Her body was made of fire, but she was always cold. Cold and afraid. That was how Lord of the Hunt liked his slaves. Always cold. Always afraid. Numb hands could never raise a knife against him. Fearful minds never dared even consider betraying him. But even then, Lord of the Hunt saw daggers and treachery everywhere. Assassins were hiding in every shadow and under every stone.

Because like his slaves, Lord of the Hunt was always cold and afraid.

The bodies of his slaves might have been made of blue flames, but fireplaces were forbidden in his dreary castle. Light and warmth might have attracted travelers and Lord of the Hunt was always afraid of being found. Even the most harmless guest was a conquering army to him. Eager to stick his head on a pike.

So he hid.

The castle had been abandoned a thousand years ago when the dragon Girusai had turned it into a stone cauldron and cooked its rebellious lord and family inside. You could still find bones that had melted into the stone floor like the previous inhabitants had drowned in rock. The burned castle had faded from memory over the centuries and to make sure it remained so; Lord of the Hunt had cast powerful glamour around it to make it invisible to the naked eye. She had no doubt that Lord of the Hunt wished he could have been forgotten too but until that happened, he was trapped in the ruined castle by his own fear and paranoia.

She could understand fear and could recognize it in others.

She could no longer remember her parents’ names or faces but she knew she had lived in fear of them. Her former home had been a place of terror. Of opening doors and clammy hands in the dark. Of breath reeking of alcohol on her face.

Until one day the fear had become too much.

She had run, leaving her parents and siblings behind. Fleeing to the one place she knew no one would dare to follow her. To the Wyrding lands behind the white stones all were forbidden to approach. The warning might have worked on someone braver but to her the priest’s degree was just another thing that scared her.

It was nothing special.

And behind the Wyrd Stones, in the kingdom where fairytales were real, the Lord of the Hunt had been waiting for her. At that moment he had looked like a prince from a bedtime story. His face was beautiful, his ears long and pointed, and his hair was matted silver. He rode a stallion that was white as fresh snow and his armor was the color of spring leaves sprinkled with gold. Just his smile had been enough to make her heart flutter.

“Blessing of the Balefire upon you, child.”

He had whisked her away and she had let him. She had clung to him, expecting to be taken away to a magical castle and be made a princess who could save her siblings from her parents. Maybe even save her parents from themselves.

Her dreams had soon been revealed to be just fantasies.

When the Lord of the Hunt had brought her to his crumbling castle, he had cast aside the glamour he had been hiding under. He had once been as beautiful as the glamour had made him appear but that had been a long time ago. Life on the run had rusted his armor and turned his face hard and gaunt. The silver hair that had once been bright and brilliant, had grown thin and turned a dull shade of grey. Even his beautiful mount had been a lie. Under the spell was hiding a sad, broken horse that had died the same night.

Like the lord inhabiting it, the castle was a sad ruin.

The castle she had thought had belonged to a fairytale, had soon revealed itself to be hiding place where Lord of the Hunt was served by will-o-wisps. Spirits of children who had wandered into the Wyrding and had never left.

Spirits she had soon joined.

The dungeon had become her new home where she had grown weaker and weaker until she had stepped out of her body and joined the will-o-wisps in serving her new master. An immortal elf needed long lasting slaves and a human’s life to a fae was no longer than the flickering of a candle in the rain. From there on she took on the form of a small blue flame that was cold to the touch.

Over time she forgot her name and how she had looked.

Time meant little to a will-o-wisp but sometimes she would return to gaze upon her body. It was decomposing like a plant that had not been given any water and left into a dark closet. Sometimes she would wrap herself around her bones in a vain attempt to possess a physical form again, but her body was a puppet with all its strings snapped. If she concentrated, she could make herself appear the way she had as a human but as her face rotted away, she wasn’t even sure what she had looked like. With enough time she wasn’t even sure if she had been a she in life.

To dull the pain, she tried to get lost in her work.

Houses and castles alike started dying if no one lived in them and the castle was far from saving but nature reclaiming it had given it a certain beauty. But even then, she could tell it was not a fit place for anyone to live in and she wondered what the Lord of the Hunt was running from that was so terrible that he thought this preferable. On some nights, when the Lord of the Hunt had drunk himself into a stupor, he would summon his slaves, so he had someone to rant and rave at like a mad preacher. Between cups of wine, he would curse the Wyrd King for snuffing out the rebellion and stripping Lord of the Hunt of all titles and offices. He cursed the wolf prince for hunting him to the ends of the Wyrding with his warwolves and forcing him hide in a ruin like a parasite.

But above all else, Lord of the Hunt cursed Oriel.

Oriel had promised him power, glory, and riches if Lord of the Hunt joined in his uprising. Oriel had been full of bluster and great plans. Claiming himself not just the king of the first circle but also the emperor of Gehenna. The rightful heir of two suzerains.

“He had been full of piss!” Lord of the Hunt slurred: “Oriel broke the moment he crossed swords with his father!”

It was one of the few times she felt sorry for Lord of the Hunt. He had been beautiful and powerful once. He’d had more than most men would dare to dream of but that hadn’t been enough for him and in his greed, he had thrown it all away. What was worse, Lord of the Hunt had realized that he was no stag but a frog who had never deserved the power he had wielded. Everything he’d had in life had been given to him and when it had been taken away from him, he would never get it back. Because under that beautiful armor of his, he was weak, ugly, and cowardly. The first sign of trouble had torn aside all his pretenses.

She had once thought he could be a princess but had realized she was a slave.

Not that her pity made her despise Lord of the Hunt any less and her contempt kept her going while so many of the other will-o-wisps faded away over time. It always happened the same way. First, they would stop talking, then their flames would grow dimmer until they were gone for good.

Over time she might have faded too if those two had not found the ruined castle.

She had been the first to see them approach the castle quietly like thieves in the night. Despite it being midday, they didn’t seem to be worried like they knew that Lord of the Hunt had drunk himself into oblivion again last night. Taller of the men wore a scarlet greatcoat that matched his hair. His shoulders were broad and his stomach flat. He might have been handsome if his expression hadn’t been as hard as the rifle, he caried on his back.

The smaller man accompanying him couldn’t have been more different.

His skin was brown and just seeing it made her want to hide. Her parents had always told her that people from the Spring Islands were nothing more than animals walking on two legs that ate children. But the short, brown man did not look like an animal that walked upright in defiance of its nature. His black hair was curly and beautiful. His smile was friendly if mischievous and his eyes… they were even more blue than his coat.

When they got to the base of the castle, the shorter man rubbed his chin while the taller man studied it. They exchanged a few words too quietly for her to hear before they started to scale the wall. Time had worn the defenses down and there were plenty of cracks in the castle walls for a daring climber to slip his fingers in. She watched them as they climbed and the spell that made her the Hunter Lord’s thrall took over her. She was spellbound to protect the castle and raise an alarm whether she liked it or not. While Lord of the Hunt was sleeping off his hangover, there was no reason to shout a warning but if she dropped a stone on them, she could…

“No need for that, darling.”

She looked outside again at the men climbing up the wall… and was lost in the shorter man’s eyes. They were a sharper shade of blue than the flames of a will-o-wisp and shined like sapphire stars. Brightly enough to fray the geas she was under.

“We mean you no harm.” The shorter man said.

She dropped the stone she had picked up and just floated in the hallway while the two men climbed up to her. When they got up, their hands were scratched and bleeding but neither of them was out of breath. The shorter man flashed her a grin and bowed his head.

“Thank you for not cracking our skulls. Blessing of the Wild upon you.”

The taller man looked at her coolly and gripped the leather strap of his rifle.

“Sal, what matter of creature is this?”

“A child bound to the Wyrding. A will-o-wisp.” The shorter man, Sal, said: “Do you have a name, kid?”

It had been a long time she had spoken and when someone asked her a question, she wasn’t sure she remembered how to form words.

“Take your time. You have all the time in the world now that the cavalry is here.” Sal said.

“Are you sure it can even speak?” The taller man said.

“Trust me on this, Cassio.”

Cassio’s hard glare was almost enough to leave her a mute for good, but Sal’s encouraging smile made her want to try. She couldn’t picture anyone who could smile like that slapping her over a mistake.

“… I…”

“Yes?” Sal said.

“… don’t remember…”

“That’s okay. I have difficulties with names too. I’m pretty sure mine is Sal. The red-headed stepchild is Cassio.”

“Viscount Rossi.” Cassio said.

Sal rolled his eyes.

“How do you know someone is a lord?” Sal said: “They will tell you. Repeatedly.”

Sal laughed at his own joke, and she dared to let out a small chuckle. Her parents had taught her to distrust Spring Islanders but treat nobles like living gods. They deserved her fear and respect for their superior blood but… Sal made the whole notion feel silly. The viscount just growled and did not object.

“You said she was a child.” The viscount said: “I have counted at least a dozen of those flames here.”

“I counted twenty-three.” Sal said.

“So this monster has murdered twenty-three children?” The viscount said.

The image of her corpse rotting in the cells flashed through her mind. Her skeleton lying on a bed of brittle bones of those who had been taken before her. An image too terrible to even think about.

“We are not dead!” She screamed: “We are alive, and we will go home!”

“Hush.” Sal said and shot an angry look at the viscount: “We’ll help you. I do solemnly swear by the Wild. But maybe you can also help yourself. Can you take us to the lord of this castle?”

“… will you kill him?” She asked.

Sal winked at her.

“We’ll see.”

“… okay…” She said.

She led them through the castle that could be a maze to the uninitiated. Lord of the Hunt had set traps inside the castle in case someone did find their way in, and the will-o-wisps had maintained them for him. More often than once she had hoped that the Hunter Lord would stumble into his own trap and break his neck. Showing Sal and the viscount a way around them was as simple as emptying a bucket. They found Lord of the Hunt lying on a couch in a drunken stupor in his private rooms. His bathrobe had come untied revealing his sagging body and shriveled sex.

“This is the great traitor?” The viscount said scornfully.

“What would you expect from a man without a spine?” Sal said gave the viscount way: “Would you like to do the honors, my lord?”

“Gladly.” The viscount said.

Kill him, she prayed.

The viscount did not kill him. Instead of pointing his rifle at the Lord of the Hunt, he grabbed the old elf’s stringy hair and yanked him off the couch. Lord of the Hunt screeched when the viscount tore off a fistful of hair from his scalp and threw him to the ground. When the Hunter Lord tried to stand, the viscount kicked him in the stomach hard enough for him to spill out last night’s wine and supper.

“Morning, Keijo.” Sal said while studying one of the discarded wine bottles: “Rough night? Or I guess it’s more like a rough century.”

Lord of the Hunt spat out yellow water while he struggled to breathe. When his eyes fell on the viscount, he managed to claw back some dignity and looked more enraged than afraid.

“How dare you lay a hand on me?! Don’t you know who I am?! I am Lord of the…!”

She had never seen anyone move so fast. In a moment the viscount was on Lord of the Hunt and had mounted him, locking his hands under his knees. It was a wrestling move she had last seen during the Midsummer festival in her childhood home. But that had been playful tumbling between friends who’d had too much to drink and wanted to impress each other and the girls they liked. There was nothing playful about the brutal blows the viscount started raining down on Lord of the Hunt. Every punch broke something in Hunter Lord and the viscount seemed to take great care to ruin his teeth.

“That improve your day a bit, darling?” Sal asked her while tossing the empty wine bottle from hand to another.

“I… don’t know.” She admitted.

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“Yeah. Revenge might be a dish best served cold but not everyone has the stomach for it.” Sal said and drank the bottle empty before throwing it over his shoulder and walking to the viscount: “There, there, big cat. I think he’s had enough.”

The viscount’s face was flushed, and his fists were bloody while Lord of the Hunt’s face was a crimson ruin. His nose was so broken that it was almost gone, and all his teeth had either been knocked out shattered. His eyes had swollen shut and the corners of his mouth had been torn. Sal pulled the viscount off Lord of the Hunt gently but firmly before kneeling next to the beaten elf.

“Not gonna lie, Keijo. You’re not looking too good.” Sal said.

“… lord…” Lord of the Hunt wheezed.

“But you’re not a lord anymore are you, Keijo? The Wyrd King stripped you of all honors and offices, didn’t he?” Sal said.

“He should have stripped you of your head, you child murdering scum.” The viscount growled.

Lord of the… Keijo curled into a ball and began to cry when he heard the viscount’s voice. At that moment he didn’t look like a monster or a tormentor. Just an ugly, wrinkled baby crying for its mother.

“… don’t kill me…” Keijo sobbed.

“Tall order, Keijo, but we’re civilized folk here, aren’t we?” Sal said.

Uneasiness started growing inside her. The viscount’s furious brutality was scary but there was something… sinister about Sal’s cheeriness while a man lied bloodied before him. It reminded her of the executioner who had travelled between villages beheading criminals. He had always put on a show and her family had always been keen to see him work when he passed by. A man who killed in a rage was understandable. A man who treated it as a joke was… unsettling.

“… anything… I’ll do anything…” Keijo pleaded.

“Just what I wanted to hear. Release the children, Keijo, and we will be merciful.” Sal said.

“… merciful?” She said aghast: “… you promised…”

“Hush, darling.” Sal said.

Keijo spat out a tooth and tried to look at Sal through his swollen eyes.

“… you’ll let me… live…?”

“You bet.” Sal said.

Keijo let out a sigh that rocked his entire body.

“… very well…”

Invisible chains that had been there for so long that she hadn’t realized how heavy they were until they were gone faded. Spells that had been tying her to Keijo snapped when the broken elf gave up his control on her and all the other will-o-wisps. Sal glanced at her over his shoulder.

“How are you feeling?”

“… free…”

“That is good.” Sal said and stood up: “Now… Cassio, could you escort our flaming friend out? She doesn’t need to see what comes next.”

Keijo saw something in Sal that made him lose control of bladder and pee all over the floor. Sal sidestepped the yellow stream while the viscount growled with disgust. When Sal stepped closer to Keijo, the elf tried crawling away.

“… no… No! You promised…! Mercy… you promised mercy! You promised I’d live!”

Sal threw away his coat and rolled up his sleeves.

“We made a bet on your life, and you lost. As for mercy? Yes. I will be merciful. I will start by eating your head instead of your feet.”

The viscount cupped her in his hands with gentleness she hadn’t thought he’d be capable of and carried her out of the room.

“Come now, child. No need for you to see this.” The viscount said.

Before the viscount closed the door, she could see Sal’s shadow on the wall turn into something… wild, savage, and inhuman. A beast the size of a horse. Keijo let out a terrified screech that turned into a wet gurgle when sharp fangs bit through bone. There was crunchy chewing when flesh was torn off bones and the bones themselves grinded to dust. The viscount leaned against the door and looked nauseous and more than a little horrified, but he didn’t say a word. Blood began flowing out from under the door and stained the viscount’s shoes. After a few minutes the banquet was over.

“I am done.” Sal said.

When the viscount opened the door, Sal was wiping his lips with a handkerchief and there was a no sign of Keijo. Aside from some gore on the floor. She had thought that seeing her tormentor dead would have given her some satisfaction, but she only felt… the same. Maybe even worse since she didn’t even have Keijo’s death to look forward to but soon she forgot all about him.

“… what’s happening to me?”

Her flames were growing dim, and she could feel herself diminishing like she was being pulled to sleep after a long day. Sal ran his fingers through her flames and smiled sadly.

“It’s over now. Rest. You don’t have to stay here anymore. You can sleep.” Sal said.

Instead of resting, she howled.

“No! I don’t want to die! You promised to help! Please! Don’t let me die!”

The viscount’s face darkened, and he looked at Sal with unreadable intent. Meanwhile Sal was lost in thought.

“Sal?” The viscount said, breaking Sal out of his concentration.

“I know. I’ll handle this.” Sal said and ran his fingers through her flames again: “Listen to me. You have been here for a long time. You might not have anything to go back to. You might not even recognize the world you left behind.”

“I don’t care! I want to live!”

“Don’t we all.” Sal said sadly: “Kid… life does not come cheap, and the price might be more than you can afford.”

“Anything! I’ll do anything!” She sobbed.

“She said she wanted to live. Sal, I am ordering you to save her.” The viscount said.

“Very well.” Sal said and took her into the palm of his hands: “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes!” She cried out.

Sal nodded.

Then he ate her.

Crossing Sal’s teeth felt like stepping through the Wyrd Stones and inside… she heard whispers. Like lamentations of a half-remembered dream. Then she saw the ghosts. Brooding shades resting inside a god that drew power and shape from their memories.

Only splash of color in the grey world was a clown.

He wore a motley of blue, pink, and purple and had painted his face in the same colors. Bells in his jester hat tingled with his every move. He couldn’t have been older than twelve but carried himself with wisdom beyond his years. When their eyes met, the clown smiled at her. The clown’s eyes were a warm shade of brown. Like fertile ground after rain.

“What’s up? Boom-Boom the Clown at your service.”

She approached the clown slowly.

“… what is this place?”

“The makings of a god. The final resting place of those who have been chosen as a skin for the fox prince.” Boom-Boom said and stroked his chin: “You said yes to the deal too?”

“… I… wanted to live.” She said.

“So did I and I guess I got what I asked for.” Boom-Boom said before narrowing his eyes: “Here it comes.”

The shades in the grey land suddenly formed into a shape of a great black fox. It was a spectral creature as untouchable and deadly as a toxic mist. And it was approaching her.

“… what is that?”

“A god. Me thinks its kind was once just animals but people’s fear turned them into something else. There is little difference between terror and faith and faith… is a helluva drug.” Boom-Boom said and took her hand: “Don’t be afraid. It will be over soon.”

When the ghastly fox stood before her, it looked down on her and then at Boom-Boom. The clown bowed his head and the fox god nodded in return. Then the fox god looked at her with eyes like blue bonfires and she wondered if Sal had been right, and this deal came with too steep of a price. Before she could back down, the fox god breathed on her. The fox’s breath was warm when it blew air into her flames, and she could feel something pass from him to her. Something that invigorated her and pulled her back from the brink of fading.

Then Sal spat her out.

Her whole body ached and that was when she realized she had a body again that could ache. It just wasn’t a body that she remembered or wanted. She had no hands or fingers. Just paws. Her skin was covered in red fur, and she had a fluffy tail with a white tip. Sal and viscount looked like giants to her, and she could have fitted inside Sal’s pocket.

“… I’m a… fox?” She said.

“A skin-changer fox.” Sal said before a coughing fit racked his body.

Drops of sweat rolled down Sal’s face and when he tried to smile, his legs gave out under him. The viscount moved fast and caught him before he fell on the hard floor.

“Sal?”

“It’s okay… just… sharing your life force with someone can… take the wind out of anyone’s sails.” Sal said and wiped sweat off his brow: “I’ll be okay… if I get some rest.”

She stood paralyzed and stared at Sal, inhabiting a body that should have been alien to her but felt… all too comfortable.

“… what did you do to me?”

“I… turned you into a skin-changer. You are now my sister.” Sal said while wiping the sweat off his brow.

“… I… but… I didn’t… I don’t want this.”

“I did say there would be a price… but don’t worry… you will not stay that way… we’ll figure out… the human shape part later.” Sal said and reached for the viscount: “Cassio… help me up.”

Sal had to lean on the viscount’s shoulders when they left the castle. Not knowing what else to do, she followed them. None of them even considered staying in that accursed place for the night. Even when he was leaning on the viscount for support, Sal had to stop every so often to gasp for air. When he fell on all fours and threw up, the viscount decreed that they would set up camp for the night despite the sun still being high in the air. The viscount helped Sal lie down on a bed of moss and fed him some bread that had been soaked in wine. After finishing his meal, Sal was fast asleep.

“You.” The viscount said: “Can you set a fire?”

“… I could, milord, when I had hands.” She said.

“Fair enough. Then fetch me firewood.”

She gathered dried wood that was plentiful this time of summer and found that she could use her fangs with the same dexterity as her hands. While she gathered kindling the viscount took out a slingshot and started looking for trees that birds used as a resting place. When the sound of his steps scared a bird that had been napping on a branch, the viscount acted fast. He placed a stone in the leather slingshot and fired it so quickly she didn’t even see his hands move. The stone let out a sharp whistle when it flew through the air and knocked the bird down midflight. The viscount walked over to his prey and after making sure it was dead, he picked it up and carried it back to camp where he began preparing it for dinner.

“… milord…?”

“You have permission to speak.” The viscount said while skinning the bird.

“… how did you do that?”

“Nobles often hunt hawks with slingshots during the winter. It prepares us for rifles, but a slingshot doesn’t make a sound. It doesn’t scare off other prey or reveal our location to a bigger predator.”

“… you must be a great hunter.” She said.

“I have a way with animals.” The viscount said.

“… really?”

“Really.” The viscount said and threw away the bird’s intestines before skewering it with a sharpened stick and placing it over a fire: "I was born in one of the hidden mansions in Leoden. On the third day of my life, my uncle led my blind father to the Leoden Zoo that we had a large stake in. They stepped into the gorilla enclosure and handed me to the alpha gorilla pair. The female gorilla hoisted me up to the play tree where I was handed from one female gorilla to another. They looked under my nappy to determine my sex and the alpha female nursed me with her breast before handing me back to my father and uncle. I heard it was beautiful."

She stared at the viscount like he had just grown a third head and waited for him to laugh and play it off as a joke. He never did and just watched solemnly as the bird cooked over the fire.

“… is that how you… befriended him?” She said and glanced at the sleeping Sal.

“I did not befriend him. He befriended me. Not that I was his first choice. He tried to sell his hide to the Grimaldis and Ferros before me which makes them fools.”

“… what is he?”

“A Prince of the Wild. A very old god wearing the mask of a man.”

She looked at the sleeping Sal again before picking up the bird’s intestines.

“… I’ll bury these.” She said.

She was too nervous to sleep and promised to keep watch during the night. The viscount thanked for her service before lying down. The viscount was one of those people who dozed off the moment they closed their eyes, and he was soon sleeping. She sat alone by the campfire and added wood into the flames as was needed. At midnight, Sal finally stirred.

“… Sal?”

“Still kicking.” Sal said and reached for the bottle of wine.

He gulped down two mouthfuls before sighing and licking his lips.

“Much better. Even death trembles at the thought of taking me.” Sal said and sniffed the air: “Any of that bird left?”

She passed Sal the cold meal that the viscount had prepared, and Sal ate it happily while sharing scraps of it with her.

“Look at you.” Sal said and picked her up: “Cute as a button.”

“… are we really… family now?” She asked.

“I’m afraid so. I will introduce you to our mother one day. The queen of all foxes.”

It was strange thinking she had a new mother and… she could almost picture her. A fox that stood taller than trees with fur like the color of melting snow and eyes even bluer than her son’s. They finished the bird and Sal gave her the bones to chew on.

“… I didn’t know nobles could cook.”

“Cassio is an odd one.” Sal said.

“… I noticed.”

“Oh, did big cat tell you the gorilla story? It’s always only a matter of time before he does.” Sal said while sipping wine: “Whatever you do, don’t make fun of him for it. He’s way more sensitive than he appears.”

“… really?”

“Really, really. You didn’t hear this from me but… did your village have any weird kids? The ones who never could look others in the eye and always seemed to be living on some other planet?”

“… yes.”

“I pity their doom. Well, Cassio was one of those. His father and uncle fixed him up the old school way and you can still see the scars. Not that it made him any less weird, mind you. He just got better at avoiding beatings.”

“… that’s terrible.”

“Yeah. It’s always an ugly scene when parents don’t love their kids and would rather beat them then understand them.” Sal said.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. She could understand that too. She didn’t remember her parents faces or names, but she remembered how they had made her feel. Miserable. Afraid. Hurt.

“… thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I understand what it’s like to want to live even though you should be dead.” Sal said.

“… so even gods are afraid of dying.” She said.

Sal looked at her and then grinned without any mirth.

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

She nodded like she understood.

“… are you like me?”

“After a fashion. Once I was…” Sal said before falling into a melancholic silence: “I have been so many things and now those things are one.”

“… is it hard? To be so many things all at once?”

Sal’s cocky grin returned but she could now see it for what it was. A mask hiding pain and uncertainty.

“It might be for some, but I am Salvatore Torrini and if being me was easy anyone could do it. I am Salvatore Torrini because there is nothing I can’t overcome.”

“… I wish I could be many things. I… don’t think I liked being who I am. It didn’t feel… right but now… I just feel hollow.”

“There are worse things than being hollow.” Sal said: “It’s an empty slate. You could start over and fill yourself with anything you wanted.”

She was quiet while she thought what Sal had said. If she could be anyone she wanted, who did she want to be?

“… I think I remember my name.” She said.

“Well, well, well. Progress has been made. Color me impressed. What’s your name, baby sister?”

“… Emilia.”

Sal smiled kindly at her.

“Pleasure to meet you, Emilia.” Sal said: “Now… do you remember the village you came from?”

“… Corn Cove.”

“Then that’s where we shall go.”

The next day they arrived at Wyrd Stones and Emilia almost wept seeing them. Even after all this time the great white rocks had not changed but seeing them still filled her with fear.

“… if I cross them and leave the Wyrding, will I disappear?” Emilia asked.

“If that were the case, I would have been dead years ago.” Sal said.

The viscount nodded.

“Trust my advisor.” The viscount said.

“… okay.” Emilia said.

“If you’re worried, you can hitch a ride here.” Sal said and held open the pocket of his blue greatcoat: “Just try not to chew the fabric.”

Emilia let Sal place her in his pocket. The insides of it smelled of lint and sweets.

“Heh. It tickles. You okay in there, Emilia?” Sal asked.

“… yes.”

“Then hold on tight. I take big steps.”

There was a rush of alien wind when the space between the Wyrd Stones simmered and a door between worlds opened. But to cross from one world to another, they had to cross the Void where eternal cold and darkness still reigned. Emilia made herself as small as she could and prayed that whatever lurked in the Void did not find her. But there was no point hiding.

The Queen knew they were there, and She was watching.

“… she knows.” Emilia whispered inside Sal’s pocket.

“Yes, but she if faraway and even if she caught up with us, she would find out that I am wild and savage.” Sal said.

“If the Queen shows us her face, I will put a bullet in it.” The viscount said.

“My hero.” Sal said.

They walked the rest of the way through the Void in silence and although the Queen of Cold and Darkness was out there somewhere, Sal was close by. He would not let the Queen get her. That thought kept her warm until they stepped out into Garuccia.

“Emilia. Could you hop out quickly?” Sal said.

Emilia barely had the time to jump out of Sal’s pocket when she felt herself starting to change again. The transformation into a skin-changer had given her body a mind of its own and started twisting and reshaping her. Her fur began falling off, revealing a human skin under it and her paws stretched into hands and feet and her claws turned into nails. Long strands of hair fell on her face. The world around her transformed when she stopped seeing everything through her nose.

Sal’s coat was thrown on her shoulders.

“Welcome back to the physical world, Emilia.” Sal said.

Emilia wrapped the coat around herself tighter, suddenly very aware of how naked she was… and how unsteady her legs were. Walking on all fours had felt so natural but two legs were so weak, and she felt off balance without her tail.

“Be careful!”

To her surprise it was the viscount who caught before she fell over. The flash of worry was a strange thing to see in such a grim face.

“Are you okay?” The viscount asked.

“… I… don’t remember how to walk.” Emilia said, embarrassed.

“It’s a balancing act.” Sal said: “You’ll figure it out. Even babies can do it.”

“I’ll carry you until you do.” The viscount said.

The viscount’s back was wide and muscular, and he had little trouble carrying her. They walked down the road and Emilia stared horrified how stale everything in Garuccia looked. Trees, grass, sky even the sun… they all looked like pale imitations of the real thing. Almost like an inferior artist had tried to copy a master’s work. The world of humans was just a watered-down replica of the Wyrding. Everything was dull and lifeless.

“… it all looks so wrong.” Emilia said.

“What does?” The viscount asked.

“… everything.” Emilia said.

“You’ll get used to it.” Sal said: “You’d be shocked what you can get used to on this side. Even if you don’t want to.”

They stayed at an inn located by the road that night. When the owner saw Sal, he looked ready to throw him out but one glare from the viscount made him back down. They paid for a room, a meal, and some clothes that the owner’s daughter had outgrown. Once Emilia was dressed, she studied her reflection in the mirror. She had a wide forehead, a gap between her teeth and straight, light brown hair. She didn’t think she was pretty but for some reason she felt more at ease with her reflection she ever had before. Before Lord of the Hunt had taken her, a stranger had lived in the mirror.

“Looking good.” Sal said when she stepped away from her reflection.

They sat down to eat, and the viscount was afforded first serving of everything from the chicken, potatoes, and sliced apples. The viscount washed his meal down with beer while Sal drank apple cider and Emilia had milk sweetened with honey.

“Eat up. This is a famous place.” Sal said.

“… how so?” Emilia asked.

“This is one of the many inns built during the reign of Leonhard the First. The first of the three Hugo kings.” Sal said while cleaning his teeth with a toothpick: “He dealt the killing blow to House Eld by murdering Raoul the Last and his family. Like all usurpers, he was a paranoid mess. He had won his crown through treachery and feared he would lose it the same way.”

“… then why did he build inns?”

“He didn’t build anything.” The viscount said: “My House did. We built the King’s Road and patronized many of the inns and theaters on it.”

“It was a con, of course.” Sal said: “To drain House Rossi of resources. With the common enemy gone, former allies realized they were now each other’s biggest threat. To do the same to other Houses, Leonhard ordered that all Great Houses would have to pay tribute to him every year by visiting Leoden. Journeys like that are expensive and left high lords with little money to plan coups. The upside of this is that we have an actual honest to Wild functional road system. That’s one accomplishment that no one can take away from Leonhard.”

“Once again, Leonhard did not build anything. My House built Leoden just like we built the King’s Road. Not that anyone ever seems to remember that.” The viscount said, sounding like a petulant child.

In the upcoming days, she did her best to relearn how to walk. Her legs had the strength to carry her, but she lacked the balance. By leaning on Sal or the viscount she could take clumsy steps, but they became firmer the more she walked and when the viscount made her a walking stick from a tree branch, she could move under her own power.

And eventually they arrived at Corn Cove.

Or what was left of it.

The village stood empty, the homes abandoned and overgrown. She stared horrified at the place she had grown in and still remembered so vividly but now it was all gone. Sal looked sadly at the empty houses and streets that had fallen to disrepair.

“Looks like the Twelve-Year-War finished this place off.” Sal said.

Emilia was no longer listening and just broke down crying. It felt like she was drowning, and Sal was the only rock she could cling to.

“I am so sorry, Emilia.” Sal said.

She could feel the viscount’s hand on her shoulder.

“We’ve got you.” The viscount said.

When Sal and the viscount took her away, she said nothing and did little aside from letting them lead her away. Corn Cove had turned into an island surrounded by a sea of nothing, and they stayed at the only building that still looked firm. A church made of stone. Sal and the viscount let her mourn while they built a fire and warmed their rations over it. It was only when the viscount was asleep that Emilia found it in herself to eat. Sal shared food with her without a word while Emilia looked at the painting that decorated the ceiling. The depicted the Prince of Peace saving Garuccia from false gods and sealing Satan behind the Wyrd Stones. Satan was depicted as a giant grey wolf with a sword tied on its back but even then, it was no match for their savior.

“… am I damned?” Emilia asked.

Sal looked at her heartbroken and then pulled her into a hug.

“Of course you’re not. Why would you even think that?”

In response Emilia pointed at the ceiling and Satan portrayed as a skin-changer wolf. Sal glanced at the painting with a bemused look.

“Want to know a secret? I have met him.” Sal said.

“You’ve met Satan?” Emilia gasped.

“Not the word I would use for my wolf cousin. His Dreadful Highness is the nicest guy you’ll ever meet. Dumb as a brick but kind, brave and honorable.” Sal said and pointed at the sword strapped on Satan’s back: “See that sword? That’s Father Justice.”

“The sword of King Eld?”

“The very same. After Darius Eld lost it… along with his eyes, Dredd’s father left to reclaim it and won it back from the Iron Kings. He wielded it until he crossed swords with the Baron. Sadly… Demeron might have been the greatest knight in the Wyrding, but he could not match the vampire king. He lost his sword hand but before the Baron could finish him, Dredd came to his father’s rescue. He picked up Father Justice and fought the vampire lord long enough for Demeron to be taken to safety.”

Just like Emilia had been able to picture the fox queen in her mind, she could now imagine the wolf prince. A wolf big as a rhino with the heart of the friendliest dog you had ever met. Only when his pack was threatened would he bare his fangs.

“Then why would the church lie about him like this?” Emilia asked.

“That seems to be all they do but that?” Sal said and pointed at the painting: “That was just the final insult. The second Hugo king was as cruel and paranoid as his father but also very, very insane and very, very, very stupid. His crowning achievement was trying to invade the Wyrding.”

“… what?”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself. Now, Emilia, let’s pretend you’re a power-hungry despot. How would you try to invade a nation that has no beef with you?”

“I… don’t know. I would try to create an excuse.” Emilia suggested.

“Exactly. The cross-god’s followers are masters of that ploy. You start by sending preachers who start building churches and spewing nonsense. When they finally piss off enough people and are kicked out, you send your army to protect them. And while you’re there you might as well take over the place. That’s how Garuccia fell and that was how the usurper thought the Wyrding would fall too.”

“Didn’t work, did it?” Emilia said.

“No. The Wyrd King gave the order and the wolf prince kicked out the preachers. When the usurper’s army came to their defense, the wolf prince kicked them out too. As revenge the usurper ordered all the wolves in Garuccia to be hunted to extinction and my wolf cousin has been depicted as Satan ever since.”

Talking to Sal let her forget about her worries long enough to fall asleep. In the morning, she was glad to be gone from Corn Cove and swore she would never return there. The village was dead. So was she. She had come back to life. Her former home never would. After a weeklong arduous travel, they arrived at a mansion built by the sea. A lion clutching a rose in its fangs was painted over the door and the walls had seashells planted in them. The rooms and hallways smelled of salt. A tall woman with a long face wearing a black dress and a white apron ushered out the servants to greet the viscount when he returned home and even when they kept their heads bowed, they looked at her curiously.

“My lord.” The first of the servants said.

“Francesca.” The viscount said and beckoned Emilia closer: “This is Emilia. She will be working here from now on. I will leave her in your capable hands.”

Francesca looked down at her and then smiled.

“It will be done, my lord.”