《Consort of Gaul [Dark Fantasy Romance]》 Ch. 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 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, when the servants accompanying Anya had at last turned around. ¡°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 the House of Clary 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 whorling froth 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. She took the beaver¡¯s offered arm, cold mud climbing around her toes as she stepped into the waterlogged grass. Behind her, a second carriage pulled up, and a disheveled wolf emerged, his face criss-crossed by scars. Anya remembered that some important general of Gaul had been captured during the war, and 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.¡± Alain knelt in the mud. ¡°I¡­um¡­¡± Anya executed a clumsy curtsy. ¡°I offer myself to you.¡± 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, with a masculine tinge. 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.¡± Alain shrugged. ¡°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 more than necessary.¡± ¡°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 boundless generosity and boundless 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. 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 Vasilev, formerly Anna of Rus, eldest kit of Patriarch Vadim III, consort-to-be of Marquis Yvon Clary.¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. 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. 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 an 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.¡± 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. 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. 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 the prince¡¯s eyes, wide with awe and 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 Clary?¡± ¡°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?¡± Against her better judgment, 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. Don¡¯t say that. Not when half of you are corpses in a frozen ditch. Stolen novel; please report. ¡°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 Court. 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 Court 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.¡± She turned to the caretakers. ¡°We¡¯ll need to get this one to the front lines. It will wake up soon.¡± 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. 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 surely not for her. The cannon still boomed in the distance, and tomorrow would be another long day. Chapter 2: House of Wolves 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. ¡°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 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 did not wish to lose a favorite toy.¡± 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. ¡ª ¡°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. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. 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. ¡°The runes upon it. They are no language I know,¡± Sofia continued. ¡°Can you read them?¡± ¡°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. ¡°By the by, my draugr and 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?¡± 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 the interlocking rings of St. Brigid. ¡°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. 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 thumbs up. ¡°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 cur 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, let the rabbit go with you. Her arts are much better suited to danger than my own, and come at far lower a cost. Besides, if you are killed, we will become worthless to the Clary family, and our safety will be irrelevant.¡± Something seemed to flash behind Sofia¡¯s eyes¡­pity? And then it was gone, and her visage was as still water. 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, calling the resulting entity 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? This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. 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. Sofia: 5¡¯9¡± Raphael: 5¡¯8¡± Alain: 3¡¯8¡± Renee: 3¡¯3¡± Anya: 3¡¯2¡± 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 our 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.