright.¡± Yvon whispered. ¡°I would rather Sofia not keep us all day.¡± Anya began to move again, struggling to keep herself aligned with Yvon¡¯s body. The dance was comparatively simple, and she could let Yvon do most of the work - but the moment she had to think about what her individual limbs were doing, it was as if they¡¯d been replaced by dangling worms. ¡°No, no, no. Just stop.¡± Sofia said, shaking her head. She strode from the edge of the room, shooting Yvon a venomous look. ¡°You are the son of the richest man in Gaul, are you not? Not a clumsy old man tossing fish on market day. If the rabbit is only capable of the bare minimum, at least refrain from sending her flying with every step.¡± ¡°Sofia, I promise I am taking this seriously.¡± ¡°If you wish to leave, so be it. I will show her the way.¡± ¡°But-¡± ¡°Give the rabbit to me.¡± She flicked her fingers at the door, and Yvon paced away with his tail between his legs. ¡°Now then.¡± Sofia sighed, and her eyes turned downwards. ¡°Were you not taught to dance in Vasili?¡± ¡°My father saw arts instruction as more useful.¡± ¡°Perhaps he recognized a lost cause. But no matter. If you truly lack grace, a fa?ade will suffice.¡± Sofia moved quickly, wrapping her delicate fingers around Anya¡¯s hands and pulling the rabbit to her. One pair of hands went to their side, while the other was raised up into the space between them. They were going to dance. Just a few inches closer, and her head would rest against the modest convexity of Sofia¡¯s bosom - even from where she stood, her sensitive ears could make out the faint pulse of the princess¡¯ heart. Her fingers slackened. ¡°Keep your eyes up. A woman¡¯s gaze should lend dignity to her partner. Next, spread your feet, but not too far. Do not let your arm sag. Even if you are exhausted, the steps must appear effortless.¡± ¡°Yes!¡± Anya shifted on her feet, trying to loosen up. She raised her gaze, finding Sofia¡¯s faraway eyes. ¡°We went over the steps in detail, so you should be able to anticipate my movements. Do not overthink it; in this moment, you exist only as an extension of your partner. Am I clear?¡± Anya nodded. Even without her arts, she could feel the twitch of Sofia¡¯s arm muscles, the subtle sway of her spine, through the weight of her palms. Her movements were so unlike Yvon¡¯s. Like a beast preparing to pounce. ¡°Good. Let us begin.¡± It was a simple dance - a novel style that had recently become fashionable in Gaul, which presumably meant it would take Vasili by storm in fifty or so years - and yet Sofia moved as if the particular series of motions were as natural and self-evident as walking. The strikes of her hooves against the floor kept time, and Anya soon found her breath synchronizing with the music. She still struggled to make the necessary leaps, and her own pulse pounded in her ear, but the task was far easier with Sofia as her anchor. They came to the center of the floor, and Sofia slowly pushed Anya back, until she was supported solely by the princess¡¯ grip. For a moment, their snouts became close, and Anya felt the lightest pressure of Sofia¡¯s sternum against her chest. Hot blood flushed through her body, pooling in her now-burning ears. Sofia released her, and she slumped to her knees. ¡°Your body stiffens the moment any independent movement is expected of you, and you keep to the rhythm only with great assistance. Not beyond correction, but you will need serious practice.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll¡­do my best.¡± Anya gasped for breath. ¡°Of course you will.¡± Sofia crossed her arms. ¡°The whole of the bon-ton will be at the Hallowtide ball, and a poorly trained consort would cause unpleasant rumors to cling to my husband¡¯s feet. We will practice again tomorrow, and as many times more as is necessary. Now, get up. Your position is unbecoming.¡± Anya rose, curtsied before the princess and the musician, and began to limp towards the doorway. Alain had promised to find for her a book on modern Gaulish arts theory, and Renee wanted her to practice walking in a hooped petticoat. ¡°Wait. Walk with me.¡± The princess¡¯ hand brush against Anya¡¯s back, turning her and guiding her to a side exit. As they left, Sofia picked up a bag she had placed in the corner of the room. Anya found herself in the back garden before the lake. It had once been planted in the austere Gaulish style, but the roses had long overgrown their geometric plots, and the hedgerows cast long shadows. Sofia stopped to admire an especially crimson rose, then ripped it from its stem to hold it close to her eyes. It was a chilly day, and Anya quickly tucked her eartips beneath her collar. ¡°I heard there was some friction between you and Yvon.¡± Her tone was as one might discuss the weather. Anya¡¯s blood ran cold. She looked up, trying to read the princess¡¯ eyes, but the goat was still examining the rose. ¡°A beast may be broken and conditioned, until it no longer refuses to perform its role. But we are not beasts, and should consider ourselves fortunate it is so.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand.¡± Sofia walked onwards, leading them to crumbling stone bench. She gestured for Anya to sit, and joined her a few inches away. ¡°Certain things are expected of you. If not now, then soon. From a certain point of view, it is not so much to ask, and I suspect any washerwoman or harlot in Tyre would take your place in an instant. Yet matters of the heart have a way of becoming complicated.¡± Sofia¡¯s hand crept across the bench, and the tips of her fingers settled on Anya¡¯s wrist. ¡°What is the matter? Tell me.¡± Her words were soft, but Anya knew the softness hid thorns. ¡°I panicked when he touched me, and lost control.¡± ¡°How did my dear husband react?¡± ¡°He told me to go away. He seemed angry, but I wasn¡¯t sure.¡± ¡°Neither did he, I suspect. Yvon takes to introspection as you take to dance, and rarely has a firm grasp on his own feelings.¡± Sofia sighed, and looked up at the dull grey sky. ¡°And how do you feel, k¨¹?¨¹k tav?an?¡± Anya idly kicked her legs. ¡°I¡¯ll try to imagine myself with his, you know.¡± She pantomimed holding a kit to her chest. ¡°If there was love, or joy, or even anger, I¡¯d have something to cling to, but there¡¯s just¡­nothing at all. Like searching for grain in a fallow field.¡± Sofia nodded. ¡°What would love feel like?¡± ¡°A spark in my heart, I guess, telling me I was on the right path. In the stories I was told as a child, when the lady gave herself over to the knight, there was never any question to it.¡± ¡°To wholly trust another is certainly a form of love. Alas, I think it is one very few people find.¡± Sofia brought the rose to her lips, devouring it with a wet crunch. ¡°I first met Yvon on the eve of our wedding. We had exchanged a few terse letters, and my parents had sent along a painting of my likeness, but I knew nothing of him. Only that his father aimed to improve his lineage with my arts, and that he had offered a royal ransom in exchange.¡± ¡°Were you afraid?¡± Sofia furrowed her brow, as if trying to dredge up a distant memory. ¡°Nicaea needed his coin. I only feared I would be an insufficient offering to secure it.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°I had no fantasies of a courtly romance, and certainly did not find one. But we shared a house, a table, and a bed, until I knew the outline of his heart better than my own. I think that is a kind of love.¡± Sofia slowly moved her fingers up Anya¡¯s arm, bringing them to rest on her cheek. The fur covering the princess¡¯ hand was remarkably delicate. ¡°You will learn in time, little rabbit.¡± The wind picked up. It was coming from the north, the kind that in Rus killed off the last insects and brought the deafening silence of winter, but Anya realized she couldn¡¯t feel it at all. If she was just a few inches closer to Sofia¡­she could rest her head on the princess¡¯ shoulder, press their skin together and share the meager heat of their bodies. They could sit together and watch the clouds come in, a pinprick of warmth in a gently dying world. Is this a trick of her arts? Anya tried to think, but her mind had given way to a jumbled mess of emotions. St. Maria of Aegyptos be damned, it was worse than heat, and beneath it all was a raw, fathomless longing. She tasted salt on her lips, and realized there were tears running down her face. ¡°Anna?¡± ¡°Just the wind stinging. I should go, Renee wanted to see me.¡± Anya began to slide off the bench. If she stayed with the princess any longer, she did not know what she might think to do. ¡°Wait. I have something for you.¡± Sofia reached into the bag, removing a large rectangular book and handing it to Anya. Its cover had a title in a flowing language Anya could not read. ¡°It is a guide of sorts to love, from a kingdom far to the east of even Nicaea. I can translate parts of it, should you desire, although the illustrations alone may prove sufficient. You may find it useful in your meetings with Yvon.¡± Sofia opened it to a page with a well-worn bookmark, revealing a dazzling illustration of a castle garden. It was filled with people of all species, vigorously¡­ Oh. Oh my. ¡°Chapter eight. Intercourse across species lines, with remarks on approaching differences of size and anatomy.¡± ¡°Is that a mouse and a¡­what do you call those people? An oliphant? By the saints, how does she not crush him with those, um¡­¡± ¡°They appear to have found a way, and are having a most enjoyable time together.¡± Sofia closed the book, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Anya had gone red as a beet. ¡°Perhaps you and Yvon could look through the chapter together, and discuss what would suit you.¡± Anya imagined Yvon would rather drive nails through his skull, but nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡± ¡°You could also ask Renee for advice. I have heard she was once a prostitute of some minor renown.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Come now, you saw her performance this morning. Do you think she learned the skills of a hetaira at an academy? ¡°I thought only that she made a far better scene than I did.¡± ¡°Only a suggestion. Thank you, Anna. I feel our conversation has been highly productive.¡± The princess stood, straightening out her dress. To Anya¡¯s surprise, she immediately turned and crouched down, cradling Anya¡¯s head above her hands. Her thumbs moved upwards, gently running along the ridge of Anya¡¯s snout and down onto her cheeks. Then her palms shifted, and her fingers found the sensitive region just below the openings of Anya¡¯s drooping ears. Her motions were firm, but she moved with such grace that Anya felt barely a mote of pressure. ¡°You have been¡­surprising, Anna. It seems my expectations of you were deserved.¡± ¡°What¡­what do you mean?¡± The goat¡¯s velvet-furred palms were warm, and their warmth seemed to percolate up into Anya¡¯s mind, buoying her thoughts into a wash of pleasant sensation. ¡°Some people are like stone, unwilling to be changed by fate or circumstance. They stand proud, until one blow too many leaves them shattered. I suspect you are more like clay. You may yet make a fine consort.¡± Anya desperately wanted to lean forward, let their noses touch and their whiskers brush against each other, but Sofia was already turning away, regaining her cold dignity. She set off towards the manor with small practiced steps, and Anya hurriedly followed her. Chapter 4.2: Threshold ¡°So, you think I have a chance with Alain?¡± Anya walked with Renee through the streets of Parisi. They were just outside the slums, where the city closed into a warren of gloomy alleys, and wore plain clothing Renee had chosen. Even with a large purse, the weasel weaved through the streets as she spoke, navigating between larger animals, mudholes, and refuse with seemingly instinctual ease. ¡°As in, romantically?¡± Anya clumsily dodged out of the way of a large deer, earning a sharp hoof against her flank and a snort of annoyance. ¡°No chance there, but what¡¯s a girl to do? Lady Penrose would still fit nicely.¡± Renee turned to wink, then maneuvered Anya out of the way of a chamber-pot dumped from above. ¡°I don¡¯t think I understand.¡± Renee skipped next to Anya and gently lifted one of her ears. ¡°I met Alain years ago at a molly-house on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, in the company of a particularly standoffish wolf. Now the wolf is happily married, and Alain is getting to the age where a lack of a wife becomes a liability.¡± ¡°So you would enter a loveless marriage?¡± ¡°For food in my belly, and a firm roof above my head, guaranteed until my dying breath. Seems a fair trade.¡± ¡°And what if you met a man you truly loved?¡± ¡°I¡¯d tell my heart to sod off, and sew until it stopped aching.¡± Some bitter part of Anya wanted to respond that at least Renee had a choice, but she remembered the terror in Annette¡¯s eyes, as her husband lay dying because he lacked a claim-seal. No choice there. ¡°I thought species marriages were frowned upon.¡± ¡°They are. But if Yvon can do it, surely his knight can as well. Not like the real gentry wouldn¡¯t be looking down their snouts at me in any case,¡± Renee replied. ¡°Have you broached the idea with Alain?¡± ¡°Working on it. Need to find a way where he doesn¡¯t think I¡¯m trying to blackmail him.¡± They came to an open plaza, its crumbling fountain covered in slime and rotting leaves. There was a reliquary of St. Guenievre on one side, surrounded by hawkers selling saint-icons and questionable remedies. ¡°Um, Renee? Does Yvon also¡­prefer men?¡± It would explain some things from the single night they had shared. Renee laughed, a clear, crystal sound. ¡°Hah! No, you should see the sheets the next time and Sofia are done going at it. He is perfectly ambidextrous.¡± The weasel climbed onto the rim of the fountain, stretching her long body to scan the square. ¡°Oi! Annette! Over here!¡± Anya¡¯s breath caught as Annette approached them, and she instinctively scanned the rat¡¯s face for the marks of fresh grief. Mercifully, her eyes were bright, and her steps were full of vigor. ¡°Renee! Miss Anna, Miss Anna! George was up and walking today! Just a few steps, but still! Oh, Miss Anna, may St. Artimus lay a thousand blessings on your heart! Annette embraced Renee, then took Anya¡¯s hands and clasped them inside her own. ¡°I did very little. If he lives, it is because his body is strong,¡± Anya replied. ¡°How are the others taking Mirabel¡¯s passing?¡± Renee asked. ¡°Not well.¡± Annette¡¯s snout drooped. ¡°Bernard says he won¡¯t hold a funeral without the remains, and the we¡¯re at the ends of our tails trying to talk sense into him. Father Levidis told us we aren¡¯t welcome no more either, after your wolf spooked him.¡± ¡°By the saints, I¡¯m sorry.¡± The rat leaned forward. ¡°Renee, even before Miri, I didnae trust him. Something was real queer about the man he was with, but he acted like there was nothing odd at all about bringing in a stranger to poke around our¡­relics. For the other congregants¡¯ sake, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re going to take a look. Just be careful, alright? Don¡¯t need you dying on us too.¡± ¡°I will. I promise.¡± Annette shook herself, and began leading them out of the square. They entered a narrow alley, its sky obscured by dozens of sagging clotheslines. ¡°Renee, there¡¯s a wee problem. I can get the two of you into Janusgate, but I don¡¯t know where the church is no more.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine, we¡¯ll find it. I know how to get around Janusgate.¡± She doesn¡¯t know where it is? Does the priest have a draugr that eats memories? They came to a solid steel door built into the end of the alley. It had two horizontal slots, one sized for coins, and the other above it in the shape of a flat book. The top slot opened, and a pair of wary eyes gazed down at them. ¡°Good morning, Frederic. My companions mean to enter Janusgate.¡± The person beyond the gate replied with a gruff, weary voice. It was oddly echoed, as if he was much farther away. ¡°I know the weasel¡¯s scent, but the rabbit¡¯s far too posh to be from around here. You setting her up at the Convent?¡± ¡°By the saints, no! She means to visit our church.¡± Annette held up two weathered bronze coins, each bearing a boar¡¯s head on both sides. ¡°Another quack? Well, none of my business. Pass ¡®em over.¡± Annette inserted the coins in the lower slot, and before Anya could react, the door opened and a cold hand pulled her through. There was an excruciating moment of disorientation, as if her brain was being squished into paste, and she found herself collapsing onto a wooden walkway. She wheeled, and saw that a surly jackal had a firm grip on her neck. With his other hand, he closed the gate behind Renee. Anya gasped. She was still in a sort of alley, but the half-timber buildings had been replaced with cancerous masses of of planks and beams, structures jumbled into loose vertical assemblages and linked by vein-like staircases and narrow gangplanks, most of them seemingly recently built. Through the gaps in the walkway below her, she saw a dense web of stilts descending downwards, anchored against a substrate of ruined stoneworks protruding from a seeming lake of murky sludge. The place was lit by flickering lamplight, and the sky above held unfamiliar stars. ¡°Deep breaths, dearie,¡± Renee said, helping Anya up. ¡°Most everyone pukes the first time.¡± ¡°Where¡­what¡­¡± ¡°Janusgate! Listen, every city has cracks, right, places that got built a long time ago and now nobody ever thinks about them. Parisi got enough detritus piled up at some point that it congealed together into a whole separate place.¡± ¡°It¡¯s nighttime here.¡± Anya pressed her knife against her skin through her sleeve, and was relieved to feel Enkidu¡¯s continued presence. If anything, the connection was clearer than usual. ¡°Yeah, time gets a little odd when you¡¯re going over the threshold. Sometimes the buildings get reassembled, too - that¡¯s why Annette didn¡¯t know where the church is.¡± Renee opened her purse and removed a stiletto dagger, placing it in a pocket-sheath hidden by her overskirt. ¡°But you think we can find it.¡± ¡°I know someone who can give us directions.¡± ¡°A friend?¡± ¡°Not particularly.¡± As they moved to go, the jackal gave Anya a hostile look. ¡°Be careful, rabbit. Nobody¡¯ll fish your corpse out of the water when you fall.¡± Renee nodded to the jackal, and began leading Anya through the maze of walkways. Anya noticed that the intersections all bore strips of colored cloth, arranged vertically in what seemed to be a code. Renee ignored them, following a sequence of signs proclaiming Madame [X]¡¯s Convent and bearing crude drawings of smiling young women. There was something odd about the woman¡¯s name, like an eel that slipped out of Anya¡¯s fingers whenever she tried to grasp it.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°Grew up here, you know. Mom killed and ate a claimed squirrel, and had to find a place to lie low. Worked great, until consumption got her. Madame [X] ¡®adopted¡¯ me after that.¡± The same effect. There was a sound, but Anya couldn¡¯t perceive it. ¡°Madame [X]?¡± ¡°Person who¡¯s going to help us out. She¡¯s a magus with a draugr that eats names. Mostly other draugr, but it works a little on people too. So I¡¯m Stitch, and you¡¯re Snowshoe.¡± I know the type. Craven parasites, shunned to the far reaches of Nowhere. I have dealt with them before, and my name is veiled by several layers of antisemiotics. Anya thought of the first time she held the knife, and Enkidu had inscribed his name in her mind. He had taught her to write it after that, in both Rusyn and the language from which the name had come, burning the paper each time. Until she could not possibly forget. They came to a central square. A squat tower, perhaps once part of Parisi¡¯s walls, rose from its center, and colorful banners were draped across its crumbling stonework. It was a degree or two off-kilter, and Anya saw that the listing side was braced against several tree-trunks. They passed through a doorway and into a dim hall done up in done up in a gaudy mockery of a nunnery. The tower¡¯s arrow-slits had been closed off and converted into alcoves, and each held a marble bust of a female saint. Church-benches were arranged around tables covered with altar-cloths, and each held several surprisingly well-dressed men and women. The man were in various states of drunkenness, and the women led them in rowdy parodies of church-songs, occasionally leaning over to attend individual men with kisses or invitations to their bosoms. Along the walls, large men holding truncheons stood at attention. ¡°Stitch! St. Magdalena¡¯s bubbies, what are ya doin¡¯ here?¡± A young mare dressed as a nun approached them. ¡°Turnip, I need to see Madame [X]. Can you get me in?¡± The mare sighed. ¡°Listen, ya can¡¯t be here. You got out, and you should stay out, ya ken? For the both of our sakes.¡± ¡°It¡¯s for my friend, Annette. Please, it¡¯s important.¡± The mare shifted between her hooves, her brow knit with worry. ¡°Alright, alright, your funeral. But don¡¯t ya dare tell the Madame my name.¡± ¡°I know how to deal with her. I won¡¯t.¡± The mare walked away, up a staircase. ¡°You¡­worked here?¡± ¡°Yeah. Stitched clothes until I was old enough to work for real. Hey, don¡¯t give me that look! Madame [X] is a real bitch, but she keeps her girls safe, and I found out I didn¡¯t mind knocking with strangers. Got pretty good at it, too. Course, she had my name, so it wasn¡¯t like I could leave.¡± ¡°But you did leave.¡± ¡°Won it back at cards. Took a little cheating, but she couldn¡¯t figure out how I did it, so she had to keep the deal.¡± A weight began to churn in Anya¡¯s stomach. Looking around, she noticed that almost all the women were grass-eaters, while the men were mostly hunters. ¡°And now you¡¯re-¡± ¡°Stitch! You¡¯re up!¡± The mare waved from the staircase, and Renee clutched her pendant, whispering an inaudible prayer. They were led down to a basement level, past a series of heavy doors from which faint sounds of exertion could be heard. Eventually, the mare showed them into a steam-filled room with a large stone tub carved into the floor. It was filled with hot water, and flower-petals had been scattered across it. Going by the rings bolted to the wall, the room had once been a jail cell. ¡°You can still run. Leave the sorry fates to the rest of us, and don¡¯t look back.¡± ¡°No. I need to do this.¡± The mare shook her head. Anya noticed she had a long claw-scar under one eye. ¡°Make yourselves at home. The madame will be along soon.¡± She left. ¡°Guess the Madame¡¯s office is too good for us. Come on, let¡¯s get ready.¡± Renee stripped, and Anya saw that the weasel¡¯s lower neck and shoulders were covered in old scars and bite-marks. Not from Yvon. He doesn¡¯t bite hard enough to leave scars. ¡°A real mess, isn¡¯t it?¡± Renee said, noticing Anya¡¯s gaze. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, they haven¡¯t hurt for a long time.¡± Anya stepped into the tub. The water was as hot as a spring on the Black Sea, and Anya felt a pleasant lightness as her fur was lifted away from her skin. There was a shelf inside the tub, and she hid her knife beneath her tail. Renee anxiously brushed at her ears. ¡°Renee Vassier. What an unexpected reunion.¡± The door swung open, and a female bear entered, her hulking figure barely contained within a lavish dress in the Gaulish court style. Renee swallowed, and Anya instinctively pressed back against the walls of the tub, legs tensing against the shelf-floor in preparation to leap away. She hid her scar-covered left arm below the waterline. ¡°A pleasant one, I hope.¡± ¡°How could it be otherwise, dear? No daughter of mine should feel unwelcome in my home.¡± The bear¡¯s jowls were pulled taut in a seemingly permanent smile, pushing her relatively tiny eyes into upturned slits, but whatever warmth her face possessed was wholly absent from her words. She removed the dress, revealing a voluptuous figure of fat and muscle, and climbed into the tub. Waves splashed up to Anya¡¯s ears. Her hands are the size of my head, and her claws are longer than my fingers. One swipe, and not even Enkidu could piece me back together. ¡°Come, Renee. Allow me to embrace my wayward daughter.¡± ¡°I would rather we-¡± ¡°Come. Now.¡± A hand went around Renee¡¯s chest, easily reaching around its full circumference, and Renee found herself lifted onto the bear¡¯s wide lap. The bear leaned her head down, idly running her tongue across Renee¡¯s head and neck. ¡°I plucked a starving kit from the streets, and fed her from my own table. She grew, and I taught her to sew, and to whore, until she was better at both than any of my other darling daughters. Yet she cheated me, and left me without a single look back. What ever shall I do with her, Renee?¡± The bear locked Renee beneath her arms, crushing the weasel¡¯s sternum against her chest. Renee tried to speak, but all she could do was gasp for air. ¡°My first inclination was to paint the walls with her guts, as a lesson to my darling daughters on the importance of gratitude. But I remembered that I am singularly blessed by providence. If I am so unfortunate as to lose her, it is only because she will return with something of even greater value. And now this beautiful creature lies before me. Fur white as silk, and a body that is exquisitely¡­vulnerable. We will need to do something about those incisors, but that is a problem easily solved.¡± The bear looked to Anya, pinpoints of lamplight caught in the dark of her eyes. ¡°Mmmmphf.¡± Renee struggled, but the bear continued grooming the weasel¡¯s fur. ¡°You are the consort that recently arrived from Rus, correct? Let¡¯s see, that would make you Vadimivna Vasilyev. Are you Katerina? Ludmila? Anna? Ah, there we are, I can see it in your face. But I imagine you go by Anya. Well met, Anya Vadimivna Vasilyev. Am I correct?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t say yes! She¡­ack!¡± Renee spoke up, but could only get a few words out before the bear tightened her grip. A cold, suffocating sensation passed through Anya¡¯s mind, like she was being pushed into especially viscous mud. She found herself wanting to reply, wanting to go along with whatever the bear said. Careful. Deep breaths, and shake it off. ¡°Where are your manners, rabbit? Do I have the right name? A simple ¡®yes¡¯ would do.¡± The bear narrowed her eyes, muscles tensing and bulging under her well-combed fur. If she tries something, overload her neurons. ¡°SAY IT.¡± The bear tossed Renee away and leaped towards Anya, her maw twisting into a hideous snarl. Anya¡¯s hand found the dagger in an instant, gripping the naked blade with all the force she could muster. The bear¡¯s body twitched violently, and she collapsed just before Anya. ¡°What did you do, doxy!?¡± The bear tried to swipe at Anya, but her movements were slow and dull. Her eyes went to the blood-plume blooming from Anya¡¯s hand. ¡°Blood arts. I should have guessed. Does your demon hail from the lineage of Koshchei, or perhaps Myslata?¡± Anya felt the pushing-down sensation again, but this time it seemed to pass through her. The bear frowned in disappointment, and seemed to regain her composure. Hah. This leech is young, and knows nothing of the old names. ¡°All finished? Maybe we could get to, unf, business.¡± Renee peeled herself off the floor, clutching what looked like a broken arm. ¡°Business? Business? You wound me, dear. Perhaps I should pop off that cute little head of yours, and claw out the rot that has taken root.¡± ¡°Your movements are still dulled. Any closer, and my companion will stop your heart. For good, if needed.¡± The bear glared and shuffled away, taking a seat opposite the two of them. ¡°If I had not taken you, you would have become worm-food in a Parisi gutter, or worse. Unless you wish the same for every one of my daughters, I suggest you refrain from making threats. Tell me what you want.¡± ¡°There is a church of St. Artimus in Janusgate. I need directions.¡± ¡°The bug-buggerers? I know the way.¡± ¡°I have a hundred livres in my purse.¡± The bear brought a claw to her snout. ¡°Tempting, but surely you recall that the desperation of the buyer must always be taken into account. What am I to pry from your thieving hands? Ah, I know. You were once close to the mare called Turnip.¡± Renee bit her lip. ¡°She is docile, and has been ¡®Turnip¡¯ for long enough that the name gives me some hold on her. Yet my most dedicated clients require a finer touch, and a more precise means of control. Before you left us, she told you her real name, did she not? Answer me, Renee Vassier.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡± ¡°Lying ruins the mind, dear. Try again.¡± The bear slowly rose out of the water, until she towered over Renee and Anya. The rabbit felt her heart accelerate ¡°I have no time for those who cannot pay. The choice is yours, dear, and the clock is ticking.¡± ¡°Wait,¡± Anya interjected. She held up her knife, then set it on the edge of tub, within easy reach. ¡°The first letter of my draugr¡¯s name, as it is written in the ancient language of Sumer. In exchange for the directions.¡± ¡°Oh? And how do you plan to offer that? No draugr takes kindly to betrayal.¡± ¡°My draugr and I have a special relationship.¡± Keep your face neutral, and look her in the eye. Breathe in, breathe out. On the edge of her vision, Anya saw her knife vibrate of its own accord. Probably threatening to kill her if she went through with it. Just give me a second. I haven¡¯t forgotten what you taught me. The bear¡¯s face split into a tooth-filled smile. ¡°You would hardly be the first to think so, rabbit. All right, you have my attention. On my honor as Evangeline [X], a single letter for directions. Swear by your last name, at least, so I will know if you lie.¡± Anya traced her finger in the air, forming four lines intersecting at a central point. ¡°Four lines, thicker at one end if you¡¯re using a carving-tool. It¡¯s pronounced dingir, or something like that. As a Vasilyev, I speak the truth.¡± Another wave of grim coldness, and the bear nodded. ¡°Behind the tower, Renee. Red twice, then green, then blue. Look for the bee carved under the doorknob. Now, rabbit, why don¡¯t you pick up the knife. Let us see that special relationship in action.¡± Anya hesitated for a moment, imagining her body exploding in a fountain of blood. No, she knew what she was doing. She picked up the knife. Clever girl. ¡°¡­cheat. Cheat! You cheated, didn¡¯t you? I swear, I¡¯ll cut you both open and hang you by your-¡± Enkidu pushed the blood from the bear¡¯s brain, and she fell back with a tremendous thud. She would not wake up for a minute or so. Renee looked to the bear, then at Anya in amazement. ¡°How?¡± ¡°Dingir just tells you the letters that come after give the name of a draugr or a saint, not a mortal. It¡¯s not part of the sound.¡± ¡°If you say so. Anyways, time to scram?¡± ¡°Looks like it.¡± Chapter 4.3: Cult ¡°This is the church? It looks exactly like every other building we¡¯ve passed.¡± ¡°Everything in Janusgate needs to be easy to take down and reassemble, just in case it gets wrecked during one of the shifts. So you get wood, cheap nails, and not much thought to architectural merit. Here, come feel under the doorknob.¡± They stood on the outskirts of the central agglomeration of structures, on a walkway near the top layer. Beyond, the towers became loose and indistinct, like a stage backdrop drawn by a child. Just looking at them made Anya dizzy. She joined Renee before the plank-door. The frame was built into a squat, amorphous compound, its sole distinguishing feature a crude steeple. It was piled on top of several other structures, and while the walkway on which she stood was empty, Anya smelled boiling oil and heard the mirthful cries of a small gathering below. ¡°How do the congregants know where to find it?¡± ¡°Priest lives here, probably. Shifts mostly happen during dawn or dusk, so he just needs to be here then.¡± Renee tried the doorknob, and found the door bolted from the inside. ¡°Your arts can sense people, right? Anyone home?¡± Anya pricked her finger, and yelped in surprise as dozens of warm bodies bloomed into focus around her. Janusgate was dense, and people were stuffed like lemmings into the neighboring buildings. ¡°Yes. At least fifteen, but it¡¯s hard to count when there¡¯s so many. They seem to all be close together, not too far in front of us.¡± ¡°Alright. No busting through the front door.¡± Renee looked around, then stepped off the walkway and onto the mess of beams bracing the church against the adjacent building. She shimmied down them, stopping in front of a boarded-up window on the level below. From her purse, she procured a miniature hammer. ¡°Come on down. We¡¯ll get in here.¡± ¡°Um, Renee, if you fall-¡± Anya looked over the edge of the walkway, and an intense wave of nausea swept up to meet her. There was no stone below, only a hundred-foot drop into the slick-black ooze. ¡°I won¡¯t! And you won¡¯t either, if you step where I tell you. Put your hand on that beam first, make sure to really get your claws in, then step down.¡± Anya swallowed and let Renee guide her. By the time she reached the window, the weasel had already got it open. They swung into what appeared to be a storage room - several flimsy pews stacked in a corner, and a few cabinet-sized icons showing a dormouse woman surrounded by bees. There was a table with woodcarving tools next to them, and shavings littered the floor. From above, they heard a group of people milling about. Quietly opening the sole doorway, they found themselves in a narrow hallway. Beams had been crudely attached over several holes in the floor, and faint light streamed in from the structures below them. There were a few doors, one of which was chained with a heavy padlock. And from behind the locked door, a faint noise¡­ Bzzzz. Like a violin bowed with a rusty saw. Bylat. ¡°You hear that? Sounds like wasps.¡± Anya nodded. Her ears twitched uncontrollably. ¡°We check that one last.¡± Renee went to the door across the hall, and found it unlocked. A room holding a neatly stacked pile of wood planks, a box of nails, and a set of axes and hammers. Next to it, what appeared to be the priest¡¯s bedroom. A mattress sized for a large person, a drawer holding tattered robes, and a dust-free iconostasis. ¡°Got a note here, but it¡¯s not in Gaulish.¡± Renee held up a scrap of paper filled with neat Hellenic characters. Mirabel Blanchet - apostle candidate? Buy more bread next time. Ask Gabriel about herbs for pain? ¡°You can read it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s in the language of Hellas, south of Rus. Some of the liturgies of St. Georgei and St. Ascalon are written in it.¡± Anya explained the scant contents of the note. ¡°You know, when I¡¯m Miss Penrose, I¡¯ll have a drawing room full of books, and I¡¯ll spend all day learning things from them. Maybe I¡¯ll become half as clever as you.¡± ¡°I have no doubt you will surpass me.¡± ¡°Hah, think of that! And just a few years ago I was pilfering grammar-books to teach myself letters.¡± Anya smiled, and for a moment was able to forget the wasp-drone coming from the locked door. Then it was back, boring into her skull. One final room, holding only a toilet. A few dead flies were scattered around its base. Then they were back before the padlocked door. Renee removed a bundle of pine bark from her purse, lighting it to produce a plume of strong-smelling smoke. She slid it under the door on top of a thin glass plate, and started working a lockpick into the keyhole. ¡°The smoke¡¯s supposed to calm down the bees. Alain suggested it. Said he used to do it all the time when he was a farmboy.¡± ¡°Farmboy?¡± ¡°He never told you? He¡¯s from a smallholder family up in Albion. I don¡¯t know how he became a knight, but supposedly he¡¯s known Yvon for a long time. And known him, if you understand.¡± Renee twisted her pick, and the lock clicked open. She stood, taking a deep breath. Her tail flicked aimlessly. ¡°If you run out of blood for that knife of yours, feel free to start using mine.¡± Anya nodded, held the knife before her, and slowly pushed open the door. A corpse stared back at her, a wasp slowly crawling from one of its hollow eyes. Before she could scream, Renee¡¯s hand clamped firmly over her mouth. There were four corpses in total, although only one of them was remotely fresh. Two mustelids, a rodent, and a cat. They seemed to have been mummified, as patchy-furred skin was still stretched taut over their faces. Their abdomens had been cut open, and were filled with papery wasps¡¯ nests. On their forehead, each bore a holy symbol marked in yellow paint. In the center of the room, there was a tray with a few scraps of off-color meat. Mercifully, Renee¡¯s smoke hid much of the smell. ¡°St. Math preserve me, and keep me in thy heart,¡± Renee whispered. Anya breathed in, closed her eyes, breathed out, and opened them. It had always worked during the war. ¡°The wasps are just ordinary insects. No arts, as far as I can sense.¡± Renee¡¯s smoke seemed to have worked, as the wasps did not approach them. ¡°Ordinary insects that built their homes in someone¡¯s guts. Fuck, Anya, where are their legs?¡± Renee was right. All of the corpses were missing their hips and legs. Instead, sheets of strange, translucent material were crumpled around their lower torsos. ¡°By all the saints, what the fuck were the Blanchets doing here? They know better than to get involved with weird shit like this,¡± Renee said. She knelt next to the oldest corpse, and poked its sheets. They crumbled at her touch, revealing a hollow interior smeared with dried organic residue. ¡°They were cut open after they died, I think. It¡¯s hard to tell, but the wounds would look different otherwise.¡± Anya analyzed the corpses. The cuts were crude, probably with a saw to get through the ribs. The ends of the torsos were oddly flayed, dessicated flesh tearing into jagged strips. Not like any wounds Anya had seen. ¡°Could¡¯ve been poison. Miri told me followers of St. Artimus bury their dead, so whatever happened to these ones isn¡¯t normal.¡± Renee took a notebook from her purse and sketched the painted symbols. ¡°Nothing about this makes sense.¡± Anya tilted her head, trying to find some pattern in the broken bodies. She remembered the war, how she learned to recognize the mutilations inflicted by each type of Gaulish arts. Blackened skin caused by ice, branching burns caused by lightning. But the unions of corpse and insect before her felt far more wrong. ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t. So we keep moving, and don¡¯t let it get to us.¡± Renee pulled Anya from the room, relocking the door. Footsteps on the staircase, and a surprised voice. ¡°Hey! What¡¯re you doing down here? You wander off?¡± Anya¡¯s tail flagged, but Renee was already moving, dropping her tools into her purse and hiding the rabbit¡¯s surprise from the deer on the stairway. He was an adolescent, his ears still too large for his muzzle, and wore patched-up rags. ¡°Oh, sorry! First time here, just trying to find a place where my companion may relieve herself. We¡¯re from Rue de la Cochonne. The Blanchets introduced us to Father Levidis a few weeks ago.¡± Renee spoke smoothly, switching to the rough accent of the slums. ¡°Blanchets? Heard one of ¡®em tried to sell us out to some highborn wolf. Nearly got the Father killed.¡± ¡°Let me guess, Annette?¡± Renee shrugged. ¡°Born too crafty for her own good.¡± ¡°Hah, sounds like you would know. Oh, um, washroom is the door on the right. But be quick, we¡¯re doing communion soon.¡± The deer went back up the stairs, and Renee exhaled. She waited a minute, and they went upstairs They emerged in a small hall, its back wall dominated by a crude iconostasis cobbled from several smaller icons. A large group of people of all species crowded around something at the end of the hall. Renee led Anya to a pew in the back. ¡°Brothers and sisters, please take your seats.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. From a door to one side of the iconostasis, a long-horned black bull emerged. He held up a hand, and the people filed into the pews. They had been standing around a circular tub constructed in the floor, lined with sheets of metal and filled with shallow water. There was a person lying in it, but- Anya gasped. The person was a young squirrel woman, but from her white dress emerged a bloated insectoid abdomen, so large she had to curl to fit in the tub. Her legs were pushed aside at an unnatural angle, as though her pelvis was broken. She bore a serene expression, and Anya noticed dozens of holes on the abdomen opened and closed in time with her breathing. Through the semi-translucent exoskeleton, she could see blood-red organs pulse and throb. Renee squeezed Anya¡¯s hand, and Anya saw the weasel had gone pale in the face. Well. Our journey to Parisi continues to prove endlessly surprising. ¡°Tell me what the loshad mochi I¡¯m looking at.¡± No less than St. Artimus of Ephesus in the flesh. Not her flesh, of course, but she seems to have taken to it nicely. ¡°Saints aren¡¯t like draugr. They can¡¯t manifest through people.¡± A bud cannot bear fruit, but a flower may. ¡°We don¡¯t have time for riddles.¡± Shame. I have already divulged more than I am technically permitted. ¡°Overlay with her, then. Let me see.¡± Anya shifted the knife into her grip. Enkidu did as she instructed, stretching his incorporeal form to caress the squirrel. She frowned for a moment, as if feeling a chilly gust, but quickly returned to her peaceful visage. ¡°Is she¡­one creature?¡± Renee whispered. ¡°In a way. By the saints, it¡¯s like someone took two creatures and wove their flesh together.¡± The woman¡¯s upper body was normal, although her heart and lungs were greatly engorged. Anya quickly found why - the woman¡¯s blood vessels emptied into a great pool of mixed fluid in her abdomen, and her heart struggled to maintain enough pressure for circulation. Where the two halves met, the body was an impossible jumble, mammalian tissues and strange organs commingling in a delicate braid. Throughout it all, a sense of peaceful, nurturing light suffused her body. And something else, something that stank like graveyard soil. ¡°She¡¯s in pain. Her heart isn¡¯t big enough for her body, and it¡¯s nearly worn out. Someone used death-arts on her, but it just masked the problem.¡± Focusing on the heart, Anya could feel it - little flickers of agony, like ice pressed against her mind. The priest was reading from a holy scroll, something about a promised saint-field of olives and honey. Near the front, a mother hushed a crying infant. ¡°Um, fuck.¡± Renee shook her head, thinking for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m going to try to get inside that door the priest came from. No one in there, right?¡± ¡°No. We can see everyone in the building.¡± ¡°Great. Sit tight.¡± Renee rose, and began sulking around the outer wall of the room. When the priest finished his sermon and the congregants closed their eyes in prayer, Renee broke for the door, disappearing from view. ¡°Alright, alright. Enough of my rambling.¡± The priest¡¯s low voice reverberated through the chapel. ¡°St. Artimus has bestowed her blessing upon us, and we welcome it with open arms. Young ¡®uns and mothers first, then the rest of you. Lucie, are you ready? Lucie?¡± He knelt next to the squirrel, and her head rolled over to meet his eyes. ¡°So soon, Father? ¡®Tis hardly been a day since the last time.¡± There was a haunting vacuity to her words. ¡°It has been a week, Lucie, and I see you are stretched taut.¡± ¡°Oh. Of course it has been a week. We are ready, then.¡± The congregants swarmed forward, forming a loose line. The deer was first, pushing aside a young magpie. He whispered a prayer and knelt before the squirrel, taking the base of her heavy abdomen in his hands. She closed her eyes, and a squirming contraction ran down her abdomen. There was a spurt of sticky slime, and an egg emerged into his waiting palms. He broke its membranous surface with his thumbs and poured the contents into his mouth. Milky yolk surrounding a plump grub. The priest anointed his forehead with orange powder. I suppose we know why the Blanchets weren¡¯t going hungry. ¡°Enjoying the show?¡± Something buzzed on the back of her head, and she felt cold steel slide against her neck. ¡°No screaming, no moves, got it? Or my little friends pump you full of venom and I leave you with one less head.¡± The voice was hoarse. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus. ¡°I¡¯ll burst your heart.¡± ¡°Do me a favor and try, sweetheart.¡± She cast her mind behind her, expecting to find pliable meat. But there was nothing there. At least, nothing her arts could sense. ¡°Not working, is it? Listen, Gardener wants you alive for some saints-forsaken reason, so you¡¯re be a good girl and drop that knife.¡± Anya¡¯s breaths shortened. She could feel the wasp on her head moving, searching for a thin patch of fur. ¡°Now.¡± The knife pressed harder. Her arts-sense leaped forward, finding a single point of life behind the iconostasis. Squeezed the muscles in Renee¡¯s hand once, twice, thrice. Come on, weasel. She let go of the knife. Before her, the communion continued to progress, and the congregants did not even glance at her. ¡°Who¡¯s Gardener?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know, don¡¯t care. But he¡¯s gonna get these bloody marks off me.¡± Her assailant picked up her knife. ¡°Did you kill Mirabel?¡± ¡°See the bull up there? Once the squirrel croaked, he was gonna have your rat buddy replace her. I just moved up the schedule.¡± ¡°May your soul sink to the bottom of Nowhere, and rot there for a thousand years.¡± ¡°Already got a one-way ticket. But Gardener¡¯s gonna take care of that. Yeah, just a little longer, and Gardener¡¯s gonna fix me right up. Now move it. End of the bench, out the doorway.¡± Anya slowly rose, and began to walk to the front door. She heard a faint sound of wood splintering. Run away. Run away, and don¡¯t look back. ¡°Nice, nice. Easy does it.¡± Crack. A section of the roof burst open, and Renee leaped down. Her claws gored into the assailant¡¯s back, while her long, flexible neck snapped forward, driving her canines into his throat. A crunch, as the force of her landing snapped his neck. He fell to the floor, black gunk leaking from his wounds. The wasp on Anya¡¯s head fell off. ¡°Renee-¡± ¡°Hunter! Hunter! By the saints, she killed him!!¡± The young deer screamed, and Anya found the full gaze of the room upon her. ¡°Stay back. Thih man is a wicked mahus.¡± Renee stood, a piece of the assailant¡¯s neck caught in her mouth. Anya saw that he was a marmot in a heavy cloak, with the start of honeycomb on his neck. His hands were necrotic, covered in strange writing. She snatched her knife from his palm. ¡°Hey, isn¡¯t she that girl who was already around that back-stabbing rat? Mirabel, wasn¡¯t it?¡± A sparrow spoke up. Some of the larger congregants shifted to the front of the group. ¡°Alright, time to go. Hold on tight.¡± Renee bit off one of the marmot¡¯s hands, chucked it into her purse, and wrapped her arms around Anya¡¯s torso. ¡°What are we-ahhhh!¡± The weasel charged forwards. They crashed through the flimsy wall of the church, and then Anya¡¯s stomach was thrust into her throat as they fell through a cat¡¯s cradle of beams. They struck a sturdy roof two stories down, tumbling over one another as Renee¡¯s claws scrambled for purchase. Anya felt her femur crack. Just before they careened over the roof, Renee pulled them to a halt. ¡°You ok?¡± Renee brushed sawdust off her dress. ¡°Yearghh.¡± Anya whimpered. ¡°Need to¡­¡± She tried to raise her knife, but the blinding pain refused to fade. ¡°By the saints, your leg.¡± ¡°Can fix it. Just need blood. Wait, no, what are you-¡± Renee lifted the hand that held the knife, then winced as she drew it across her arm. The blood evaporated, and Anya reformed her bone as quickly as she could. When she could stand, Renee pulled her further onwards, leaping onto a ladder and sliding down to a walkway just ten feet above the black lake at Janusgate¡¯s base. ¡°You should have gone. Back to Yvon, away from all this.¡± ¡°Do you have hay for brains? Already got one dead friend, don¡¯t need another.¡± Renee put her hands on Anya¡¯s shoulders and shook her. ¡°Besides, we¡¯re both in one piece, aren¡¯t we?¡± ¡°Renee,¡± Anya wrung her ears. ¡°I¡¯d like to go back. There¡¯s something I need to do.¡± Renee frowned. ¡°You think you can fix whatever¡¯s wrong with that squirrel.¡± ¡°¡­yes. Otherwise, I don¡¯t think she¡¯ll last long.¡± ¡°Anya, you¡¯ve got a sweet little soul, and one day it¡¯s going to get you dead in a ditch.¡± ¡°Then-¡± ¡°Not today, though. We lie low for a few hours, then circle back. I know a few taverns that might still be around.¡± ¡°Thank you. By the way, um, when you killed the marmot. You looked like you knew what you were doing.¡± They began to walk together. Out of the corner of her eye, Anya saw something long and sinuous slip through the water below them. ¡°Yeah. Mother taught me, and it always came naturally. Get on their back, use your momentum to knock them off balance, get your teeth around their spine, and rip. Only my second time killing for real, though.¡± ¡°Renee, when I tried to use my arts on that marmot, I couldn¡¯t sense him at all.¡± ¡°Meaning?¡± ¡°Like he wasn¡¯t alive at all.¡± ¡°Well, guess I still only got one corpse to my name. I hope St. Math doesn¡¯t hold it against me.¡± ¡°Who was the first?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡± Dawn was coming to Janusgate, and they stepped through what few rays of sunlight filtered through the edifice above them. ¡ª ¡°Ah!¡± The squirrel¡¯s eyelids flicked open, the eyes beneath already locked onto Anya¡¯s face. She was pretty, despite the years of exhaustion stamped onto her face - sunset-red fur, long tufted ears, rich brown eyes flecked with unnatural gold. Her abdomen was substantially slimmer than it had been before the communion. ¡°You are not Father Levidis.¡± The same serene, hollow voice as before. ¡°No. You can call me Anna, or Anya, if you¡¯d like.¡± Anya glanced around the empty church. Renee stood watch at the doorway. ¡°You are tired. Should I lay for you? Already they cry out within me. Wishing for union.¡± Close to death, an animal may divert all bodily resources to a final burst of reproduction. ¡°You¡¯re hurt. Your heart and lungs are nearly at the point of collapse.¡± ¡°They are. But I feel no pain. I am cradled in light.¡± The squirrel brought her hands to her abdomen, caressing it as one might a baby. ¡°I think I can fix it for you.¡± ¡°Then I would not leave Father Levidis so soon. You may.¡± The squirrel removed her dress without shame. The abdomen began just below her belly button, and the skin where the two halves met was furless and inflamed. It bore a single grey hand-mark. ¡°The man who made that mark refused communion. I was saddened.¡± Anya got on her knees next to the squirrel. She could see the eggs filling the squirrel¡¯s abdomen, and the shifting grubs within. ¡°What is your name?¡± ¡°Artimus. I had another, once. It was not important, so I forgot.¡± ¡°Artimus, I¡¯m going to expand your ribcage, and then grow your heart and lungs. It shouldn¡¯t hurt, but it might feel strange.¡± Artimus looked to the air just behind Anya. ¡°Will that beast help? It does not seem kind.¡± ¡°I keep him on a short leash.¡± This would take a fair amount of blood. She pulled up her dress and stabbed the knife into her calf. This is a terrible idea. That thing is a freak, an aberration. Just looking at it from this close is making my eyes hurt. ¡°You don¡¯t have eyes. Not real ones, anyways,¡± Anya whispered. Sometimes I need to phrase things in ways your puny mortal brain can comprehend. ¡°The offering is made. Take it, and fulfill the duty to which you are bound.¡± The blood evaporated, and Enkidu overlayed with the squirrel. She shivered, clutching her arms to her sides, but said nothing. Yikes. Even in the few hours Anya had been away, the squirrel¡¯s condition had noticeably worsened. She would need to work quickly. So much of how she¡¯s put together is wrong, slapdash. There shouldn¡¯t be a major artery there, it doesn¡¯t make any sense. But I¡¯m quick, and clever, and if we move things like that¡­pizdets, no, we¡¯re losing blood pressure¡­there, that¡¯s stable. By St. Georgei, how did any of these creations last more than a day? Slowly, Anya performed her task. She kept hoping she would fall into a comfortable rhythm, enjoy the power weaving around her fingertips, but she felt only creeping dread. She could sense that there was even more wrong beneath the squirrel¡¯s torso, where her ovaries and uterus had been multiplied into a snarl of egg-bloated ducts, but she dared not touch the insectoid parts of the squirrel¡¯s anatomy. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m going to enlarge your heart now,¡± Anya said. ¡°Flesh, progress beyond your limits, and perfect thy form.¡± Artimus¡¯ upper torso swelled, and her heartbeats became slower, more powerful. She exhaled, and smiled. Several of her teeth were missing. ¡°It feels better. I can see the light in your heart.¡± ¡°Good. Just a little cleanup, and¡­there.¡± ¡°All finished?¡± A voice boomed, and Anya leapt, twisting in the air to see the bull priest standing on the staircase to the basement. She had become so engrossed that she had not noticed his approach. ¡°Stay away from her!¡± Renee dropped to a four-limbed stance, ready to spring forward. ¡°Hide those claws. I have no intent to harm you.¡± The bull sat on the wood floor. He was tall, at least a foot taller than Yvon, but his face and neck were gaunt. ¡°Did you transform her?¡± Anya asked. ¡°I opened the way for St. Artimus. I could never do it as well as my Father, but I must try, over and over. Eloise, the squirrel, she volunteered. Wanted her sister¡¯s kits to have food.¡± The bull spoke slowly, with a thick accent. ¡°We saw the room in the basement,¡± Renee interjected. The bull raised his hands. ¡°Kill me if you like. You are certainly capable of it. Let the saint decide if I am worthy of her mercy.¡± ¡°Who was the marmot?¡± Renee asked. ¡°A chimera. Not unlike Eloise, I think. I do not know how he found us. He was lost, hurting. He offered to take away Eloise¡¯s pain. Fix my failures. I knew he could not be honest. But I acquiesced.¡± ¡°Fine. Anya, are you done?¡± Renee stood up. ¡°Yes. I did what I could, but I¡­can¡¯t predict how much longer her body will hold. Goodbye, Artimus.¡± Anya curtseyed. ¡°So soon? Goodbye, rabbit.¡± The squirrel raised a hand and slowly waved. Renee faced the priest. Anya saw that the weasel¡¯s hands were clenched. ¡°You made a mistake, and Mirabel is dead, her soul forever lost to her kin. But wallowing in grief will get you nowhere. Stand up. You owe that much to the living.¡± Renee took Anya¡¯s hand and led her out, into the bright-orange glare of the Janusgate sun. Chapter 5.1: Institute ¡°What is a draugr? Our own powers of observation are limited, and the demons themselves refuse to tell us. However, we may make certain deductions.¡± Jean paced back and forth across the narrow space at the front of the sun-speckled lecture hall, as if sniffing out a particularly devious prey. His sword hung at his waist. The ram Raphael stood behind him, having arranged a number of curios on a long table. Anya sat in the back row, in front of perhaps a hundred bored-looking students. Mostly hunters, although a small clique of grass-eaters had occupied one corner. ¡°Raphy, show them the bones.¡± The ram nodded and held up a fossilized skeleton, held together with metal wires. It looked like a horse, but it was far too small, and its spine was horizontal, as if it suffered from a terrible deformity. ¡°Fossils. You know them, do you not? Bones of strange creatures, bones our earth-magi say taste as old as any common rock. We believe they represent primitive forms of the species extant in the present age. The draugr, next.¡± Raphael pointed to a bear skeleton articulated in the corner of the room. Anya shivered as she saw its skull was horribly distorted: eyes, ears, and nostrils all replaced with miniature jaws, and its true mouth crammed with several rows of teeth. Even its ribs had begun to reform into a vertical maw. A manifested draugr. ¡°While antiquarians frequently find skeletons of manifested draugr near the remains of ancient settlements, often in what appear to be holy sites, we have never once found a fossilized draugr. On the other hand, Raphy holds an illustration of cave paintings discovered in southwest Gaul. Note the clear depiction of large draugr, with marks symbolizing wounds. Even in the most primitive societies, we knew and fought draugr. The implication is clear. Draugr came into being with the advent of intelligent life.¡± Someone in the audience yawned. ¡°Now, the first written records of draugr are found in the verses of ancient Sumeru, where the saint-king Gilgamesh slays the Bull of Heaven, a fearsome draugr. From the way Akkadian and Sumerian texts conceptualize the Bull, we may glean some insight into how early people dealt with the problem of conceptualizing these supernatural beings. The Akkadian word for Draugr, ¡®udug¡¯, has several plausible etymologies¡­¡± Jean continued to lecture while pacing, keeping one finger trailing along the edge of the table. Ah, Gilgamesh, or Bilgames, as you called yourself. Between mirrored stars we danced, in the slow waters of Buranun. Never again. ¡°Salutations, Miss Vasilyev. I did not expect to find you here, yet I am gladdened for it.¡± Anya nearly leaped from her chair. Next to her was the old wolf from her first night in Gaul - Duke Hugh Artois. He pushed his wheelchair next to her, and adjusted the scarf tied around his head. ¡°Um, good morning, Lord Artois.¡± His eyes flicked over the array of props Jean had brought. He, at least, seemed interested. ¡°Just Hugh, if you would. St. Gwyn knows I am far too old to bother with formality. Is Lord Clary treating you well?¡± ¡°Yes, although I see him little. I am even permitted to practice my arts.¡± ¡°Good, good. He would not bind the hands of a painter, and neither should he forbid you your arts. So, do you find the lecture engaging? As an accomplished magus, you must surely have an opinion on the nature of draugr.¡± ¡°Not particularly. I have been granted this power, and I will use it to accomplish what meager good I can. No need to overcomplicate things.¡± ¡°You have an unblemished heart. A rarity in youth.¡± Hugh chuckled. ¡°The others are simply bored. They came expecting Mr. Clary to give a lecture of military applications of modern scientific arts theory, and are instead subjected to a rambling exposition on ancient history.¡± ¡°Military applications?¡± ¡°Mr. Clary recently participated in a groundbreaking study on the quality of light. I understand his arts allow him to taste it, for lack of a better word, and his research partners determined that there exists a form of light that our eyes are entirely unable to perceive. It is a wicked energy, capable in sufficient intensity of rapidly poisoning the body. Even minor exposure can lead to debilitating cancers. Properly harnessed, our armies would march across the continent unopposed.¡± ¡°Poisonous light? The very idea is perverse.¡± ¡°No worse than blood arts, I should think. In any case, with Mr. Clary the only person in recorded history to possess solar arts outside the Gaulish royal line, the idea cannot be deployed at any effective scale.¡± ¡°He got the king¡¯s arts? Lucky wolf.¡± ¡°He would not think so. The generals see him as little more than a foul-mouthed attack cur, and keep him occupied on the front lines. A few months of good service, and he is given a brief respite to come home and play at academics.¡± ¡°What do you think? About his lecture.¡± ¡°He has passion, certainly.¡± Hugh waved a bony hand at the audience. ¡°Look at them. Most of them will become officers upon graduation, and rain war-arts upon our enemies. Their heads are filled with drills, tactics, battle-plans, patriotic flimflam. They are fundamentally incurious about the nature of the power they wield. King Henri meant for the Institute to push beyond our limits, yet it has become just another tool of empire. If this is modernity, it is a dead-end road.¡± Hugh tilted his head back, as searching for a long-occluded light. ¡°Ah, but you should not burden yourself with such gloomy thoughts. What brings you to the institute?¡± Anya removed a sheet of paper from her dress, where Yvon had copied the runes on the hand of the dead marmot-magus. She explained its origin to Hugh, along with a recounting of the investigation¡¯s progress. ¡°Aye, Mr. Clary might recognize them. If it was one of the futharks, I could read it myself, but this appears more akin to the Eastern scripts. Good on you for acquiring it.¡± ¡°I had quite a bit of help.¡± ¡°Modesty suits you well, but I assure you my praise is not granted without reason. If your talent is clear to me, then it is surely clear to Lord Clary as well. Oh, before I depart, if you wish to use the library, you are free to mention my name.¡± The old wolf said his goodbyes and wheeled out of the hall. At its front, Jean had progressed to a jumbled exposition of St. Plato¡¯s theory of draugr as conscious forms. The rest of the lecture passed without much note. At its end, Anya slipped past exiting students to the front of the hall. Alright. Time to tangle with the beast. ¡°Mr. Clary. If you would, a moment of your time.¡± The wolf¡¯s many-eyed veil trembled as he sniffed the air. He shifted, angling his long neck so that his snout was just above her head. ¡°Miss Anna Vasilyev,¡± Raphael interjected, regarding her as one might a particularly bedraggled cockroach. ¡°Your brother¡¯s foreign pornai.¡± ¡°I know her, Raphy. The stench of blood is hard to miss. But what could the little rabbit want?¡± He brought a hand to her cheek, and she forced herself to not flinch away. ¡°I need to translate this.¡± She held up the illustration to Raphael. ¡°This is to do with the assassination? I was given to understand that my eminently capable brother had the situation sorted.¡± Jean replied. ¡°Wait. It appears as some form of hieroglyphics,¡± Raphael said. ¡°Where did you find this?¡± ¡°On the hand of the magus that tried to assassinate Sofia.¡± ¡°Hieroglyphic runes on a living magus? Give me that.¡± Jean¡¯s claws swiped at her. Anya pressed the paper behind her back and made her lips smile. ¡°Once I know what it says, I would be happy to leave it with you. Besides, Yvon already went through all his books, but he couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of it. He was sure you would know.¡± The wolf¡¯s ears twitched. ¡°Jean, she is clearly playing on your-¡± Raphael interjected. ¡°I suppose I could take a look. Come, we¡¯ll set up in the grand archives.¡± Raphael shook his head, but took the wolf¡¯s hand and led him to the exit. They set off along the high halls of the Institute¡¯s outer cloister. At a corner, Jean took the opportunity to fall just behind her, lowering to sniff her rear. ¡°Need something?¡± ¡°Just tasting for my brother¡¯s scent. He is a thorough man, and surely by now he has plugged every hole of you.¡± There was a bitter edge to his words, and Anya resisted the urge to bolt for the nearest doorway. ¡°Why, you want to have a go? Our children could have some fascinating arts.¡± Jean seemed caught off guard, and did not respond. ¡°Pathetic creature,¡± Raphael interjected, nearly stabbing one of her feet with his hooves. ¡°Do you abase yourself before Lord Clary in this manner as well?¡± ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± ¡°Why should the hunters change their ways, when grass-eaters such as you willfully submit to be their playthings? When you sunk your teeth into my master, I thought you possessed a shred of pride, but it seems I was mistaken.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°And you are blameless in this regard?¡± She looked at him and Jean. ¡°At least I do not spread my legs.¡± ¡°So the difference lies in my sex? We all have unwilling burdens placed upon us, and I would certainly not choose a relationship with such an arrogant man. How I manage mine is none of your concern.¡± ¡°You do not know the half of it,¡± Jean grumbled. ¡°He would have nothing to do with his monster of a twin, except to prostitute me out to the army. At what few events to which I am invited, he will reserve but a sentence to me, and ensure the other guests know I may be treated as a circus freak. Even my meager stake in the Clary business lies within his trust.¡± ¡°I am perfectly willing to take your word.¡± Anya thought of the balls she had attended in Rus, and the whispers that inevitably snapped at her heels. Bloodstained doe. Draugr¡¯s harlot. That one will never be wed, for what man would trust her to bear his kits. They came to the grand archives, and Anya gasped. A dome painted with stars was suspended far above them, and several tiers of bookshelves were situated around a central void holding an immense oak-tree. Windows just beneath the dome filled the space with light, and the tree¡¯s leaves diffused an ever-evolving glow throughout the space. She spotted Hugh at the tree¡¯s base, chatting with an old osprey with a satchel of books over her wing. Catching Anya¡¯s gaze, he politely tipped his head. Ascending, they found an unoccupied table - Anya noticed that Jean¡¯s steps were lighter, and that his slouch was much reduced. Even the ram¡¯s sneer was somewhat reduced. Raphael disappeared for a few minutes, and returned with a stack of books and a tray with a block of clay and a stylus. He took the paper from her, and carefully copied the strokes of the markings onto the clay. When he was done, he cradled Jean¡¯s hand in his own, and brought the wolf¡¯s finger to the clay. They paused for a few seconds before Jean began to read, the ram¡¯s horns brushing against Jean¡¯s fur. ¡°It is hieratic, a script used in ancient Egypt,¡± Jean pronounced. ¡°When draugr stalked the lands and god-kings warred with them, and speech still held traces of the formless root-language of arts. The language is probably Middle Egyptian.¡± ¡°Probably? Can¡¯t you read it?¡± Jean turned his head. For a moment, he seemed an embarrassed child. ¡°¡­You can¡¯t.¡± ¡°A quarter of the letters are nonsense,¡± He pointed to a couple patches of particularly dense marks. ¡°But you could start with the rest, surely.¡± ¡°Rabbit, we are attempting to hold a technical discussion. If it exceeds the limits of your intelligence, I suggest you let us work in peace.¡± Raphael handed Jean a worn book, and they settled into a rhythm of comparing symbols. Anya sat silently for a few minutes, but a stream of withering glares from the ram eventually prompted her to take a seat just out of sight, in a reading chair facing the central tree. She busied herself watching squirrel-librarians race up and down the central tree, bags full of books harnessed to their shoulders. Raphael emerged about an hour later. ¡°We¡¯ve done what we could. It is some kind of invocation, but we cannot translate enough to gain a complete understanding. It is an interesting source, but I would say you have wasted more than enough of our time.¡± A crushing feeling in her heart. ¡°No. Let me see it again.¡± ¡°There is nothing-¡± Anya stepped past Raphael, returning to the table. She took back the paper and stared at the letters, trying to wring some sense out of the dense web of squiggles. Renee had risked so much, too much for Anya to let everything fall apart here. ¡°At the dense patches¡­it kind of looks like there are two layers, right? Some of the lines are a little thinner.¡± ¡°Really? Let me see.¡± Raphael snatched away the paper, and held it to the light. He squinted, tapping his left hoof against the wood floor. ¡°¡­Agh, saints be damned, the rabbit is right! It¡¯s futhark on top of hieratic. Jean, feel this.¡± The ram smoothed out the clay and hastily redid the marks in two separated sections. Another period of translation, although now they were too engrossed to shoo Anya away. ¡°The hieratic is a fairly standard arts-hymn, I think, although I don¡¯t recognize a few of the details,¡± Jean said at last. ¡°The additions seem to be corrections in Gothic, although I can¡¯t guess why they¡¯re in an entirely different language.¡± ¡°Futhark is the standard script for arts-runes in Gaul, right? Maybe someone got a copy of the hiero¡­hieratic and wanted to modify it, but didn¡¯t know enough Egyptian to write something new. So they used futhark instead.¡± ¡°The rabbit¡¯s theory is reasonable,¡± Raphael replied. ¡°What do you think, Jean? Perhaps we should keep her.¡± ¡°Too forward for my taste. Raphy, would you be a dear and ask the head librarian if she¡¯s seen any other examples of hieratic and futhark used in tandem?¡± Jean found Raphael¡¯s arm, and ran a light finger along its length - outside of the public setting of the lecture hall, they seemed far more familial. The ram left, and returned around half an hour later with a wooden box, a fresh-looking informational card attached to its top. He opened it to reveal a heavy stack of loose papers. ¡°One hit. We got lucky, too. Thirty years languishing in storage, and someone finally gets around to cataloguing it this year. There¡¯s a lot of it, though.¡± ¡°Can I help? Looks like it¡¯s mostly in Gaulish.¡± Raphael looked between her and the massive quantity of paper before him. He thumped half in front of her. ¡°Fine. Get reading.¡± They began the examination, pausing every so often so that Raphael could read a relevant passage to Jean. When minutes stretched into hours and the archives grew dark, he unsheathed his sword and summoned globes of crystalline light above them, setting them whirling in a planetoid configuration. The papers appeared to be a research report produced by a ¡®Father Ollivier¡¯ of the Reliquary of St. Brigid,on order of the Directory of Military Arts. The practice of increasing arts-resonance in magi through hieratic arts-invocations is well-established among the draugr-cults of the Near East, though it is little-known beyond them. Thanks to the assistance of a certain Gardener, I am fortunate to have obtained ample records. However, if we believe the hypothesis presented by Pellisier that the distinction between magi and non-magi is one of degree and not of kind, then it may be possible to induce arts-aptitude in non-magi. As Rus mass-produces infantry through its use of blood-children, we would be able to mass-produce magi¡­ Another page, holding a long list of names. Jacques Fichot. Age 14. Invoked a simple irrlicht. Subject burst into flames upon completion of marks. One assistant was seriously injured. Lisette Renaud. Age 19. Invoked an ondine. Subject appeared stable and could perform simple water-arts, but rapidly deteriorated after five days into a fish-like creature. Sacrificed and sent to the Institute for dissection. She ran through the list. Of the invocations that had some non-negligible effect, there were no survivors. ¡°Another failed experiment, outsourced to a crooked priest. The Directory ordered it shut down here.¡± Raphael said at last, slid a letter across the table. ¡°But the man I met was alive, and his arts were perfectly functional.¡± ¡°This is just one experiment. Maybe the Directory found more success on a subsequent iteration.¡± ¡°Or Father Ollivier hid his success.¡± Jean said. ¡°We have a place and a name. Seems enough for one day.¡± ¡°She has a place and a name,¡± Raphael replied. ¡°No doubt she means to run back to her master¡¯s shadow and tell him everything she pried for us.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± The realization dawned, and the wolf¡¯s ears swiveled back in shame. ¡°Fuck. The rabbit played me like a fiddle, didn¡¯t she?¡± ¡°As I attempted to point out. A single woman deigns to speak to you, and you fold like wet paper.¡± ¡°Look, this isn¡¯t about your brother, or Sofia.¡± Maybe it was a little about Sofia. ¡°Someone died in front of me. A woman with a rotted-out mind and a body full of wasps. I couldn¡¯t do a single saints-damned thing to save her, even with all my arts, and I still think I hear buzzing every time I try to fall asleep.¡± ¡°You assuage your guilty conscience, while you catch his killers for him.¡± Jean pinched his fingers, extinguishing the hovering lights. ¡°I find you passing tolerable, so I will offer you a word of advice: whatever purpose you set for yourself and your arts, he and his devil of a wife will bend to suit his own ends. Until you break, if necessary.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Anya rose to go. ¡°Um, thank you. To you both. And Jean, your arts are lovely.¡± Raphael refused to meet her eye. ¡°A moment,¡± Jean said. ¡°Raphy, the moon is nearly full tonight, and the sky is clear, correct?¡± ¡°Yes, but-¡± ¡°Rabbit. I would properly demonstrate the solar arts.¡± ¡°I would rather not be out any later.¡± Yvon¡¯s ears tucked back, as if she had admonished him. Get away, Anya. Nothing good will come from fraternizing with this hollow of a man. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m sure I can spare a little time. They¡¯re the old royal arts, right?¡± Raphael shook his head. ¡°The cur wishes to show his favorite tricks. You will be here all night if you let him have his way.¡± She followed them up to the highest floor of the library, and then through a small hatch into the interior of the dome. ¡°Raphael, right? What¡¯s your deal?¡± Anya asked. ¡°Fourth son of a glassmaker who does business with the Clarys. Superfluous from the moment I was born.¡± The ram did not seem to wish to discuss the matter further. A few ladders, and they emerged onto a small platform at the dome¡¯s apex, the thousand lamps of nighttime Parisi glowing bright from the tangle of streets that spread below them. It was a cold, clear night, and the moon cast a silvery glow to her fur. Jean drew his sword, its mirror-bronze surface reflecting the azure sky. ¡°The earliest known records of solar arts are from the Fifth Dynasty of Egypt, when the pharaohs took the title of Lord of Two Horizons. Supposedly, they could pull the very sun from the heavens, and blanket the land in its cleansing fire.¡± ¡°Can you do that?¡± Anya sat on the edge of the platform, letting the wind lift up her ears. ¡°No. Magi were far stronger in that time, when men were few and the night hung heavy on the land.¡± Jean steadied his breathing, then performed a complex motion with his hands, as if catching threads on a spindle. The moonlight around him seemed to twist, and then a luminous white line was wound around his fingers. He split the line into a rainbow of colors, using them to form a cat¡¯s cradle. A low chant, and the cradle seemed to harden and intensify. He set it spinning and threw it into the air, where it slowly expanded into a shimmering vortex of color. ¡°Three, two, one. Burst.¡± Jean snapped his fingers, causing the cradle to erupt in a dazzling splay of luminous threads. They immediately began to coalesce around each other, forming an ever-shifting tapestry of whirls and eddies that seemed to fill the entire sky. Anya recalled a dream she had long ago, of being cradled in St. Georgei¡¯s divine radiance. ¡°What do you think?¡± Jean asked. The wind whipped through his veil, almost letting her see what was beneath. ¡°It¡¯s¡­art, or something. Yvon would know the right words.¡± ¡°If it is Jean¡¯s brother talking, I imagine ¡®masturbatory excess¡¯ would be among them,¡± Raphael interjected. ¡°The rabbit wants more than pretty lights? Raphy, let¡¯s show her the hammer of heaven.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t say that at all!¡± The two were no longer listening. Raphael stood just behind Jean, resting his head on the taller wolf¡¯s shoulder. He took Jean¡¯s sword-arm in both his hands, and began to aim the blade. ¡°How about the lake in the Hunting Wood? Stand up straight. Down, then just a little left. There. Send out a trace-beam.¡± Jean¡¯s arm went still, and the air around them seemed to darken as silver luminescence concentrated in the sword. A faint line appeared at its tip, its end marked by a bright shimmer on the surface of a lake in a forest-park, perhaps a mile out. ¡°You are on target. Release when ready. Rabbit, get in front of us, and do not look at the sword.¡± Anya did as she was told, just in time to feel an immense burst of light behind her. The line from the sword went bright for a moment, and then the air around the lake began to distort. ¡°The heavens heed my will, their judgment swift and final.¡± Jean snapped his fingers. A pillar of white light descended from the sky, for an instant rendering the horizon as bright as day. The water it struck boiled on impact, sending a vast fountain-plume upwards in a roiling burst. It stayed for a second, enough to generate cloud-rings of superheated air in the sky, then dissipated into nothingness. Crack. A faint whip-like sound reached her ears. Behind her, Jean stood straight with his sword lowered, his fur billowing in the wind. ¡°You should see it in the day, with true sunlight. He could evaporate that lake entirely, or turn a stone wall to slag,¡± Raphael said. Anya thought she caught pride in the ram¡¯s voice. ¡°Or reduce a company of proud Rusyn soldiers to ash. Again and again, until my will is spent,¡± Jean replied glumly. He sheathed his sword, taking a seat next to her. ¡°How long did it take to learn to do that?¡± She asked. ¡°Years. I had a good tutor - Duke Hugh Artois. Not a magus himself, but he knew the old King Henri and understood his arts.¡± ¡°You weave your arts with conviction. I can feel it, I guess, in the way the light moves.¡± ¡°Hrgn.¡± Jean tilted his head away. ¡°If the army no longer needed you, what would you do?¡± ¡°Join one of the new archaeological missions to Egypt or Mesopotamia. Chase the origins of draugr.¡± ¡°Bah. Too much sand for me.¡± Raphael shook his head. Jean brought a hand up, as if he meant to touch her face, then seemed to catch himself and pulled it away. ¡°Ah, what does it matter? I will never not be a soldier, and you will never be out from under my brother¡¯s prick.¡± ¡°Um, I think I should start making my way back. Renee will be worried if I stay overlong,¡± Anya replied. ¡°And this is why you are yet to find a mate, my dear friend,¡± Raphael added, helping Anya up and back to the ladder. The stars were bright above, and for a moment Anya imagined herself drifting upwards, to a place where all the lights of Parisi would blur into a dim flame in a tenebrous wilderness. But it was not to be, and she began her journey downwards. Chapter 5.2: Ballet ¡°Hmpf. I suppose they have some talent, though it is more acrobatics than ballet.¡± Yvon leaned forward, observing the gyrating figures below him. They - he, Sofia, and Anya - occupied a box in the main hall of the Palais de l¡¯Opera, having come for the premier of the Royal Kiev Ballet Troupe¡¯s performance of Queen Tatyana. The performance was nearly at its climax, and the queen took a final dance with Sir Kazankin, her forbidden lover, under the soft swells of oboes. The hall was built around an ancient grove of towering firs, and the patchwork moonlight shone brilliantly upon the couple¡¯s silver-white coats. ¡°It was your decision to attend. I hesitate to believe you did so solely on my behalf,¡± Anya replied. It had been weeks since she had seen another rabbit in the flesh, but the distant performers brought little comfort. ¡°The Clary family is a key party in the peace process. It would be bad form to appear to snub Rusyn arts, however provincial they may be.¡± ¡°Whatever you say.¡± The orchestra rose to a dissonant storm as the scene shifted to the transfiguration. The queen¡¯s blood-arts would make of the knight a hideous beast, the beast would slay the wicked king, and the queen would take her own life after being unable to return Kazankin to his original form. Be back by dusk, my kit, or Sir Kazankin will find you and eat you alive. ¡°Look, over there.¡± Yvon pointed to a box to their right, where a family of wolves watched the performance with hungry eyes. ¡°See the pup, squirming for his mother¡¯s teat? He is Louis Adolphe Ribemont, the most likely future king of Gaul.¡± ¡°Oh? Will the coronation be interrupted for a change of diapers?¡± ¡°That, and a declaration of war on the Livonian witch-fiefs. The Ribemonts are eager to expand their holdings. Unless the Ansgardes successfully contest their claim, in which case-¡± ¡°Excuse me, my dear loup-loquace. Some of us are attempting to appreciate the finer points of Rusyn ballet.¡± Sofia set down a pair of opera glasses and ran a hand along her husband¡¯s cheek. ¡°Shhh, love. We are coming to my favorite scene.¡± ¡°The suicide?!¡± Anya blurted. ¡°To die for unalloyed love, now forever tainted with recollection¡¯s bitter sting. I think it is a noble thing.¡± Against shimmering woodwinds and the low wails of horns, the final scene began. The queen-actress clutched her arts-focus to her bosom, revolving again and again under the lamplight as the monstrous Kazankin prowled the shadows. Just offstage, an ice-magus sent a flurry of snowflakesbillowing over her. At last, she sprawled on the stage-floor, and thunderous applause began. The dancers assembled at the front of the stage, bowed, and raised their hands to in turn applaud the Ribemont box. A collective gasp rose from the floor. ¡°Saints on high.¡± Yvon muttered. A piercing wolf-yowl ripped through the hall, multiple voices joining in a jagged chorus. Anya saw that it came from another box of wolves just to their left. Her ears twitched, and a cold shiver crawled down her spine. ¡°We need to go. Alain, cover Sofia.¡± Yvon stood, and Anya felt his hand find her back and push her upright. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± ¡°The troupe was misinformed, and the Ansgardes have chosen to voice a protest. There may be a brawl.¡± ¡°In a public theatre?¡± ¡°They are hunters, and will not leave with their tails between their legs.¡± The howls grew louder. Several wolves, all young males with long snouts and hands low to the ground, tore down the partitioning curtain and rushed into the Clary box. Yvon passed her off to Sofia, who drew the rabbit close against her legs.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°Oi, Clary. Going somewhere?¡± A wolf with lazy eyes detached himself from the pack, prowling forwards as he drew a wand of petrified wood from his waistcoat. He snapped his fingers, and a curling arts-flame sparked at its tip. Yvon drew himself straight, regarding the other wolf with muted disdain. ¡°Good evening, Lord Ansgarde. Seeing as I have no part in this spat, I thought it best to take my leave. Best of luck to you and the others.¡± ¡°You got an urgent appointment with a grass-eater¡¯s arse?¡± ¡°Your witticisms would be greatly improved if there was an ounce of wit to be found in them.¡± Alain edged open the rear door, and found it guarded by another wolf. ¡°Funny.¡± Lord Ansgarde continued, twirling his warned in his fingers. ¡°¡®A gutter-rat in wolf¡¯s furs.¡¯ Remember that? The elder Ribemont, when Artois petitioned to put your father on the hunting council. He only made it through because we told the Ribemonts to shove it.¡± ¡°In exchange, we provided the Ansgardes with a war-loan on extremely favorable terms. One that is yet to be paid back.¡± The Ansgarde wolf feinted with his wand, and Yvon clumsily stepped back. Anya felt Sofia flinch. ¡°Might be a hard concept to wrap your money-rotted head around, but we Ansgardes don¡¯t do transactional. When you¡¯re with us, you¡¯re with us for good.¡± To their right, furious yelps rose from the Ribemont box. The main Ansgarde contingent had breached it, and were locking jaws with the Ribemont males. The two families¡¯ knights eyed each other warily, weapons drawn to intervene. ¡°And this is where your honor brings you? Raise your complaint in a newspaper, and force the troupe to issue an apology. Gaul will never consent to be ruled by hooligans.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve let your blood go dull, Clary. No wonder your daddy needed to buy you a harem-girl. Hey, Hugo, make sure the Clary boy doesn¡¯t run.¡± The Ansgarde wolf barked at the wolf guarding the door before lunging forward. His wand-flame burst, leaving a hole in Yvon¡¯s clothing and a patch of singed fur beneath. ¡°You wish to fight? Then p¡­put that toy away.¡± Yvon lowered his weight, but his posture was stiff. Anya could hear fear in his voice. Her hand began to move towards her knife. ¡°This is the easiest way out. Let him take it.¡± Sofia whispered, pulling her closer. The goat¡¯s voice was taut as a bowstring. ¡°Fine, fine. Whatever you say.¡± The Ansgarde wolf blew out his wand with a flourish, stowing it away. He opened his jaws, and went for Yvon¡¯s neck. The wolf¡¯s teeth found their mark, and the two of them went down in a pile of snarling fur. Blood splattered against Anya¡¯s dress as the wolf¡¯s claws shredded Yvon¡¯s shirt, and the rabbit felt Sofia¡¯s fingers tremble against her shoulder. Yvon tried to twist away, but the wolf had a firm grip on his neck, and his action only made a nasty gash on his neck. One of his arteries had been severed, and a pool of blood quickly formed. The wolf whipped his head back and forth, opening the wound further, and his foot-claws dug into Yvon¡¯s chest. ¡°By St. Hughbert, Bastien, you trying to turn him into worm food?¡± The wolf at the door rushed forward, and he and Alain managed to pull the Ansgarde wolf off Yvon¡¯s broken body. The wolf¡¯s eyes were wide and twitching, and fangs and claws dripped with blood. ¡°Get yourself under control, the man¡¯s nearly dead! You want father to have our heads? Fuck, Alphonse, get over here and help.¡± A lynx-knight wearing the Ansgarde livery entered, holding a glass-encased relic in his hand. He began to pray, and Yvon was bathed in golden light as the deepest of his wounds closed. The next few minutes were a blur. Alain, the lynx, and a servant-horse were able to carry Yvon to the Clary carriage, drawing the gaze of every theatre-goer they passed. He was still bleeding, and the upholstery of the carriage was soon stained red. ¡°What is his condition?¡± Sofia asked. ¡°The knight¡¯s saint-arts got him stable, at least. The principle is different, so I¡¯ll need to be careful working around the spots he healed. If I reopened his neck by mistake, he might-¡± Anya replied. Sofia¡¯s hand came down sharply, striking Anya across the cheek. The goat checked that the carriage-windows were closed, and pulled up her dress to reveal her bare calf. ¡°Then do not make a mistake. You need blood, do you not? Take it from me.¡± Anya looked at Yvon¡¯s half-open eyes, listened to his gasping breaths. Heart racing, she hesitantly brought her knife to Sofia¡¯s downy fur. It¡¯s just blood. Same as mine or Renee¡¯s. The carriage shook as it began to move, and the knife broke skin. Sofia did not flinch. ¡°Good little rabbit. Heal him, before it is too late.¡± Four minutes, ten seconds. Yvon¡¯s eyes regained their light. ¡°This¡­isn¡¯t St. Hughbert¡¯s saint-field, is it? No woman there could be¡­half as fair as you. Fine work on the arts, by the by. I feel¡­right as rain.¡± Yvon said woozily. He reached for Sofia¡¯s hand. ¡°Why did you do that.¡± Tears welled in Sofia¡¯s deep-water eyes. ¡°We cannot afford to anger the Ribemonts. You know it was the only way.¡± ¡°Why did you do that?!¡± Sofia screamed, pushing his hand away. ¡°Do you know how much it hurt me to watch that demon rip you apart? Did you think for a moment how close my heart would come to breaking? You know you are no fighter, yet you let your swollen ego walk you like a cur.¡± ¡°Mayhaps I inflamed his passion more than necessary.¡± A knife-gaze from Sofia. ¡°Dear, I am sorry.¡± ¡°Sorry? What am I to do with sorry? Will sorry heal your scars?Will sorry fill the hole you tore in me? Speak when you and your shriveled heart understand me, though I feel the day will never come.¡± Sofia turned away from her husband, absently grasping Anya¡¯s hand. The goat¡¯s fingers were cold as ice.