Belle lay curled up on a small couch on the balcony overlooking Z’s courtyard, snuggled deep in a pit of thick, aching pain. Occasionally a tear would slip sideways from her eye, but otherwise she just stayed curled there, letting herself feel it all. For whatever reason, this was one of those times where she could let Everything crash over her. She felt safe enough to sink deep into her pain and her loss and her worry and she could trust she wouldn’t drown. That one day in the future, maybe tomorrow or maybe a year from now, she would be able to get her head back above water. To breathe again.
So for now, she let herself feel it. She let herself imagine where Kitten might be—scared and alone and thinking she had abandoned him. She let herself imagine where Pait might be—in much the same situation. She let herself miss Clarix, let herself wish that the sweet stinky girl had gotten the long, safe, happy life she had deserved. She even let herself remember Mama T, let herself think about Mama B trapped in that pit where magic went to die. She thought of Uncle Daph, of Goose and Gander, of Ushra and Lurni. Halex, Flick, Zara, Pocket… Her whole great, big, messy, loving family now resting forever in the Dark Mother’s arms. She thought of the girl she had been once. Bent but not yet broken. So full of life, even bruised as she was.
Z was angry with her. Jac was angry with her. And yet, beneath the same roof as them, she felt safe enough to lie here and let herself feel all the worst (and best) things.
Mother Dark, what would she have done without these friends?
The answer was: she would have died. Years ago. She wouldn’t have survived the broken heart she’d told Jac she cherished.
Her feelings were nearly all spent, the tide was on its way out and she could feel one of her cheeks break the surface. But she knew well that once her feelings drained and she could no longer float in them, exhaustion would once again have her feeling the active pull of gravity, dragging her down.
Belle let her eyes close, one last tear escaping, ready to let her weariness drag her away.
But something tickled at the edges of her awareness. A familiar magic.
Belle bolted up immediately, wide awake. Her favorite little curl of black smoke ribboned its way toward her. She rushed to the railing of the balcony and threw out her arms, and the smoke whirled between them before materializing.
“Julius!” She clamped the beast to her chest hard enough to squeeze an “Oof” from his lungs. “Oh, sorry, sweet boy.”
“Mama Belle!” he shrieked. “Kiss!” And he smashed his face into hers.
“Kiss!” she agreed, and smooched the top of his fuzzy head, just above his one, pale eye. Emotion rippled through her voice as she said, “Good boy. Let’s fetch you a snack.”
“Snack, please!” He clambered onto her shoulder, smacking her in the face with his wings.
Z had met Julius before, but this house’s attendants had not, and when they saw Belle walking through the house with Julius on her shoulder, a wad of her curls balled in his claws to steady himself, they either yelped, leapt back, dropped whatever they were holding, or simply gaped. Often it was some combination thereof. Belle just smiled and waved to indicate there was nothing to worry about, and continued to pad her way downstairs to the table, now Jac-free and restocked with fruit.
She picked out two apples and held them both in her left hand, grabbed a folded cloth napkin and stuffed it in her waistband (Julius was a messy eater), then, as she trotted back up the stairs to the balcony, tugged one of her knives out of its tattoo sheath and began to slice off thin pieces of apple, which Julius immediately snatched up with his finger-toes and stuffed into his mouth. While he chewed, Belle dabbed at his chin with the napkin—made more difficult by the fact that he was bouncing happily on her shoulder and kept yanking on her hair.
Back out on the balcony, Belle patted her knife hand on the wide stone railing, and Julius promptly flapped over to it, ripping out a few strands of her hair as he did. She leaned forward to give him a few more head smooches before returning to slicing his apple, and she had just started chattering to him in Xo when he surprised her and began to retch.
Belle froze and watched him, heart pounding. Only four people knew how to give Julius messages, and three of them were in this house right now. The other one was supposed to be still on his way back to Silvax Forest. Had something happened? Z had made it clear they hadn’t found Daivad. The trail went cold when the Wolves’ tracks and scent trails had disappeared into a river. They had people searching the riverbank to look for more tracks, but by then they would be long gone. Kure had been their one chance.
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Julius gave one final retch and then sat there, his jaws wide. There were several seconds of silence. Then a deep voice’s false start. And then—
“234 J Street, Room 15,” said Daivad’s voice. “I’ve got something named Yours.”
Julius clacked his blunt teeth shut and shook his head, ears flapping. Then he bounced once and screeched, “Good boy, Julius! Good boy, Mama Belle! Snack, please!”
“Yes,” Belle said, breathless. “Good boy, Julius.”
Heart pounding, hands shaking, and a warm nervousness in her belly that Belle didn’t quite understand, Belle quickly sliced the rest of the apple, and the second one as well. She’d grabbed the second one for herself, and indeed she did stick a few slices in her own mouth, but Julius deserved all the rest. She asked him to stay here and wait for her to return, and then she slipped downstairs to find Jac and Z.
She considered not saying anything to Z. Mad as he was right now, he would want to know where the fuck she was off to, what was going on, why she was so worked up. But when he inevitably realized she was missing, everything would be so much worse. Plus, she needed to use one of his carriages, or a horse at the very least.
“Nyx!” he threw his hands out, exasperated. He was back in that more masculine face, a bit of scruff on his jaw, in his study trying to write up a report of the night’s events that might keep them both out of deep shit with the queen.
“We’ll be back in an hour. Two, tops,” she pleaded with him.
“And why,” the words rumbled in his chest, “can’t you name your destination?”
“Z,” she said softly, taking a step toward him. “I heard a whisper—you know how valuable those can be. And how important it is to protect them.”
A growl rolled out of Z, and his hazel gaze burned. He stepped forward, erasing the last bit of distance between them. He took her jaw between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up … but then his expression softened. He drew a thumb over her cheek, and then across her bottom lip. “I understand it, now. Why all the beasts fall for you. It must be the monster in me, that makes me want to…” Then, harder, “But I can only cover for you so much, Nyx. I won’t fall with you—and if you keep dancing along this edge, you will fall. And you’ll take Jac, and your mother with you.”
Belle flinched.
“They’re sharp words to swallow, I know,” he said. “But they’re ones you need to swallow. They won’t kill you, but this path you’re on might.”
Belle laid her hand on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart through his simple tunic. He was right of course. She’d been maybe-sorta-kinda working with Daivad for mere days and it had already gotten Luvatha half blown to shit, gotten Z in deep trouble, gotten herself in deep trouble, and put everyone and everything she cared about at risk.
But. She was doing something. She was changing things. For five Mother-fucking years she had barely, barely survived while Mama B rotted in Broken Earth’s dungeon. It had been five years of the exact same hell day after day. At least now things were happening. At least now she felt alive.
She couldn’t turn back now. She wouldn’t.
“Two hours,” Belle pleaded. “And I swear to the Dark Mother that the events of those two hours will not weigh on your shoulders.”
“Oh, Nyx.” He sighed, his wine-scented breath warming her lips, and then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You are going to be the death of me.”
A few minutes later, Jac sat across from Belle in the carriage, Puissance’s head between her feet and its handle in her hands. She was back in the plainer clothes she had worn to Urden, her yellow (now dingy-yellow) tunic and simple sandals, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. And staring at Belle.
When they were on the main road, the carriage surrounded by voices and neighs and the clopping of hooves, Belle finally told her of the message she’d received.
Jac stared, absolutely no expression on her face, for several long moments. Her forehead was resting on the hammer’s handle between her eyes. Finally, she said, “There is no Mother-damn way, Nyxabella.”
“No way what?”
“That that house of a man came back into this city and woke no alarms.”
“If he had woken any alarms, Z would be first to hear them,” Belle countered.
Jac tugged on the handle, knocking it repeatedly against her forehead and raising a faint red spot on her golden-brown skin. “And can you come up with a single name for why that fucking bull would do such a thing?”
An amazed smile on her face, Belle said, “Not one.”
Jac groaned and rapped the handle on her head harder.
“Enough of that.” Belle leaned forward and tapped the handle away from Jac’s head.