Arabel hid on the roof of the thundress’s tower with her few surviving companions, listening and occasionally watching for what was happening below. The thundresses gave up their search of the immediate area as the light of day faded, but one returned from scouting carrying their horses. Through the roof, they could hear Serin ordering patrols across the Nidings and for guards to remain at the edge of the Clear Valley. With more coming and going reporting nothing else useful, Serin grew angry and dismissed everyone, at last, to thump heavily back to her bed.

At last, as it grew cold on the roof, the tribe settled into a quieter evening mood, and Arabel decided it was time for them to think of escape. She crept back to where Caracae was sitting, knees up, looking out at the mountainous view. Eko was down by her hand, having spent a lot of time restlessly wandering the roof, making her own assessments.

Princess Vivaria sat a little aside. She had been watching all three of them for a long time, always on the verge of saying something, so Arabel had strained not to avoid her gaze. She wasn’t sure how to properly address a princess, and was worried she might be trouble: Vivaria’s recklessness had drawn Serin’s attention more than once already. She was a beautiful woman, if unconventional: her dress had once been fine silk, only marginally more discrete than a courtroom gown, but was ripped and dirtied, presumably handled by unclean giantesses. Her face was elegant, with thin lips, a sharp nose and calculating eyes. Her hair was murky blond and short, not especially neat, like a boy’s, and Arabel wondered if the thundresses had cut it to humiliate her. It was not typical, after all, for a princess.

“How are you feeling?” Arabel asked Caracae, softly.

The witch turned her gaze slowly, tiredly, towards her, and said, “Hungry.”

Arabel looked down to Eko, who was too worn out to be worried about Caracae. Arabel said, “Are you able to . . .”

“Fly us all home?” Caracae said. “Not without food. Real food.”

“If it’s all the same,” Eko said, “I’d rather not go through all that again.”

“No,” Caracae sighed, “I’ve already sapped too much from you. Swallowing now you would be a waste.”

Some of Eko’s indignation returned as she scowled.

“But you can get us down?” Arabel said. “What if we wait until morning?”

“I can’t fly, Arabel, I told you,” Caracae said. “It’s a long way back to Clear Valley; further than I can carry you.”

Arabel hummed, looking into the camp of huge women. The thundresses were gathering in larger numbers, twenty or more milling about the central camp, sharing drinks and taking seats at the giant tables. Despite the drama, they were preparing to feast, cheer returning as cages of prisoners were carried down. Arabel spotted the fruit-gatherer swigging on a mug carved from an enormous horn. The giant with one half of her hair shaved, who had carried them in. She said, “We can go back the same way we got here.”

“They took our horses,” Eko reminded her.

“That’s not what I mean.” Arabel pointed and they all looked.

“Hitch a ride?” Eko clarified.

Caracae leant on her knees, considering it, and nodded. “I can get us that far, if we wait until dawn, when they go down the hill to start whatever work they do. It’s risky.”

“Excuse me,” Princess Vivaria said, quietly. At an ordinary volume, not screaming, how eloquent accent was striking, even finer than Caracae’s. “Are you suggesting we have one of these giants carry us?”

“Without them knowing it, yes,” Arabel said. “Caracae, if we –”

“I’ve just spent weeks hanging around one of their necks,” the princes cut in again. She waited, forcing Arabel to meet her eye, fully aflame, then went on. “I would rather anything than get within arms’ reach of one again.”

“Respectfully, Your Highness, all of us would,” Eko said. “But it’s our best option if we’re to get you home.”

Vivaria narrowed her eyes, about to say something more, but shouts from the tribe interrupted them. The thundresses were gathering around a table where one of them was opening a cage. It was a container bigger than most rooms, stuffed with people, and two men burst out, dashing for the edge of the table. A third man fell out and tried desperately to get back in. The giant audience cheered as the closest giantesses descended on them. The first man had just reached the edge of the table when a hand snatched him up, and the thundress ate him without hesitation. The second one was caught and held high above the crowd, to more cheers, before being lowered screaming into a mouth. Then the giantesses leant in towards the cage like monsters, snatching at the people packed inside.

“Every night, they do this,” Vivaria said, with more disapproval and disgust than fear. “It costs dozens of lives every night to keep these brutes fed.”

“All the more reason we get you to safety,” Arabel said. “We cannot give any ground to them.”

“And who exactly are you people, anyway?” Vivaria demanded, viciously. “This wasn’t the smoothest escape. She was talking about eating me. Before you came along, I was at least safe.”

Arabel knew better than to argue with royalty, though it stung to hear. They had, after all, saved her, and it had come at a cost. She said, “Baron Ratcel sent us. Your father, indeed, wouldn’t have condoned the risk.”

The princess snorted satisfaction at that, at least.

The revelry below died down suddenly, as the thundresses’ attention was drawn towards the tower. Many were frozen with people struggling in their hands, some with legs dangling from their mouths, standing away from the cage now to reveal only two people left on the table.

Serin descended the steps below the tower, as everyone waited, nervous in the presence of the queen. In the relative stillness, one of the last remaining men on the table decided to move, creeping slowly at first, then picking up his pace as no one reacted. He reached the edge of the table before the giantess closest casually grabbed him before he could jump. It was the fruit-gatherer, and she lifted him idly into her mouth as she watched the queen approach, indifferent to his struggles.

Serin finally reached the table, scanned her gathered warriors, and shouted, “The humans have made fools of us today. They sent” – she thrust a hand in the air, a man in her fist – “insects to our home. Defied us!”

It was Grawn. Arabel couldn’t see clearly at this distance, but it had to be. She shot a look to Caracae. “Can you –”

The witch shook her head, definitely not.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“This is their loss,” Serin said, shaking Grawn about demonstratively. “We tried to negotiate peacefully. We gave them a chance. Now the lines are drawn. Tomorrow, we take supplies.” She pointed towards the fruit-gatherer in particular. The thundresses started straightening up, expressions shifting – liking what she was saying. A feeling of dread grew in Arabel: supplies, no doubt, meant people to eat.

“Now,” Serin said, stepping closer to the table, where the last remaining man stood. “We feast.” With her free hand, she snatched the man off the table and threw him into her mouth, swallowing at once. She thrust Grawn back above her head and the surrounding giantesses raised their fists to join her, cheering again. They stamped their feet and thumped the table, and those still holding victims shook them violently about or devoured them. Serin did a quick round of greetings, patting her most favoured companions, offering words of encouragement, and strode away again, back up to the tower. Grawn still hung limply from her hand.

Once the queen had gone inside, Arabel turned with concern to Caracae once more. The witch didn’t meet her eye, no question in her that they were going to risk saving the knight. The princess, though, cleared her throat and spoke with less assuredness than before. She said, “Whatever you think is the best way to escape, we must do it. They’re declaring war, you understand?”

The group went quiet, silently accepting that.

They settled in morosely for the night, to let Caracae recover, and Arabel tried to ignore the sounds of feasting below – the jovial giantesses and their screaming victims. Every night, Vivaria had said. It was unthinkable.

Then, as those sounds died down, Arabel heard noises from the chamber beneath them, coming up from the window. Serin talking, meanly, teasing her victims. Her words were unclear, but the intention obvious. She was offering threats, orders and insults. She did not eat her victim, most likely Grawn. The bed squeaking lightly. The sounds turned to little moans of pleasure. Then louder moans. Arabel squeezed her eyes shut trying not to imagine it, praying it wasn’t actually Grawn. But it must’ve been. Serin was punishing his ability to stand up to her, however briefly. Or maybe rewarding it. The knight was being shoved inside her.

“Mostly,” Vivaria whispered, shuffling closer to Arabel, “I had to watch. Sometimes . . .”

Arabel dared a brief look and saw the depth of trauma on Vivaria’s face. Sometimes the princess herself was chosen. They were all Serin’s toys, before they were food. Vivaria crept even closer, until their shoulders were touching, and Arabel put an arm around her. For comfort, for warmth.

They stayed like that for the better part of the night, and when an unbearable chill came in Caracae performed what a small magic to warm the roof underneath them. It became pleasant and Arabel lay back to try and sleep. None came, really, as she lay thinking of the horrors she’d seen, until dawn crept over the horizon. Everyone stirred at that light, all apparently waiting to get away as quickly as possible.

Caracae stretched like a cat and fixed her eyes on Eko. She said, “I’m ready for more, if you are.”

“Oh go to hell,” Eko said, but sounded resigned. The witch waited and the monster hunter sighed, holding her arms up to invite being lifted. Caracae picked her up and put her in her mouth, up to Eko’s waist, and sucked with pleasure.

Vivaria looked appalled, so Arabel explained that it would boost the witch’s energy. Eko grimaced, but put up less of a struggle than before. Finally, the group moved to the edge of the tower, a terrifying height, and Caracae floated Arabel and Vivaria out, then down, quicker than Arabel would’ve liked. Once they landed, and darted to the cover of the nearest wall, Caracae glided down to join them, Eko still hanging from her mouth.

The witch took her out and unceremoniously placed her into her cleavage, making Arabel’s eyes widen in alarm. Eko protested, “Gross, you absolute –”

“Enough,” Caracae said, no humour in her commanding tone. She adjusted herself, wedging the tiny woman between her ample breasts. “I may have need of you and we’re not wasting any more time. Just hold on.”

Eko shifted an arm out, staring up with hatred, but quit complaining as the witch was clearly in charge of their escape. Caracae led the way, moving back towards the fruit-gatherer’s home, and Arabel shared only the briefest uncomfortable look with Vivaria before following.

The tribe was quiet, the night’s partying having left them collapsed over tables or in doorways. Arabel spotted one unconscious giantess with a man still in her hand, arm outstretched over the path. He was feebly pushing against her fingers, no strength to get free even as she slept. Too far away for them to help, and with the risk of alerting the giantess too great, they had to leave him. Arabel hated the thought that he was destined to be a hangover snack, merely waiting for the moment his captor woke.

The group crept into the fruit-gatherer’s home, finding their host draped across her bed and her sack empty on the floor. They all climbed in, pressed deep into a corner, and waited. Arabel felt like she held her breath for the next hour, in the dark, until the thundress stirred and thumped through the room. Yawned. She took a terrified woman from her storage box and ate her for breakfast, then finally lifted the sack. They all struggled to keep quiet as they were swung about, bouncing against the thundress’s leg as she walked away from camp with weary greetings to her neighbours. She strode down the mountainside, stopping briefly to relieve herself, and kept walking for what felt like a long time.

Finally, they were met with the unmistakable sound of terrified people. The screams got quickly closer as the giantess walked towards them. The bag plummeted as their host crouched and a man shrieked, picked up. His shouts were cut off – Arabel heard the terrible familiar sound of the giantess swallowing. A few seconds later, she grabbed and devoured another victim, the journey having clearly made her hungry.

“We’re going now,” Caracae decided, rolling to put her hands on the canvas bag. She breathed deeply, and pushed out. The material split beneath them, and the three women dropped out, Vivaria with a little cry. Caracae somehow slowed the fall before Arabel could smash into the dirt, then they were away. Caracae darting for the cover of a hut, Vivaria behind her, Arabel pushing the princess. They skirted a wooden wall and Arabel took in their surroundings: the edge of a village. Three buildings separated them from a field, where people were running away.

The giantess lurched over them, a mountain of flesh blocking the sky as she crawled forward on her hands and knees, out into the field. As she grabbed the fleeing villagers, Caracae gestured inside the hut, and the three women ducked into cover. Likely to be crushed any second, Arabel feared, but the witch had some kind of plan, and pushed them down low. There was a stuffed feather mattress on the floor, which she dragged over all three of them, and placed her hands against its lower side. They lay there, waiting, listening as the thundress took her time smashing through walls and capturing villagers.

Their own hut was suddenly hit and exploded over them, and wood rained down as Arabel and Vivaria fought the urge to scream. Big objects bounced off the mattress, though, and they were unharmed. The giantess moved on, shouts and screams all but over as she plucked up the final villagers. Then the ground cracked under her weight as she stood, and with big strides, the thundress moved on.

They waited until the tremors of her footsteps were distant, and Caracae pushed the mattress off. Arabel sat up, taking quick breaths, and checked around them. The hut had been obliterated, as had all the surrounding buildings. Nothing was moving, no one left alive, though bits of bodies stuck out from the debris. The village had been annihilated worse than by any storm, and all so quickly. The giantess had already disappeared over the horizon.

“We did it,” Vivaria gasped, though. She was up, springing on the spot laughing despite their position at the centre of a massacre. “We did it! We’re free!” She grabbed both Arabel’s hands and pulled her up, dancing a circle around her like a delighted girl. “Thank you, thank you! We’ve made it!”

“Not quite home yet,” Caracae warned her, but the witch was smiling with satisfaction. She stood and regarded the mattress, pleased that whatever magic she’d worked had helped protect them. She pushed her fingers between her breasts and pulled Eko out. Arabel winced, forgetting that the monster hunter had been in there all this time. Thank the Saints she hadn’t suffocated. Caracae placed the woman in her palm and asked, “Any idea where we are?”

Eko took a second to regain her composure, with an unpleasant look for the witch, then scanned the horizon. She squinted from the countryside back to the mountains they had descended. “Can’t be certain, but looks like due south of Winterbe, from the lay of the peaks.” She turned the other way. “There’s horses there.”

Arabel felt a great weight lift from her. They were out of sight of any giantesses and had access to horses. She finally let her anxieties go and laughed out loud, turning back to the princess. “We’ve made it. We’ve really made it.”

And together they stood, bedraggled and tired, a tiny monster hunter, a savage witch, a princess and a scholar. Ready to go home, even if there was war on the horizon. Arabel exhaled relief, telling herself she’d be happy if she never set eyes on the Nidings again. An ill feeling told her that wasn’t guaranteed.