"What?"

The fox's unblinking eyes followed her, and although its facial expression didn't change, its voice sounded slightly more exasperated. It had a low, growling rasp to it that made each word sound strained. "The law of favors." It said the phrase with familiarity, like it was commenting idly on the weather. "You've freed me, and now I'm bound to do the same for you."

"She is free here," Braum interjected, hand unsteadily reaching for the axe hilt on his back. A knowing look crossed his face, though what he'd perceived he wouldn't say. "Be on your way."

"Is she?" the creature intoned. A globule of spit fell from its mouth to the ground as its jaw hung open. The creature was silent but turned them to face Elodie as though prodding the question through the air in her direction.

It asks if you are free yet binds you in the same turn.

"What does it mean," Elodie finally asked, "to be bound? What are you?"

"I'm a gelert, and to be bound is to be bound. You've given me a favor, and now I must return one of equal weight. Simple." The smile twisting on the fox's lips appeared anything but simple. Dark intention lurked in the fox's eyes, but something else, too—a hunger, a curiosity almost.

Braum answered, "You're one of the fairy queen's, aren't you?"

The fox's tail flicked playfully, and its jaws opened once more. "I am."

Braum's axe was brought forth as a response, and Elodie's eyes widened. The fairy queen? A moniker, if she remembered right, for the only other orator that had visited the castle in recent history. From what Elodie had learned, the nickname was well earned; they were a temperamental individual with a penchant for unscrupulous behavior that they masked behind a calm and gentle demeanor. It was no wonder Braum was so on edge.

"Wait," Elodie protested softly, touching Braum's arm. If Elodie were honest with herself, she would have admitted that she was desperate to talk to another orator. If this creature could somehow connect her to one ...

So that's the trick, her muse concluded. Thalia is too clever for their own good.

Trick or not, Elodie thought back, I can't ignore this chance. They might tell me more than you will. Elodie felt hope swell in her chest. The fairy queen might even answer her questions about what happened to Ann's arm and how to fix it.

"If this creature is somehow bound to the fairy queen, then striking it will only anger them," Elodie reminded Braum.

"I know that," Braum growled. Frustration blazed across his flexed grip, and he repeated, "I know that, but-"

Braum watched the fox for a beat or two longer before letting out a displeased noise. Elodie felt the muscles in his arm relax, and she let her hand drop. Relief poured through her ribcage like a thick syrup.

The axe drooped and hit the snowy ground with a dull thud, but Braum still rested his palm on the butt of the hilt. As he did so, the fox's voice continued in a low rasp, with a mirth that Elodie found unsettling. "I am bound by two owners now; only the owners can resolve where my favor lies." The fox's limbs began to extend, and the fur on its body expanded until it was the size of a pony. Bones cracked as they reformed. It was no longer a fox, but it still had a distinctly canine form with a long, thin body like a sighthound. Blood poured from its side as it did so, and Elodie could now see small snowberries beginning to push from the soil where it bled. It crept closer, and all three humans stepped backward in dismay.

Yet the hostile lurch never came. Instead, the hound bowed, snout brushing into the snow as its ears pulled back into its head. "Get on. I will take you to the eighth orator's glade so the two of you can resolve this."

"What?" Elodie exclaimed, "You're in no shape to go anywhere." Braum shot her a look, irked that she was entertaining this beast's request.

"I ... will be fine," the hound growled, chin resting on the snow and continuing to hold its mouth agape to speak. Even without facial expressions or vocal tones, Elodie could tell the creature was lying. She wondered if pride or duty moved it to such stoicism.

She took a deep breath and looked skyward. Slow, fat flakes of snow began to drop from the sky. "I'd like to go," Elodie asserted, "As the court orator of the Audric family. By your leave, Prince Braum." She gave the formal full bow, one hand in a fist on her chest and the other tucked behind her back. Ann quickly copied.

Braum's hand gripped her shoulder, gently pushing her out of her bow. His eyes were dark plates of obsidian, which held the gravity of a kingdom in them. "I forbid it." He held on to the shoulder, and she saw fear dancing in the snow around him.

Elodie couldn't help it- she leaned forward in defiance. She wondered if Braum hesitated because he feared losing the orator under his command. That thought hurt.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"You said I'd have your every resource to stand on my own," Elodie responded, some of that hurt slipping into her words. "Why are you stopping me now?"

"You have to see this is a trick!"

"This is the best chance I have to learn more about oration." Nadya's words rang in her head: Are you going to roll over? I would not. They fueled her steps towards the hound. "Please."

Braum looked winded, annoyed at the defiance, yet held back any deeper emotions with a quiet nobility. His gaze was somber, and his form was like a great dam holding back a torrential river. "No. I won't let you fall into some fairy's trap. I finally-"

She didn't hear the end of his sentence. Her legs buckled. Fur pushed at her back as the snout of the hound swept between her legs and knocked her backward. With a scramble of limbs, Elodie reflexively snapped at the air in an attempt to right herself. Her hands found a thick patch of fur, and she yanked. The tips of her fingers wove into long, wiry fox hair that stretched and elongated in her grasp. Ash-white hair wove up her arms like gloves and around her ankles like stirrups, fastening her in place.

With each step the hound took, it seemed as though they were stuck in static motion while the rest of the world blurred past them. The fur relented its grip as the hound bounded away from the clearing. She had to clutch to stay upright, and the thought crossed her mind that she could throw herself off to escape. Elodie understood the question being posed: will you stay? Or go?

She faintly heard the cries of Ann and Braum behind her, thumping footsteps chasing after her, but the gelert moved too quickly for them. Elodie leaned forward until his nose brushed against the nape of its neck. She felt each muscle of the beast ripple beneath her as a river, one that she didn't mind being swept up in. She gripped the creature's neck tight to assure it that they were of one mind, regardless of the intention of their pursuit. One being was freed from a trap, and the other stepped in willingly.

I'm sorry, she thought, as though her wishes could be carried back to Ann and Braum on the wind. I'll be back soon.

* * *

Away they bounded from the forest, away from the castle. The valley deepened, and the trees grew taller around them until Elodie no longer recognized the landscape. At first she thought the plants and colors smearing past her like paints dissolving her water were simply foreign to her, or too blurry to discern.

The beast slowed only once to catch its breath in a prairie meadow that Elodie didn't recognize and had certainly never been to. There were diminutive stones with holes in their center placed around the dead branches and grasses like solemn gravestones. They stood stalwart, keeping watch as the beast heaved. Atop their stone heads were helmets of snow as the winter sky continued to outpour its bounty.

The gelert rested on its massive side, puffs of steamy breath pouring from its maw and legs splayed about it like logs. Each breath was a labored effort, made painful by the bite in its side.

Elodie wanted to ask her muse to help the creature but couldn't think of how to word the request in a way that couldn't be twisted and manipulated. The snow, the blood, oration; she focused on breathing. Now that she was far away and alone with it, the familiar pop! noise came back to her mind, blank and empty. Fear settled in the grooves her recklessness had created, leading to the realization that she was alone, far away from home, with a creature whose intentions she didn't fully understand.

The gelert's eyes narrowed, and between heaves, it weakly said, "I'm not going to hurt you. I wouldn't hear the end of it."

Shame washed down her body and Elodie said, "Sorry. Can I ... help in some way?" It was as much a question for the gelert as it was for her muse. "I feel a little responsible."

The gelert barked a laugh. "Responsible?"

"You wouldn't have been in that trap if not for me."

"You're actually kind, aren't you? Just plain nice." The laughter turned to something painful, and its voice got quieter. "I just need some rest. I am not like your gangly dogs. I will live." Its eyes closed in thought.

"Still," Elodie protested.

"Do as you will. If you can cover or close the wound, that would help."

Elodie stepped between some of the snowberry plants that had grown around it and hunched over the beast's side. Now that she was closer, she felt dizzier, the smell of iron triggering her memories. She knew there were stories of magic that could heal and fix wounds instantaneously, but she still felt discomfort around any manipulation of the flesh. It was too close to Ann, too close to the sheep. She settled on, "I'd like something to stop the bleeding, please."

Take some snow from the cairns and press it into the wound.

She complied, and although her hands shook, she pressed snow into matted, pinkish fur. As it melted under the warmth of her touch, she saw the water lace with magic, holding the wound together like glue. She looked up and was startled to see curious eyes staring back at her. Her gaze quickly lowered to her work while the gelert watched her, intrigued.

It will not heal, only hold.

Elodie let out a sigh of relief. "I'm afraid that's the most I can do now." Using magic multiple times left a tingling sensation in her limbs, like weariness after a long run.

The gelert appraised the work and only nodded in response, laying its head down. It was quiet as they waited, both eager to continue the journey but unwilling to disturb the other's rest.

When the sun started to lower beneath the horizon, the gelert rolled onto its stomach and said, "It's not much farther, now. Get on."

"Oh. Yes ..." In the lingering silence, she realized she didn't know how to address this creature. "May I have your name?" she asked as she straddled her legs across its back.

"No," the gelert snapped with ferocity in its voice, and then upon seeing Elodie's face, its eyes grew dull and listless. "You can't have it, but you can ask for it."

Elodie didn't understand the difference but said, "Then ... your name is?"

The hound pushed back onto its haunches and pulled itself upright off of the ground. Elodie read hesitation, perhaps even confusion on its face before it finally said, "Fen."

"Fen," she parroted back. "How much further do you think it is?"

"It depends," it responded, kicking into a brief trot, "on their mood today. I'm not sure they'll have remembered we're coming."

"What do you mean?"

"The fairy queen. Because I'm bound to them, I can navigate their domain ... I feel them no matter where I am. It's like ... I can find a door. But they have to be the one to open it. To let us in." Its voice was long-suffering, nearly exasperated.

"Oh."

"Oh indeed." As Fen's pace picked up, Elodie felt that same sensation from earlier, watching as, with one step, they must have crossed many miles based on how many trees blurred past them. It made her grip Fen's fur a little tighter. "Don't worry, if need be, I can knock pretty damn loudly."