Stray was hungry.

So very, very hungry.

She was also- though she didn’t like to think about it- very, very scared.

She had been walking through the snow for what felt like hours since the carriage driver had ordered her out, huffing and puffing that he would not carry one of the Cursed. As soon as he’d pulled over the coach over to the side of the road she’d known what was going to happen: She’d seen the look in many men’s eyes before, and she knew what it meant. It had all been so quick: One moment the coachman was trying to pin her, the next his life was leaking out of him into her through the bare hand he’d put against her mouth. Images of what he’d wanted to do to her blooming inside her mind like they always did, the experience of his lust and rage enough to make her stomach churn. Little girl, little girl, soft and sweet little girl. Wear the Spring Maid’s green and a wolf will come for you… For an agonisingly long second they had been stuck like that, frozen together, and then he’d backhanded her so hard he’d knocked her from the carriage. Not even stopping to throw her luggage after her, just taking off like the devil himself was on his trail. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened since she left home but Stray sincerely hope it would be the last-

And it was better she knew to be a live girl than a dead wolf at the side of the road.

And so here she was, trudging through the snow with only her green hood to protect her. Sometimes peering through the darkness of the road, looking for the lights of the homestead, sometimes trying to distract herself by thinking of the people she had left behind. It was winter and the ground was hard beneath her boots as she walked, the snow having solidified into an ice so glassy it made each footstep treacherous. Each movement forward a battle to not to fall to her knees. The world was shimmering, white and winter-streaked: snowflakes were beginning to feather down from above and she almost welcomed them, knowing that they would at least make walking on the ice easier though the damp they brought would cling to her clothes. The air was bitingly cold, so harsh against her skin its touch was like a knife’s. The sensation reminding her of her last moments in her father’s house though she pushed the thought angrily away. She was doing well, she told herself stubbornly, she was surviving without Them-

If you called walking alone through a snow-filled wood at dead of night surviving, that is.

It was another thought she pushed harshly away.

She heard it then, in the darkness. The quietest of breaths taken, the slightest padding of feet. Stray had not been alone in the world long but she had learned to use her senses, and she had learned to trust them. And right now they were telling her something was wrong. So she stopped a moment, head cocked, listening. Trying to work out whether what she could hear was heavy-bodied and escapable or light-footed and able to take her down. But it seemed she was utterly alone: There were no house-lights, no farms this far into the wildwood. Humans didn’t come here, save when a carriage needed to use the old King’s Road because the newer roads to Caer Lauglin were blocked. And if something was following her then it was nothing she could see: There wasn’t a living creature within her sight for all her searching. Inwardly she shuddered, a common saying about kettles and frying pans popping into her head. And even older one about the dangers of walking alone at night arriving hot on its heels. Little girl, little girl, soft and sweet little girl. Wear the Spring Maid’s green and a wolf will come for you… Stray sighed, her teeth chattering. The enormity of her situation stealing through her. She was alone, all alone out here in the wildwood with nothing to defend herself with except the power of her Curse. There was little else that could make the situation worse and she knew it-

And that was when she saw the golden wolf.

It was also, coincidentally, when her heart decided to try beating its way clear out of her chest.

The beast was massive, far bigger than any she had ever seen before. Its eyes copper-golden and watchful, its paws stained with blood. Stray began backing up, adrenaline flooding her body. The fact that she was utterly alone in the wildwood suddenly, vividly real. She feinted left but the creature matched her. Feinted right but the thing instantly blocked her way. Out of the corner of her eye she saw another wolf move into her line of vision, this one smaller but somehow elegantly lovely. Its eyes a vivid yellow, its fur so black it gleamed blue. The smaller wolf began advancing on her too, growling softly. A big pink tongue flicking out to taste the air around Stray, to lick her scent and make it her own. Stray tried to think logically, remembering everything she’d ever heard about wolf attacks but none of it was reassuring; They were in the hardest months of winter now, the biting, gnawing months that drive all predators mad with want. The golden wolf was so massive that it must be a brilliant hunter, she thought- It was clearly not a creature who had gone for long without a meal. Which meant that it was very good at killing, so good that a small morsel like herself would provide no challenge at all to it-

Unless, she thought suddenly, she used her Curse on it.

She wasn’t sure what using her power on an animal would do to her, but she didn’t think she had a choice about it.

So she fell back, feeling inside her thick woollen coat for the edge of her glove. Her heart easing a little as her fingers found it, the effort to work it down her arm taking more of her attention than she liked. The smaller, bluish wolf seemed to know she was up to something because it began snapping at her, barking angrily at the gold wolf as if giving it an order. Knocking against the shaggy blond pelt, yellow eyes narrowed with anger or worry or both. The golden wolf made a sound, cruel and harsh, that was almost like human laughter and then without warning it launched itself at Stray, knocking her to the ground, its teeth at her throat. Its shaggy coat protecting it from her Curse’s strength though she pressed her bare hand against it with all her might. Stray let out a little, yelping scream, the wind leaving her body as her back hit the ground. The weight of the golden wolf crushing her, pushing against her chest. For a split second blind panic reigned, her only conscious thought that her Curse wouldn’t work if she couldn’t touch the creature’s skin somehow-

And then, without any warning a reddish brown blur smashed into the golden wolf and knocked it away from her. Another, snow white blur knocking into the blue-black wolf and forcing it into the snow. For a second Stray couldn’t really see what was going on- Had she hit her head?- and then without any warning there was a cacophony of light and noise around her. The woods suddenly bright as daylight, the sound of a fight drowning out all else. A woman dressed head to toe in white furs- the white blur she’d seen?- was raining arrows down on both of her attackers. Stars exploding like fireworks around her, lightning was suddenly darting through the forest, its aim unerringly, impossibly precise. A fork of it hit the ground at Stray’s feet, forcing her to scramble backwards. Another hitting a branch above her head and making her scuttle further back. A wind picked up, lifting the blue-black wolf into the air to smack hard into a massive oak tree to the right of them. The golden wolf howling at the sight of it and snarling his rage, gaze focussing terrifyingly, furiously on Stray. The beast smashed into the white-clad woman, sending her sprawling, its massive maw wide and slavering now, filled with wicked-looking, sharp-as-knives teeth. Stray screamed, so long and loud that it made her throat ache, certainty that she was about to die filling her-

And then suddenly, miraculously, there was some…thing standing between her and the golden wolf.

Something massive and hairy and… feral between her and the creature after her skin.

For a split second all Stray could do was stare at the newcomer, with its golden-hazel eyes and body that seemed spun out of shadows. The sight of its massive bulk making her heart unaccountable beat even faster in her chest. The thing was snarling, a low, vicious sound that drew a shudder out of Stray even as it shifted itself more protectively in front of her. A whisper of thick fur- hair?- against her bare skin raising goose-bumps wherever contact was made. The newcomer reached momentarily back towards her, its hairy nose briefly taking her scent, the gesture somehow comforting… And then it was snarling, biting. The golden wolf launching itself at the newcomer, their bodies colliding with what sounded like a bone-breaking thump. Teeth and claws gauging, trying to gain purchase against one another’s hide. The golden wolf slashing its claws viciously at the newcomer, blood- was that her protector’s blood?- spattering against Stray’s bare skin. She tried to force herself away, skittering through the slush but the newcomer kept with her. Snarling as she tried to move away from it, snapping its massive jaws at the golden wolf’s throat even as it used its tail to smack her back into place. For a second the fight hung in the balance, the golden wolf and the newcomer apparently evenly matched, both fighting viciously to reach Stray-

And then as suddenly as it had appeared the golden wolf was silent. Blood flooding from its throat to pool in the snow at Stray’s feet. The massive creature gave one last, shuddering breath, its jaws snapping shut and then it was still. Silent. Unmoving. Its copper-golden eyes staring but not seeing a thing. With a tiny whimper Stray backed away from it, a hand reaching down to pull her to her feet. The woman dressed all in white steadying her, her blue eyes wide with concern. “Are you all right, child?” the woman asked her gently. There was a strange rending sound happening somewhere to Stray’s right and the girl knew without a shadow of a doubt that she did not want to investigate its cause. “Did they manage to do anything to you before we got to you? Are you- Are you sure that you’re alright?”

Stray shook her head, mouthed a soundless yes. Her teeth chattering, the shock of everything she’d been through finally settling into her skin. For a split second she was still, swaying where she stood, unable to stop herself- And then suddenly she was staring up at the sky, wondering why her feet weren’t on the ground anymore. The stars twinkling like iron nails above her, the knife-like cold covering her skin now and seeming to disappear inside her lungs. She began to shudder, the chattering of her teeth getting louder, the sense that she was being pulled under and into a million separate pieces getting worse. For a second she could have sworn that warm, strong arms were holding her, that she could feel fur against her skin-

And then she was falling into darkness, oblivion claiming her as surely as the golden wolf nearly had. Her body unable to deal with all that it had just been through, its instinct for oblivion until it could heal. Stray gave a last, shuddering breath and then darkness claimed her, her body finally relinquishing its grip on this world-

While in the middle of the wildwood a man picked her up and gently cradled her.

If she’d been conscious she might have recognised the hazel-golden colour of his eyes.

Stray slept and when she did she dreamt of wolves.

Wolves howling for her, singing for her. Their voices rising in cacophony and making her blood burn. Darkness and fur whispering against her, her breath coming quick and short at the sensation of it. The memory of it almost a pleasure, the first that touch had provided in oh so long. Yellow eyes, copper eyes staring back at her out of the darkness. Taunting her and calling her for their own. The girl tossed and turned, tangled in something she couldn’t quite understand the nature of. Skin hot, sticky, almost-inhuman as she lay there, the beating of her heart sounding like a drum inside her chest. Hazel-golden eyes peered through the gloom to meet her own for a second and as soon as they did she felt her heart stutter slightly. Every muscle straining, shaking, quaking. The weight of her skin dragging like a swell-tide against her strength. She was shivering, every sense on alert, every nerve stretched to breaking point. Uncertainty whether she should be running or staying still hissing through her bones. And still there were those hazel eyes, those familiar and yet unknown hazel eyes peering down at her-

She awoke with a start to find them looking right at her.

Though this time- slightly to her disappointment- they appeared to belong to a man.

He was sitting across from her, massive arms crossed in front of him. A book folded on his knee, a scythe leaning to his left. He looked tall, though not overly so, and stocky; His hair fell messily about his ears and his hands looked hairy, veined and strong. His face was handsome, she supposed, though not in the way she was used to: She couldn’t imagine the boy she’d been betrothed to, David, ever growing to be a man such as this. And yet, and yet… She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, and most certainly didn’t want to. Any more than she could stop the way her body flooded with… awareness of his presence. He was peering at her with an almost uncanny focus, his brow drawn in concentration or maybe anger. The notion that he was somehow unhappy with her one that she couldn’t ignore. Stray frowned, her heartbeat picking up as she tried to sit upright, the image of the wolf from last night flooding her mind-

It was then that she (belatedly) realised she was naked.

The hazel-eyed man made a point of looking away.

“She’s awake, Red,” Stray heard him growl then. His massive form raising itself from the chair he was sitting in, turning his back to her as he strode across the room. Stray only had the time to notice what a large, thick frame he had (Was he a hunter? She wondered. A woodsman? What was he to the wolf who saved her?) before the door to the room opened of its own accord and two women walked through it. One carrying an apothecary’s bag, the other a tray of food and water. As they got nearer the girl realised with a start that they were identical, both red-haired and slender and elegantly lovely as the blue-haired wolf had been. The one carrying the tray grinned at her slyly, the one carrying the apothecary’s bag taking the chair the hazel-eyed man had vacated. Smiling as reassuringly as she could- Which didn’t seem reassuring at all. She reached out to take Stray’s wrist and instinctively the girl moved to withdraw it-

You needn’t fret child, she heard a woman’s voice chime in her head. I know all about your Curse, and it will not effect me. Without a moment’s warning the sheets of the bed began rearranging themselves to cover her though Stray couldn’t see the hand which did it. The girl gave a startled little yelp of surprise and instantly the hazel-eyed man was at her bedside. One large, hairy hand reached out as if to comfort her though he didn’t actually make contact with her flesh.

“Quit showin’ off, Gold,” he muttered darkly. “Girl’s been through enough, without adding you girls’ little conjuring trick t’the list.”

The twin who had been carrying the tray grinned; It might have been reassuring if it hadn’t had such a mocking edge. “Why is it you always assume the worst of me, Logan?” she drawled. “Since we both know Red-” she nodded to her sister- “Would never let me get up to any real mischief with a newcomer.” And the sheets flattened themselves down, no longer moved by that unseen hand.

This didn’t appease the man though. “Red ain’t the only one standing between you and mischief Gold,” he snapped, “And don’t you forget it-”

“Nobody’s likely to forget it,” the twin- Red?- who had brought the apothecary’s case said softly. “Now please calm yourself before you lose your temper. Both of you.” She nodded to Stray. “As you pointed out, our guest has been through enough.” And she made a point of pulling out a pair of old opera gloves, showing her hands to Stray so she could see her put them on. “I was told of the fight,” Red said softly, as if Stray had spoken her unasked question aloud. “Just as I was told that you tried to use your Gift on the wolf which attacked you. I don’t need to use these gloves, my Gift protects me. But I can see how agitated my being without them makes you, your mind’s practically screaming it-”

It clicked into place in her head and Stray narrowed her eyes. “So your Curse is that you can hear thoughts?” She had heard stories of such things but never believed them. Then again though, she’d never believed one could simply wake up one day Cursed and look at what happened to her.

“Yes, Stray, I can hear your thoughts.” The other twin, Gold, snickered at the name Stray had chosen for herself and the girl shot her a filthy look. If Red saw this she paid it no heed. “Just as Logan here can heal from any injury conceived of by mortal man, just as my sister here can move things without physical touch. Everyone in our troupe has a Gift, each one in its own way as powerful as yours-”

“Does your “gift,” kill?” the girl asked bluntly.

“Were I to choose to use it that way then yes.”

“Well then it’s not much of a Gift, is it?” She nodded towards Gold, who looked irritatingly smug. “And being able to choose to kill is not the same as being unable to stop yourself.” From the corner of her eye she saw the man Logan stiffen; Suddenly he was staring at her very hard. “I have a Curse, Mistress Red,” she murmured. “I don’t ever forget that. For your own sake, neither should you-”

And she dropped her gaze down to the sheets she was tangled in, not wanting to let strangers see how much the thought of what she was effected her.

She felt a small hand land on her shoulder then.

“We are not the sum of our Gifts,” Red said softly. “None of us are.” Though she was speaking the words to her, the girl couldn’t shake the feeling that they were directed at the others in the room. Once again she heard Logan growl. “We have been made different- special- for a reason. And if we learn to control our powers and do what good we can in the world, we will discover that reason-”

He was out the door and slamming it behind him before she could even finish speaking. A moment later a grinning Gold followed suit, the knowing glint in her eye for some reason setting Stray’s teeth on edge. The apothecary saw her staring at the closed door and smiled, though the girl couldn’t help but notice it didn’t reach her eyes. “Like you, Logan struggles with what he thinks his gift has made him,” she explained softly, answering the unspoken question. “He is unwilling to see himself as others see him, no matter how much good he does.” She shook her head, half amused, half affectionate; For a second Stray’s own mother popped into her mind. “He spends so much of his life ashamed of his Gift I’m surprised he has time to do anything else. Don’t let his moods upset you.”

“Why would anyone be ashamed of being able to heal?” the girl asked softly. She knew she was staring at the spot where he’d but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

The room felt…empty without him.

Red sighed. “Like yours, his Gift is more…complicated than it would first appear. And like yours, it can cause great harm if not properly controlled.” Again she shook her head, removing her apothecary’s instruments from her case. None of them looked as vicious or as barbaric as those Stray remembered from the apothecary’s shop in her own village and for that she was grateful. “Logan has helped us so many times, saved so many of us. He is the bravest, fiercest fighter I have ever met. But he thinks that his Gift…taints him, and that blinds him to his potential.” Red gave her a small, slightly teasing smile. “And you can see how much potential he has, can’t you girl?”

Stray felt red stain her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.

Red looked unconvinced. “We have many women here with us, in the Company of Miracles,” the older woman said. “Many of the have been saved by Logan. Many of them count him as friend. If you stay with us you may have the opportunity to do likewise…”

The image of the wolf stalked behind her eyelids and Stray couldn’t bring herself to push it away. “So that’s what you call yourselves?” she demanded instead. “The Company of Miracles?”

Because she didn’t want to admit how intoxicating she found the idea of learning to count Logan as a friend.

The apothecary shrugged. “It seemed to fit. We are travelling entertainers; That is why we were so far from the King’s Road when we found you; Our way had been blocked by snow.” She began tapping against Stray’s wrist, taking her pulse, suddenly all business. The girl got the impression Red had made this pitch before. “If you wish to stay with us, you would have a place here. You might become one of our entertainers, or you might choose to work behind the scenes. It would depend on what suited you best.” She hummed to herself, apparently liking whatever Stray’s pulse was telling her. It occurred to the girl that it was strange such an educated woman had taken to life on the road. “This life is hard,” Red said, once again reading her thoughts, “But good, for me at least. I know my husband feels the same. Besides-” A brief, friendly smile split her face, “What is this life without the possibility of adventure? And if you seek adventure then I would advise you to try your hand at befriending Logan; I have never seem him watch as diligently over someone as he watched over you.” Her gaze turned shrewd and Stray shrank beneath it. Once again she thought of her own mother, though this time the recollection brought no joy. “You would do well together, you and he,” the older woman continued more softly, “I know you see it-”

Stray spoke over her. “I see nothing. Only a wolf last night who defended me. Bring that poor beast here and I will give it my thanks.” And she crossed her arms stiffly, not knowing what else to do. The question of the wolf which had defended her and its relationship to Logan setting her nerves on edge. Any talk of being friendly with that strange, hazel-eyed man would only bring talk of other men- other wolves- she had been friendly with. Only bring talk of where she had come from and what she had once thought she was destined to be. And there was nothing in the world which would prompt Stray to allow that. So she sat still and let the apothecary check over her, giving only one word replies to her questions. Trying to snuff out the image of that hazel-eyed wolf that still lurked at the back of her eyes. Perhaps the older woman read her resoluteness through her body language. Perhaps her thoughts were really just that easy to read. But the apothecary fell silent and did not mention Logan for the rest of the examination-

Stray neglected to ask again about the wolf she had seen, and Red studiedly did not attempt to bring it up.

It took until sundown for Mistress Red to be satisfied of Stray’s recovery.

It also took until sundown for Stray to accept that this so-called Company of Miracles weren’t going to throw her out into the snow- At least not yet.

But by the time the sky turned dark and the apothecary left her a small spark of hope was burning in the girl’s chest, a spark which had been noticeably absent in months after her flight from her village. Someone Red referred to as Remy had apparently expressed an interest in having her as an assistant in his fortune telling show; Someone called Kitty had said she would be happy to have an extra pair of hands in the kitchen tent. The white-clad woman who had helped rescue her- Ororo, the apothecary called her- had even offered to train her in the use of the bow, the better to defend herself. And the better, according to Mistress Red to keep her from getting into any more trouble with wolves. To Stray’s exhausted mind it seemed like a miracle: After months of rejection, of living on her own wits and facing danger at every turn she would have a family to take care of her. People to keep their eye on her and whom she could protect in turn. It would be like the last few months, the flight from her family had never happened-

And if she was careful then the Company of Miracles need never know what had happened to her in Illunis. The trouble she’d left buried in her hometown could stay there, and she could begin a new life despite her Curse.

So it was with a lighter heart that she slipped out of the medicine wagon where they’d left her and went to find some food and water. The crescent moon shining brightly down on her, the sounds of the camp merry and near. Stray wandered shyly out, following the smell of cooking. Her bare feet- she couldn’t find her boots- making her teeth chatter in the cold. There was enough light from the campfire to her left that she did not need a lantern, though she still felt the night pressing in against her as she weaved her way through the camp. She didn’t pass anyone except a stray fox, its eyes blinking red rather than the more usual brown. It stared at her for a moment, seeming to consider her with almost human self-containment- And then with a sniff and a whoosh of its bushy tail it disappeared into the night, leaving a set of even, precise tracks in its wake. Stray couldn’t help but somehow feel that she had been inspected and found to pass muster, and the thought made her smile more widely despite her shivers-

“What is it with you and wandering around in the snow?” Logan’s voice sounded behind her then.

If Stray could have jumped out of her skin she would have. She spun on her heel to see him silhouetted against the snow, massive arms crossed against his chest, a crossbow leaning against the wheel of a nearby wagon. His face was only lit slightly by the dim flame of a cheroot and despite herself she stared for a moment, agog at the sight. Stray had seen plenty of the men in her village smoke but none of them had ever been so… careless about it. None of them had ever made it seem as if they were only complete with that tiny, docile bit of flame and tobacco between their lips. She blinked, a sudden and inexplicable desire to reach out and touch that little flame, to taste it- or maybe to taste him- making itself felt. The fact that there was no polite, innocent way to do that something which barely registered in her mind. Stray reached a hand towards his face and Logan half-moved away, the action doing nothing more than bringing his jaw into contact with her hand. The bristles of his beard protecting him from the worst of her skin’s pull. As if she were watching someone else she saw her fingers trail lightly across his cheek, making their way towards his lips with an almost unthinking eagerness-

And then just as suddenly he coughed, pulling away from her. Throwing his cheroot down and grounding it out in the snow. Stray blinked as if waking up from a daydream and suddenly, for no reason she wished to fathom, Logan wouldn’t meet her eyes.

A very long, very awkward beat.

“You should go back to the medical wagon,” he growled then. He seemed fascinated by his hands: He was staring at them very hard in the campfire’s golden light.

“I was- I was hungry,” Stray stammered. “I thought I might be allowed to cook some food-”

Logan snorted. “Hands like those, you definitely can’t cook.”

“What do you mean, hands like those?”

She held up her pale, small hands before him. There was nothing wrong with them that she could see.

Logan leaned into her. “They’re soft, girl,” he muttered. “I’ve known the hands of enough women to recognise when they’ve never done a day’s work-”

Stray tried to blink back a sudden tightness in her throat. “I worked with my hands every day, Master Logan,” she said softly. “Everyone in my family did-”

“Oh, and what business could keep those little fingers as tender as that?” He was growling now.

“Silk,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Silk,” she said softly. “We were silk merchants. I-” Suddenly she was fascinated by her toes. She hadn’t spoken of Illunis or her family for so long… “I have been working with my hands since the day I was born,” she told him. “Soft hands are best when deciding the value of silk.” And she forced herself to meet that disconcerting, hazel-eyed gaze. Her fingers curled in against her palms of their own accord. Though shallt not touch… “Give me cloth and thread and there is nothing I can’t do,” she told him. “My father made sure I would be able to earn my keep. Just as he insured that I knew how to cook-”

Just for a second the two shared a tiny beat of a smile. Logan’s was apologetic.

Another, gentler beat.

“All the better to marry you off with, my dear,” Logan said then, shaking his head to himself. It sounded like he was making a joke only he understood.

“All the better to take care of myself with, my dear,” she countered. The urge to reach out and touch him returning with a vengeance. “And I would thank you to ask me before you make assumptions about where I come from.”

His eyes flicked up at that. “You would tell me, would you?”

“I might.” Without her really deciding to she took a step closer to him. His smile widened a tiny bit. “Would you do the same?”

He shook his head, ducking his gaze. For a moment he looked much younger than his years. “We don’t ask questions, here in the Company of Miracles,” he told her. “If you want to stay with us you had best learn that.” Her surprise must have shown on her face because he shrugged. “Everyone here is running from something,” he continued softly. “It’s why you’ll fit in here.”

“Is it why you fit in here?” She held her breath, there under the silk-spun moon.

As suddenly as it had arrived his smile disappeared.

“Men like me don’t fit in anywhere, Mistress Stray,” he said abruptly. Moving away from her, making as if to leave. Something silver flashed in the light, something he was wearing around his neck. Stray couldn’t get a good look at what it was. “You would do well to remember that too,” he snapped, “And leave those who do not wish fer company alone-”

And he swooped down to pick up his crossbow. Dismissing her in all but word. Stray reached out instinctively to stop his departure and her fingers found the cuff of his shirt: It was ragged and tattered, the frayed edges spattered with blood. Logan growled, hissing at her to stay back. Any welcome she had felt in his presence suddenly, irretrievably gone. “Keep your hands to yourself, woman,” he snarled, “Don’t make me tell you again-”

“I can fix this,” she muttered, “Just give me needle and thread and I can fix this-”

He shot her a look that froze her in her tracks.

“Some things can’t be fixed,” he said.

And with that he stalked away from her, swinging the crossbow behind him. His form rapidly disappearing into the darkness, swallowed up by the night. Stray stood for a few moments, heart hammering in her chest, not sure quite what had happened-

And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, the hazel-eyed wolf that had saved her padded by, carrying Logan’s damaged shirt in its jaws. Its loping gait somehow mournful, or maybe just embarrassed. The beast’s hazel eyes staring at her with something that in a human would have been regret. It dropped Logan’s shirt at her feet and then disappeared into the night, its shadowy, elegant form as insubstantial as the air. Only its tracks proving that Stray had not imagined the entire thing. The girl knelt down to pick up the shirt, all thought of food forgotten; It had been of a fine fabric once, she noted, but too many winters and too much use had dulled its quality to nought. She padded back to the medical wagon, shirt in hand, inspecting it already in the pale light. Trying to guess what sort of beast had torn that shirt- and its owner- to shreds. Because the more she looked at it the less she wanted to meet the creature that had done this kind of damage to the garment- Or the man who wore it-

And as she sewed she wondered, despite all her skill, whether she had finally encountered something which truly couldn’t be fixed.

She would never get to sleep at this rate.

And Stray frowned, huffing out an annoyed breath and glaring down at the shirt in her hands. The frayed, once-was-white fabric seeming to mock her where it lay. She had been trying to fix the damn thing ever since she snuck back into the medical wagon, the thought of being able to prove Logan wrong about her skills strangely attractive- But so far she could do nothing for it. Every stitch she pulled seemed to come loose the next moment, every seam she tried to trace disappeared into the fabric before she could find its source. It was damn annoying: Stray was a silk merchant’s daughter, for heaven’s sake. She had learned needlecraft almost before she learned speech. There was little she did not know about fabric, little she did not know about how to drape and cut and stitch.

This seemingly innocent shirt was getting the better of her. Its whiteness still marred with those tell-tale drops of blood, (Whose blood? she couldn’t help but wonder), its softness siren-call-welcoming there against her skin. Stray had spent most of her life handling cloth, had learned at her father’s knee to evaluate texture, weight, value. Worth- Or was it worthiness? Were the two things the same when it came to cloth? And yet she had never handled any fabric the way she handled this simple garment. Never wanted to fix anything with such an eagerness. She held it close, she looked at it. She tried to imagine what had led to such fine fabric becoming so worn with time. She picked at the frayed, ruined cuff she had offered to fix, needle still in hand and as she did so she felt a sharp stab of pain, the needle breaking the skin of her finger. The whiteness of the cotton suddenly blotting with blood. The girl frowned- She was always so careful with pins and needles, it was rare she was pricked- and sucked on her injured digit. Muttering under her breath as another drop of her blood blotted onto the shirt’s collar, as a third bloomed on the panel at the front. Stray licked her other finger, trying to wipe away the stain away, worry at what Logan would say making her clumsy-

And as she moved it her hands brushed against something hidden beneath the collar.

She held her breath, frowning in the candle-light, and pulled out a single, rose-gold hair.

It was long, so long that it must belong to a woman. Its colour lustrous in the candlelight, its softness obvious to Stray’s hand. Despite the scent of medicine and herbs all around her it smelled lightly of shampoo, something expensive and flowery; Stray remembered the elegant mother of the boy she’d been betrothed to smelling very much like this. Did it belong to a sweetheart? she wondered. A conquest? Was the woman this hair belonged to why Logan seemed to reluctant to be near her? The girl stared at it, laying it gently across her lap upon the shirt fabric; Her skin hummed and growled as she looked at it, its delicate, golden surface gleaming in the light. Without really thinking why she reached out her injured finger, wanting to touch it: As soon as she did so it seemed to… curl itself upwards, slinking towards her hand. Swaying like a dancer, its colour gleaming. Something so seductive she didn’t have the words to tell it hissing through its length. Stray frowned, hand coming to a stop, eyeing the thing. Unable to work out how the hair could be moving of its own accord.

As she watched it curled upwards, snaking around her finger. Its brass-bright surface rubbing gently against her skin. Her blood sluicing thickly onto it as it moved against her hand, nuzzling into the wetness as a wolf would caress its cub. Stray knew that she should be frightened, but she somehow wasn’t. A heaviness was setting over her bones, a warm, murmuring glow that seemed to fill her from the inside out making everything seem… just… fine. As if from far away she felt her heart beating, her lungs expanding with deep breaths. Her skin tingling with sensation as the golden hair lengthened, its single thread multiplying until it looked like a golden rope against her wrist.

Shivering now, Stray pulled the bedcovers back and tried set her feet on the ground. Wanting to go she knew not where- Though a wagon with a hazel-eyed wolf sleeping in front of it blossomed behind her eyes. Coldness knifed through her, and she looked down to see snow between her toes, its whiteness blood-spattered. She was back in the wildwood again, she realised disjointedly, the trees spider-boned with winter, the snow falling over her hair like damp, wet kisses against her skin. From far away she heard a howling, lovely call and the golden thread tightened against her in sympathy. Her body reacting with arousal, honey-scent languid and delicious on the air. Stray tried to move, wanting to answer that wolf’s howl- what else was her throat for if not to howl to her own kind?- but she couldn’t. Her feet, though planted firmly in snow, felt rooted to the spot. She tried to stir but nothing happened; She tried to pull away but the thread seemed to bind her, to keep her fettered to the bed. The warm, golden glow in her chest began to dissipate, cold panic replacing it-

She suddenly remembered with mind-numbing clarity where she actually was.

“Help…” she whispered then, “Please, help me…” Snow knotted against her fists, the tree branches seemed to lengthen like black, grasping threads. “I don’t want to die in the wildwood…” she murmured, “Please, have pity, please…”

And she looked around, wanting to see someone. Something. Wishing that the wolf who had called to her were here, that she could find another of her kind to help keep her safe. The golden thread was tightening painfully against her skin now, slipping and sliding seductively over her face, her entire body. Its touch disturbing, the feel of it like hands and yet not like them. The sensation it brought bringing back memories Stray had long tried to banish from her mind. She felt its touch against her throat and a tiny gasp escaped her. She felt it slide beneath her nightdress to caress her belly and her entire body erupted in protest, in angry, drowning-in-memory wrath. The thread solidified its grip, depriving her of air as she struggled against it. Its weight pulling her onto her back on the bed now, the press of it against her no longer pleasant or safe. Stray began to fight in earnest, thrashing and shaking. She snarled and managed to get one hand loose: The thread retaliated by looping itself over her eyes, blacking out her vision. Making her panic rise another notch. She dragged herself off the bed, knees smacking painfully into the snow; The wolf howled again and without thinking she took off towards it, her feet cutting painfully from their contact with the stony ground. Her breath coming in gasps as she fought her inhuman opponent with everything she had. Something exploded into her from her right, knocking her sideways: She hit the snowy ground with a painful thump, the feel of something heavy rolling her onto her back making her scream long and loud. A hand clamped over her mouth and she bit at what felt like fingers; A taste of tobacco flared in the air. Suddenly the golden thread was torn from her eyes and throat, and she could breath- move- see again. The only thing she could register was the way her heart was pounding, the only thing she could let herself recognise was the great swell of relief in her chest. Stray crawled onto her knees, her chest heaving; it took her a moment to realise that there was no snow beneath her now. She forced herself onto her back, her breath coming in great gasps; the wagon seemed larger and dingier for some reason, its window blacked out and dark. For a second all she could do was try to catch her breath, tears running down her cheeks, her body in overload-

And then, very softly, she heard a strangled, muffled gasp.

It was at this moment that Stray realised she was no longer in the medical wagon.

Slowly, with a dawning sense of dread, the girl forced herself to her feet. Her body trembling and sweat-soaked, her hands wringing against each other like they were never going to stop. The shadows thrown by the candle to her right made the room seem to dance and sway, and she only had time to wonder whether she was still dreaming- Surely she had been dreaming? Surely that could only have been a dream?- When she saw Logan on his back, his face a mask of agony. The tell-tale spidering purple that signified her Curse inching across his skin. He was completely naked, curling in on himself; For a second Stray thought she saw fur beneath his skin, the hair erupting, but when she looked closer all she saw was damaged, sick flesh. Flesh that she had marred. She went to touch him but he pushed himself away from her. She tried again, covering her lethal hands with a nearby pair of gloves but still he forced himself back. She supposed he couldn’t bear to have her touch him now. Stray wasn’t sure when she started screaming for help but within seconds Ororo was in Logan’s wagon. Mistress Red and her husband Master Summerisle both at her heels. “What happened?” Red barked. “What did you do to him?”

She was staring at Stray like she might stare at a snake.

The girl opened her mouth to answer but nothing happened. She stared helplessly at the apothecary, at Ororo, but nothing would come out. She looked down at her hands and belatedly realised she still held the shirt the wolf had given her: That single golden thread was still visible against the fabric, its length slicked crimson with her blood. For a beat that seemed to stretch an eon Stray stood there staring, not knowing what to say to them-

While, to her right and completely unnoticed, Mistress Gold raked a hand through her beautiful, long, noticeably rose-gold hair.

“What did you do to him?” Mistress Red demanded again.

She was staring accusingly at Stray, one hand against Logan’s bare shoulder. Trying to comfort him, the marring, purple effects of the Stray’s Curse gradually fading from his face. Logan was hunching on himself, muttering to her to “Stay the Hell back-” Almost as if he were afraid of the apothecary’s touch as much as Stray’s though the girl couldn’t imagine why that would be. After all, she thought slightly dizzily, she was the one who had injured him like this, not Mistress Red. She was the one who was dangerous, the one who couldn’t keep people safe. The rest of the Company were standing around Logan’s door, ogling the scene though they were shivering in their nightclothes; Ororo had already pushed her way to the front of the crowd, her longbow in her hand and ready, her eyes frightened. From the way the huntress’ blue-eyed gaze was darting between herself and Logan however, Stray couldn’t be certain whether she was frightened for or of the naked man-

It was, she thought disjointedly, a most peculiar reaction to her friend’s injury.

She opened her mouth to say as much, but the words still wouldn’t come out.

“It’s obvious what happened here,” Mistress Gold drawled then. She was still dragging one elegant hand through her hair, gold streaks standing out against the red. For some reason the sight of it made Stray flinch. “Everyone saw the way the girl stared at him when she came here,” the woman continued silkily. “Everyone knows what her power does. Clearly she waited until Logan’s guard was down and then snuck in here with the sole purpose of using her Curse on him-”

Finally Stray found her voice.

“That’s not true-” she muttered, “I didn’t- I wouldn’t-”

There was nothing in the world that could make her hurt Logan.

“Then what were you doing here?” Gold’s eyes raked mockingly over her, and suddenly Stray wanted the ground to just open up and swallow her; The woman seemed to have a gift for making her feel like an awkward, ugly child. “Are you suggesting that Logan invited you-” her tone was disdainful, “-Into his quarters when the other women of this troupe have never been granted such an intimacy? Are you suggesting he asked an apparently innocent, awkward young girl to visit him in the dead of night?” Her smile turned mocking. “Hardly likely, now is it, little one? And after all, if he wanted you here why would he have locked his doors?”

And she gestured to the battered, open door beside her which looked like it had been in a fight with a hungry wolf and lost. The lock hanging forlornly away from the door’s panels, as if someone had forced it open- Though something about the sight tugged at Stray’s mind in a way she couldn’t explain. It was almost as if the lock had been forced from inside... The girl stared down at her tiny, pale-as-moonlight hands and wondered how they had ever had the strength to do that to anything though-

But before she could answer Logan struggled to his feet.

“Let’s get this straight once and fer all, Gold,” he was muttering, holding onto Ororo for support. He was wincing, doubling over in pain but he still managed to shoot the room at large a glare. “The girl heard me hollering, and she came in here to help me. Tried to wake me, since none of you idiots told her the danger in doing something harebrained as that. Thought to do me a kindness, and that’s an end to it-”

“But that’s not an end to it.” Gold gestured to the other men about her. “What’s to stop her from doing this again, doing it to one of our husbands? What’s to stop her from trying to murder one of us in our beds?” And she looked around at the assembled Company, her expression now self-righteous. Suddenly Mistress Red looked deeply uncomfortable with what her sister was saying and Stray didn’t blame her one little bit. “We take in our own, it is true,” Gold was saying, “But we do not need to keep this, this predator in our midst. We do not need to keep a Judas child and offer it a home. A man should be safe in his own bed at night-”

“And if we were to get rid of you he would be,” Logan snarled, leaning more heavily on Ororo. Stray saw Mistress Gold’s eyes narrow in annoyance at the sight.

“Then she has bewitched you!” the older woman snapped back. “That’s the only explanation for this sudden infatuation: She has used hex-craft on you, Logan, and managed to steal away your sense.” And the redhead stood up taller suddenly, her eyes shining. The air about her beginning to tremble with something Stray didn’t have a name for. Something old and whispering-familiar and mean. “Are we to sit here and let her work her way through the Company?” Gold was demanding. “Are we to be slaves to another magician, as we were slaves to Father Carlos before her?” She shook her golden-red head angrily, her eyes burning now. Stray wondered if she was the only one who could see it, see the way the woman’s shadow seemed to be growing, its shape stretching out to etch a pair of massive, feathery wings. The crowd seemed entranced. “No,” Gold was hissing. “Never! Never! We will not be slaves again! Not for the sake of this slip of a girl, not for the sake of Logan keeping his bed warm at night-”

And she began jabbing one finger angrily at Stray now, her mouth working tightly. Muttering something under her breath in a language the girl didn’t know, the words ugly and jarring and sinister, not an ounce of kindness in their sound. In the mirror above Logan’s wash stand Stray could see her making some sort of complicated gesture behind her back, her nail tearing into her skin and opening it. A drop of her crimson blood tumbling towards the floor and staining it, another hitting the rug beside Logan’s bed and spreading. The size of the spill far greater than a drop of blood that small should produce. The girl only had time to think that this was very odd- why weren’t the others scared? Did they even see this?-

And then suddenly she was lifted aloft, her limbs spread-eagled.

A grip like a vice wrapping around her even as the wagon was lit with a light both unearthly and feather-down-cold. Stray looked down to see tendrils of gold sliding across her body, just like the golden threads which had hurt her in her dreams and she began struggling. The memory of the hair’s grip- and the memory of other hurts and humiliations it had triggered- burning their way through her limbs. An unwillingness to be that victim again making her tremble and shake. No, she found herself thinking. No, no, NO, NO, NO! She began to struggle, pain wracking through her, arms flailing. An awareness that this was strange- Why didn’t anyone help her? Why didn’t they even seem to notice?- making her feel dizzy. Sick. The Company of Miracles stared into space, apparently blind to what was going on around them; Stray felt the air thicken, felt it became mercury-heavy and stifling in their ignorance. In their unwillingness to see what was going on. The light in the room seeming to shudder, the heat within it somehow leaking away. She let out a long, harsh scream, pleading with someone to help her but it did her not a bit of good. Again and again she screamed, the sound changing now, coming out like nothing so much as a wolf-howl-

And that, naturally, was when all Hell broke lose.

Because suddenly Logan fell to his knees and let out a keening, piercing howl in answer. His hands stretching out before him, fingernails forming into claws. Maw opening up to reveal lengthening, tearing, wicked-as-silver-sharp teeth. The pupils of those beautiful hazel eyes that had haunted Stray for as long as she’d known him lengthening and changing. Becoming those of a massive, ferocious, lovely-as-hungry-flesh wolf. Stray watched as Logan’s skin seemed to part itself from his bones. As hair- no, fur- erupted, dark as a promise, from somewhere beneath his skin. For a split second nobody moved, not even Mistress Gold; Nobody it seemed wanted to breath near the beast, even Ororo seemed like she was trying to move away. Mistress Red scrambled backwards, her husband placing himself between his wife and the man- No, not man, Stray thought dizzily, bzou, loup garou, were-wolf-

But Logan didn’t seemed to notice. He didn’t seem to really see anything except Stray in her helpless, caged-by-magic state. Moonlight was beaming in through the window of the caravan now, bathing him in its silvery glow. Painting his new form large on the walls of the cabin, painting it dark as shadows there on Stray’s shivering skin. She heard a hiss, a plume of breath, a fall of skin and out of it a wolf stalking-

And then-

“Get out of here,” Ororo hissed to Gold, “It is as I told you.” She gestured to Logan. “Your jealousy will be the death of us yet.” And she picked up her bow, hooking a single, deadly, silver arrow through her fingers. If they trembled slightly in the moonlight she gave no indication that she saw. “She is the moonlight key,” the huntress was hissing, “She is the one he’s been searching for-”

And with that she drew her bowstring back and let her arrow fly.

Stray’s knees hit the ground with a sickening thump.

For a split second Stray didn’t understand what had happened.

Girl. Wolf. Huntress. Staring at one another.

Mistress Gold, her lovely face a mask of fury as Logan’s hazel gaze remained riveted on Stray.

The silver arrow burning coldly in the darkness, its brightness slicing through the twilight from where it stood buried inside Logan’s flesh, where it was pinning him, hurting him-

And then, just as she’d know he would, Stray saw the Once-Was-Logan arch its back in agony, a howl hissing out through its jaws. Its fur matted with blood and viscera, its teeth showing whitely in the pale moonlight. Mistress Red and her husband skittered back, eyes fixed on the wolf and terrified. The rest of the Company of Miracles shaking themselves as if emerging from a dream and rapidly following suit. “If you value your lives,” Stray heard Ororo mutter softly, lowering her bow and readying herself, “Then you will run now-”

And without another word the woman rose to her feet as swiftly as a shadow. Darting out of the wagon, the Company behind her. For a split second Red, Gold and Master Scott made no move to leave, the look on Gold’s face shell-shocked, as if she could not quite believe what Ororo had done- Or who Logan was still staring at. The look on Scott’s face showing that he had been expecting this, and that he was not happy to be proved right. Red tried to yank Stray away with her but the Once-Was-Logan snarled at her, again making her fall backwards; It had shifted itself so that it was between the girl and the doors of the wagon-

Clearly, of all the people in its quarters that night it was only interested in her.

“Stray..?” she heard the doctor whisper, “Stray, come with us- We won’t let him harm you, just come here…”

But before she could finish her sentence the wolf lashed out at her and she was forced to dart out of the way, barely avoiding its claws. Master Scott muttering several swear-words under his breath as he made to pull the red scarf he wore over his eyes down, scarlet light glimmering beneath the cloth. Stray heard Red mutter something that sounded like, “You’d kill them both, love-”

And then the werewolf decided the matter by launching itself towards Scott and Red, teeth bared and snarling. Making them both tumble through the doors of his wagon, landing in a tangle of limbs and curses in the snow. The wolf’s attention going with them and as soon as his gaze wasn’t on her anymore Stray saw her chance, took it. Dashed around the wolf and launched herself down into the darkness, arms and legs a mess for a moment before forcing herself to her feet and taking off into the night like the Devil himself was on her tail- Which perhaps he was. From behind her she heard a wolf’s howl cut through the night and though she didn’t see him make it she instinctively knew that it was Logan’s. That he was calling for her. And that, on some level she couldn’t fathom, she wanted to call back. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t. Because what kind of madwoman would call out to a hungry werewolf? What kind of woman would want to comfort such a beast?

And yet, and yet…

She couldn’t shake the image of the silver arrow buried in his flesh. It was behind her eyes as she ran, torturing her. The knowledge that silver- the purest of metals, everyone knew, and therefore the most dangerous to wicked creatures- was tearing him open and hurting him something that made her feel sick. Stray knew in her head that she was doing the intelligent thing; She had grown up hearing her grandmother’s stories of werewolves and knew well their taste for human flesh. It wasn’t unusual for a girl to go missing in the woods around Illunis, and everyone knew what had to have happened to her-

But if Logan were going to harm her why hadn’t he done it when he found her in the snow that first night? If he were so set upon eating her then why would he warn her to stay away from him? It would have been much easier, Stray knew, to prey upon her obvious fascination with him and ask her to take a walk alone in the woods. She would have said yes, though she was old enough to know what a man wanted from a maid when he took her into the forest- After all, there had been stories about that too when she was growing up. But Spring Maid’s green or Hunter’s Black he had tried to protect her from the moment he met her. And now he was hurt, probably bleeding to death while his so-called friends left him to die in the snow. All for the sake of someone Ororo called his Moonlight Key. Stray slowed down, the adrenaline surge which had fuelled her flight beginning to dissipate. Worry about the man she had left behind- and he was a man, no matter what skin he wore- taking its place. What if Mistress Gold was hurting him? What if they all were? Stray knew well how it felt to be the most dangerous creature in a room and she knew the contempt it bred; Had she left the man who had saved her twice to die? Could she do that?

And the simple answer- The only answer was: No.

She couldn’t leave the man who’d saved her, no matter what he carried underneath his skin.

So she turned then, began retracing her steps. The moonlight glinting coldly off the snow, making it shine like silver. The image of the arrow which had hurt Logan filling her mind. Stray knew that it was foolish, that any sane understanding of her situation would have told her to run far and fast. But she wouldn’t do that, not when Logan was hurt. Not when he had been trying so hard to save her life. From far away she heard his howl keen through the forest and she began following the sound, tracking it. A couple of steps back the way she’d come bringing her to a trail of blood and wolf prints which slithered through the snow. Stray paused, hunkering down to examine them: The creature who had made them was limping badly, but it had purposefully run in the opposite direction to her footprints and that told her everything she needed to know.

He was bleeding, but he was still alive. And he was still trying to protect her.

So Stray began to hurry, following the tracks as best she could. They led towards a huge oak tree, its shape stark against the crescent moon; The roots of the tree were hollow, barely touched with snow though the branches were white with it. It was, she realised, the closest thing to cover she would find out here in the woods. The tracks led down a sloping incline and Stray followed them, rolling through the snow in her haste; She came to a halt before the trunk, shaking the wet out of her hair only to hear an ominous growling. A pair of hazel, nearly-human eyes glowing at her in the dark. The girl peered into the shadows- “Logan, are you there?”- Trying to see the man she was searching for. Made a move towards the darkness only to have him snarl at her, a bloody, vicious-looking claw swiping at her though it did not make contact with her skin. She heard a voice, like that of a man and yet not like it, growl from the tree-roots. “Go,” it hissed, “Stay back-”

“I can’t do that.” She knew in her bones it was the truth. “I need to make sure you’re all right-”

“I am not the man you know,” that strange voice growled. She heard him take a hissing, indrawn breath. “I am- I am under the moon’s influence. I will hurt you, I will tear you to ribbons-”

“I’m a silk merchant’s daughter,” she said, keeping her voice as level as possible. “I take no fright at the notion of being decked in ribbons.”

“And blood?” The eyes moved nearer from the shadows. “You take no fright at the notion of being decked in that too?”

“You will not let that happen.” And acting on impulse Stray reached her hand into the darkness of the tree’s roots, guessing where Logan’s claws would be. Her hand made contact, his fur warm and safe against her skin. He gave a strange, feral whine but he did not pull away. “You’re hurt,” Stray said softly, stroking her fingers gently along his fur. It felt so wonderful to be able to touch him and know it wouldn’t cause him pain. “The arrow must be removed so that you can heal-”

“Why should I heal?” he demanded. “What makes you think I have the right to?”

“Did you sell your soul to the Devil for the power to change?” she asked him flatly. “Did you seek this state so that you could maim and kill?” Stray had listened carefully to the stories her grandmother told her, and she knew all the traditionally accepted reasons why someone became a werewolf.

She doubted that any of them applied to him.

He shook his head. “I was born this way,” he said quietly. “All of my people were-”

“Then this is who and what you are,” she said gently. “There’s not a body in the world can be blamed for being what they were born to be, we both know that.” And she reached out, extending her entire arm into the shadows this time. Tracing his claws- so sharp- his shaggy coat luxurious beneath her fingers. The warmth of his belly, his chest calling to her. The shape of him like a puzzle she had to solve in the dark. When he had transformed in the wagon he had looked exactly like a wolf, exactly as he had when she had first seen him- But the form her hand traced now did not feel canine. The chest was too broad and the waist too narrow, the arms- were they arms?- elongated like those of a man. When he didn’t pull back she crawled further into the darkness, her heart hammering; Inside the tree’s roots was so much warmer than outside, breath and body-heat flaring against her skin. Her hand slid delicately around to his shoulders, fingertips searching- The topography of his body felt strange and yet so familiar, almost as if she were mapping something that she had touched in her dreams. He took a huffing, sharp breath as her hand found the shaft of the arrow, the metal warm and gory beneath her fingers as she moved to pull it-

And then, before she knew what had happened she was on her back, Logan glaring down at her. Hands nearly-human and tight against her wrists. Breath frosting out into the night air. He had her pinned, his bulk so much heavier than hers, his sharp teeth white in the moonlight. His form massive as the oak’s had been, there against the stars. Stray shivered, the memory of night she had been cast out of her father’s house flaring in her. Humiliation and hurt linked as always in her mind with snow. But this sensation did not match that remembrance, she suddenly realised. This was wanted, welcome even. It did not make her body tighten in protest and fear, this made her limbs feel loose and honey-trickle-warm. They had spilled out into the moonlight when Logan pushed her back, and now every inch of him was visible to her. His shape that of a man though fearsome, his skin still covered in thick, dark-as-promise fur. Despite her best intentions she licked her lips, her body quaking-

Suddenly, for no reason she wished to fathom, neither of them could breath.

“What the Hell are you playing at, girl?” he demanded then. He was staring at her in a way nobody had ever stared at her before. Not in Illunis, not even on the road.

It was terrifying- In a strangely wonderful way.

“Did I- Did I hurt you?” she stammered. She could still feel his blood on her fingers; It was sticky and wet. Her hands ached to reach out and try touching him again.

“Would take more than a slip of a girl like you to hurt me,” Logan growled, pulling roughly away from her. But he was frowning, the expression strange on his Once-Was-Wolf face. Taking in her scent- she blushed automatically-his skin so warm and tempting and safe where it pressed against hers that it made her a little dizzy and not from the cold. “You’re really not frightened of me,” he muttered after a moment, expression perplexed. “This is- I become a monster and you’re not terrified.”

And he shook his head, smiling slightly.

It made him look a great deal less fearsome than it should have done.

“No,” Stray answered softly, “I’m not terrified. But we both know you need my help because if we don’t pull that arrow out of your back you’ll die-”

“And you wouldn’t want that?”

“No, I wouldn’t want that.” Suddenly she was fascinated by her hands. The thought of him dying bothered her a great deal more than she wanted to admit. “So will you let me help you?” she asked without looking up. “Please, Logan? I know it will hurt when I pull the arrow out but it must be done…”

She didn’t know what else to say.

He stared at her for what felt like an age then. His hand going to the pendant he wore around his neck, the flash of metal Stray had spotted the first time she’d met him. Tugging at it thoughtfully as if he were trying to make a decision of great import- Almost as if he had forgotten the arrow buried in his back. The pedant was a small iron rectangle, engraved with markings in an alphabet Stray had never seen before. Its edges worn and weary, its surface splashed with blood. Without warning he suddenly pulled it off his neck and looped it around hers in one swift, elegant motion. The certainty of the movement telling Stray that something important had happened though she could not guess what. “Yes, Mistress Stray,” he said then. “I ask you to help me. I ask you to heal me from my wounds and sorrows, and I offer my own service in return.” And he lowered his head as he said it, the symbols on the metal glowing suddenly golden in the pale moonlight. Stray couldn’t help but feel that more had been agreed to than was being said. “But not here,” Logan was muttering, “Not somewhere where it isn’t safe for you. We’ll find ourselves some shelter and then you can pull the arrow out, you have my word-”

And with that he pulled the girl to her feet, holding her close to him. Hissing in pain with the movement but waving away her protests about wanting to pull the arrow out right now. He began moving swiftly and silently towards the trees, his path straight and constant. His fur wet and strangely comforting against Stray’s body as she huddled into him for warmth. The girl walked quickly, not quite sure what was happening but somehow knowing that a die was being cast, that a path had been chosen-

And somewhere to their left, completely unseen, a single, flame-gold feather tumbled to the ground, the flash of cold brightness which had produced it disappearing rapidly into the night air.

Neither girl nor wolf would never notice it, but the feather turned the earth to ash where it lay.

They made good progress after that.

Logan’s good arm wrapped around Stray’s waist, pulling her closer and keeping her warm. The feel of him a reassuring weight, his slightly pained breaths slowly giving way to more even breathing as they darted quickly through the forest. Stray held onto him as hard as she could, forcing herself to meet his pace as they battled through the snow: He still had the arrow buried in his shoulder and she was afraid that if they didn’t get it out soon the injury would be permanent. That somehow something terrible would happen, though she couldn’t imagine what. Besides, she thought, What else was she going to do, trapped in a snowstorm in the middle of the wildwood? Go back to the Company of Miracles?

She remembered the look on Logan’s face when Ororo shot him and pushed that thought fiercely away.

So they hurried through the forest, the world an icy, feathery cloak around them. The light of the crescent moon silvery, the air so unbearably cold that it cut like a blade. Every so often Logan would stop, head lowered, nostrils flaring. Eyes narrowed as a wolf does when it first scents its prey before choosing a path and pushing on. Further and further into the wildwood they went, the snow now coming so thickly that it covered their tracks in moments. The howl of the wind mournful and frightening around them, its keening like a ghost. They rounded another set of trees, an unseen (and unexpectedly steep) incline causing both of them to tumble downwards through the snow, coming to rest together in a jumble of limbs and curses. The sudden feeling of hair on skin making Stray’s heart flutter in her chest. Logan got to his feet first, eyes darting about him as he pulled her into standing: The air around them was suddenly deafeningly silent and stifling after the chill of the night outside. They were in a clearing, the trees ranged about like soldiers. Branches a thick lattice overhead, roots snaking and treacherous underfoot. He frowned, eyes narrowing as he squinted into the darkness, and just as Stray thought they were going to push onwards she saw something… shift in the undergrowth. Something unnatural. The girl froze and suddenly she knew, though she could not have explained how, that nothing of the sight in front of her was real.

One look at Logan told her she was right.

She caught her breath then, surprised by this revelation but not doubting it: It felt like the knowledge that she couldn’t leave Logan had felt, as if it were just something she’d always known but never let herself think before. The clearing was still dark and silent but the air around them seemed to be moving. The image of trees giving way as water does when an object breaks its surface. For a split second the very forest seemed to waver, rippling in ever decreasing circles… And then suddenly, as if someone had somehow pulled back a curtain in time and space the image of the clearing gave way to that of a cave. Its mouth gaping and dark against the snow’s white, a tiny pinprick of light like a miniature sun glowing within. Stray’s hand tightened on Logan’s in fright despite the fact that she’d somehow expected this, and she felt his hairy great head rest itself on her shoulder for a moment. His hot breath flared against her ear.

“It’s alright, little one,” he muttered. “We’ll be safe here. I won’t let anything hurt you, I promise.”

And without waiting for an answer he tugged her gently towards the cavern. His hand tight and reassuring on hers, the fur rustling against her fingers like wild silk. The two began trudging towards the cave, Stray for one wanting out of the wet and cold so badly her skin was aching for it. The knowledge that she had gone wandering through the snow in nothing but her nightdress now at the forefront of her mind. As soon as stepped inside the tiny ball of light began moving alongside them, beckoning them deeper into the cavern. Throwing odd shadows against the walls around them, illuminating pictures of animals and people and things that were some mixture of both- Things just like Logan, the girl thought. Bones crackled underfoot as they walked, the air turning sticky and stifling as they ventured deeper. The way eventually forking and the ball of light moving to hover above the left-hand path, indicating that they should go into the cavern beyond. Logan nodded to the thing once, muttering something quick and singsong in a language Stray didn’t know before pulling her inside. The sudden darkness of the cave hard on her eyes after the brilliance of the passage. The ball of light stalled at the entrance, breaking off into little pieces until it seemed like several golden stars were hanging in the air rather than one miniature sun. Stray stared around her, taking in the massive cavern, its walls covered in what looked like fireflies. A silence so thorough, so apt filling it that Stray felt as if she were standing in a cathedral. She felt Logan come up behind her, his shaggy head resting on her shoulder again, his big, heavy hands splayed across her belly. Again her heart fluttered.

“We’ll be safe here,” he muttered, his voice now almost completely inhuman. “This place will always be safe fer the likes of us…”

“If you say so,” she murmured. And she shivered, though this time it was not from the cold. He’d begun rocking into her, ever so slightly, and it was very distracting, wet fur against wet skin. “But what if there’s something else in here?” she asked. “What if there’s something waiting in the dark-?”

Logan made a strange, huffing sound; It took her a moment to realise that that was how the beast within him laughed. “Nothing else would come in here, little one,” he said roughly. “Even if it tried, it wouldn’t make it past the door.” And still holding her against his front the walked her over to the mouth of the cavern, hairy head nuzzling her shoulder. The heat of his body sending warmth spiking sharply into hers. He gestured to the wall beside the entrance: An ochre-red handprint stood out sharply against the wall, a blue-grey wolf print on top of it. Something about the fadedness of the image telling Stray that this symbol was very old indeed. Without really understanding why the girl reached out and placed her small, pale hand inside the painted one. Tracing it, feeling something tingle through her palm from its shape. This place will always be safe fer the likes of us… With a low growl Logan placed his own near-paw atop hers, somehow riveted by the sight of their hands re-enacting something which had been done so long ago. Fingers threading through hers, a growl vibrating through her shoulder-blades from his chest. Again, she felt his mouth against her ear.

“You feel it, darlin’?” he muttered then, voice growing thicker and more bestial by the moment. “You understand now, why we’re here?”

And she nodded. She could feel something hot and honeyed and powerful moving through her, something that was both part of her and part of this place. It made it hard to breath. “Yes,” she managed to stammer, “Yes, I think I understand… I know what this place is for people like us…”

And she turned so that she was looking up at him, eyes hooded. Her chest now pressed against his, her back against the wall. The heat of that ochre handprint scorching between her shoulder blades, its touch as real as his. For a second Logan’s eyes flashed, becoming both human and hazel again, and he made to move but she stilled him. The will to have him pressed against her something she couldn’t- wouldn’t- ignore. Something almost forgotten and long voiceless was moving inside her, sending ribbons of sensation curling through her body. Making her want to forget she’d ever felt the touch of snow, making her want only heat and flesh. Little girl, little girl, scarlet, blood-blessed little girl, sing your wolf-song lullaby and joy will come for you…

And without thinking she raked her fingers across Logan’s massive shoulders, making his breath hitch. Luxuriating in the feel of fur and muscle there against her skin, after being so long trapped without sensation in a body like a cage. Their gazes locked again, human to lupine, and without her really willing it her mouth slipped open. The need to have it filled with a man’s moan or a wolf’s howl too intoxicating to resist. Stray had been kissed but once before and that had been by the boy she was betrothed to; His reaction had thrown her into exile and set her on the road that led here. But Logan was no boy, she thought, and she was not that girl anymore. She was no longer the helpless Spring Maid, trudging through the snow. He held her gaze as his lips brushed against hers- once, twice, hot breath flaring- And then he moved his mouth away, kissing her chin, her earlobe. Her fingers spasming against his fur as she pulled him closer, nails drawing a moan from his throat as his wet tongue traced and teased her skin. By now Logan was breathing harshly, mouth suckling against her collar-bone: The sight of those beautiful, lupine eyes staring up at her from between her breasts was the most wicked, gorgeous thing she’d ever seen. She raked her fingers through his fur- hair- fur again and he moaned for her. She pushed herself into his hand- it had snaked down to that spot below her belly that made her squirm- and heard him moan some more. They were shivering, quivering, aching together. Moving in time, one with the other, as if they’d never been anywhere but here. Stray whimpered, losing control, trying to touch him everywhere, wanting to, needing to-

And as she did her hand brushed against the bloody arrow shaft, still buried firmly in his back. The shock of it sending a shiver of horror through her even as it sent a shiver of agony through him. If he hadn’t been so far into the transformation Stray doubted it would have happened, but he was on the knife-edge between wolf and human and had been for quite some time now; without a moment’s hesitation he snarled, pushing her harshly away from him, claws and teeth elongating and growing sharp. Slashing against her skin. For a second Stray was on her back before him, terrified, staring up at eyes unlike any she’d ever seen before, the beast in him howling out for the law of tooth and claw-

And then with a sudden shock the cave lit up like a sunrise. The miniature sun which had guided them here growing suddenly brilliant and blindingly harsh. The Once-Was-Logan crouching down, shielding his eyes. His predator’s vision burned by such a swift change from night to day after all their time in the dark. Stray skittered back, unsure what was happening and completely disorientated, her only thought that whatever was happening she would not leave Logan, no matter what had happened between them-

And when she could see again, Ororo was standing right in front of her, bow trained on the werewolf.

A thin, elegant, entirely blue man standing beside her in gentleman’s doublet and shirt, a rapier in his hand.

For a second the huntress’ head flickered between the pair of them, eyes taking in the girl’s dishevelled state, Logan’s distress at nearly hurting her. The scent of desire which hung in the cave obvious even to someone as unworldly as Stray. And then, without a word, a slow smile spread across the huntress’ face, her blue eyes understanding. Hand gesturing for Stray to stand up as she slowly put down her bow, arrows spilling across the floor. “I knew it,” she murmured in her gentle voice, “I knew I was right about her…”

She looked Stray dead in the eye and her smile widened. “Now let’s get that arrow out.”

“No, ’Ro” Logan snarled. “You’re not taking the arrow out.”

His eyes flicked over to Stray. They looked… panicked.

“At least, you’re not doing it with her here.”

And the werewolf pulled himself to his feet, teeth showing. Great, shaggy head shaking emphatically from side to side as he stalked away, form massive and dark against the dull grey of the cavern wall. Stray opened her mouth to stop him, the loss of his nearness tugging at her insides as if something precious were spilling out of her-

But before she could ask why he wouldn’t want her here- Was he disgusted at the wanton way she’d acted? Angry at her for causing him pain?- She saw Ororo roll her eyes heavenward, her expression exasperated. Not the horrified or awed reaction she’d expected at all. “Logan,” the woman said tartly “You cannot simply walk around with an arrow buried between your shoulder-blades. The wound will not close, and I doubt even your Curse could fight the results of that off-”

His snarl was so loud it made Stray jump. “I’m not suggesting I leave it in permanently, woman!” he snapped. “I’m telling you that until you can guarantee the maid’s safety then neither you nor your elf there-” he gestured angrily to the blue man- “Are putting a hand on my flesh. Is that absolutely understood?”

“No.” Ororo’s voice was icy. “It is absolutely not understood. Do you think I risked my hide coming out here to check on you just so that you can bleed to death? Do you think I have safeguarded you all these years only to lose you now that we have finally found your Moonlight Key?” And before he could answer, before Stray could ask what she meant, the huntress turned to the girl, eyes narrowed.

Stray felt like she too had been struck with a dart.

“Maid,” Ororo said calmly, “Do you feel any fear of Logan? Do you think he will attack you if he is caused further pain?”

And she crossed her arms pointedly, staring at the werewolf.

Clearly the white-haired woman was trying a make a point.

Whatever Stray may truly have felt the girl made sure her answer was even and immediate though. “No,” she said, “I am not afraid of Logan.” Scarlett stained her cheeks. “And after what you just witnessed I doubt you can believe I am-”

Ororo’s expression was almost triumphant. “And there you have it: She is not frightened, she is with you of her own free will-”

Logan’s voice was sour. “Only because she doesn’t know what she’s truly dealing with.” And in a movement too fast for the human eye to follow he was beside Stray, his big heavy hands landing on her shoulders, shaking her. She was talking only to the wolf now, she had no doubt about that. “You think a willingness to spread your legs means you’re not frightened of me?” he demanded darkly, voice almost completely inhuman. “You think the stench of what you want from me is strong enough to protect you from what I am?”

And he pushed her away from him, his body twitching, every muscle tense. Clearly holding off the last few moments of the transformation with everything he had. Stray opened her mouth to answer him but nothing would come out. She could not help but be hurt at his description of what they had just done together, though she was trying very hard not to let it show. Despite her best intentions tears pinched her eyes, the cold, the shock and the stress of the night beginning to tell on her. The strength- the confidence- which had flowed through her when she thought herself and the werewolf in this together beginning to bleed away. Was this what he thought of her? she wondered, suddenly feeling younger and more vulnerable than she ever had on the road before. Did Logan… Did he think her a whore?

One look at Ororo’s blue companion told her that that was exactly what most people would say of a maid who’d been doing what she and Logan had been doing when they were interrupted.

Her father’s face, the night he drove her from home, rose sharply in her mind and she couldn’t push the image away.

She took in a tight, shuddering little breath, trying hard not to let the tears show. Logan stilling at the sound of it, his form rigid though he kept his back to her. Ororo’s blue-skinned companion raised his eyebrows questioningly, asking whether he should intervene, though the huntress shook her head. Instead she ghosted across the cavern to block Logan’s exit, one elegant, mahogany-dark hand coming to rest against the wolf’s shoulder. The touch, despite her anger at him, making Stray’s stomach flip with jealousy. The fact that her emotions seemed to careen out of control whenever she was near the werewolf something her mind instinctively did not want to face. The woman murmured something to Logan in that same singsong language he had used to open the portal to the cavern and he lowered his head at her words, shaking it. Shooting a contrite look over his shoulder at Stray, his own expression haunted and matching hers. His hands were digging into his palms, the claws sharp enough to draw blood. “I just don’t want to hurt her, ’Ro,” he was saying, his voice more human now. “You know what happens when I go fully across-”

The huntress’ tone was soothing. “I know, but you won’t harm her, you couldn’t-”

“I pushed her away when she touched the arrow. I could have slashed her.”

“The wolf did not like being hurt Logan, there’s no great surprise in that.” Ororo smiled. “But she won’t take the arrow out.” And the white-haired woman gestured to her companion, smiling fondly, a fact which eased Stray’s jealousy a tiny bit. “That’s why I asked Kurt to come,” the woman was saying, “He will pull out the arrow and then use his Curse to get away. You won’t have time to hurt him, msiri, you have my word on that-”

And she took the wolf’s great head in her hands, making him look at her. Continuing to speak to him in that singsong language, her words soothing and light as he muttered to her, as he told her things he apparently felt he couldn’t tell Stray. The girl tried to force away the feelings of jealousy- Did you hear how he spoke to you earlier, girl?- but she couldn’t help it. It felt as if she were the one becoming a beast and not the werewolf on the other side of the cave. She hadn’t gotten jealous when other girls in the village flirted with her betrothed, David; The thought that he would maintain a mistress after their marriage had not bothered her at all. But the notion that anyone would touch Logan, that anyone else would, would infringe on her territory like that was making her feel furious. Primitive. Far from the young girl who had sorted silk in her father’s mansion in Illunis. She could feel something prickling inside her, something itchy and sharp like angry fireflies inside her skin; It was telling her to intervene, to remove the huntress. To force this interloper away from her mate and take back what was hers. The fact that Ororo was bigger than her, more skilled in combat and doubtless better armed making no difference. The thing inside her was screaming to remove the older woman now. Logan said something and Ororo put her hand to his cheek, putting her forehead against his to give comfort-

His shoulders relaxed visibly and for Stray that was the final straw.

Without really thinking about why she darted across the cave, rage boiling through her. Gaze fixed on the huntress, that prickling, lightning-sharp entity inside her just spoiling to get out. If Ororo’s attention had not been focussed on Logan then she would have seen it coming, but she didn’t: Stray barrelled into her with more force than should have been possible, knocking her sideways though she managed to land reasonably comfortably on her back. The white-haired woman barely had time to register what the girl had done, surprise then understanding showing clearly in her expression-

And then Stray was snarling at her, trying to hit her. Her posture changing, weight instinctively dropping to the balls of her feet as she fought the huntress. As she set to taking back what was hers by right. From somewhere far away Stray realised that she was moving as an animal might, that she was using her strength and quickness in ways she had never been taught to. That she was acting like a predator, though the notion that a maiden could be a predator was ridiculous at best. And yet, and yet…

It was almost like there was someone else were inside her, just itching to get out. Someone that didn’t speak but howled in moonlight, someone that had been holding her tongue for so long that she thought speaking aloud might eat her alive. So she fought, hissing, spitting, clawing. Attacking for what felt like hours though on some level she knew it could only have been seconds. She swung for Ororo and the huntress parried the blow, smashing her arm downwards to lock around Stray’s throat even as she knocked the girl backwards. A hand at the back of her head cushioning the fall so that the girl didn’t crack her head. For a split second Stray was still, the wind knocked out of her and that was all the time Ororo needed; She hissed something at the blue man and suddenly there was a stench of brimstone in Stray’s nostrils, a burst of shadow blooming beside her, dark as India ink. Strong arms grabbed her and in a second she was on the other side of the cavern, still hissing and biting. The sight of blue flesh against her own confusing and utterly other. Ororo’s companion was whispering in her ear, murmuring that it was alright, that everything would be fine if she just stopped fighting-

And then suddenly there was a blur of movement as Logan hurled himself towards the blue man. His form completely lupine and massive even in the dark. Again there was that explosion of brimstone and smoke, the blue man disappearing only to reappear in the air above them, a tail Stray hadn’t noticed before snaking around one of the rock formations in the ceiling, three-toed feet allowing him to hang in place like a bat. His yellow eyes glowing devilishly as he hung there in the twilight. Stray only had time to register the feel of a wet tongue against her skin- licking her, he was licking her, trying to make sure she was alright- and then just as suddenly there was a howl of agony, Logan’s spine arching like a great bow even as he instinctively yanked his jaws away from her and turned his shaggy head to snarl at Ororo. The huntress standing behind him with the blood-streaked silver arrow she’d just pulled out held high in her right hand. For a moment time seemed to stop, the wolf’s eyes narrowing at the huntress, breaths coming in great furious pants-

And then, as if someone had simply torn the energy out of him he dropped, giving a sad, hurt whimper. Something in the sound of it went right to the heart of Stray and she forced herself to crawl over to him, her anger at Ororo forgotten. The only thing of import the fact that Logan was in pain and needed to be soothed- now. She stroked his coat, murmuring soft, aching things she knew were not in her own language. The fact that her throat could make them a mystery for another time.

“There, there,” she murmured, “Poor beast, sweet beast. Don’t be angry my darling, don’t be sad, I’ll not leave you alone in the snow…”

The wolf stared up at her with those beautiful, lupine hazel eyes and put his head in her lap, resting there as her fingers caressed him. Crying as only a wolf can cry while she soothed him and cooed in his ear. The blue man had released himself from his perch, landing lightly beside her. He shot her an resentful look- probably angry that she had attacked Ororo- but said nothing else. Just put a basket of food down beside her- so that’s why he and ’Ro had come to the cave- before disappearing again. The huntress stood staring at the scene with haunted eyes, almost as if she were seeing another time, another place. Another maiden soothing a wild beast that had been hurt in the snow. But she didn’t speak, and she seemed to understand that it would not be wanted, a fact for which Stray was more grateful than she could say. It took a few moments but eventually Logan’s eyes closed, his body easing into sleep. His great weight and heat solid and comforting, as he lay against her thighs. It took only a few moments for the sound of even breathing to fill the cavern and as it did so Stray saw Ororo come to sit down beside her, making sure she was good and far from Logan. An understanding look on her lovely face, the silver arrow still bloody in her hand.

“You and I must talk,” she said softly, “Before he wakens. There’s things you need to know that I doubt Logan will tell you.”

Again that angry, prickling-in-silence being flared beneath her skin.

“How do you know what he will tell me?” she hissed. “What makes you think you can guess?”

The huntress expression was compassionate but evaluating as she answered her.

“Because,” she said softly, “I have been in your shoes once before, and I know what it means to love a man and a beast together. It- It is more complicated than you can guess.”

And as they sat in the dark, the wolf asleep and safe between them, Ororo started explaining what exactly it meant to be a wolf’s Moonlight Key.

“Know this first,” Ororo said softly. “He will die to defend you.”

And her gaze turned fondly to the sleeping beast, her hand reaching out as if to brush at his fur. The blue man she’d had with her having disappeared, muttering that she and Stray needed to talk. Quite without her willing it to, Stray’s voice rose in a snarl and the huntress stilled, though her expression wasn’t angry. In fact, she looked strangely serene.

The girl went back to stroking his fur, trusting her point had been made.

“Secondly,” Ororo continued after a moment, “You and he are tied together now. What harms one will harm the other, what strengthens you will likewise give him strength.”

“So if I’m hurt..?” the girl asked softly, “It will effect him in ways other than grief?” And she smiled, a shy little smile she hadn’t thought she still had in her, the knowledge- and it was knowledge- that someone would grieve for her making her feel unaccountably warm.

The huntress’ gaze was shrewd. “Aye,” she said,“He would feel it as a blow himself. But that works both ways; Just as he will feel the ghost of your injuries, you will feel the spirit of his healing. It was that which allowed you to go haring through the snow in your shift tonight and not catch your death, girl; I trust you’ll think to thank Logan when he wakes up.”

Stray inclined her head slightly, that tiny smile still tugging at her lip. “I will do.”

Ororo inclined her head in return. “Good. I would expect nothing less.” A dry smile darted across her face. “Though be sure to make Logan work for that admission; he’s far too used to grinning and getting what he wants from a lass.” Despite herself Stray laughed, and after a moment Ororo joined in. “Which brings us,” she said, “To the final and most important element of your relationship, the one which I suspect Logan will not willingly explain to you…”

Unaccountably Stray stiffened. “I am sure he would not deceive me,” she said.

Ororo’s voice was firm. “You misunderstand. I did not mean that he would lie, girl. I meant that he would skulk around telling you the whole truth.” And again the huntress’ gaze turned faraway and wistful, her blue eyes seeing beyond this cavern and the girl between the wolf’s paws. There were things in her expression Stray hadn’t a name for- Yet. “They are strange creatures, men,” the huntress said after a moment. “It is not the ability to turn into a beast which makes them so, I believe it is in their nature. The ones who are most worth having will often try their best to show their worst, if it means they can keep you safe.”

And she shook her head, frowning as if bringing to mind a memory that held no joy.

The prickling beast underneath Stray’s skin which had been so angry at Ororo grew more still; she knew how the woman felt.

“Do you speak from experience?” she asked quietly.

“Aye, I do.” And Ororo sighed, reaching her elegant, dark-skinned hand out to Stray, staring at the play of skin tones as their fingers met. The blue-to-white prettiness of the girl’s skin was in sharp contrast to the ebony beauty of her own. At the last minute she remembered Stray’s Curse and pulled her hand away.

The gesture made the girl feel strangely bereft.

A beat.

“As you may have guessed,” Ororo began after a moment, “I was not born in these lands. I came here, driven by the love of adventure and spices, a love I shared with the man to whom I was wed. His name was T’Challa.”

“T’Challa?” Stray tried to say the name, but she could not wrap her tongue as lovingly around it as Ororo did. Clearly it came from a language very different from her own.

The woman smiled. “That’s the closest anyone in this land has come to pronouncing it since I met Logan,” she said. “You have a mouth meant for language girl.”

Stray ducked her head in embarrassment, something telling her that compliments from this beautiful, fierce woman were rare flowers indeed. “Thank you,” she said softly. “More normally it’s said that speaking is no proper woman’s art-”

Ororo snorted. “Men say that. Especially those who fear the paltriness of their own words. You should pay it no heed.” And she moved her hand to stroke the wolf that was Logan. This time Stray let her. It helped that the beast nudged closer to her in its sleep despite Ororo’s nearness and warmth. “He’ll not harass you for what comes out of your mouth,” the woman said after a moment. “Language doesn’t come easily to him, so he has respect for those to whom it does.” And again she stroked the wolf’s fur, though this time it provoked no jealousy in Stray.

She had heard the longing in Ororo’s voice when she spoke of her beloved and she knew that this woman was no rival of hers.

Another, gentler beat.

“Was he like Logan?” she prompted after a moment. Ororo had fallen silent, apparently lost in her own thoughts. “Your T’Challa, was he like Logan?”

“Hmm?” The woman looked up, blinking in surprise. Just for a second she looked much younger than her years; Just for a second Stray felt very old. “In some ways,” the huntress said eventually. “My beloved was fierce as Logan is, he was loyal and strong and brave. There was nothing he would not do for me, and I suspect that the same will be true for the two of you- Once you’ve settled into love enough to not try tearing one another’s clothes off at every opportunity.” Despite herself scarlet stained Stray’s cheek, a life like that just described with Logan- especially the part about ripping clothes off- dancing behind her eyes. She told herself she did not believe it, that she could not be so lucky as that. But Ororo was not done speaking.

“He was stubborn, as Logan is,” she continued. “He could be… Irritating. Commanding. He could make you unsure whether you wanted to tear your hair out or kiss him until you both passed out. And of course, he was always certain that he knew what was best- For both of you.” And she gave a quick bark of laughter, her features growing more lovely at the sound of it. Stray suddenly felt an odd sense of kinship at her words. “He was… perfect,” the huntress was saying, “Perfect for me at least. He was the best part of me, my sunlight. We felt as if the Great Mother had created one being and split it in two, the better to increase its joy-”

And her smile widened, her expression becoming almost girlish.

Suddenly Stray could see the child Ororo must have been, and it was a very beautiful sight.

“It couldn’t last though.” Stray saw the light leave Ororo’s face, her joy fleeing even as the words caught in her throat. The girl remembered how Ororo described her beloved- had, was- and she realised that T’Challa must no longer be alive. The huntress must have read her expression because she merely nodded, her eyes closing for a moment. Her lips moving quickly as she murmured something- a prayer? An invocation?- before taking a deep breath and looking away. The girl wondered how long T’Challa had been dead for her new friend’s grief to still be this fresh.

“How did it happen?” she asked softly.

Ororo sighed. Her fingers moved restlessly over her bow, tracing its shape as if its mere presence soothed her. This part of the story was painful for her, Stray could tell. “You have heard of the King’s Conjurer, Victor Latverius?” she said eventually.

Stray nodded. There wasn’t a soul in the Twelvelands hadn’t heard about him.

“Latverius was told that in the lands beyond yours there were people to whom magic was still second nature. He was told that in the Spice Fields there were warriors who could turn themselves into beasts.”

Stray blinked. “Like Logan?”

Ororo nodded. “Like Logan. Though his people called themselves the Osarii, and they live in the Land of Promise to the West. But the journey to the Land of Promise is hazardous and plagued with difficulty; Not even Latverius could persuade King Richard to attempt it, no matter what soldiers it might buy him.” And she pursed her lips, her hands tightening ever so slightly on the bow. It occurred to Stray that she would not want to be the King’s Conjuror if the huntress ever caught up with him. “So Latverius decided on a new strategy, one which would guarantee him warriors the likes of which this land had never seen before. Warriors like my T’Challa, a man who became a great panther.”

“He stole him from your home?”

“No, we came freely.” She looked at the girl, her expression turning rueful, and suddenly Stray had no doubt whose idea the journey had been. “My mother’s family were spice merchants,” Ororo explained. “We were famed, but we wanted to open a new trade-route; Both T’Challa and I were young enough to consider ourselves invincible so when news came from the traders of Min Hadyn that the King’s Conjurer would pay ridiculous prices for spice, we persuaded my family to send us here. We thought ourselves well informed, safe from danger.” She gave a short, angry laugh. “We were wrong.”

“It was a trap.”

Sorrow raked its way across Ororo’s lovely face. “Aye,” she said. “It was. They took us and many others; Just the fact that you were from a land which was not this one was enough to make you suspect. At first in their fear they tried gentle persuasion but when that failed they took more… thorough measures.” She winced at the memory and the wolf whined sorrowfully in his sleep. Instantly Ororo pulled her hand away, unwilling to upset him. “T’Challa was told that if he did not transform and fight then I would be punished,” Ororo was saying. “He was told that I would be given to the soldiers for their amusement, with him helpless and forced to look on. If he did as he was bid however we would both eventually be set free and allowed to return home again…”

She shook her head, her expression turning furious.

Just for a second she looked harsh and unforgiving as hoarfrost.

“Needless to say,” she continued, “Latverius thought he had us at a disadvantage; But what neither he nor the men in the barracks understood was that my beloved had senses unlike a mortal man’s, and he could smell their deceit. Their lies did not convince him, and he knew well what the Head of the Guard wished to do to me. Would do to me, when his back was turned…”

“So he fought?”

Ororo nodded. Her mouth was a thin, humourless line. “Yes, he did. He thought that he might earn me enough time to escape them and in that he was correct. I ran, believing he was right behind me, believing that nobody could possibly best my glorious, beautiful man.” Her throat tightened painfully, caught with near-tears; Her grip was iron upon her bow. “But catch him they did, and defeat him they did. They slaughtered him as I escaped. It took fifteen of them to do it, but my beloved was still dead-”

The silence felt as if it could snarl and howl, so great was the huntress’ grief.

“You wonder, perhaps, why I tell you this story, girl,” Ororo said then. “You think perhaps I wish to reassure you that we are one and the same, that you have an ally, but it is nothing like that.” And she gestured to the small metal pendant Logan had looped around Stray’s neck not an hour ago, her eyes burning. The girl couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried. “You took that talisman of your own free will, didn’t you?” she said intently. “You knew there was something important about it.”

The girl dropped her eyes. “I thought- I thought it might be something about what you called me earlier, in the caravan,” she said hesitantly. “You called me Logan’s Moonlight Key, and I supposed this might be a part of that.”

Ororo inclined her head curtly. “You are intelligent, Mistress Stray,” she said. “His giving you his iron-cut acknowledges his connection to you, but it is not its source- Any more than my wedding bracelet was the source of my connection to T’Challa.” And her eyes flashed, her breath catching on his name. Just for a moment the temperature in the cave dropped to nought. “You and Logan are joined now,” Ororo continued, her voice turning intense. “It is far more than a love affair, though I suspect it will be a passionate one when it comes to pass- But you must remember it is more than that. You must remember that you each have a duty to the other, a duty to keep each other safe. By the time I understood that it was too late to save my husband’s life.” She shook her head to herself. “I would not see the same happen to you.”

Her voice was so deathly serious Stray could not look away.

“So you were- You were T’Challa’s Moonlight Key?” she ventured.

Blue eyes flicked up to hers, the gaze challenging. “Aye,” she said, “I was his Moonlight Key- And he my Sunlight Lock.”

Stray was getting tired of being spoken to in riddles.

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means,” Ororo said, “That as much as there are two beings living inside Logan, there are two beings living inside you. You saw this tonight when you attacked me for taking liberties with the man you’ve chosen for your mate.” Stray blushed but did not look away, nor did she call Ororo a liar. Like when Logan told her the nature of the cave and its magics, she felt as if she were being told something she had always known just never said aloud. “That is why the connection is forged in the first place,” Ororo continued. “That is why you and Logan are drawn to one another. You are Moonlight Key to his Sunlight Lock, two parts of the whole fitting together. Two beings who were meant to live as one. You bring him quiet, calmness; he brings you fearlessness, passion, strength. You can help each other, calm each other. Make each other whole again-”

“But why would I want to be a wolf?” Stray wasn‘t sure where the protest had come from but she had to make it- Didn’t she?

Surely there shouldn’t be warmth snaking through her belly at the thought that she was actually a beast?

The older woman merely shrugged. “It’s not what you want, it’s what you are,” she said bluntly. “This is not a choice you get to make. Logan would let his fear of his own beast convince him not to admit the truth about the nature of yours. He would try to see you as only a girl, the better to protect you- But strength is required to survive this life, Mistress Stray, and even for Logan you cannot stay a Spring Maid, trudging through the snow. You must be more.” She looked away. “I had no chance to do that for T’Challa; He kept the potential I held for strength and savagery from me. I would not see Logan’s obstinacy rob you of the chance to keep what is yours safe.”

And with that the huntress moved abruptly from her, pulling off the furs she carried across her shoulders and laying them on the cave floor. Her movements clearly showing there would be no more revelations- let alone conversations- tonight. For a second Stray considered trying to sooth her, asking even if she could share her furs and give her comfort, but one look at the woman told her it would be hopeless: Ororo had shared as much of herself tonight as she was ever likely to do. Now she wanted some privacy in her sorrow. So Stray settled herself down on the floor, shivering. Trying desperately not to look at the wolf to her right. Logan moved in his sleep, paws twitching, his form looking welcoming and warm even as she tried to pull herself away from him. Because she couldn’t do that, could she? She couldn’t fall asleep in the arms of a beast. And yet, and yet… His body still called out to her; She was so cold, and she wanted him so much. No matter what others might think of her she knew she couldn’t deny him for long, knew this thing between them was growing stronger… Knew that someday soon she would have to choose between it and that girl she used to be, sorting silk in her father’s mansion- But that night was not tonight.

So slowly, gingerly, she wrapped her arms around him, the feel of his fur comforting against her cheek as she burrowed in. The sound of his heart a tattooed lullaby beating beneath his chest. The warmth of him making her shiver in an entirely different way. Taking a deep breath she let her eyes droop closed, feeling unaccountably safe between the tender paws of her loving wolf-

She didn’t hear the tears Ororo shed when she was sure that she was sleeping.

And she certainly didn’t see the flash of gold and feathers which darted, just for a moment, through the cave.

Snow- darkness- wood smoke-

His hands were on her as she woke.

One warm, dark hand cupped her breast, the other nestled in the juncture between her thighs. Palm heavy and firm against her belly, the long, blunt fingers resting amongst her curls. His breath was coming evenly against her neck, his body welded to hers. Heat surrounding her, making her limbs heavy, the desire to move so far away that she thought she might never feel it again. Hair against her back, her fingers, her skin, tickling. Pleasing. At some point in the night he had tucked her freezing feet between his and now they were blazingly warm, her toe occasionally brushing lazily against the arch of his sole, making him give a little huff of pleasure in his sleep. His lips forming an unconscious, strangely fascinating smile, the harsh lines of his face eased in rest. Without really willing herself to Stray let her hand trail down the arm which rested at her stomach, her fingers coming to halt in the hollows between Logan’s knuckles; As soon as she did it she felt his fingers tighten on her flesh, felt something, something warm and velvety and nestled between her thighs lengthen, thickening in response. Stray gave a tiny, unconscious moan at the sensation, wetness quickening inside her flesh though she did not understand why-

And at that moment she felt his lips brush the back of her neck, at the point where her pulse hummed as throat met shoulder. The feel of his mouth soft and warm against her, the flare of his chest against her shoulder blades so unbelievably right that she didn’t dare stir. She felt more than saw Logan open his eyes, felt his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly against hers-

And then, as suddenly as if they’d done this every morning Stray felt herself pressed flat onto her back, Logan’s massive weight against hers.

“Stray?” he said hesitantly, “Stray, what are you doing here?”

For once in her life, Stray didn’t have a clue what to say.

He pulled back a little when she didn’t answer, though his body was still plastered against hers. Staring down at her- now almost completely human- the look on his face confused, wary. Worried. She gave out an involuntary little sound, somewhere between a purr and a moan at the feeling of being pinned beneath him and his frown deepened; He pulled back and coldness flared where his flesh and hers parted, that feeling of rightness slipping away. Without really thinking Stray shifted her legs, parting them slightly to hook her feet behind his ankles and still him. The contact bringing him closer, that thick, hot thing she’d felt against her back now pushing insistently against her lower hip. Logan made a muffled growling sound as she shifted and this time it was her who looked down in confusion, trying to spy what was poking her-

She saw it and understanding dawned.

Stray may have been raised to be Lord David’s virginal bride but she’d seen enough of life to recognise that.

A long, awkward, deliciously charged beat.

“Good morning,” he said then, his voice scratchy. He was still peering down at her, as if waiting for her to jump up and bite him.

Despite her best intentions, at the thought of biting colour stained her cheeks. “Good morning,” she returned, rather than pursue that thought. “I- I trust you slept well?” She didn’t know what to do with her hands, feeling as if they had a life of their own; Without her really willing them to they stroked lightly down his chest, catching and nestling in the thick, India ink hair she found there. The sensation of it against her fingers delicious, her skin drinking the experience of it after so long encased in gloves. Rather than answering her question Logan gave a moan; He placed both his hands on hers, stilling them. Stray frowned, worry at how differently they seemed to feel about what had happened seeping through her. When she looked into his face she saw embarrassment, doubt. A man in a wolf’s body, unwilling to see the wonder of what he was. “I’m not entirely…back, Stray,” he said quietly. “What you see is not truly me-”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she murmured, gently pulling her hands free and again running her little fingers across the coarse hair. She felt it bristle between thumb and forefinger and he gave a hard, hoarse gasp in response. “I kind of like it,” she whispered.

“You like the fur of a beast?”

She dropped her gaze downwards. “I like it because it’s you,” she said honestly.

“You don’t know what you’re saying-”

“I know precisely what I’m saying.” She gestured to their entwined bodies. “Do you think I would lie with just anyone?”

“I doubt I gave you a choice,” he muttered.

“But you did,” she countered. “Last night- Before you brought me here… You offered me your service and I gave you mine in return.” And she showed him the pendant he’d given her, his cut-iron as Ororo called it. It glimmered in the cave’s dull, never-was-sunshone light. “You were trying to protect me; Do you not remember?” .

He shook his head. “Flashes,” he muttered distractedly. “I see flashes, when I go over. There was… snow. Silver. I was bleeding…” For a second he stiffened his shoulder, rotating it forward. Memory perhaps of his injury making him frown. “There was pain,” he murmured, “Ororo shot me again, I think. I did something bad, something the beast doesn’t want me recalling…”

And then the memory of last night must have come back completely because suddenly his gaze fastened on her arm, where he’d nearly slashed her. Anger then guilt flitting across his face in rapid succession. “I hurt you,” he said. “Didn’t I? When I was injured, I attacked you-”

Stray swallowed nervously, gave a quick nod. He would know if she lied, she was sure. “Aye, but you were nearly entirely transformed,” she said. “You didn’t know what you were doing-”

Instantly he moved, sitting up, pulling her with him. “You don’t make excuses for that thing I become,” he said tightly. “If I hurt you-”

“You didn’t.”

“You don’t need to protect me, Stray.”

“I’m not.”

His voice was harsh. “So you just crawled into a cave with a savage beast of your own volition?”

“Yes.” She saw shock, disgust flare in his eyes and she told herself not to let the pain of it track through her chest. She rushed ahead rather than let him say anything else she might regret. “I couldn’t leave you, not when you’d saved me,” she muttered. “I knew what you were, I think, the first time I saw you. I just didn’t have the words, I didn’t understand-”

“Understand what?” He was breathing harshly now.

“Why I didn’t want you to leave me alone in the snow!” The words came out of her mouth without her really thinking of them; The image of her father’s snow-cold mansion flashed through her head and she pushed it away, joyously, fiercely. She only wanted the here and now. “We’re the same, don’t you understand that?” she said. “When I saw you I- I didn’t want to be saved from you. I wanted you. Last night, every night since I’ve met you- I wanted you…”

And she shook her head in frustration, unable to voice what she truly wanted to say.

How could she speak of the thing inside her, when its form was made of everything-that-was-not-words?

“But you’re young,” Logan was saying softly. “That will change, you’ll stop feeling this way-”

“I won’t abandon my mate,” she snapped. “I will not abandon my Sunlight Lock-”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been talking to ’Ro, haven’t you?” He shook his head. “I swear I’m going to kill that woman, silver arrows or no silver arrows-”

“She told me what was needful.”

“She told you a story born out of her guilt fer not saving her husband.”

“And why would she put that guilt onto me?”

He snarled in frustration. “Because she told me I look at you like T’Challa used to look at her!” And he took her face in his hands, trying, it seemed, to shake his meaning into her. Breath straining, becoming more lupine- He wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t entirely back inside his humanity yet. Stray knew she should have been frightened by his temper but she wasn’t. She would rather have him yell at her than another’s words drifting like feathers against her ear. “You don’t know what you’re saying, girl,” he was hissing. “You think me an interesting pet fer a rich man’s daughter, you think me a wonder or a marvel perhaps.” He pushed his hips aggressively into hers, the movement feeling like a taunt, an insult. His grip on her was starting to hurt. “I don’t want a woman who’s only taking me because my fur allows her touch,” he hissed. “I don’t want a woman who looks on her own injury as if it were a game. I don’t want a child dressed up in her mother’s clothing, now matter how much she throws herself at me-”

And with a sudden movement he pushed her from him, making her slide a little through the gravel of the cave, the cold rock shocking her.

She saw regret, horror flicker for a second in his eyes but when they met hers they were steely and flat.

Another, colder beat.

He turned from her then, his massive back hiding whatever his face might have told her. Dipping his head, a low hiss of pain sounding as he forced the last of his wolfishness back beneath his skin. Stray didn’t know whether to touch him or not, whether to try to talk to him. His words had hurt her, but she didn’t believe they were everything he felt. When he had been in his wolf form he had tried to protect her; He had been trying to keep her safe from the moment they met. Surely what she had just witnessed was fear, worry? Surely this was what Ororo had warned her of, and not true dislike? She reached out to touch his back and he snarled, threatening her- But before she could withdraw his hand clasped her wrist and stilled her, though he would not meet her gaze. “I am sorry,” he said, so softly she could barely hear it. “I know you mean no harm but…” H shook his head angrily, frustratedly. Truly this was not a man who enjoyed using words. “I might seem to you like a creature from a hearth-story but I am not,” he said eventually. “I am…dangerous. I am Cursed, Stray-”

“-As am I,” she whispered.

Hazel eyes met hers. “But not enough to deserve a monster like me.”

And with that he reached forward and kissed her, very softly, on her forehead. Taking a deep breath as if it were the last air on earth, maybe even taking her scent. She got a flash of regret, of worry, of something passionate neither of them had a name for-

And then suddenly the blue man who had accompanied Ororo was before her, his face grim. Logan stood in on swift movement, putting himself in front of Stray. The fact that his first instinct was to protect her despite their argument setting something to warming in her chest.

“Gainsborough,” Logan said courteously, “Is there something we can help you with?”

The blue man he nodded, once, worried. Stray noticed he was holding what looked a lot like Logan’s crossbow. “Yes, my friend,” he murmured in that strange accent of his, “Mistress Red sent me to find you.” He looked Logan dead in the eye, his indigo-blue flesh paling. “Her sister Gold has disappeared, and she wants you to help find her.”

Stray may have been imagining it, but it felt as if the temperature in the cavern dropped to ice.

Smoke. Brimstone. Weightlessness.

A split second rushing of sound in her ears, followed by a distinctive bamf!

And then she, Logan and Gainsborough were standing in the middle of a massive, circular, oak-lined room, torch-light streaming down on them-

Stray only had time to notice that many of the Company of Miracles were watching her before she was violently, spectacularly sick.

She fell to her knees, the impact smashing painfully into bone; In an instant ebony dark hands- Ororo’s- were on her while someone held a glass of water to her mouth and coaxed her to drink. She shook her head, still not sure what had happened- Had Gainsborough tricked them somehow?- but before she could scramble away the cup reappeared, this time held by Logan. Concern but no surprise in his eyes as he offered her the water, one hand easily snaking around to stroke the back of her head, the touch soothing against her hair. He’d put on the clothes Gainsborough had brought with him when he summoned them, and he was protected from her touch. “It’s all right, girl,” he was saying softly, “happens to everyone, first time they travel with Kortus-”

Stray took a sip of the liquid, her fingers trembling.

“Next time,” she muttered, “Warn me.”

For a moment Logan smiled, looking years younger. “If I’d done that, cariad,” he said, “you never would have agreed to come.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help her smile.

Strong hands pulled her to her feet then, Ororo’s elegant fingers resting lightly on the small of her back. Logan’s hand falling to the nape of her neck, the skin protecting by the veil of her hair. She shivered and without a moment’s hesitation Logan pulled Gainsborough’s blue and yellow half-cloak from his shoulders, draping it around hers. Chaffing his hands on her arms, warming her. The blue man seemed to realise that protesting would do him no good; he muttered vindictively under his breath but let her keep the cloak. Stray wiped at her mouth with her hand, looking up, and this time she noticed Mistress Red and Master Summerisle staring at her; When they realised they had been spotted she had the distinct pleasure of seeing the apothecary blush.

A short, sharp beat.

“So you survived one another,” Red said hesitantly.

“That’s one way t’put it,” Logan said.

Scott gestured randomly to Stray’s threadbare clothing. “And now you two are..?”

Logan growled menacingly, putting that line of questioning firmly out of bounds.

Stray would be surprised if anyone ever dared ask her about clothing again.

Had to give the Company of Miracles their due though: they recovered quickly. Despite her dishevelled appearance, they studiedly paid her lack of gown and stockings no heed. “Please forgive us, Logan,” Red began softly, “We have much to atone for.” Both husband and wife winced, the guilt plain on their faces; The other members of the Company followed suit, everyone except Ororo, Gainsborough, and a thin brunette girl in a raggedy yellow and blue gown shifting guiltily from foot to foot. The girl was staring very hard at Stray. “You must understand,” Red was saying, “We thought, what if she had hurt you? What if she was one of Magnuss’ brood? There are so many like us who would harm their own…”

Irritation sparked through Stray. “I told you before,” she said. “I would never hurt Logan.” And as if in sympathy, or perhaps defiance, she threaded her fingers through his, the skin protected by the shirt cuffs he’d left hanging over his wrists.

This time he did not pull away.

The reaction was noted. “We do not doubt it,” Master Scott said, nodding. “We are glad to see you both safe.” And he busied himself with adjusting the red scarf he wore across his eyes, the gesture strangely youthful on such a man.

For a moment he almost like a small boy caught in some grave misdeed.

“So that petty apology’s why we’re here?” Logan barked.

Scott’s mouth thinned, arms crossing irritably over his chest. He looked…watchful. Like he knew Logan was not going to like what he had to ask. “No,” he said eventually. “The apology is not the only reason- Though it did need to be made. It’s just that…” The younger man squared his shoulders, seeming to steel himself. A thrill of apprehension went through Stray. “It’s just that, if something were to have happened between you and Mistress Gold, something… unfortunate… We would like you to tell us.” Again he straightened up, arms tightening across his chest. It made him look no older. “I’m sure you’ve heard that she is missing; If anything happened to her, it’s only right that her family should know.”

It clicked in Stray’s head then: So that’s why Gainsborough had really been sent to fetch them. Suddenly the man’s mission made more sense.

Logan was unmoved however. “Define “unfortunate,”” he drawled.

“You know damn well what I mean,” Scott retorted. “You have little control when in your animal state, and you have been known to react violently to those you care for being threatened.” Stray felt a tremor of guilt slide through Logan at his words, and resisted the urge to try strangling Scott- With difficulty. “Gold had been quite unkind to your-” Summerisle paused, apparently searching for a word for Stray that wouldn’t get him skewered- “Your favourite, and in your feral state an error of judgement might have been made-”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “I kill that termagant sister-in-law of yours and it won’t be an error of judgement, Scott,” he hissed. “It’ll be an act of public damn service.”

Red’s voice was angry. “Don’t speak of her that way!”

“I’ll speak of her as I please,” Logan snapped. “She insulted one who’s my own, one who did her no harm.” And he gave Stray’s hand a tiny squeeze, the movement more gratifying than a kiss from anyone else. Again she felt the dark-haired girl in the blue and yellow dress’s eyes on her; she pushed a shiver of unease away. “But if you’re wondering whether she met a lamb’s death in the wildwood,” Logan was saying, “then rest assured, she’s had no sight of me.” He shot Stray a sharp, feral grin. “I had more than enough pleasant company last night; I had no need of another’s.”

Stray couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Ororo give a tiny, elegantly amused snort. When she threw her a glance however she looked sombre as a nun.

Red must have realised her error because instantly she subsided. The fight seemed to go out of her, worry making her shoulders slump. Despite her best intentions, Stray felt a trickle of pity go through her; After all, her sister was likely dead and she had no idea what had happened to her. They would not even be able to bury her…

“If she did not meet you on the road,” Red was saying now, “Then who did she meet? Who could have hurt her, powerful as she is?” She held her hand out to Scott and he squeezed it softly, pulling her to him. He looked as worried as she, though Stray doubted he liked Gold any more than Logan did. But there’s not a true lover born likes to see his sweetheart in pain. “There were tracks in the snow,” Red was muttering. “We found blood, the remains of her travelling great-cloak. But nothing of her body, she might as well have up and flown away for all the trace she left behind.” She looked up at Logan and Stray beseechingly, green-as-Spring’s-turning eyes bright with tears. Despite her best intentions, Stray felt a twinge of sympathy. “I know she wronged you,” the woman was saying, “And I know that in her jealousy she lied, but have pity; We’ve been together since the day that we were born, and if she’s gone…”

The elegant, graciously tranquil Mistress Red broke into tears, her shoulders shaking then. Scott rocking her in his arms and soothing her, comforting her as best he could. Stray didn’t need to have known Red long to understand that this sight was unusual; The Company of Miracles’ uniformly uncomfortable, stuttering-with-apprehension reactions told her as much. The dark haired girl Stray had noticed earlier darted forward, whispering softly to the apothecary. Helping her to her feet and- with a nod from Scott- leading the woman away. Stray turned to see Ororo shaking her head, Gainsborough along with her. They were murmuring together in the huntress’ own language, their faces mirrors of worry, of fear. Because clearly anything that would prove a danger to Mistress Gold must be formidable indeed…

Besides, Stray thought, whatever others may have thought of Mistress Gold, her sister was clearly both popular and loved; Nobody wished to see the woman in pain- Not even Ororo, and it was she who had risked so much to save Stray from the missing woman in the first place. The girl looked at her feet, guilt whispering in her ear: That night in the wildwood, the apothecary had saved her life just as surely as Logan had. The cold and shock might have killed her, had Mistress Red not nursed her back to health. Little as she liked to admit it, she owed the woman: Having a venomous Hell-scut for a sister was not Red’s fault. Logan must have read her expression because he leaned down, his lips a hairsbreadth from her ear. Stray felt the vibration of it down to her toes.

“You do know that plague-bitch will hurt you in any way she can, Stray,” he said softly. “Even if we find her, gratitude will not keep her from baying fer your sweet hide.”

And he tucked a single, loose lock of hair behind her ear, his expression troubled.

His hand hovered over her cheek just a second longer than Stray thought he intended, and suddenly they both looked away.

She shrugged though, rather than draw attention to it. That would lead to another argument, she knew. “I have no doubt of that,” she said softly. “I know what Mistress Gold is, even if her sister insists on being wilfully blind to her.” Some of the worry in Logan’s face seemed to ease, his expression clearing. At least, Stray mused, he seemed to accept that she had some sense. “But if we can help her,” the girl continued, “then we should do. It- it would eat at my conscience, to know we did nothing when there was a chance to help her sister in her grief.” She forced herself to look up at him. “And after all, you might want to stay here, to resume your life amongst these people…”

The thought made her heart stutter a little, because she knew that with Mistress Gold around she would never be able to stay.

As if he’d read her thoughts he reached out and touched her cheek, there where it was protected by the fall of her hair. Tipping her face up to meet his, hazel eyes serious and- for once- soft. “If you left, girl,” he said quietly, “I would go with you. It’s not you I don’t want, it’s the knowledge I’ve ruined you. The knowledge that I have taken something from you that can’t ever be given back.” She opened her mouth to ask whether he thought her innocence- her goodness- so fragile as that but he spoke over her. Apparently he wanted another argument as little as she did, and this was that could not be conducted with an audience present. “I will help them look for the devilrous witch,” he said softly. “If you wish it. I will make sure that she is brought home to her sister and her people. And then I will leave, Stray. With you. For you.” A small smile flitted across his features, his face showing that he was trying to lighten his words. The effort sounded hollow to Stray’s ears. “Besides,” he said, “if nothing else I’ll enjoy the infamy of being believed a lovely maid’s favourite-”

And as if his words had summoned catastrophe, the door behind him crashed open. A shape- looming, ominous, length stretched out like a great bird- darkening the doors. There was a flurry of snowflakes, hard and sharp and metallic as silver; They whirled around the room, cutting, tearing, rounding on the Company like knives- Like slivers- Like they could move with a will of their own. Those that tried to fight back were surrounded by silver snowflakes, hemmed in by them; The only person they seemed incapable of touching was Ororo and even her bow was of now use against so terrible a foe. For a split second it seemed that this inexplicable threat would best everyone and instinctively Logan moved Stray behind him, his form already beginning to shift, to turn lupine-

But then, as suddenly as it had appeared the storm… froze. Literally. The blood-streaked snowflakes stopping, hanging in midair as if gravity had, on them, no claim. For a second silence reigned, the members of the Company trying to understand what had happened. Logan’s massive bulk still pushed in front of Stray’s as she watched the beast within him howl to get out. And then, with the calmness of a wolf-mother on her first spring morning, a woman walked through the hall, pristinely white fur cloak draped over her, a great bristling cowl-hood hiding her face. Strands of platinum gold hair brushing and whispering down to her waist. Pale, snowdrop-white skin peeking from beneath her robes. Beside her there walked a young man, his form massive, his skin entirely silver; He was carrying a contraption Stray had never seen before- it looked like a harpoon thrower- and his eyes were utterly, immeasurably cold. Dead.

A long, subtle, tender-with-fighting breath beat.

“I’ve come to find the Company of Miracles,” the newcomer announced then, her voice soft and silky and terrifying. There was something about it that reminded the girl of Mistress Gold, something of that woman’s mocking tone. But if there was one thing she was certain of, it was that this woman was not Red’s missing twin. This woman was far too cold, far too passionless a creature to burn with jealousy at the thought of losing Logan to a Spring Maid. And as if to confirm that the woman nodded curtly in her direction, acknowledging her thought as though she had spoken aloud: The realisation that she shared the same ability as the apothecary made the girl’s blood run cold. “I’ve been sent by Mistress Gold to find the finest entertainers in the Twelvelands,” the newcomer was saying. “I need only the best performers to make merry at my wedding- Would that be all of you?”

And with a theatrical flourish worthy of any actress, she pulled her hood down.

Stray realised in that moment that-aside from her hair- the woman was made entirely from diamonds and snow.

“Ororo,” Master Summerisle said calmly, “Would you kindly go and fetch my wife?”

And he edged forward, his blind-man’s gaze never leaving the newcomer. Her flirtatious, coy little grin clearly doing nothing to soften his mood. Ororo nodded to his request and darted out, throwing an unreadable look to Logan as she did so. The fact that she was frowning setting unease hissing through Stray’s chest. The newcomer feinted playfully forward, a flurry of her metallic snowflakes coming with her; Instantly Scott tensed, his fingers going to his blindfold even as Logan moved himself to more fully cover Stray. Acting almost in concert the Company of Miracles shifted, their stances becoming combative; The diamond-skinned woman’s smile widened, the silver-skinned man beside her stiffening as if to defend her himself.

“Really, lover,” the newcomer murmured, eyes on Scott, “Has it come to this? Would you attack me, after all we meant to one another?”

Summerisle opened his mouth to retort but a door sprung smartly open to his right before he could do so. Mistress Red hurried through it, Ororo and the dark-haired girl Stray had noticed earlier at her heels. As soon as she laid eyes on the apothecary the newcomer stopped in her tracks. Blinked. Red reached for her husband.

The two women stood appraising one another, fire against ice, as the rest of the room held its collective breath.

“Mistress Red,” the newcomer said then, inclining her head politely, taking an unobtrusive step away from Scott. “You, of course, honour me with your presence.”

And to Stray’s surprise she dropped herself into a curtsy, just like the ladies Stray remembered being presented to Lord David’s father.

Red did not return the gesture.

“What do you want, Emmalaine?” the apothecary demanded instead. “You remember Father Carlos’ edict; You are no longer welcome here-”

The newcomer spoke over her. “I am here because I have been speaking with your sister.” Despite the fact that she tried to school her features, the relief this piece of news brought Red was obvious to all in the room. “Gold came to see me last night, begging me to take her in. Seemed to think that she too was no longer welcome here, something to do with a slip of a girl and a lustful, lecherous old wolf…” For the first time her eyes went to Logan, shaking her head in mock remonstrance. Eyes flicking back and forth between he and Stray, understanding gleaming wickedly in their depths. Logan showed her his teeth and she laughed to herself, though Stray couldn’t help but notice that she kept her distance. Clearly, she had some sense of self-preservation. “You know how Gold gets,” the woman continued, “and what little patience she has; I therefore prevailed upon my husband-to-be to let her in-”

“So this husband is actually yours, is he?” the little dark-haired girl who’d come in with Red spat. “You’re actually warming your own bed, and not slutting about in another woman’s?”

Cool blue eyes came to rest on the girl. “Katherine Shadowskin, as I live and breath,” Emmalaine murmured. “I heard you’d hanged yourself, because of all you lost.”

“I lost nothing,” Katherine hissed, “It was stolen-”

“A heart that’s contented cannot be spirited away.” Emmalaine gestured over her shoulder, calling to the silver-skinned male who’d accompanied her into the hall. As soon as she laid eyes on him the girl’s face turned ashen; Stray saw Ororo’s expression soften with pity at the sight. “Do you like my man-servant?” the diamond-skinned woman was cooing coyly. “Does he please you? Petyenka, say hello to this poor, pathetic, abandoned little drab…” And Emmalaine reached up, trailing her tongue along the silver man’s jaw line even as he held out his hand mutely to Katherine in greeting.

Tears rose in the dark-haired woman’s eyes, which she tried to unobtrusively brush away.

This casual callousness was the last straw for Scott though. “You’ve given your message,” he snapped, “We know that Gold’s alive and safe, and that you’re still a plague-bitch. Consider yourself relieved of your obligation Emmalaine, and be on your way.”

And he grabbed the woman’s arm, making to move her: None of the Company of Miracles would have stopped him, of that Stray was sure.

“But you haven’t heard everything I have to say yet,” the woman pouted.

“We’ve heard enough, now leave my family alone.”

Emmalaine’s gaze narrowed, a knowing smile playing about her lips. “They were my family too for many years, and from what Gold has told me since Father Carlos’ disappeared they’ve fallen on hard times: I can remedy that.”

“How?” Red demanded. “By reminding Kitty of what you did to her husband?”

“No, by offering you honest work.” At Red and Scott’s frankly disbelieving looks she shrugged. “Consider it a thank you to Mistress Katherine, for providing me with such a delicious ox of a man, even if she didn’t know what to do with him…”

She shot the girl a knife-like grin and just as she’d intended, Shadowskin darted forward, kicking and gouging like a Hellcat. There was a flash of smoke and brimstone and suddenly Gainsborough was between the two women, holding Katherine tightly to his chest and stroking her hair even as he pulled her away. The silver-skinned man faltered at the sight and Emmalaine started, body turning from diamond to flesh again as she gesticulated vindictively.

Instantly the silver man’s uncertainty disappeared, so quickly that if she hadn’t seen it Stray would not have believed it was there.

“Go and fetch my conveyance!” Emmalaine snarled then, jabbing her finger towards the door. “Don’t look back at anyone, and don’t even contemplate disobeying.”

The man did as he was bid, though less than willingly it seemed to Stray; Emmalaine was breathing slightly harder now, embarrassment at her outburst making the snowdrop-white flesh flush crimson. As soon as her servant left though she reverted to her diamond-skinned form, lip curling in disgust as her mocking gaze came to rest on Scott and Red, expression trying to regain its hauteur. Stray could practically feel the anger in the room, it was so palpable. “I have come far in the world,” Emmalaine said quietly, “And I wish to share my good fortune. That is why I came here, in addition to passing on the news about Mistress Gold. I wish to be on good terms with my family, despite what has been said about me in the past- Despite what you have all convinced yourself that I am- Despite everything. You may not believe it but there it is.” And she cleared her throat, steepled her hands before her. It seemed that she had belatedly decided to try being polite.

“In a week’s time I will become the wife of Lord Sebastian of New Angelom, the King’s most trusted Seneschal,” she was saying. “And after that, I will not be a woman to be trifled with- By the Company of Miracles or anyone else.” Her gaze flickered over them; Stray was surprised to see that nobody smiled or even looked away- Though suddenly he was more grateful for the feeling of Logan’s hand in hers. “If you come and entertain the guests at me wedding,” Emmalaine continued, her voice less assured now, “There would be much coin and patronage to be had for you. There would also be much glory, and the chance to stock up on supplies in the hardest months of winter. It would-” Her voice dropped. “I would consider it a wedding gift to me.”

And despite all the mischief and hurt she had wrought tonight, that one sentence sounded like she meant it, the sincerity of the words coming across as wrong somehow when said by her.

The Company of Miracles however studiedly did not respond.

So Emmalaine sighed like a martyr, reaching inside her cloak and pulling out a parchment. Placing it carefully on the table before her, the red wax of what looked like a nobleman’s seal reflecting the room’s dim light. “These are travel papers, and a map,” she announced tersely. “They will show you how to find Shaw Manor, and they will allow you to pass into the Southlands after the wedding, should you wish to rest out the worst of the winter there.” At this there was a noticeable stiffening of backs amongst the gathering; Travel to the Southlands was strictly prohibited by order of the King’s Conjuror, which was why the Company was slowly freezing themselves to death here in the ice-wrought North. But if the papers were genuine they would be worth a fortune, a fact Emmalaine had to be aware of- Just as she had to be aware that neither Scott nor Red could afford to pass up the chance to escape this winter when it was dropped straight into their lap. She must be very eager to have the Company of Miracles at her big day, Stray mused. Either that, or she owes Mistress Gold a massive favour. The girl wasn‘t sure she wanted to find out which was the truth. “Myself and your sister shall be waiting,” Emmalaine was saying, some of her old haughtiness returning. “We will expect you all within the fortnight, since the wedding cannot wait. Good day.”

And with that she stalked out the way she had come, dragging her silver snowflakes after her in a flurry of metal and coldness. Leaving Stray with so many questions she didn’t know where to start from- Though the first would involve finding out from Logan- or more likely, Ororo- precisely what had happened to get Emmalaine banished. She turned to ask the feral but her eye drawn to Katherine Shadowskin instead: She was staring after the diamond-skinned woman as a starving cat stares at the last, brief-of-flesh morsel of mouse left in the wildwood. Her expression so hurt, so pale, so unaccountably heartbroken that it was actually painful to see. Stray found herself wondering at the rage she saw in that gaze, at the vindictiveness of it-

And she found herself hoping, for everyone’s sake, that Mistress Katherine was not nearly so devilishly powerful as she looked right at this moment.

Because she couldn’t imagine anything good coming from so great an anger as that- And she did not want it anywhere near herself or her Sunlight Lock.

The Company of Miracles made the decision to take up Emmalaine on her offer that night.

The argument was surprisingly vociferous, at least from those who wanted no part in the plan. Gainsborough, Ororo and Katherine Shadowskin all cited many reasons not to trust Emmalaine or her invitation to her wedding, in the latter’s case after a full-fledged screaming match between herself and Mistress Red and the rest of the Company. When it became obvious that disagreement was futile Mistress Kit stalked out in a fury, Gainsborough behind her. Ororo following after them, after murmuring something low and worried-sounding in her own language to Scott. The decision didn’t surprise Stray; The Hrimcaeld- that is, the Frozen North- was entering the bitterest, leanest part of its winter and even with Ororo and Logan’s skill with a bow (and their decided disregard for hunting laws) game was becoming scarcer every day. There was precious little firewood and even less fresh water; Every pond and stream they came upon seemed to be frozen solid or blocked. And their supplies of cheese, bread and salted meat could only hold out so long, what with so many mouths to feed-

So really, it was no great shock that she and Scott accepted Emmalaine’s invitation, however insolently it had been given.

What surprised Stray however, was how eager Logan seemed to be.

Stray had felt her eyes begin to droop even as she watched the argument, for all that she had slept a little last night. So as soon as the decision was made Logan had taken her hand and pulled her to her feet, indicating with a nod of his head that she should come outside. His shoulders were tense and wary, but something about his step telling Stray that he was feeling jittery. Wound up. As soon as the door of the hall closed behind him he began hurrying her through the snowy woods towards the Company’s camp. Stray only had a chance to glimpse a huge, squat, one storey house overrun with the roots of an impossibly tall oak tree (she would later find out it was Gainsborough’s manor) before he pulled her into his caravan. As soon as she was inside he closed the door, setting the place into darkness. The milky, wan light of the day outside had trouble piercing the murk of his dirty window panes, and there was no other illumination, a fact which she guessed did not bother one with senses such as his. For a moment she was silent and tongue-tied, cheeks staining red- After all, she had been raised to be a fine lady and fine ladies do not allow themselves to be bundled into darkened gentlemen’s quarters, no matter what mystical bond it has been claimed they share-

But then she heard a mumbled curse, followed by a moment’s fumbling with clothing and a match being struck.

Logan reached over and set light to the candle-lamp beside her, and suddenly the room was flooded in golden light.

“You were dead on your feet,” he said then, his voice quiet. “I thought you’d want to rest.” He was staring at her, his expression somehow soft and wary at the same time; He went to sit down beside her and Stray belatedly realised she was sitting on his bed. She made to move away just as he made to still her and their bodies collided, not hard enough to wind her, just hard enough to remind her what his weight felt like pressed against hers. The scarlet in her cheeks worsened, brown eyes averted as she tried not to let the memory of last night in the cave overpower her. It seemed very far away and improper, now that they were in a camp where anyone could hear-

A beat passed and Stray heard Logan take a puffing breath, his fingers going to her chin to turn it.

She permitted him to do so, but did not meet his eyes.

“Stray-” he began.

“Don’t,” she murmured.

Surprise was evident in his tone. “Don’t what?” He gestured to the caravan. “Is this not an easier place to sleep than a cave?”

Her lips barely moved as she said the words. “In the cave people weren’t listening…”

“Believe me, nobody here will listen- Not if they know what’s good fer them.”

She heard rather than saw his smile and despite herself she smiled a little in return. He took that as his cue to move closer, his arm and hip now pressing against hers. It occurred to Stray to wonder why so simple a touch from Lord David had never had the same effect; She felt… warm. Warm and surprisingly safe. “I’m sorry about this morning,” he was saying, his voice hesitant. “And I’m sorry if- I’m sorry if I have not been the man I should be to you. But I needed to talk to you before we leave for the Southlands, and if I don’t do it now I won’t get the chance- not while we’re alone.” This time when he tipped her chin up she met his eyes. They were golden. “Are you awake enough to have this conversation, girl?” he asked.

She nodded, wariness settling around her; She didn’t like where this was heading. but she still said, “Yes, Logan.”

“Good.” He seemed unconvinced by her answer, but evidently decided to hold his tongue. “I know that we haven’t known one another fer very long, Stray,” he began then. “And I doubt I’m the sort your people would hold with, if you were still under their protection- Which I assume you’re not?” She wanted to protest but she knew he was right: Neither her mother nor her father would ever have approved of her sitting on Logan’s bed, let alone sleeping in his arms. And she certainly wasn’t under her parents’ protection anymore. “That being the case,” he was saying, “before we pass into the Southlands, I would like you to- That is, I would like permission to tell people that you have become my- my chatelaine.” He was looking at her very intently. “Do you know what that means?”

Instantly Stray was on her feet.

She knew precisely what a chatelaine was, she’d often seen the one Lord David’s father kept as she sauntered through town. The woman had been beautiful, stunning even. Clever and educated and dripping with jewels and furs and everything else that money could buy. What she had not been, however, was Lord Anthony’s wife, and she never would be-

No man married a chatelaine, any more than they married a common whore.

He must have read her expression, because immediately his hands tightened on hers, the grip turning uncomfortable. That beast within him growling, angry with her reaction no doubt. On some level Stray knew she was being unfair; She had not been forced into intimacy or seduced by him and he had made her no promises, at least none that pertained to her heart. But the knowledge of how he saw her made her soulsick: Being yelled at because he worried for her safety was one thing, but to be told that he wanted her as nothing but, but a plaything was a beast of another stripe. Anger flooded through her: Before he could stop her she began shouting, worries about people being able to hear them suddenly a thing of the past.

“You listen to me, Logan,” she snapped. “And you listen well. I may have come far in life, but I’m more than a strumpet for you to warm your bed with! I’m more than an excuse to improve your reputation, or to boast when you’re in your cups.” She was breathing hard now and she punctuated each word with a sharp poke to his chest; The beast within may have growled at it but the man held his tongue.

“Is that what you think this is?” he asked quietly instead.

For the first time in their acquaintance his voice sounded truly dangerous, but Stray was too angry to care.

“What do you expect me to think this is, Logan?” she demanded. “You say you wish to keep me as, as a mistress-”

“I did not say I wanted to keep you as mistress,” he hissed. “I said I wished to tell people that’s what you were to me.”

“To what end?”

“To the same end as all my other dealings with you,” he snapped. “To keep you safe, you stubborn girl!”

And before she could say anything else he stood, towering over her. Forced his face into hers to do it, though it meant he had to stoop. They were very suddenly eye to eye, chest to chest, their breath in each others’ faces.

And just like every other time this had happened, her lungs chose that moment to forget how to work.

“You saw Mistress Kitty in there,” Logan said then, his voice low and intense.

Stray swallowed. “If by that you mean Katherine Shadowskin, then yes I did.”

“And you saw the man who came in with Emmalaine, the one she called her man-servant?”

Again she nodded. “Aye, that I did.”

“Well that was Kit’s husband, Petya. He joined the Company the same time she did, after they’d been married fer less than a year. You never saw a man as devoted to his woman as he was- Him’n Kit were childhood sweethearts, practically joined at the hip the whole first year I knew them.”

“So what happened?”

Logan snorted in disgust. “Emmalaine happened. Emmalaine, Begot-Of-Trouble, Frost happened. She took it into that diamond-hard head of hers to be jealous of Kitty’s happiness and decided to ruin her, decided to ruin them both. Never had one to put a wedding ring on her finger, you see, her not being the sort of termagant a man marries or even keeps company with fer more than a week at a time.” And he made a show of shrugging coldly. Stray felt a shiver go down to her toes. “By the time we realised that she’d used her Curse on him Petya had broken with Kitty,” he was saying. “Disavowed her in front of the entire Company and told her also that Emmalaine was large with his child, which we later found out was a lie-”

Stray crossed her arms. “Why are you telling me this?”

His smile was hard and sharp. “Because Emmalaine has a taste fer married men, Stray,” he muttered. “She has a taste fer punishing their women too, as poor Kitty Shadowskin can attest. Tried to use her Curse to get the lass to hang herself, fer she’s a Thought Reader by far more vicious and vindictive than gentle Mistress Red.” And he shook his head, some memory angering him. The fury in in face gave even Stray pause. “She is dangerous,” he was saying, “More dangerous than anyone believes, especially a sop-hearted creature like Red, or an alter boy like Scott. I could tell her that there’s nothing between us but she won’t believe it, and you can place coin that as soon as she and Gold have you in Shaw’s Manor they’ll try to cause you grief, do not even think to doubt it- Which, my clever, stubborn little Trouble-Begot, is more than even my splintered monster’s heart could take. So if I cannot fool her into thinking you are my wife you must be my chatelaine-

I don’t make the rules in this ridiculous land, but it’s as simple as that.”

Oh.

Stray felt her brimstone temper go out of her as soon as it had arrived, repentance blooming in its stead. For all that he’d called her a Trouble-Begot, a magnet for misfortune, she knew that he was right.

She held her tongue for a long, lean beat.

“Sorry,” she said then, her voice tiny. She’d placed a small hand on his bicep, there where it was protected by his shirt, and she heard the beast within him give a little huff and pleasure at the action.

“I know you are.” He sat himself down onto his bed, the fight gone out of him.“And I know I should have found another way to ask that. I know how it must sound. But if there’s even a chance that such a lie will save you then I am more than happy to tell it. I know it may make you embarrassed, but I’d rather you were embarrassed than dead.”

And he took her hand, turning it over in his own as he examined it in the lamplight.

Stray took a deep breath and sat back down beside him, keeping the bare skin of her legs carefully away from the uncovered flesh of his feet.

Another, shorter beat.

“So say we told this lie,” she began then, her tone curious. “What would you expect of me? What would it take to make it work?”

He shrugged. “You would have to share this place with me,” he said. The damn blush came back with a vengeance, and the ghost of a smile formed in Logan’s lips. “You would have to boast of your love fer me, say you were mine. And we would have to let it be known that we were- that we were in the way of lovers.”

His expression tightened as he said that, but he did not pull his hand away.

She cocked her head, mulling the idea over. “Would we have to share a bed?” she asked.

“No!” When he saw her reaction he forced himself to lower his voice. “No,” he said, more gently. “I would not expect that from you.”

And he pressed a light kiss, quick as moonlight, upon the slope of her wrist.

“Oh.” Stray thought back to last night in the cave, to her first night’s real sleep since she’d left Illunis. It had felt very pleasant to sleep in Logan’s arms. “Can I share your bed?” she asked him.

He shot her a curious, sideways look. His voice was suspicious. “Why would you want to do that?”

She shrugged. “I like sleeping with you.” It was nothing but the truth. “Last night, I felt- I suppose I felt safe.” His expression turned unreadable and she rushed on. “I swear, I would not try anything untoward,” she said hurriedly. “I would not try to… take advantage of you while you were asleep.” Despite himself a small smile played over his lips at the notion of her giving him that assurance, but she did not let that stop her. She knew she had to get through this now. “I know you think I don’t know my own mind on this matter,” she said, more passionately. “But I do. I have seen enough of the world to know that what I feel when I’m with you is…special. Unusual. I know it does not happen every day. But as much as I know my own mind, I understand that this is your decision, Logan. If you ever… want me, really want me, we can see what’s between us. But I’ve spent too much of my life having others decide for me to try to decide for you.”

And she brushed her lips, quick as sunlight, against the slope of his wrist.

Logan very deliberately stilled her this time, when she tried to move away.

“So you agree?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Its timbre was doing something funny and grating and wonderful to Stray’s insides. Something she’d never felt before.

“Aye, I do.”

“And you want to sleep here?” He gestured to the bed and though she was blushing she nodded. Curled closer. The sheets were soft and warm from wear. They smelt faintly of pipe smoke and him.

“Yes, Logan, I do.”

His smile was somehow unsure, but more than a little happy. He moved over slightly, letting her curl into his side, where his skin was protected against her, and laid his heavy arm against her waist. The weight was- reassuring. The arm felt like it was where it was supposed to be. “Then you go to sleep, my little Trouble-Begot, and I will watch you over you.”

And with that Stray closed her eyes and accepted that her role as the only virgin chatelaine in the Twelvelands.

They set out for the Southlands the next day, and that was quite literally that.

At first Stray thought that things wouldn’t be very different; After all, it wasn’t as if she and Logan would be doing anything untoward, not if his determination to save her virtue remained unchanged. That first night when she slept in his bed nothing happened: She woke in the early hours of dawn to find his arms around her, his hands resting in entirely proper places, so very different than the night they’d slept together in the Wolf Mother’s Cave. If she were being truthsome, Stray would admit that she was a little disappointed: It was hard to believe that the quiet, considerate, occasionally infuriatingly stubborn man she was sharing a caravan with could be the creature she had lain with in the wildwood. He seemed too peaceable, too… determined to be docile, to be the same beast, for all that he turned half-lupine so they could sleep together.

While he may have been perfectly chaste in private, in public he was anything but. He held her hand all the time when they were amongst the others, made a show of following her half-dressed out of the caravan every morning despite the bitter cold. (Needless to say, this practice had made her very popular with the other women of the Company.) He set her between his legs when they ate at the camp-fire, let his hands rest casually on her body every chance he got despite her Curse. “It’s not like it’s going to kill me, cariad,” he muttered when she objected one day, “And even if it did-” He grinned- “There are worse ways to go.” This physical intimacy was so new to Stray, and she found she liked it: For the first time in her life she began to understand the difference between having someone care about rather than for her. Her father and Lord David had looked after her because she was a prize possession; Logan took care of her because he wanted to, because he understood her needs rather than just his own. And as he was fond of pointing out when in company, she was his chatelaine-

Stray found that, despite the teasing from the other women, she didn’t mind that thought at all.

So when they came into Caer Naegin and he bought her several gossamer-light scarves as well as a couple of gowns nobody thought anything of it. He also bought her a tiny, spun-bronze ring to wear on her thumb- if she was his chatelaine she would have to wear the mark of her rank- and a pair of the finest, softest leather gloves that coin and intimidation could buy. These were added to the rabbit-fur hat and boots he’d made for her on the road and the deer-skin lined green woollen cloak he’d bartered for in the market at Bin Rais. By the time she’d been in his caravan a week she had everything she’d ever needed, though it was significantly less than she’d previously ever had. She had, however, never been so contented before. The men of the Company teased Logan that he was spoiling her, that he was moon-sopped and foolish over nought but a young skirt-

But when he first held a silken scarf before her face and kissed her in front of everyone the men promptly ceased their teasing.

Stray would remain awake several nights remembering it and willing her treacherous skin not to conjure what else could be done, had Logan the aid of a scarf.

She never found out though; They moved on from Caer Naegin and Logan’s wins in the boxing cages- the city was more famous for its blood-sports than its flesh houses or even its dragons’ breath dens- without Logan making another attempt on her virtue, let alone showing her what more could be done if he had the aid of a scarf. They crossed the border into the Southlands on a brisk, fine morning; Once through the Singing Gate-so called because every word spoken at it was supposedly sung on the wind back to Lord Sebastian- the road forked and they stopped. To the East lay the Brazen Sea and the great capital of Min Hadyn. To the left the unending grasslands of the Never-Still and beyond it the ancient forest containing Shaw Manor, which was known as the Echoing Green. Red and Scott made a show of allowing anyone who wanted to turn away from Shaw Manor the opportunity to do so: Nobody did however, not even Katherine Shadowskin, much to Gainsborough’s visible delight. Ororo threw Logan an unreadable look at that development and he tightened his grip on Stray, there where she sat between his thighs; She looked up at him uncertainly, but he merely smiled and brushed a kiss across her forehead, too quick to awaken her Curse.

“Don’t fret, little Trouble-Begot,” he said softly. “There’s nothing in this place that I’ll let hurt you.”

“What about something that could hurt you?” she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. “If you get to fret about me then surely I get to do the same about you. That’s the chatelaine’s prerogative-”

He kissed her lightly on the lips- they were in public after all- but did not answer her.

Despite her many attempts to bring it up the matter was not spoken of again.

And so they pressed on, though now matters between them became more difficult: Once into the Never-Still Logan’s temperament seemed to turn wild. Nightmares, complete with near-full lupine transformations and blood-curdling cries, now became commonplace for him. Some nights he held onto her so hard he left bruises, for all that she never let him see and didn’t herself care. He became wary, tetchy with worry. The beast within him stalked ever nearer the surface, ever-more ready to emerge and to fight. Some days he seemed unwilling to let her out of his sight, as if afraid she would be spirited away. Some days he seemed afraid to even touch her, as if somehow his hands would harm her by some unaccountable means. But though she asked he would not explain to her what was wrong, wouldn’t confide in her. In fact he more than once yelled at her loudly for asking at all. He always apologised but the damage was cumulative: Silence became their constant companion, with tension as its mate. Stray tried to tell herself this was travellers’ anxiety. That their passage through the Never-Still felt interminable and the grass poisonous, that the water was too far beneath the ground to be of much use for drinking and that’s why Logan was cross. But she knew it for a lie. Something was wrong with him. And as if to make matters worse, there were the stories doing the rounds in the camp, stories about the Never-Still. Tales of grass that swallowed travellers whole, grass that picked bodies bleach-clean. It was why there were no animals in the Never-Still, the stories whispered, no people. Why nothing lived here that was not green. The grasses were too greedy to share their land with trespassers, and the Company were trespassers-

Stray couldn’t help but notice that they never seemed to stay in any one particular spot for long, no matter how tired the horses were.

It was something else that was likewise never discussed, but which she knew to be true.

And so they entered the Echoing Green and the last miles before Shaw Manor on tenterhooks. Their early closeness apparently in tatters, the nerves of the entire Company frayed to shreds. Once the crystalline-leaved canopy of the forest closed over them however Logan seemed to relax a little. There was always something of the woodlands in Logan, for all that he walked like a man. They reached Shaw Manor just before sundown exactly two weeks after they had left Gainsborough’s manor: The house looked very fine at sunset, perched as it was on a steep incline with the Brazen Sea at its back. The gardens were beautiful and expansive, draped in honey-rose and copper-lily: There was flower-scent on the air and bees humming, despite the fact that snow should be one the ground. The crystalline, musical leaves of the Echoing Green swayed in welcome, singing seductively: Every window was tied with green cloth to signify a wedding and the staff waiting to welcome them numbered far more than the Company of Miracles, even including the horses and dogs. Emmalaine Frost sauntered down the steps of the house on the arm of a handsome, middle-aged man with coal black hair and striking features. He carried a silver cane in one hand, the other placed firmly on Emmalaine’s rear. The woman was wearing pristine white as usual, but Stray couldn’t shake the feeling that she should have been wearing something else, something darker-

A long, uncomfortable beat, wherein everyone fidgeted.

Stray felt Logan’s hand at her back and instantly she stilled.

“So this is your family, my jewel,” the man- Shaw, Stray presumed- said loudly.

He was making a show of being unimpressed with the men folk, which was fine since the men folk looked surely unimpressed with him.

“Yes, my darling Sebastian,” Emmalaine answered. She tossed her blond hair and Stray felt more than heard Katherine Shadowskin grit her teeth. “This is the Company of Miracles, merry band of reprobates and the finest entertainers in all the Twelvelands. You’ll not be disappointed by them, my Lord, I can assure you of that.”

And she smiled that overly-sweet, cat-like smile she’d used on Kitty.

It might have been her imagination, but Stray swore Ororo’s hand twitched towards her bow.

Nobody said anything untoward though, and the moment passed quietly. Red and Scott came forward to bow to their host and Shaw’s eyes visibly widened when he took in the apothecary’s resemblance to her sister, much to Scott’s disgust. The Seneschal leaned forward, whispering something in Summerisle’s ear: Whatever it was made Logan growl and Emmalaine snicker, for all Scott politely shook his head and uttered a simple “No.” Shaw made a show of shrugging then, his gaze regretful as it continued to size Red up. It was only when she stepped away from him and back towards the Company that his gaze found Stray. As if prompted by some unseen force- Emmalaine perhaps?- his attention came to rest on the girl, lingering for a moment on the chatelaine’s ring she wore on her thumb.

He all but smacked his lips at the sight of it and immediately Stray began to squirm.

She had the sinking feeling she knew what this meant.

Instantly though Logan’s hand came back to her spine, rubbing. The motion soothed her, and she began to still again, her own hand finding his and giving it a squeeze. The nobleman’s eyes narrowed cannily when he saw the reaction, but when he spoke it was in a careless, lascivious drawl. “She’s very obedient,” he said, eyeing Logan. “And young too, wherever did you procure her?” Stray felt her other hand clench into a fist- she was supposed to be a chatelaine, not a doxy from some flesh house- but her reaction seemed only to amuse Shaw. His smile widened as she glowered, and Emmalaine’s followed suit. “You must have found her in a very fine establishment,” he was saying, “And you must have paid a fortune to procure such innocent skin. Those breasts, that back-side, she’s quite exquisite. Please, tell me, where is she from? Inyayo? Madrassa?” His grin widened. “Or did you just find her at the side of the road?”

Logan’s tone was brusque. “She is without price,” he said flatly, speaking over the nobleman. “And she was found in no house but her family’s. She travels with me now, that is all you need know of her.”

And he made a show of standing in front of Stray, blocking her from Shaw’s view, teeth drawn back and visible

Apparently it was effective because Shaw finally turned his gaze from Stray towards a smiling Emmalaine.

“So that’s the way of things, my pet,” Shaw said, his gaze still speculative. For one horrible moment Stray felt like a slab of meat at a butcher’s table, but then Logan’s hand curled around her waist and the feeling lessened. So long as she was with her Sunlight Lock she knew she would be fine. “She could do better, my dear,” Shaw was telling Emmalaine, “Much, much better. But Spring Maids and their wolves won’t be parted, every old maid knows that.”

Emmalaine’s smile was pure venom. “That, my love, remains to be seen.”

And with that cryptic- and frankly worrying- statement the groom and bride-to-be walked back into their manor house, effectively dismissing the Company of Miracles.

As Stray watched them go it occurred to her that Mistress Gold’s spite might be the least of her problems-

And by the look of him the wolf in Logan agreed.

The trouble started that night.

Mistress Red was bustled off to see her sister and the rest of the Company were ushered into Shaw Manor by what seemed like a small army of staff, a small army which was among the first things about Shaw Manor to set Stray’s teeth on edge. For while each servant bustled and harried them, moving silently and diligently to do their master’s bidding, they neither smiled nor laughed. And their footsteps caused no sound. As soon as the Company were inside the men and the women were separated, the fact that half the Company was married making no difference to the servants. They had their orders, and not one of them was willing to get on Sebastian Shaw’s bad side for the sake of a group of miscreants of the road. It wasn’t that the couples’ being separated was strange, per se: According to Ororo it was common for the men to bunk with the groomsmen and the women with the scullery maids when the Company worked an engagement at a manor house. What was unusual was where everyone would be sleeping: The men were to be banished to the other side of the manor, while each woman had been assigned her own room amongst the other guests. Stray couldn’t help but be worried, because if Shaw had enough space to give her a double bed and her own bath tub then he had enough space to let her share them with Logan-

Be that as it may however, the Company were guests within Shaw Manor and as guests they were bound by the same standards of behaviour as everyone else- Whether they liked it or no. So when the men were ushered off towards their side of the house- a wing which could only be reached by a maze of corridors and a traipse across an unlit inner courtyard- nobody objected. The couples just touched briefly, murmuring that they would see one another soon, and then allowed themselves to be separated. Half of the Company had spent time as pad-feet or lock-picks anyway, so finding a way to sport with their husbands wouldn’t be much of a chore; In fact, judging by some of the women’s reactions they were looking forward to the challenge. Though clearly annoyed Logan was no different, merely giving Stray’s hand a squeeze and telling her softly that once she locked her doors and kept his cut-iron about her then everything would be fine-

Despite such reassurances though his absence weighed heavily on Stray.

She couldn’t help the sense of unease which stole through her as he was led away.

The evening passed without incident though, and for that she was grateful. Since the wedding wouldn’t take place until Mabsday (about four days hence by Stray’s reckoning) the Company had time to settle into their surroundings and unpack what Ororo unceremoniously referred to as their “bag of tricks.” To that end the women began sorting through costumes and props in Ororo’s room: None of their acts would fool Emmalaine of course, but it was her guests they were here to entertain and entertained they would be. Besides, half of the Company’s magic was their ability to keep their Curses from seeming like what they were; When Gainsborough made himself appear and disappear a fire-controlling boy nick-named Singe always took care to make the room’s candles flicker into complete darkness for a moment, just as ’Ro made a show of being seen with her darts before Scott used his Curse to knock a hole through a curtain or cloth. It was a strange fact of audiences, Ororo said, that they both wanted and did not want to believe in magic; The Company of Miracles had only survived for so long because they were adept at turning this ambivalence to their advantage.

And since the penalty for discovery as a group of Cursed would be summary execution, Ororo felt sticking to their usual cover to be an excellent plan.

All too soon though the tower-bell chimed the twelve-hour and began trooping back to their rooms, loudly declaring themselves ready for bed. Stray was unconvinced: Mistress Tabitha Smythe was putting on scent and fixing her hair even as she supposedly readied herself for sleep, which was hardly a ringing endorsement of their claims. Be that as it may though the women closed their doors one by one; Their candles were likewise blown out as the corridor descended into an almost unnatural hush. Stray undressed and lay in bed, feeling the soft mattress beneath her and the linens against her arms; It had been a long time since she had lain in such luxury and yet sleep wouldn’t come. She tried counting the ceiling slats, listening to the leaves of the Echoing Green as they sighed to her. Her body was restless though and her skin seemed to hum hungrily: She missed Logan, she realised, missed the feel of his fur against her cheek, the weight on his arm against her waist. They hadn’t been parted even a night and yet she somehow couldn’t imagine slumber without him-

It was then that she heard the noise, coming from the corridor outside her room.

It was also when she realised that she’d accidentally pulled off Logan’s cut-iron as she undressed.

For a split second she considered going looking for it despite the room’s darkness, but then metal sounded on metal as her lock turned, footsteps thrumming softly outside as if someone was shifting impatiently from foot to foot outside. The door-handle rattled, a soft, irritated oath sounding when it didn’t move any. Stray day up in bed, her heart hammering. She frowned, padding out of bed and putting her ear to the wood.

At the sound of her movement the handle stilled and she heard a soft, quiet knock.

“Stray?” Logan’s voice whispered from the other side of the door. “Stray, are you in there?”

Relief flooded through her. “Where the blazes else would I be?” And she opened the door to find him standing in the corridor, legs covered in long-johns and hair standing on end. A pair of leather gloves in one hand, what looked like a long skein of silk in the other. He was barefoot and naked from the waist up, his tanned, muscular body threaded here and there with that dark-as-India-ink-hair she loved so much-

Suddenly the room felt very, very warm.

Suddenly Stray felt very, very warm too.

“Your door was locked,” he said then. His smile was sure and easy, there in the darkness.“Why was that again?”

And he crossed his arms over his massive chest, leaning nonchalantly on the door-frame. The movement made the muscles in his arms stand up and he grinned when he saw her blush.

“You told me to lock it, Logan,” she said. “I just did as you asked.”

“Did you now?” He made a show of scratching his chin with one hand, gloves and silk transferred to his other. “I supposed you did, at that. Maybe you deserve a treat- For being so obedient.”

And without warning he suddenly darted into the room and picked her up, swinging her around like she weighed nothing. Tickling her through the fabric of her night-shirt as she laughed and tried to hush him, his fingers delicious against her skin. He dropped both gloves and silk skein to the floor where they made a slight thump, but before she could object he was swinging her around again. She wondered whether he had decided to beat Lord Sebastian to her bed, or whether this was the pressure of finally making it through the Never-Still coming out to play. “I couldn’t sleep without you!” he told her, nuzzling his face against her belly. “I was lying in that big, ridiculous bed and all I could think about was my poor, lovely, lonely little chatelaine-”

She smiled, unsure at his sudden exuberance but willing to go with it. She’d had enough angry, irritated Logan to last her a lifetime. “Well your little chatelaine was missing you too,” she whispered. “She was missing you very much. But will you-” She took a deep breath. “Will you stay here tonight with me, Logan?”

And she bit her lip, nervousness suddenly filling her. This was normally the point where his good mood disappeared and he began talking about duty and honour and not doing things she’d regret- none of which, Stray was sure, would apply to anything she wanted to do with him. It must have been her lucky night however: Logan’s expression turned devilish, his eyes twinkling as he pulled her closer.

Without a word he set her standing on her bed, his arms tight around her thighs, and though his feet were on the floor he was eye to eye with her bust.

“Of course I’ll stay,” he said softly, reaching out and brushing a kiss on the swell of her breast through the fabric. Both his hands were now resting on the flare of her hips, holding her steady, and the feel of it drew out an involuntary little moan from deep in her throat. “Of course I’ll stay with you, my darling Stray,” he was murmuring, “My darling, pretty little Stray…”

And with those words he began to kiss her through the thin nightshirt. His long fingers sliding around to knead her thighs and backside, his chest pressed tightly against her belly as he stared up into her eyes. Stray let out a sigh, her fingers curling in his hair; His mouth felt very hot and wet against her, every inch of him solid and hard and, and…new. Wetness bloomed at her breast and she realised he’d taken the nipple into his mouth through the fabric. Her body jolted at the sensation, heat beginning to sing through her even as he suckled harder, his teeth now scraping the aureole in something that felt too sharp to be pleasure, too good to be pain. She instinctively arched her back, forcing him to take more of her into his mouth- Good, it felt so good when he touched her like this- And as she moved she felt his body respond and answer, felt the thick, warm length of him rise until his staff was pressing against her calf, the velvety head scraping against her skin through her shirt. She sighed in contentment, her hands roaming across his beard, his face, anywhere that was covered. He took her hands and brought them to scrape against his chest, protected as it was by hair. His grip on her tightened painfully and Stray fought the urge to yelp- it was an accident, she couldn’t bear to have him stop because of an accident- But before she could even acknowledge that thought to herself she was pushed onto her back. Her head clipping the bed-frame, pain blooming behind her eyes. Unbidden tears, more of surprise than of injury, made her vision blur and she tried to sit up; She couldn’t though, because suddenly Logan’s weight was pinning her, forcing the breath from her chest. She opened her mouth to ask what happening and his hand sealed her lips. His other arm snaking around her waist, his grip now harsh against her. Stray frowned: Logan had never tried to stop her words or breath before, he’d never failed to ask if she was alright when she had obviously been hurt. Even transformed he seemed more afraid of himself than of her, feared harming her with a dread she couldn’t quite understand. So why was he behaving like this? She tried to ask but he tightened the hand over her mouth; she felt his breath at her ear, felt spittle and pain as he gave her throat a sharp, hard bite.

“Do you like this, little chatelaine?” he was asking her, fingers raking against her. His hand didn’t feel good at her breast now, it felt tearing and harsh and wrong. “Are you enjoying our little game?”

“No.” She shook her head angrily and he actually laughed at her. She tried to move but he held her too fast to have that happen, tried to hold back tears but she didn’t think she’d be able to for long. The hand against her breast was changing, growing, transforming. The wolf within him- the being which had previously always protected her- coming out to play. He must have seen her staring because he laughed again, harsh and tearing in her ear even as she wriggled. She could feel the press of his cock against the back of her thighs and now it filled her with a fright too wordless to explain. “That’s it, you move for me,” he muttered. “You put all that flesh I paid for to good damn use-”

“You never paid for me, Logan,” she said in bewilderment, “You never had to pay for me-”

His voice was caustic. “There’s no such thing as a woman who doesn’t make you pay.”

And with those words he made another grab for her wrists, the skein of silk in his hand this time. Now Stray fought back with desperation- They said silk bound a body more surely than iron or magic, and a silk-merchant’s daughter knew they were right. She managed to get one hand loose, reaching towards the bedside candle-lamp and trying to grasp it. But instead of grasping the candelabra her fingers brushed against Logan’s cut-iron there where it had fallen against her pillow. As soon as her flesh grazed it Stray felt something- a soft, dull light flickering in the darkness. Maybe Logan felt it too because he stopped moving suddenly, body tensing as he raised his head to stare at the door. Stray barely made out the bamf! followed by a muffled curse before her door was yanked open. The scent of brimstone was everywhere as Gainsborough and Logan tumbled into the room. For a moment the men stared, eyes widening in shock as they saw Stray’s predicament; Gainsborough opened his mouth to ask something but was apparently unable to make the words come out. The real Logan was across the room in a heartbeat, dark-as-violence fur springing from beneath his skin as the wolf surged forth from within him. Whether he wanted to punish or defend his mate, Stray couldn’t tell, because she ducked her head under her arms in fright. She heard a hiss, followed by an enraged snarl and multiple, deeper-sounding bamfs! as furniture crashed and shattered around her-

And when she opened her eyes the impostor-Logan was gone, Gainsborough along with him. The real Logan was lying on the floor, bloodied, a shower of tiny golden feathers fluttering down on him like so many drops of rain. The girl crept gingerly forward, still not entirely certain of the man before her-

And then the feral, hairy beast turned familiar hazel eyes on her.

The man Stray knew to be the real Logan held his arms out to her and she curled up in his lap and wept.

The room stank of brimstone.

Stray buried her face in Logan’s neck, trying not to smell it. The warm, familiar scratch of his fur against her skin comforting her as nothing else would have done. Her quarters were a shambles, the expensive furniture knocked every which way; nothing within her line of vision had been broken though and for that she was oddly grateful-

Since she didn’t think she could bear having to hand over money to Sebastian Shaw after what he’d just done to her.

The beast in Logan must have smelt her reaction because he gave her a low, keening growl in agreement.

Time continued to pass though and no servants came to check on them. The noise of the fight should have woken this entire wing of the house and there was no explanation as to why it hadn’t that would make Stray feel any better. Because either some sort of protection had been put on her room to dampen the sounds made within it- she had heard tell of such enchantments being used on bridal bowers or the premises of flesh houses- Or else the good and noble folk of this floor had heard everything and elected not to intervene. Maybe they had even enjoyed the show. The thought of such indifference set her blood boiling; It was this, more than anything else, which finally put a stop to her tears. Because she could sob here in Logan’s arms or she could get up and cause some damage-

And for the first time in her life it was the latter which interested her.

Logan- or at least his beast- must have sensed the change in her because he stopped rocking her then. Moved quietly to let her go, his face turned away. As quickly as it had come her fury vanished; She realised that he had smelt how angry she was and that he probably thought she was angry at him. That thing had worn his face and now he thought that she was frightened of him because of it- She couldn’t bear to have him think that, not when he’d saved her again. So when he pulled away from her she followed after him; When he tried to take back the hand she’d clasped she took it again. The beast in him gave a warning growl, confused by her actions; She made her own growl in answer, laying her forehead against his and held on until he finally stopped trying to get away. For a beat they were still and she concentrated on the feeling of peace this gave her: It must have travelled into her scent because Logan let one hand drift up to twine in her hair, his lips finally brushing against her hairline in a kiss. Stray sighed, letting him tip her face up to meet his: He brushed his nose along the tracks of the fat, scalding tears Shaw had wrung from her and let out an unhappy, discontented sigh.

“Thought you were angry at me,” he murmured then, the hand in her hair tightening.

She gave him a watery, tired smile. “That I gathered. But I wasn’t angry at you, cariad, I’d never be angry at you-”

“I should have been more explicit,” he growled, “I should have explained the stink of unnaturalness that rolls off this place. If I had-”

“If you had he might have kicked his way through the door.” She put a finger to his lips to silence him when he tried to speak over her. “Nobody has come to check on me, you notice: Without the fear of having to charm his way in he might have become-” her voice tightened and she tried to control it- “Might have become v-violent a lot sooner than he did.”

His voice was fierce. “So you’re saying we should be grateful he didn’t?” he demanded.

She tried her best to shrug nonchalantly. “I’m just saying- Thank the powers for small favours.” She tucked herself in against his chest again. “Because right now that will have to do.”

And with that she sighed, finally letting the effects of the night take her over. Her eyes drooping shut now, the sheer relief of realising the impostor wasn’t really Logan letting her drift off into sleep. She found no rest though; Her dreams were colourful and chaotic, laced with violence and shadows and things that slithered in the dark. Red eyes watching her hungrily, sulphur exploding inside her nostrils like the slit of a knife. Every so often she awoke, one time to see a bloodied but relieved-looking Gainsborough leaning over her. Another to find Ororo and Mistress Kitty examining her, her ruined night-dress in their hands. She caught snatches of conversation, answered their questions without really understanding them. The one thing she remembered clearly was Kitty asking whether the impostor had asked to be invited inside. Stray only had time to notice the tell-tale tightening around Logan’s eyes when she answered no before she drifted off to sleep again-

This time she didn’t wake up until morning was spilling through the windows.

In the bare light of day things looked both better and worse.

Better because she could see that what had happened was mainly tumult and knocked over furniture. Worse because the destruction reminded her just how close a call last night had been. She shivered as she now realised why Kitty had asked how the impostor had crossed her threshold: The damage here was clearly done by magic and it was magic that had gotten the impostor into her room without having to be invited in. At that (frankly bone-chilling thought) she lifted her head to find a completely human Logan staring quizzically down at her. One mahogany lock of hair twisted together between his big, blunt fingers as he searched her face. She frowned and he smiled, trying to reassure her, but it didn’t really work any-

“What’s wrong?” she muttered then, her voice thick with sleep.

His nervousness increased and alarm went through her: Nervousness and Logan were not creatures you wanted on speaking terms.

“I want you to do something fer me,” he was saying, “and I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

She sat up cautiously. “That depends entirely on what it is you want.”

“I want you to take a bath,” he told her nervously, tucking another strand of hair behind her ear. He was peering at her anxiously.

She frowned. “Why would you think I wouldn’t like that?”

His discomfort increased, embarrassment and frustration coming off him in waves. “I would be in the water with you,” he said eventually, voice tight with worry. “We- That is, I- It wouldn’t be very seemly Stray, and I don’t want you thinking- I don’t want you getting the idea that I’m asking you this because of what happened last night.”

She frowned. “If it’s not about what happened last night then why are you asking me?”

Logan gave a frustrated sigh. He looked like he would very much have liked something to skewer. “I’m not propositioning you, Stray,” he said bluntly, making sure to enunciate each word clearly. “I know how such a thing might look: Washing implies that I think you’re dirty- sullied somehow- and we both know you’re not. But Kitty left something to help you- It’s called Dove’s Heart- and it’s fer bringing peace and protection to those who have been oppressed by magic. To take it you have to be in a bath.”

At her raised eyebrows he looked away, sighing like a martyr. She might have been imagining it but she swore the tips of his ears turned red.

“You put this potion in bath water, breath it in,” he growled through clenched teeth. “The fumes help cleanse within, the waters without. Kit says I should take it too but I don’t want to leave you fer that long-”

Full understanding finally came to Stray and she found herself smiling.

Did this man ever do anything but worry about her?

“So you don’t want to leave me,” she said softly. “You don’t-You’re trying to take care of me, I understand that.”

“Do you agree to let me?” His expression was wary.

She tried her best to sound reassuring. “I agree to let you try.”

And she held her hand out to him, closing her fingers tightly against his. Gave his arm a little tug and despite himself he smiled, allowed himself to be pulled towards the bathroom. Stray watched as the tub filled, steam rising from the water’s surface: Logan leaned forward and poured in three minute drops of liquid from an emerald-green bottle, a liquid that smelt uncannily like Spring. As soon as the Dove’s Heart hit the water it changed colour, turning the light jade pigment of new leaves; He nodded in satisfaction and then began stripping his clothes, his every movement still lupine and gracefully concise. Stray watched shyly, biting her lip. It was the first time she’d ever seen him completely naked in his human form and though she knew she should she couldn’t bring herself to look away. He was so different, so…beautiful in his own flesh, she thought. She wasn’t sure whether she’d ever seen anything quite so lovely as he. She blushed at the thought and his gaze met hers, his nakedness apparently of no bother to him. He held his hand out to her wordlessly and she raised her foot to the lip of the bath-tub, ready to get in. But for a moment she hesitated, not sure whether she wanted to do this-

“Stray,” she heard him say softly, “Stray, you have nothing to fear here.”

He reached into the bath, wetting his hand, and touched her forehead. Flesh met flesh but her skin didn’t kick in.

“So fer once in your life,” he told her, “Do as you’re bid, girl.”

And with that she finally took a deep breath and stepped into the tub.

Heat flashed against through her then, her own smile matching his. The water moved against her, began its caressing, soothing work. Logan pulled her against his chest and she blinked up at him, her eyes she knew wide as saucers as he gestured for her to sit down against him; He let out a tense breath she hadn’t realised he was holding as she settled into his lap, sighed in contentment as she twined his hand through hers. Stray closed her eyes as his other hand moved to tangle in her hair; He placed a dripping coil of it over her shoulder and set his chin upon its glistening mass. “See, little trouble-begot,” he whispered, “You’re no danger to me.” His arms tightened around her. “The only person you’re truly a danger to is yourself.”

Stray gave a snort of laughter, her emotions going topsy-turvy and twisting inside her. She felt like her heart was trying to feel too many things at once and the tears of last night- mixed with shaky, quivering, happy ones- were fusing together in her chest. The steam from Kitty’s concoction rose in weird, quivering green spirals. The scent of it filled her nostrils, the heat of it suffused her bones. She took in a deep breath, a contentment that she had never expected filling her-

And in that moment she felt the first, sharp, angry golden feathers burst from her skin to cut into Logan’s flesh.

For a split second Stray couldn’t quite understand what she was seeing.

Sharp, molten-as-sunlight feathers were digging up between her knuckles, along her forearms, cutting into Logan’s fingers.

A growl instinctively rising in his throat, the familiar hazel eyes staring at her in worry and disbelief.

Whorls of gore were dripping down his flesh now, wafting into the bath water and exploding into the liquid like puffs of scarlet smoke. She could feel the blood hissing through the Dove’s Heart Potion, tainting it. Making the peace she and her Sunlight Lock had found here into nothing but an illusion, a dream she couldn’t hope to keep. And yet-

Logan wasn’t letting her go, wasn’t moving away from her even though she was hurting him.

Instead he gritted his teeth and very deliberately said, “Cariad, stay with me.”

Stray felt it then, felt that hiss-and-scratch presence push inside her mind even as more feathers erupted, sharp, fiery and metallic, from beneath her flesh. Her shoulders twisting in agony, something wet and bloody flaring through the water. Its malice plain to see. She sensed Gold’s presence in her mind before she heard her voice, recognised that same old, mean, whispering-familiar wraith before ever she heard the words. Don’t tell me you’d forgotten about me, Stray, she heard the other woman purring. Don’t tell me I made so little impression as all that… Pain rocked through her again and this time Stray’s body spasmed, her spine arching like a bow. The motion jerking her clear out of the bath-tub, causing her to land messily on the tiles even as Logan scrambled to catch her fall. Gold started laughing and Stray felt hatred, real, hissing-dark hatred pool within her-

If I have been so soon forgotten, little one, the older woman cooed, I shall have to remind you of just what I can do to you…

And Stray felt more feathers tear through her body, Gold’s snickers still echoing through her head. Heard something wet and gory slap against the floor as new bones, new tendons and muscles ripped themselves right from her shoulders, leaving her skin in tatters with their birth. Her eyes snapped shut, her own nails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood from them; For a moment all she could register was agony, white-hot and blinding- but then she heard the beast within Logan growl as he shook her. His hands on her hair, stroking it, his voice trying to sound soothing in her ear. Stray attempted to manoeuvre away, not wanting to hurt him more- the feathers were streaked with his blood already, she didn’t want to do any more harm- but he wouldn’t let her go. Couldn’t. Didn’t even let her move an inch away from him though the Blessed Maiden knew she tried.

“Hush,” he kept whispering, “Whatever she’s saying to you, cariad, you don’t listen. You stay here with me-”

Through the haze of pain something clicked in Stray’s head. “You can hear her?” she croaked. “You can hear Mistress Gol-”

Gold’s laugh was mocking even as it drowned his voice out.

He doesn’t need to hear me, little one, she hissed. He’s seen my feathers before.

And an image flared in Stray’s mind, a beautiful, sinuously writhing, naked woman on a forest floor: The spring maid Gold had once been, though few would believe it now. Her red hair arrayed around her face like tumbling daylight, her body arching in ecstasy as heat burned from beneath her skin. A shadow- massive, feral, vicious- moved beside her. Dark hair, dark fur beneath her fingers, a wolf’s low keening snarl stalking through the grass. Stray watched, strangely fascinated, as a burst of brilliance enveloped Gold, so bright that she wished she could look away from it- And then where Gold had lain there was a massive bird, molten and throbbing with energy. A firebird a thousand-fold brighter than any Stray had ever imagined, a burning letter from some long-forgotten alphabet, a sign that meant possibility and rebirth and pitiless thirst for life. The bird opened grass-green, beautifully human eyes, staring straight at Stray. Pleasure and knowledge and the sweet whisper of experience all somehow visible in their depths. These are my feathers, Gold’s voice whispered. And you will learn to fear them spring maid.

And as Stray watched the Once-was Gold burned brighter, the air growing heavy with her presence. The woman rising into the air now, shimmering and sensuous, that feral, familiar growl sounding again somewhere off to Stray’s right. The lupine voice rose to a shivering, ecstatic howl behind her eyelids and Stray saw a wolf stalk towards Gold, his form massive and somehow familiar. A silhouette of shadow-spun blackness against a molten, artificial sun. For a second the wolf was still, staring at Gold in either contemplation or adoration, the girl couldn’t decide which-

And then the feel of naked flesh flared beneath Stray’s fingertips, the give-and-shiver of human skin unmistakeable though the girl somehow knew she was not the one feeling them. That neither this memory nor its sensations were her own to experience or trust. And yet… The vibration of the wolf’s howl slid against her skin, fit to make her body quake as it had for Logan that night in the Wolf Mother Cave. The taste of salt and sweat blooming on her tongue, her muscles tightening in pleasure and release. Gold’s memory was somehow bleeding into her own mind now, the feeling of seeing double behind her eyelids dizzying and disconcerting. The boundary of where she ended and the other woman began growing ever blurrier, the centre refusing ever more jarringly- ever more truculently- to hold. Stray tried to pull her mind away, tried to concentrate even on the pain of her feathered, unnatural transformation- But it was useless. Nothing could bring her back inside her own skin. Even Logan wasn’t here to help her, now when she saw drowning in another’s memories-

You want to see Logan? she heard Gold’s voice coo in her head then. The plague-bitch sounded like she was laughing. My darling girl, why didn’t you simply ask?

And suddenly Stray was looking at Logan, a younger, less careworn Logan. His familiar, handsome face grinning lazily, his lips brushing gently across her cheek, her jaw- Except it wasn’t her jaw, it was Gold’s. He was lying on his back, naked as the day he was born; Mistress Gold lay beside him, her body beautiful and molten and golden. Her firebird form burning around her like a shining shadow, an aura that might inspire adoration- Or fear. But Logan wasn’t afraid. His hands ranged teasingly, sensuously over flesh which Stray could feel him touching though she knew that it was not her own. His body flaring back and forward between human and lupine with a speed Stray hadn’t thought he possessed. The sounds he made hungry and enthusiastic, so different from the gentle, soft sounds he made for her. The girl knew that she was watching a coupling: Gold’s hands and mouth moved over his body in ways Stray had never even imagined. But she couldn’t look away. Because Gold was touching Logan, kissing him. Licking, biting, scratching him. Doing all the things that he wouldn’t let her do to him, no matter what she said.

And if that was who Logan wanted, Stray thought dizzily, then what on earth was he doing with her?

I’ve been asking myself that question, Gold’s voice drawled, ever since you hauled your drab little carcass across my path.

Something changed- snapped- then, inside of Stray. Some little piece of hope or certainty she had been hanging onto. Some idea that had made everything she had suffered the last few weeks seem worthwhile. Because the man she could see inside her head- he would never want her. He wanted Gold, a woman her Logan had given every indication of hating, a woman he’d never bothered to tell Stray he had even a passing acquaintance with, let alone knew how to bite and kiss. So why had he? Why hadn’t he told her? And what else was he keeping from her, if he could lie about something like this? Stray knew this was more than jealousy, though she could feel plenty of that simmering inside her; She felt hurt that he hadn’t told her this, distrust as to why. But more than anything else it was fear, plain and simple fear. The memory of how she’d had to run from Illunis haunting her, the way she hadn’t been able to please Lord David wavering behind her eyes. Because she could never be a woman like Gold, she knew that-

You’ll never please him the way I could, Gold‘s voice whispered smugly to her, so why even try?

Tears rose to her eyes then, her throat constricting with the feel of them. Gold’s wicked, mocking laughter sounding in her head, echoing as if through the wildwood or maybe her father’s snow-cold hall. She had been a fool, a moon-sopped, naïve fool. The desire to flee- to just let the beast within her run- was heaving through her body, its course fleet and fractious as a runaway horse. The fact that she might well be walking into danger of no consequence, the fact that she might even end up running into Shaw equally meaningless if she could just stop seeing Logan with Gold in her head. With a final, mocking coo- We’ll talk soon darling, Gold murmured- Stray felt her vision clear. Saw Logan’s familiar, hazel eyes peering at her from a worried, haunted face. He had placed her between his legs on the soaking floor, his potion-protected hands gently stroking her. His expression tender and worried- though Stray no longer trusted her interpretation of that. “Cariad,” he said hesitantly, “Cariad whatever she showed you, there’s an explanation-”

The girl’s voice was flat. “You could have just told me,” she said. “You didn’t have to lie.” She saw anger move through his eyes and some tiny, desperate hope she’d been nursing- that Gold had deceived her- died within her chest. Because he knew precisely what the woman had shown him, and he’d only have been able to guess because it was true.

Gold had showed her a memory and not an illusion, no matter how she might not wish it were so.

And with that knowledge Stray rose unsteadily to her feet, her skin no longer marked by burning, metallic feathers. Those, she guessed, had been an trick or a glamour, a little bit of enjoyable torture for Mistress Gold to punish her for having to leave the Company of Miracles behind. The werewolf’s worried, harried eyes following her about the room but she didn’t say a word as she dried herself, didn’t look at him. Didn’t try to form a conversation with the pain of what she now knew so recent and clear in her chest. She murmured something about going out to get some air and he tried to stop her. One look at her hurt face however seemed to put a stop to that; he walked back towards the bed and away from her, everything in his demeanour screaming discontent. Hi mouth opening and closing as if he wished to speak to her but truly didn’t know what to say. Stray she pulled on her winter cloak, her eyes squeezing momentarily shut as she remembered it was a gift from him. She stepped over the threshold of her room’s door just as he reached for her, his face suddenly alight with worry, with fear. But as soon as she left the room she was grabbed by two dark red hands. Hands that felt oddly familiar.

There was a bamf!, a flare of brimstone as Logan yelled out for her, and then she was gone.

Stray didn’t even have time to scream.

One minute she was at the threshold to her quarters, Logan’s hand just about to grip her arm and pull her back inside-

And the next she was in a dark, airless cavern. Heart pounding loudly in her ears, her breath coming in frantic little pants. Her skin was tingling as the last of the Dove’s Heart potion wore off and her Curse roared back into life with a vengeance, snapping and snarling and sucking at the unprotected flesh of the person was man-handling her-

But nothing happened.

For the first time since it had manifested Stray cursed her Gift for not causing harm.

She just had time to register that she was being moved before she was set on her back on something cold and hard- she suspected a stone table. The hands which had grabbed her moving away, padding feet the only sound in the darkness. Spots appeared before her eyes as he broke contact and she sagged, all the strength going out of her. She tried to scream but terror silenced her: With rising panic she realised that every inch of her flesh was fixed to the stone table. A dull light seemed to be centred on her chest from somewhere above her: The damson-red hands of her kidnapper appeared again, some oil glistening on his fingertips though his face remained hidden. He flicked three drops of the liquid onto her forehead, muttering something low and vicious-with-longing in the same language Gold used the night she tried to drive out Stray. The oil burnt vaguely where it touched the girl’s skin, the sensation of it sickening. It seemed to seep through her flesh like molten metal, making her bones feel brittle and fragile and weak. For a moment there was only discomfort but then-With a hiss Stray felt fire lace through her. The pain spilling into her bloodstream, angry and vicious like molten smoke. Despite herself she let out a low, harsh yell of pain, every swear word she’d ever heard from Logan spilling from her lips.

Her kidnapper made a pleased, surprised little growl that set every hair on the back of her neck on end.

“You’re going to be such a good little maid for us, Stray,” she heard him whisper then. “Oh, you’re going to be so very good for us…”

And the girl felt burning hot, sulphur-perfumed breath move over her skin, her throat. Her lips. A heavy hand which sported a set of tar-black, vicious looking nails slipping and sliding down her cheek, its trajectory threading through her breasts to come to a rest at her hip. For a moment the hands were still, resting, testing her flesh, it seemed to her- And then sharp, tearing claws raked across her belly. The scratch vicious enough to draw blood, scarlet threading through her gown. Again she snarled in pain and as she watched the red-skinned hand reached into the gore, dabbing it onto his fingers with an almost courtly delicacy-

The hand disappeared into the darkness again and Stray heard the distinct sound of a mouth licking, sucking.

She felt her stomach flip in disgust at what those sounds must mean.

Footsteps sounded to her left then, heavy and clearly masculine. By the sound of it another man was approaching though she still couldn’t see anything beyond the pool of dull light centred on her chest. Her kidnapper moved away from her, his pace brisk and slightly harried. She had heard neither door opening nor closing but within moments both men were beside her, their breath eager in the dark. A new voice, deeper and more drawling than her kidnapper’s, muttered a few words in Gold’s harsh language: Immediately the dull light centred on Stray spread out a little, illuminating a pool of brightness the length of her body across. She saw the red hands which had taken her, still traced with her blood and wicked-looking-

And then the newcomer who had spoken in Gold’s language stepped into the light, and Stray had to stifle another scream.

He was tall, far taller than Logan. Taller even than Lord David had been- And that boy had been thin and long as a rake. Every inch of his skin was a deep, dark crimson, tar-dark tattoos swirling and undulating all across his flesh. Forming and reforming symbols in an alphabet that Stray had never seen before. In an alphabet she doubted anyone mortal could read. His eyes glowed a fiery gold and his mouth was drawn into a wide, terrifying rictus-grin; His hair was a filthy, dull straw colour and hung almost down to his waist. That smile widened and the air around him seemed to practically vibrate with heat and brimstone and, and… wrongness-

“Hello, little chatelaine,” he muttered, his voice that of Logan. His features rippled and suddenly the face of her beloved wolf was looking down at her. It made her heart clench. “It’s so good to see you again,” he drawled lasciviously, “And in the exact same position as the last time we shared company-”

Stray did the only thing she could do: She spit in his face.

He reached out his thumb, collecting the spittle, and brought it down to smear across her lower lip.

Swift as lightning he kissed her then, his lips burning against her forehead. The panic Stray had been keeping such a tight leash on bubbling to the surface. Terror making her entire body quake. Because she knew what this creature was: He was Erlkind, one of the Goblin Men spoken of in the old stories. One of those who tempted and harmed mortals, for they were jealous of their loving hearts and ability to grow old and wise. And if he were such a being she was in a lot of trouble- Once marked by the Erlkind your soul was not your own. She began to fight, trying desperately to get loose. She could feel the skin tearing as she tried to rise from the table but the pain didn’t make her stop. Her struggles seemed to please the False Logan though, his grin growing wider. His hands moving over her, bruising and hurting and burning and aching and wrong. His eyes became brighter, his excitement growing. With a low, dark chuckle her kidnapper joined him, his nails scratching and scraping but not yet tearing open her flesh. In the light Stray could see that he too was covered in those swirling tattoos, his eyes sickly yellow, his flesh rank with the scent of brimstone. His face reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on who…

“You must admit, My Lord Mephisto,” he was saying, “A display of spirit in one so young is diverting-”

“Oh, I assure you Lord Azazel, this one scratches like a Hell-cat.” Mephisto’s grin was insulting. “And that’s not all she does like a Hellcat, you may be sure of that.”

Stray would never know why what happened next happened. Maybe it was some lingering magic from the Dove’s Heart potion. Maybe it was that talent for survival which Ororo had assured her burned beneath any Moonlight Key’s skin. Maybe the Goblins had even brushed off Logan’s cut-iron, triggering its protective magic yet again- There really was no way to know. But with a massive effort the girl managed to force herself upwards. The two Goblins giving almost comical hisses of surprise and freezing in their tracks. It lasted but a fraction of second, but that was all Stray needed; Without a moment’s hesitation she forced herself off the stone table, that same powerful, defined-by-wordlessness thing which had come upon her when she attacked Ororo in the Wolf Mother’s Cave hissing through her bones now. Her feet landing on Mephisto’s chest and kicking, her hands reaching out in a wide arc to scratch open Azazel’s face. Both men falling back under her onslaught, more perhaps from surprise than fright. Because while she might be hurt- nay, heartbroken- by what she’d found out about Logan and Gold, Stray knew that the woman who had followed him into the wildwood that night would not allow this to happen to her. She knew the thing which joined her nature to his would try to keep her safe. And Erlkind or no Erlkind that bastard Mephisto would not lay another finger on her-

She just managed to dash out of the circle of light when she ran smack into a hard, warm, clearly human chest.

She was going to fast that the impact knocked her backwards, her head landing back against stone with a painful, angry snap. Hands grabbed her in the darkness, hauling her to her feet. The fingers of one hand wrapping around her hair roughly, the other gripping both of her small hands in his and forcing them behind her back. Stray let out another string of curses, trying to force her opponent off-balance as Logan had once shown her. Unfortunately for her however his stance was sure and true. The newcomer forced her forward, picking her up and all but tossing her onto the table; He snarled something loudly in the same language the two Goblins had used and this time Stray literally froze- As in she could no longer physically move. She couldn’t even breath. The newcomer was scowling, his entire body alight and blazing like a bonfire. His eyes glowing red and merciless, the small horns poking from his head growing longer, more ram-like in the pall light.

“Are you two insane?” the newcomer was snarling at Mephisto and Azazel. “Have you any idea what she’ll do to us if anything happens to that girl?”

Mephisto stood up to his full height, his eyes glowering down at his opponent. The air seemed to shake around him and Stray could see, very faintly, the fiery outline of a pair of great, curled horns unfurling from his head. “Have a care, wizard,” he hissed, “And mind who you give your orders to.” He gestured to the tattoos which covered his body, his teeth drawing back in a snarl. “Your plague-bitch may have put me in chains, little man, but that doesn’t mean I can’t rip you open-”

“I know well what you’re capable of, Lord of the Four Courts,” the newcomer muttered, “But I cannot allow your appetites to disrupt my Empress’ work.” And he pulled back his arm, showing the reddish-violet skin of a Goblin. Like Azazel and Mephisto’s though it was threaded through with whorling, snaking tattoos. But his looked painful, burning. As if every time they traced another path they burned his skin from within as well as without. “You are not the only one in chains,” he murmured, his voice deathly quiet. “And you are not the only one who will be punished if the girl is left unfit to complete our Lady’s plans.” Both Azazel and Mephisto exchanged sullen, angry glances at that. “So for the sake of surviving the next few days both of you must learn to control yourselves-” The wizard’s eyes glinted in the pale light.

“After all, once I’m through with her she’ll not even think of fighting you.”

And with that he glided forward, his eyes so brightly yellow they burned nearly platinum. They came to rest on Stray and suddenly she could breath. “Stand up,” the wizard said quietly, and Stray quaked as her body obeyed him without her willing it. He held a long, intricately carved wooden casket out to her and she took it without telling her hands to move. “You will put this on,” the wizard said, “And then you will go and meet your new Mistress. She has gone through a lot of trouble to bring you here, Stray.”

And with that he gestured sharply, Azazel and Mephisto apparently magically impelled to follow him. The air behind him laced with the stench of brimstone and greed. Stray was weeping as she pulled the Goblin’s gown over her head but she could not stop herself-

She closed her eyes and in her heart she gave a long, lonely, wolf-sung-with-anguish howl.

Stray half expected to see Mephisto and Azazel again that night, but she didn’t.

Just as she expected to see Gold again, so that she could taunt her with the success of her plan.

But as soon as she pulled the gossamer-light dress the wizard had given her over her head he returned to her. Gesturing with a curt nod that she should follow him, leading her silently- helplessly- through stone passages which looked strangely like those of Shaw Manor, though their sheer charred-with-battle ugliness was enough to convince her that they were not. In fact it seemed to Stray that they must belong to another fortress entirely-

And if that were the case then she knew without doubt that she was in serious trouble.

The red-haired woman did not appear though, and for that she was grateful. The wizard merely marched her through this Wherever-It-Was place mercilessly, giving her no time to slow or rest despite her soreness. Taking no account of how difficult walking is when it’s not under one’s own steam. The deeper inside they went the more frightened Stray became: She spied staircases which snaked up walls and across ceilings like spiders. Passed tapestries which writhed and contorted, faces appearing from beneath the cloth to silently beg for her help. One entire corridor seemed to be carved from human bones, another from teeth both familiar and monstrous. One corridor was lined floor to ceiling with red-tinted mirrors that bled as she passed them; In each looking glass Stray saw another version of herself, saw she and Logan cavort together while Mistress Gold was tortured, saw herself dance and sway naked for Azazel and Mephisto, a look of lecherous ecstasy on her face as the two poured something she doubted was wine across her breasts. Stray wished she could close her eyes but she couldn’t; Unless the wizard gave her a specific instruction it seemed she couldn’t make her body do anything at all. And so she was forced to watch every last, sickening image as she passed it. Forced to ponder where these pictures came from, whether they showed what plans the wizard had for her now that she was all alone. When she got to the last mirror and saw herself slicing at Logan’s throat with a knife she must have made some involuntary sound however because the wizard finally glanced back at her-

“Don’t worry,” he muttered. “That-” he gestured to the mirror- “Won’t ever come to pass my dear.” His smile was sharp as a knife-slit.

“My Mistress will flay the flesh from your sweet wolf’s bones before he ever has to worry himself about being hurt by you.”

It was at that point that Stray began to cry.

Not that the wizard noticed of course. Or maybe he enjoyed the sound of it and didn’t want her to stop. Either way he picked up his pace, gesturing for Stray to follow suit. Marching out of the corridor of looking-glass horrors and further into whatever place this was, the light gradually fading down to twilight the further inside they went. Things unseen slithered in the darkness now, breaths too massive and slow to be human panted through the gloom. Fingers of icy, dead air danced up Stray’s spine the further they walked and she knew without a doubt that she was about to encounter something horrific. Something for which she had no words. Little girl little girl, soft and sweet little girl, gift your heart to darkness and blood will spill for you…Despite her best intentions Stray shook, sweat finally breaking out on her brow. Hands shaking at her sides, fingers clenched so tightly against her palms it hurt. Thin, sensibly-short finger-nails cutting half-moons into her skin. But she couldn’t stop walking. Couldn’t make herself do anything. If the wizard told it to her body would simple refuse to breath as it had done back on the stone table and she would most likely die- Which was something would not allow, not even if her heart was broken.

She would get through this somehow, she told herself. She would do.

And if she had to face Mistress Gold to do it then so much the better: She owed the plague-bitch now for all that had come to pass.

It was with that thought that her journey ended: The wizard came to a halt in another corridor, this one longer and far darker than any of the others. Torches hung at intervals along its length, their flames burning sooty and golden and low. The scent of rot, dust and brimstone was everywhere, the stones around her swaying and swirling uncertainly as if it were not mortar but dust that held them together. As if everything in this place were in actuality nothing but ashes and dust. Before her there stood a massive, completely square door, its surface illuminated with glowing letters in the same hideous alphabet the wizard, Azazel and Mephisto had been marked with. It moaned softly as if human, its voice so sorrowing that it made Stray’s heart crack in her chest. The scent of salty tears hung on the air as if the wood itself could weep; As Stray looked more closely at it, the slats seemed to move as if they could breath. With a tiny hiss the wizard dropped to his knees before it though, pulling Stray down with him-

“Do nothing that I do not bid you to do,” the wizard whispered- As if she had any choice in the matter. “Do you understand me, girl?”

Stray nodded of her own volition and the massive door swung open, having been unlocked by unseen hands.

The wizard squeezed his eyes shut then and straightened his shoulders. Bowing his head reluctantly as if it cost him a great act of will. Stray did likewise without his even having to prompt her. Eyes flicking downwards, resting her forehead momentarily on her knees. At his urging she crawled forward, gaze still floor-bound. She caught only corner-of-the-eye snatches from the chamber surrounding them, the stench of dust and brimstone getting worse the further inside she got. The room was massive, the walls trembling as if made from fire and shadows. Images flickered and burned on their surface, their pictures reminding her of nothing so much as the Stations of Penance she remembered having to study as a child in church. As she moved the flesh of her bare arm brushed against one; Instantly the images began to change and flow, their dust-and-fire traceries dancing like open flames. Their images telling a story from what she could see. The wizard appeared, his face unmistakeable though younger. He was standing in a forest, expression mock-innocent and eager, a red apple held out seductively in one hand, his other gesturing shyly to two little girls. The children were as different from one another as night was from day: One was dark and tanned, her eyes flashing amethyst. The other was pale and blond, her eyes flashing blue. As Stray watched the two little girls darted shyly forward, the little blond maid snatching the apple from the wizard even as it elongated and grew, turning molten and feather-like and golden-

As suddenly as the pictures had appeared they vanished.

The room was left bathed in the dull pall of an ember-spent-fire’s glow.

“You must admit, Belasco,” a female voice said then, “The similarities between this maid’s stories and mine are remarkable.”

And something moved in the shadows, something not quite human. Or perhaps more than human might be a more fitting term. From the corner of her eye Stray saw the wizard flinch visibly, the tattoos on his arms and torso flaring brightly as the stench of burnt flesh hit the air. The brands seemed to be hurting him and wicked, girlish laughter tumbled through the darkness at the sight of it.

Despite herself Stray shivered and remembered Gold’s threats.

The wizard was trying to appear unfazed though. “My Lady did not complain when I made her Mistress of my Court in Limbo,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“And my teacher did not complain when he stole away my innocence and family, did you Belasco?” The female voice was taunting. “Since all you cared about was finding your precious apprentice, no matter what the cost...”

Belasco raised his head to look at the speaker. “You know much about setting aside cost, my Imperial Majesty.”

Her tone was unimpressed. “And you know much about loss now, don’t you?” Again that mocking, youthful laughter sounded. “Just as I your Empress taught you not to underestimate spring maids no matter how harmless they may appear to be.”

And with those words the thing in the darkness moved again. Dragging itself as if it were trying to haul a great and ponderous weight forwards, shuffling slowly towards Stray. Light rising as she- Belasco’s Empress- got closer. Tension winding every tighter through Belasco as his ruler made to inspect his prey. Stray kept her eyes glued to the floor, all the hair on the back of her neck rising. The room becoming ever icier, her breath now frosting before her face for all that she was surrounded by flames. A shadow fell across the floor in front of her, its shape clearly feminine. It was surrounded by some strange, golden aura almost like the one Gold had projected, though this seemed…paler. Sickly. As if it, like everything else here, were composed of nothing save ashes and dust. Two delicate, cloven paws entered her line of vision and Stray felt a small hand reach down to touch her head, the gesture like a benediction. Felt her head tilted upwards though the being who touched her had skin which burned. Skin which felt wrong against her own. Through narrowed lids she saw a beautiful young woman, hair golden, eyes glowing blue and spun-sunlight-yellow. A pair of massive, curved ram’s horns spiralling like a crown of new leaves from her forehead. Glittering, bone-and-platinum armour arrayed across her chest.

“My Empress,” Stray murmured in a voice which she knew was not her own. Her heart twisting with something which was meant to be love for this woman.

The Empress smiled. “Stray,” she said, “I have been waiting for you… We both have…”

And with that the Empress gestured behind her to something glittering and gleaming, something that looked like a filigree-spun cage or prison.

Stray only had time to register that Logan was lying bruised and beaten inside it before she felt sharp nails grip her and push her viciously inside.

“Logan,” Stray whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Logan, I need you to wake up.”

And she shook his shoulders slightly, trying to rouse him. Trying to cover her bare hands with the sleeve of her gown the better to touch his flesh. Stray knew she was on the raggediest edge of her self-control, here with what might be Logan’s corpse before her. Her heart was hammering in her chest, regret that their last words had been spoken in anger- What matter if he’d courted Gold long ago?- shaking through her frame. It seemed to her that she could bear anything that she had been through in this Hellish place if she could only be sure he lived still. He did not need to want her, it would be enough that he survived- But she could not be sure that he did.

He didn’t respond and she felt her heart crack further in her chest. It was strange; Once inside the cage it seemed that the wizard no longer had any power over her, that she had regained control of both her voice and her body although try as she might she could not stop her weeping. Just like she couldn’t control the rage swarming through her as she took in the full extent of the damage which had been done to her mate. As if he read that thought though he stirred beneath her hands, his bare flesh warming against her scarcely-covered skin. Immediately Stray stilled, pulling her hands away contritely. Not wanting to hurt him further-

He gave a strange, little wolf-like moan in his sleep, as if even with the pain her touch brought he still wanted her near.

She felt her stomach give a weird, unfamiliar, strangely emotional dip.

“Now isn’t that delightful,” she heard the Empress’ voice coo then. The horned woman was smiling widely at Belasco, her eyes bright and cold with malice. “The human ability to love is truly astonishing, don’t you agree my pet?”

The wizard inclined his head slightly. “Indeed, Majestrix,” he murmured. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on Logan as if Stray no longer existed for him. “It is always a delight to witness the root of so much human cruelty.”

“Love is not the root of a person’s cruelty,” Stray snapped, “Just the opposite.”

Belasco made to answer but his Empress spoke over him. “It is the dose which makes the poison, girl,” she whispered. Her smile glittered, cold as dead stars, in the gloom. “You would do well to remember that in the next few minutes- Before your precious wolf awakes, that is...”

And she reached her hand in through the bars of the cage, her voice cooing. Stroking her fingers gently along Logan’s skin as if she were soothing a particularly beloved pet. Without her willing it Stray felt that thing, that passion-that-was-everything-but-words welling up inside her. Drew her lips and growled, teeth showing, and just for a moment she could have sworn- Could have sworn that her shadow resembled that of a wolf. But before she could really examine that thought Logan stirred, his eyes finally opening. Craggy face bruised and battered, body more horribly beaten than she’d ever seen before even in the boxing cages of Caer Naegin. He moved, doublet and shirt shifting and she gave a horrified little cry: Scorched hand-prints made a fire-cut tracery across his chest and shoulders, the softened, born-to-be-stroked skin of his back burnt beyond repair.

He wasn’t healing, she realised disjointedly.

“Stray,” he murmured then, “Stray, is that you..?” His smile was strangely gentle though one of his eyes was bruised shut. “I knew I would see you again, cariad… I knew Kitty and ’Ro were right…”

And he tried to force himself into sitting, tried to pull her in against him. Taking her hand and kissing it though it was uncovered, his lips warm and welcome against her palm. She gave a little gasp, half joy, half sorrow. Relief more than anything else washing through her as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him as tightly as she dared against her chest. It felt like an age since she had been touched like this, and with that one caress she was nearly drunk on him- Drunk on the memory of what touching Logan felt like.

“I thought you were lost to me,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice down in the presence of their audience. “I’m so sorry, I know if I hadn’t run-” She shook her head, so damn angry with herself she could barely speak. “It was just the thought of you with Gold, the image of it- You said you were mine- Mine, Logan-”

And she shook her head again, not knowing what to say to him. Not knowing if all the words in any language could translate what she really felt.

As always though, it seemed he understood her. “Hush, cariad,” he said softly. His voice was rough. Embarrassed almost. “I should have told you sooner. Shouldn’t have let my shame and fear get in the way of things.” And he cupped her face in his hands, skin protected by her long hair. She gulped at the honesty she saw in his expression but though some part of her was afraid to face it she found she couldn’t look away. Even Belasco and his Empress seemed a long way away now. “It was a long time ago,” he was saying, “And I’m not proud of it. Not proud of who I was then, nor proud of what that plague-bitch helped me to become. There’s much that sporting with Gold cost me and all of it was more precious than my pride, cariad-”

In the darkness the Empress snorted in amusement, the sound hard. Callous. “Sporting?” she interrupted tartly. “Is that what you would call it?” Her eyes were glowing, gold-on-sky-blue, the scent of brimstone oozing off her in the dark.

Stray couldn’t help but notice that Belasco had suddenly grown very, very still.

Logan frowned, turning his head towards her as if he were trying to locate her voice. His hands tightening on Stray, moving to put her behind him in a gesture she recognised as his inner beast’s desire to protect its mate. “Aye, sporting,” he answered, eyes narrowed despite their bruising. “Lying with a woman you know to be a monster is no virtue but there’s worse things have been done by wolves and men-”

“You would know.” And the Empress’ eyes glowed brighter, burning now like hex-fire. Her horns were beginning to burn, fiery patterns roiling and threading across her bone armour, the sword which hung at her hip lengthening and sharpening, its surface unfurling into wickedly sharp, flesh-tearing teeth. She growled, stalking towards the cage and the ground beneath her seemed to tremble with each dreadful step.

“Do you have any idea of the price for your “sport,”?” she demanded, sword in her hand now. “Do you have any comprehension of all that you did?” She pointed the blade through the cage bars, her expression murderous. The very air seemed to vibrate with the strength of her rage. “You and your whore left me here,” she snarled, “You banished me here to this, this Court of Desolation-”

And suddenly every inch of the chamber was lit up once again with those fiery golden images, the history of two little girls and Belasco’s temptation. The little golden-haired maiden taking the apple from Belasco, the little dark-haired girl turning tail and running as fast as she could, her screams echoing drunkenly through the room. Except this time Stray could see the resemblance between the little golden-haired girl and their captor, see that clearly this was the woman she had become. Stray saw the realisation hit Logan’s face too , his mouth open, face ashen-

“Illyenka?” he said softly, his voice dropping in horror. “Little one, is that you?”

As suddenly as they had appeared the image of the two little girls disappeared, snuffed out like candles in a hurricane.

The only light in the chamber was the Empress- Illyenka’s- molten golden, rage filled eyes glittering in the dark.

“Don’t you even say that name,” she spat then, her sword slashing through the cage’s bars with one swift movement. Stray watched with horror as they laced themselves back together, apparently moving with a will of their own. “Illyenka died,” she was hissing. “You and that bitch Gold killed her-”

“We thought you must have been found by a wolf-pack.” Logan sounded slightly desperate. “Or maybe Latverius had picked you up: It was the year the King denounced the Cursed as outlaws and we thought you must have fallen prey to one of his gangs.” He shook his head, his expression heart-wrung, torn. In all her time with him Stray had never seen him as upset as he looked now. “We searched,” he said, “Me and Petya, ’Ro and Kitty. We tore the woods apart looking for Spark- for, for you-”

“And did you find me?” Illyenka hissed, pushing her face into his. “Did you find that other little maid that you abandoned to sport with Gold in the Summerland grass?”

“No.” And hurt, a sorrow too great for the telling of it darted across Logan’s face. For the first time since she had met him Stray thought he looked truly tired- Old. The fiery pictures on the walls reappeared and this time they showed the same memory Gold had forced Stray to experience in Shaw Manor. Showed the wolf in Logan and the firebird in Gold coupling, ignoring those two little girls in their love-play while they were stolen away. “We never found Spark,” Logan was saying softly. He reached his hand out as if to trace the face of the little dark-haired girl, the one with the amethyst eyes. “There was blood, the stench of magic- Remy, Red and Javier tried every spell they knew but magic cannot turn back death...” He threw Illyenka a humourless smile. “But then you were Katherine Shadowskin’s apprentice; You know how magic works.” And he broke their gaze, looking back over his shoulder. There was fear in his face as he looked at Stray, that same shame for his beast that had haunted him all these months. That same fear of himself that she’d never understood. “I know I should have been watching,” he told her quietly. “I know it was my mistake that led to, to-” He shook his head. Swallowed harshly as if he couldn’t fit even the thought of what had happened in his mouth. “That’s why I was so careful with you, cariad, that’s why I had to make sure you were safe,” he whispered. “Another girl dead because of me and that plague-bitch, I couldn’t bear it. I failed before, I wouldn’t fail again. I gave Javier my word when he broke me free of Gold-I, I promised him-”

And he turned from he bars, shaking his head mournfully. Made to walk back towards Stray, almost- Almost as if he were trying to find forgiveness in her arms.

But before he could he was halted: One of the bars slid loose, grabbing him. Spinning him on his heel and yanking him back towards the Empress- Illyenka- as easily as if it were picking up a feather or a mote of dust. The horned woman slipped something from beneath her gauntlet, its surface flashing brazen and wicked. In a split second a knife was beneath Logan’s chin, the point of it perfectly centred on the skin underneath his jaw as the bars of the cage held him in place. Again Belasco seemed to freeze. “I should gut you,” the woman murmured, her eyes turning black as night now. “I should flay the flesh from your bones- slowly- for what you’ve done to me.”

And she slid the knife across his skin, threading it with crimson. Though Stray knew it must be agonising Logan didn’t make a sound. She however couldn’t stifle her gasp of fear and Belasco smiled callously-

A smile lit Illyenka’s face that would have frightened the Dragon-Wraith himself.

“But there’s no need for that, is there, Logan?” she murmured, suddenly every inch the coquettish Empress. “I have your precious little spring maid here, and I’m sure I can think of plenty of things to do to her before either of you cease to be useful to me.” And she gestured to Stray, forcing her to rise up. Once again using her magic to command the girl’s body, the experience so much more humiliating to the spring maid now that her Sunlight Lock was in the room. Without her willing it Stray held her hand out to Belasco: Something that on another man would have looked a lot like panic flashed through Logan’s eyes and he tried to pull himself free from the bars. “Please, no,” he said. It wasn’t easy but she shifted himself closer to the dagger, let it dig further into him though it was hurting him. Illyenka gave a delighted little giggle in response. “She has done nothing to you, my Lady,” he muttered. “You’re angry at me- You’ve a right to be- But please leave her alone-”

The Empress smile widened, her expression becoming sly. “You truly love her, don’t you?” she murmured. “All that whining I had to listen to from Gold but I never thought you truly loved her.” She shook her head. “I always thought you were good for nothing but fighting and whoring, but here I find something so… worthwhile in you.

It really is quite a treat.”

And she gestured again, forcing Stray forwards. Without her wanting or meaning to she leaned upwards, presenting her lips through the bars to Belasco for a kiss. The wizard’s eyes shone gold as he reached down, bringing his mouth to hers. Stray cursing her skin for not hurting him, not punishing him, not killing him for what he was forcing her to do even as his tongue slid against her own. It was like that night in Illunis with Lord David, like every night before she met Logan. Her skin hissed in dissatisfaction at who was touching it but there seemed to be nothing Stray could do to make it right. Revulsion rose in the pit of her stomach, hot and sharp and clawing-

When Belasco pulled back he was smiling fully. “Your ascent, Majestrix,” he murmured, “Will be a most enjoyable…”

Quick as shadow Illyenka had her knife at his throat.

“Yes it will be- For me, whoreson.” Her eyes glittered. “Now fetch me Gold, Shaw and Frost, and we will begin the ceremony-”

She slashed the blade across the wizard’s face. “And don’t even think of making me wait.”

As always the wizard hastened to obey.

“It will all be over soon,” the Hollow Empress- Illyenka- said softly.

A knife-edged smile slit her face.

“But then I imagine you already know, Logan Silver-Arm, that you are going to die- So I had better get you ready for the ceremony.”

And she stroked her knife calmly across Logan’s skin, cutting it. Watching in fascination as the thin thread of scarlet healed before her eyes, the wound closing so quickly you would swear it had never been there at all. Logan snarled, letting out a hiss of pain and making as if to pull himself loose from the bars- But before he could Illyenka’s knife was at Stray’s throat, the blade carving a fine tracery of scarlet against the girl’s skin. That strange gown Belasco had forced her to put on turning bright and translucent, the fabric burning brightly in the darkness of Illyenka’s cloister. Stray let out a gasp of pain, tears springing up in her eyes as the fabric of the dress burned against her-

Instantly Logan stilled, his head dropping down towards his chest.

He shot the horned woman a look of pure rage but the plague-bitch merely laughed.

“There now,” she said coquettishly, moving the blade to rest more squarely against his throat. “Now that we understand one another we can continue-”

“No,” Logan growled, “We can’t.” And with sudden, insulting viciousness he forced himself forward, nearly toppling the cage over. His teeth found Illyenka’s cheek and he bit- hard- drawing blood and flesh enough to spit back in her face. In anyone else Stray would have been frightened but all she felt was an shaming, strangely-relieved horror that he still had such strength to fight back. If she was surprised at his action the horned woman did not show it. Instead she reached through the bars to grasp his hair, yanking his face down to hers. Kissing him, her blood on his lips, her hands clawing against him as his inner beast howled and fought. Stray let out a low growl, the thing-which-had-no-words snarling within her. She felt something, heat and light and fire-that-was-also-passion move beneath her skin and despite everything she moved to launch herself at Illyenka, by now too angry to be frightened. As it had that night with Ororo in the Wolf Mother Cave her feelings seemed to give her purpose- Strength. The will to keep what was hers from harm. She forced herself forwards, body acting with a will of its own. Muscles coiling, ready to drive this interloper off and bring her mate back to her-

Before she could do it though Illyenka pulled away from Logan, wiping blood from her lips. Eyes blazing golden, sigils and sulphur dancing across her flesh as she smeared her own blood and his together across her blade to mix, sickeningly, with Stray’s. As she did so Logan let out another hiss of pain though this had no visible cause: Instantly Stray moved to comfort him, stroking his face, his hands, trying to dull the pain. To her horror however she realised that the skin of his mouth and face was burnt where Illyenka had touched him, and unlike the cuts she had inflicted moments earlier these were not healing. In fact, the skin looked scarred and misshapen- Dead. Before she could really ponder that though the horned woman made a careless, desultory movement with her hand: Suddenly the bars holding Logan twisted again, stringing Stray up. Pinning her. Forcing her arms and legs outwards in a mirror-image of what had been done to her mate. Logan tried to free her but that bars’ grip on him tightened, contorting both of their bodies painfully until they were spread-eagled, cruciform, across from one another. Illyenka smiling as they struggled, their apparent freedom of movement within the cage now good for naught. Stray let out a low, angry growl, and once again she could have sworn her shadow seemed momentarily wolf-like-

Unfortunately however that didn’t matter any.

“Do you know what your weakness is, Logan?” Illyenka asked conversationally then. She was smiling coquettishly, her knife gouging into one particular spot at his left clavicle over and over again. Blood spattered on his nearly-transformed flesh and she dipped her fingers in it, threading it across Stray’s shoulders and arms. Painting his hurt on her skin in the same alphabet Stray had seen scorched into Belasco, Azazel and Mephisto’s flesh.“Your weakness comes from believing that I have anything to fear from you,” the horned woman was saying. “It comes from believing that I would cling onto life as fiercely as you do, and would be as hurt to be parted from it. This simply is not so.” And her smile turned leering, her gaze flickering to Stray. She gestured with her hands and the bars pulled the girl tighter, crushing her wrists and ankles. Forcing her to watch as the Empress licked a slow, lazy path through the blood at Logan’s throat, laughing openly when the young woman hissed in pain. “If this scheme as you call it fails then you are welcome to kill me,” she whispered, her lips at his ear. “You’re welcome to finish the job you started with that whoreschild Gold all those years ago. Because Death would be a blessing compared to an eternity of this…”

And she gestured to her realm, her voice mocking. The walls shook, shimmering with those flame-made pictures, the image of the little girl Illyenka had once been flickering all over them. The triad of child, wolf and firebird- Illyenka, Logan and Gold- shivering across the walls like a wraith. It was as if, just for a moment, this poisonous realm were composed of nothing but fire-wrought reflections and for the first time Stray found herself wondering if Belasco’s Empress had perhaps gone mad that day she chose the apple. If she hadn’t always wanted to be the little one- Spark, Logan had called her- who ran away instead. “There is nothing you could take from me that has not already been taken,” Illyenka said quietly. “There is nothing I can lose that has not already been lost. I am death made manifest and naught but my own ashes can resurrect me: No matter how much I conquer, no matter what power I usurp from Belasco, I will never be that girl again-”

Her eyes came to rest on Stray.

“But if I thought it would make me whole I’d burn a thousand spring maids and their wolves with ne’er a thought for either of you. Do not doubt that.”

And with that she pulled herself abruptly back, expression turning sullen. Angry. Her bone armour changing, shifting shape so that for a moment it looked monstrous, sharp as dragon scales, wings erupting from her back as they had from Mistress Gold’s in that memory she had shown Stray. But the glow from this metamorphosis was dull, sickly. The pall that of tainted copper rather than the lustre of pure gold. Illyenka turned to her, the armour moulding itself to her woman-child form once more. With an angry hiss she raised her blade, aiming it straight for Stray: “Do not stare at me,” she hissed. “I am not a curiosity, I am not a thing for your amusement-” The girl closed her eyes helplessly and waited for the blow to fall but it was not to be; With the same hissing, unnatural pop which always proceeded his entrance Belasco chose that exact moment to reappear, Azazel and Mephisto beside him. At seeing her raising her weapon to Stray Belasco gave a little snarl of pleasure: As if recollecting herself Illyenka brought the blade down, throwing the conjuror a vicious, knowing grin. The two other Erlkind exchanged fleeting, disappointed looks that their Empress had not murdered the spring maid; Stray couldn’t help but wonder why. But before she could conjure a reason Azazel turned his attention back to Gold, whom he was carrying in his arms. She held goblet of wine held in one hand, the remains of her dress in the other. She was laughing, proud in her loveliness and naked as the day she was born. Azazel was arm and arm with Emmalaine Frost, the pair laughing as if they were old friends. The man Stray recognised as Sebastian Shaw was standing behind them, his eyes fixed lovingly on his diamond-skinned wife. At seeing Illyenka though he immediately dropped to his knees, his eyes turning floor-wards.

All of their guests- with the exception of Gold- did the same.

“Mistress Gold,” Illyenka said, “It is, as always, an honour to see you. My Lord and Lady Hellfyre-” she nodded to Frost and Shaw- “You have my permission to rise.” And she smiled her most charming smile, inclining her head politely. She gestured to Logan and Stray and the redhead’s smile widened, eyes glinting with malice. The werewolf made as if to speak and another of the cage’s bars snaked around his throat, cutting off his words. “As you can see,” she was saying, “I have done as you bid me: I have delivered these two to you in a place where the protection their bond guarantees is completely null and void.” Her expression was almost mischievous and just for a second she looked sickeningly like that little girl she had once been. Stray couldn’t understand why Gold didn’t recognise her. “I leave it to you to decide how to punish them, my Lady,” Illyenka continued, “Since their disgraceful behaviour towards you puts them beyond the scope of my understanding.”

And to Stray’s astonishment the Empress bowed deeply to Gold, unhooking her blade and holding it out the woman in offering.

“Take this of your own free will, my lady,” she whispered.

The metal glowed wickedly in the light.

“Thank you, my pet,” Gold said haughtily then, retrieving the blade from Illyenka’s hands. From the corner of her eye Stray saw Mephisto and Azazel exchange slyly amused looks but the redheaded woman seemed oblivious to their scorn. “You can imagine how grateful I am to you for giving me the opportunity to punish this little pest-” And she nodded her head towards Stray, gaze filled with venom. The girl felt absolutely certain that whatever she wished to do with Logan she would not accept anything less than death from her. “I tried the night I fled but the magic of the cave prevented me,” Gold was pouting. “It is the first time I had ever encountered an enchantment which I simply could not break.” And she shook her head in disgust, the memory of her defeat still clearly irking her. Once again Azazel and Mephisto exchanged amused looks but this time Stray couldn’t shake the feeling that Illyenka was in on the joke. But the woman wasn’t listening. “You stole something that was mine, poppy-child,” she was hissing, that lustrous, fire-bird aura starting to bloom around her as she eyed Stray. “You thought to take something that did not belong to you, something that was meant just for me-”

“He doesn’t belong to you,” Stray forced out through bloodied lips. She couldn’t bear to hear this woman speak of her wolf as if he were a thing. “He is not a possession, he’s not an animal to be kept as a pet. He’s a man, Mistress Gold, a man who chose to leave you-”

Within seconds the red-head was at the side of the cage, her face in Stray’s. The blade was less than an inch from her throat and Illyenka gave a visible gasp of anticipation. “He didn’t choose,” Gold snapped. “He was led astray. Tempted-”

“He left you long before he met me,” Stray countered. “No amount of torture will change that fact.” It was difficult to shrug in her position but she managed it: She could see her words angered the woman but she could not find it in herself to care. “Let him go his way, Mistress Gold,” she said quietly. “You have gone through all this trouble, sold your soul to one of the Erlkind in order to punish a heart which was never yours, but you may still be saved-”

The red-haired woman actually laughed. “You think I sold my soul, do you?” she snapped. “You stupid little maid. I conjured that creature right there-” She pointed smugly at Illyenka. “I bound her with my hex-craft and made her perform my will. She and Emmalaine and Shaw have been following my orders ever since I left you: There is only one mistress here, little drab, and no masters. Only one who can control our Hollow Empress and her kin.” And she brought the horned woman’s blade high, making to cut at Stray. Again Illyenka gave that gleeful, anticipatory little hiss. “By the time every drop of your blood has drained from your plain, worthless body,” Gold was snarling, “You will know who has the power here, Strayling-”

“That’s it, my Lady,” Illyenka murmured, “Spill her blood, force her tears. Salt, quicksilver and brimstone. I need salt, quicksilver and brimstone, the heavenly substances three-”

And with that Gold slashed the blade jaggedly, its edge singing towards Stray’s neck with a vicious swish. The metal of the sword burning bright as hex-fire, bright as the eyes of the horned Empress it served. For a moment time seemed to stand still for Stray, everything becoming unbearably bright and clear as she waited for her head to be parted from her shoulders: She swore she could feel every measure of her blood passing within her, could smell and taste every flavour on the air and hear every whisper that came to pass. From the corner of her eye she saw Logan transform fully, saw the beast within him spring into being in a final, panicked effort. The sudden change in shape seemed to be too much for the enchanted cage which was holding them; The bars dropped him suddenly and he fell into a crouch, launching himself viciously at Gold in a blur of rage and pain and fear. He knocked the blade out of her hands and quick as lightning Illyenka reached down to pick it up. Swinging it towards the redhead, her expression more terrifying than ever Azazel or Mephisto’s had been. With a frightened cry Gold watched as it sliced clean through her rose-gold tresses and split the skin of her shoulder open. Her blood spattering to mix with Logan’s, Illyenka’s and Stray’s on the dagger’s edge, tears now skittering down her face as they had skittered down Stray’s. The metal flashed bright as the new blood was added to it and with sudden, blinding clarity to room lit up like a miniature sun, music too lovely to be human swelling. There was light, grace, beauty in the Empress’ made-of-dust realm if only for a moment, a sense of wonders come to pass in the air-

And then, as suddenly as it had come there was darkness. Azazel, Belasco and Mephisto staring at their Empress in horror, their sickly yellow eyes wide. Gold was lying bleeding at her feet, her eyes almost empty with panic. Golden feathers fluttering around her, that fire-bird aura of hers slowly fading, moving inexorably towards the gloom. “She is here,” Illyenka was whispering. “She is come. My chance is risen-”

The Hollow Empress sank to her knees, tar-dark tears streaming down her cheeks as she held her blade out before her in offering.

“The phoenix is here,” she murmured, “I have proven myself worthy of life.”

If she lived to be a hundred years old, Stray would never truly know why what happened next happened.

Because for a split second time seemed to still, to stall, to freeze solid. The Hollow Empress staring in rapture at that golden, shifting light which was draining from Mistress Gold. Tears running down her face, her lithe frame trembling, the sword she held in her hands beginning to glow with an unwholesome, darkling light. Gold too had started to shake, her body jerking about like a puppet on a string. Hissing in that strange, hex-craft language Stray had heard her use earlier, trying, it seemed to protect herself- Though it was rapidly becoming obvious that such protection was not hers to wield. Stray stumbled backwards, not knowing what else to do. The impact of the floor rachetting through her bones as she landed messily, scrambling as fast as she could away from both the Empress and her prey-

And then she felt it.

Felt sticky, thick blood pooling against her fingers. The fine wine of someone’s lifeblood draining into the ground. Somewhere, somewhere in the darkness off to her right she heard the broken, aching sound of a last breath being taken- A breath she would know anywhere, a breath she would die to defend. Stray looked down to see a pool of gore creeping inexorably towards her, lifeblood oozing from a vicious, jagged-edged cut in Logan’s side, right where- it clicked in her head- right where Illyenka’s blow at Gold had slashed into him. Right where he had been hurt trying to keep her from harm. His eyes-still lupine- rose to meet hers and she saw pain, horror. Shame that he had failed her. Other things, darker things that his heart would never say. There was a single, blindingly sharp moment of clarity wherein the girl realised what precisely happened to her Sunlight Lock and precisely who was to blame for it-

And then there was nothing but rage.

Simple, uncomplicated, chillingly blind rage.

Stray did not really feel the slip and hiss of skin leaving bone and muscle. Did not register the shivering-in-possibility newness of the wolf’s fur which erupted into life beneath her flesh. For a moment she was of two states, two bodies, watching as her shadow once again crouched and changed, became wolf-like. A voice which was both hers and her heart’s howling through the Hollow Empress’ realm. And then- New scents assaulted her, new sensations which were so sharp as to be nearly overwhelming. So heartbreakingly Not-Her that she hadn’t the words nor the thoughts to really assimilate the knowledge they brought- Though on some level she knew she should try. She felt something, something heavy and sharp beating against the air and with a start she realised it was Logan’s heart, realised that this must be how she sounded to him whenever he was transformed. Strong and fragile and precious, he sounded. Achingly, gloriously alive- Though not for long. She turned to stare at him, her face ghosting along his cheek, fur against fur now; She saw his eyes widen in disbelief, the shame within them becoming more evident-

I didn’t want this fer you, she heard his voice in her head, the pull of her Curse drawing his thoughts from him, I never wanted this fer you, cariad-

And then, with a hiss she heard Mistress Gold drag herself to her feet. Her eyes practically glowing as Illyenka’s had in the darkness, that firebird aura of hers shuddering and scratching around her, the shining feathers ragged and broken, the toll of what Illyenka had inflicted on her obvious to see. To her left Stray could see the Hollow Empress still quaking and shaking, tar-like tears rolling down her cheeks as the light which was bleeding from Gold grew ever brighter, her dust-and-brimstone halo growing to monstrous proportions. She was muttering under her breath in the same hex-craft language Gold had been using but from her the words sounded natural, appropriate. As if they were a mother-tongue which she had longed to learn.

“The Phoenix is come,” Illyenka was whispering, “The Phoenix has chosen her new host! Hail, Bringer of Pitilessness, Maker of Stars. Hail, hail…”

And then Stray saw Gold gesture with bloody hands towards the cage in which she and Logan had been trapped earlier. Felt her mate yanked over towards Illyenka’s side with a harshness that made him howl and drew another precious breath from his lungs. The sorceress raised her hands, her mouth working silently as she chanted. The cage dragged itself out of its bearings, growing in shape until it resembled nothing so much as a massive bird- Or a monstrous, all-consuming maw. Thrashing like a maddened beast, rounding relentlessly upon Illyenka. Its gates widening and preparing to swallow the Empress, Logan- And Emmalaine Frost. The woman’s look of terror was so genuine that had she been human at the time Stray might have felt a jab of pity at it. But the wolf she was now had more pressing matters, had the loss of a mate to avenge- Or to halt. The girl launched herself at Gold, teeth bared, any semblance of human gentleness or kindness lost in the roar of battle. The scent of her mate’s blood on her flesh, the only thought she could really comprehend the will to keep what was hers from harm. Perhaps her attack took Gold by surprise; Perhaps she was so weakened by her encounter with the Erlkind that her control of her Curse had waned. Perhaps all her attention was on besting the Hollow Empress, there was no way to tell. But the redheaded woman didn’t stop Stray’s approach. Couldn’t. Instead she found herself on her back, screaming as Stray’s newly strong jaws broke skin and drew blood, as gore, blood and viscera exploded wetly on the girl’s tongue.

“Stop it,” Gold was screaming, “Stop it, you must let me bind the Phoenix once more…”

“Why should I?” Stray demanded, surprised her voice still worked.

“An Erlkind must not be trusted with so powerful a being,” the sorceress panted. Her green eyes were bright with tears. “The Phoenix is Potential Made Manifest and Whole. I can bind it to me again, I can save us,” she was babbling. “The cage contains the sacrifice- Logan for quicksilver, the Empress for brimstone. The tears of a creature in love-” Emmalaine, Stray realised,- “Giving form and body through salt. I can stop this, spring maid, I can help them if you help me-”

Stray’s tone was disgusted. “You only wish to help yourself.”

And she snarled, her claws digging viciously into Gold’s flesh. The thing within her, the thing which was made of everything that was not words hissing in a mixture of fear and abhorrence. The realisation of how far outside humanity she was right now making it whimper and wail. But Stray didn’t care, she couldn’t. She didn’t give a damn about this Phoenix creature if she could just keep her Logan safe. If she could get him out of here, maybe she could help him; If she could get him out of here maybe they stood a chance. With a slash of her claws she dashed Gold to the ground, darting towards the cage even as it slammed its doors shut. She was lucky; It had widened its bars at the sides, shifting them until they almost looked like a rib-cage, the better to be able to move around. Being smaller and thinner than Logan Stray managed to dodge inside the cage, grabbing a hold of her Sunlight Lock. He was panting heavily, each breath seemingly laboured-

But at the sight of her he tried to pull himself into standing, his massive, sturdy chest shuddering as it took a deeper breath. Still-human eyes widening, pride and affection gleaming now in their depths. Despite his best efforts though he couldn’t stay upright: Stray was forced to grab him, digging her teeth into the great ruff of hair across his neck and shoulders as she tried to yank him clear of the cage, her desperation lending her strength. With a hard sweep of her tail she knocked into Illyenka, the Empress’ impact causing the cage to rock, the bars at its base widening to compensate and stay flat. This momentary transformation was all she required: Again she knocked in the Empress, forcing the cage onto its edges and all but hauling Logan out through the sudden gap in the bars, for the first time since she had transformed wishing she had human hands since she did not wish to be so rough with her mate. But there would be time for tenderness later. Time for everything else once she got them out of this realm. Her eyes went to Mephisto who, like Azazel and Belasco, was still kneeling, staring at his mistress and her plight in unrestrained loathing. The idea of helping her defeat Gold clearly the furthest thing from his mind. She and Logan shared a split-second glance and he seemed to know without being told what she wanted: The two darted towards the Erlkind, pinning him. Their teeth right in his face as though he either hadn’t the will or the ability to fight back.

“Get us out of here,” Stray snarled, since her voice was nearer to human. “Get us out of here and we might let you live-”

The tattooed sigils which roamed over Mephisto’s flesh flared brightly and he hissed in pain, the scent of fear- Stray was surprised she recognised it- dripping off him. He shook his head in panic, so far from that bullying, arrogant figure who had hurt her that she thought she might laugh. “She’ll kill me,” he hissed. “She’ll kill us all for even thinking it-”

Stray couldn’t shake the impression that Logan was smiling, for all his wolfishness. “Which one?” he asked, his voice barely more than a growl. “Which plague-bitch are you most scared off, you piece-of-piss bastard?”

And he gestured towards the cage which Illyenka and Emmalaine were now rocking, Stray and Logan’s escape apparently having given them an idea. Gold had fallen to her knees, her mouth still spitting out hex-work, fingers painting sigils and symbols into the floor with a viciousness which was painful to see. The firebird-shaped aura had grown massive, surrounding both women- Stray couldn’t help but wonder if all the magic which was being thrown about was somehow feeding it. Making it stronger than it usually was. The walls began to shake, the air vibrating with malice. Even Azazel and Belasco looked frightened now, though Shaw’s gaze was still fastened on Emmalaine Frost. The light from the firebird- Phoenix- Whatever-It-Was- grew brighter, turning blinding. There was a stench of death and fire on the air, the burn of brimstone and sacrificial wine. Without warning a pillar to the left of them came thundering down, separating Logan and Mephisto; The whoreson took this opportunity to grab a hold of Stray and dematerialise, reappearing on the other side of the room the still-lupine girl crushed against his chest. Stray snarled, biting down at his hand so hard she tore the flesh from it. Her claws reaching up to rake mercilessly at his throat and shoulders- Not just a little chatelaine now, am I? she thought- though she couldn’t be sure that these would be weak spots of a creature such as he. Her nails found their mark, tearing at Mephisto’s flesh and drawing blood from him-

And as she did so she felt metal graze her fingers. Felt a shock of recognition flood through her as her hands found a familiar object nestled beneath Mephisto’s doublet and shirt. Edges, coldness, metal. Sigils she knew by heart flaring against her skin. There was a flash of that same dull glow she’d seen in Shaw Manor when Mephisto had attacked her wearing Logan’s face, and then suddenly- Her cut-iron was in her hands, the metal glowing. The cool, calming feel of it making her heart thump joyfully in her chest. As soon as her flesh met the pendant’s surface she heard Logan give a hoarse shout, saw his form morph suddenly into that of a man- Though a man who was unhurt. Not bleeding. He was staring down at himself, fingers scraping where he’d been wounded. The remains of what had been done to him slowly fading as he looked. Stray’s eyes met Mephisto’s and she saw panic, fear- Complete and utter terror in his face as she yanked the pendant from him and crushed it in her hand. As strength and purpose and not just animal rage filled her.

“This belongs to me,” she hissed, “Whoreson-”

And then, with a sudden shock she heard the familiar sound of a bamf! followed by the stench of brimstone. A silver arrow whistling through the air to land at Mephisto’s feet even as the Erlkind dropped her and scrambled away.

“It’s about damn time,” she heard Ororo’s voice say. “I thought we’d never be able to track you-”

And with that the Company of Miracles apparently decided to join the fray.

Stray had never seen Ororo fight.

Oh, she had seen the woman hunt, seen her argue. Even seen her break up the odd disagreement between members of the Company while on the road. But she had never seen the huntress draw her bow in battle, had never seen her friend wage war before-

Though judging by the way she was glowering about her, bow set and ready for battle, the woman was clearly born for it.

Not that this seemed to worry Ororo any. She and her rescue party were already surging forward, Katherine Shadowskin and Mistress Red at one side, Gainsborough and Master Summerisle at the other. Other members of the Company- a red-eyed swain, a green-haired maid, a furry blue beast of a man who capered like a magician’s ape to name but a few- streaming in behind them through a jagged, platinum-white portal which stood a short span off the ground. Logan had struggled to his feet and was making his way towards Stray and Mephisto now, his hazel eyes worried. The huntress was shooting her silver arrows far and wide, trying to cover his path. She hadn’t spotted the trapped Illyenka yet, though personally Stray thought that was probably a good thing-

They didn’t need to find out however. The huntress’ attention was clearly focussed on rescuing her friends and nothing more; Stray would place coin that she cared little for matching wills with Gold or the hollow Empress if she could just get her friends safely home. And as if to prove her point…

“Scott” the huntress hissed, “Go, help Logan get Stray out of here.” The blind-folded man took off after Logan, moving at a furious clip while she turned back to the two women. Gesturing to the blue, capering man and a tall, green-heard girl to cover their backs. “Kitty, Red,” she said, “Go to Gold, you know what to do with your charm-craft-”

And the two women darted forward, their eyes grim and set on the kneeling Gold. Their hands moving in disconcerting, jaggedly jarring duet as they muttered hex-speech under their breath. As they worked the fiery, bird-shaped aura of the Phoenix, which had been vacillating between Illyenka and Gold like some monstrous spill of light began to weaken. It was almost as if the thing were losing energy the more the Company’s two sorceresses worked. But before they could finish Azazel bamfed right beside Katherine Shadowskin, making as if to grab her. His eyes blazing sickly and golden, those tar-dark sigils glowing on his skin. As soon as he laid hand on her flesh he hissed and pulled away, snarling as if burned-

The little sorceress shot him a smile which was fierceness defined.

“Takes more than an upstart scraegoblin to disarm me,” she hissed, her eyes narrowed. “Besides, I’m not the one you need to worry about.”

And as if Kitty’s thoughts had summoned him Gainsborough bamfed into place beside Azazel, his normally friendly yellow eyes glowing wickedly. A knife in one hand, a burning whip in the other. He looked like darkest Hex-craft made flesh. He grabbed Azazel and the two men disappeared in a blast of brimstone, darted around one another and trading blows even as they continuously disappeared and rematerialized all over the hall. The red-skinned Erlkind’s displeasure at having to fight one so evenly matched with him obvious for all to see. Perhaps worried by the realisation of Gainsborough’s powers Mephisto grabbed Stray again, his nails digging harshly into her. The girl hissed in pain, slashing at him, but her claws missed and the whoreson just smiled more widely than before.

“Can’t have you going anywhere, can I, little chatelaine?” he hissed. For a moment he made himself look like Logan again and her stomach twisted at the sight. “Especially not now I’ve discovered what clever little tricks you can turn-”

“How’s this fer a trick?” And before Mephisto could even look up to register the question Stray saw Logan’s fist smash solidly into the Erlkind’s stomach. Knocking the wind from him even as Stray took the opportunity to dart out of his grasp. Mephisto went to clutch her again but she avoided him, her wolf’s jaws digging into his skin once again and parting flesh from bone. Fetidness exploding on her tongue and making her want to wretch from its foulness, her newly unfamiliar body shuddering at the wrongness of the taste. But before she could take more Logan snatched her from the creature. Swearing under his breath as he picked her up, hands ducking down to sooth her shaking form and twisting his back to shield her should the creature try to attack. “Scott,” he growled, “Need some help here-”

“But of course.” And suddenly the younger man was by Logan’s side, his blindfold removed. Raining shaft after precise shaft of scarlet light down upon Mephisto, the whoreson writhing under the onslaught from Summerisle’s Curse. The Erlkind hissed in pain and a wholly unfamiliar, ferally pleased smile split Scott’s face, making him look like another being entirely. It occurred to Stray to wonder whether this was the man Mistress Red had loved to distraction all these years. “Take care of your spring maid,” he was saying, “I can handle this one-”

Mephisto tried scrambling his feet and Scott adroitly cut one of the chamber’s pillars in two, forcing the creature to his knees again.

Stray was forced to concede that he might have had a point.

“You’re sure?” But Logan was already moving away from him.

“Yes, I’m sure! Now go.” Mephisto tried to rise to his knees again and Summerisle rounded on him again. The stench of fetid, burnt flesh wracked the air. “Save your trouble-begot and keep the portal open until I can save mine-”

And with that he and another of the Company- the red-eyes swain who’d been second through the portal- began rounding on Mephisto, covering Logan and Stray’s escape. The red-eyed newcomer’s exploding oracle-cards raining down on the creature, making Mephisto whimper and wail. Logan gave only a curt nod as he darted away, his tone soft and soothing: It was obvious that all his attention was focused on the near-lupine girl in his arms. “All will be well, cariad,” he was murmuring as he carried her towards the portal, “This I promise you. You’ve been so brave fer me, cariad, I’m so proud of you-”

But the taste of Mephisto’s flesh was burning on her tongue, fiery and bitter as poison. It felt as if someone had poured molten metal inside her mouth. “Hurts,” she managed to gasp out, “Hurts so much Logan…”

He soothed her, shifting her so that he held her more closely against his chest. His nose brushing her cheek, his scent enveloping her and soothing her even in agony as she was. “It won’t fer long,” he murmured, “I promise you. Now- Now that you’ve manifested you’ll heal quick as daybreak, you’ll see-”

His only answer was a low, harsh gasp of pain which bubbled up from deep within her. She closed her eyes as the liquid-fire sensation began to arc jaggedly through her veins.

“Can’t, Logan,” she muttered, “Can’t stop this-”

His voice sounded ragged. “Don’t you say that, my trouble-begot-”

And then suddenly such pain was the least of their problems. Because light, golden, fiery light flooded through the room, its brightness almost blinding. That same music, unearthly and haunting, which had swelled when the Phoenix first manifested echoing through the space. As Stray and Logan watched Illyenka rose to her feet within the cage in which Gold had bound her. Her eyes glowing molten and platinum, her bone-and-metal armour twisting and curling until it resembled nothing so much as a vicious, serrated skeleton which covered her every inch of skin. Through pain-narrowed eyes Stray followed her line of vision, craning her neck to watch Mistresses Kitty and Red as they chanted and circled around Gold, their attention so focused that they didn’t see the danger. Their magic clearly affecting the plague-bitch though regretful tears were running down Red’s pale cheeks. But with the russet-haired witch’s attention and power bound there was nothing keeping Illyenka in her cage. She was free to battle for control of the Phoenix now that the Company had seen fit to tie her rival to their will. And she knew it.

“Belasco, my pet,” she was muttering, her voice hoarse and inhuman. “Release my children. Now.”

And before Stray and Logan’s horrified gaze the platinum-white portal through which the Company of Miracles had travelled began to shudder. Its light turning rosy and then diabolic, fiery redness staining it like blood. Ororo let out a long and impressive-sounding string of curses, some in the Common Tongue, many in her own. Her eyes narrowing and then starting in fury as they focused on Belasco, who Stray only now realised had disappeared the moment the battle between Illyenka and Gold began. The huntress was staring at him, her face a mask of fury, her mouth spitting more curses in her own language. She unconsciously took a step towards him, her bow raised and arrow ready- “I remember you, efreet,” Stray heard her hiss, “I remember you…”

And then suddenly there was a shudder of light as the portal widened, twisted. Opened. And then every servant from Shaw Manor was pouring through it, the eyes blank, their arms at the ready.

Oh, they looked human, certainly. They walked and their bodies shuddered with the taking and giving of breath. But they tasted… wrong. Dead. Metallic. When they moved her wolf’s ears could detect the whirr and chime of clock-work pieces within them. When they pressed forward her wolf’s nose could tell that no blood pumped through their veins or hearts. And they smelled like the Erlkind, fetid and poisonous. Unnatural somehow. As if the hand of the Great Mother had had no part in their making… If Stray had had any need to prove her theory the look on Sebastian Shaw’s face would have sufficed: He was staring at his servants in dread- horror- as if he had no doubt of what would come next. And he did do. He must do. Nobody could survive this. The silver-skinned man- the one Emmalaine Frost had called her manservant, the one Kitty had called her husband- marched at their head, his face impossibly passive, his eyes dead and cold. He raised a massive fist, a long, wickedly curved standing-axe gripped tightly within it-

And with sudden, terrifyingly cold ferocity the ticker-tock servants surged forward, their numbers dwarfing the Company. Their nails slashing, needle-sharp metal against human skin, even as they tore through the Cursed as a hurricane would through a handful of dust. Stray watched as Gainsborough appeared suddenly beside Mistress Kitty, pulling her into a bear-hug and disappearing with her. Watched as Scott Summerisle threw himself desperately across the room in an attempt to reach Mistress Red and save her life though she was being attacked. One of the servants bore down on the red-eyed man who had been guarding Summerisle’s back, slicing him as neatly in two as if he were a reed; His blood spattered and Ororo snarled, her face lit with the pain of it. Her attempt to punish the man’s killer cut down by a swathe of clockwork servants who attacked her with the ferocity of starving dogs. Pummeling her with sheer force of numbers. Stray heard the hiss of a falling blade, felt more than saw Logan roll his body to take the impact of it. Smelt blood and pain on the air, sticky wetness stain her cheek even as he pulled her closer still. But then- Logan dropped to his knees, his hands tightening convulsively on her and then suddenly scarlet was blooming under his shirt, his flesh soaking through with it. The hazel eyes tightening in pain as his mouth worked to speak to her. The pain he was in silencing him more thoroughly than even Mephisto had dared. Stray forced herself to her feet, preparing to change again, the agony in her blood forgotten in the will to protect him-

And then suddenly the noise and heat and terror of the battle just… Stopped.

Went silent. Still.

Suddenly she felt a small hand in hers.

Stray looked down to find a tiny, golden-eyed little girl looking up at her. Her face innocent and curious and grave as only a child’s can be. A brightness, a stillness radiating from her as light comes from the sun. She was wearing a dress of shining, light-as-gossamer gold feathers; Her little feet were bare, one toe scratching absently along the calf of her other foot even as she wiped at her runny nose with a tiny hand that was streaked in mud. At seeing Stray notice her, the golden-eyed girl grinned, holding her free hand up and out as if offering a present: A miniature star flared into life at her motion, its light twinkling-soft as gentle as a newborn.

“I thought we might talk,” the child said, her voice gentle as a tide’s murmur. “And it’s not every day the Phoenix converses with mortals, so you really should listen to what I have to say.”

Stray closed her mouth with an audible snap.

“He is very beautiful,” The Phoenix said then.

And she gestured to Logan, hanging in place, unmoving as if the world around he and Stray were a frozen image. A tableaux, a scene from an alter-piece- The sprawling chaos of battle sharpened to single, dagger-edged point. For a moment Stray couldn’t understand her words, didn’t want to process them even as she stared at the creature responsible for so much death, so much carnage and misery and hurt-

And then the Child-Phoenix smiled and leaned forward, holding the star in her palm towards Logan, his wounds healing neatly where the starlight touched him though he still seemed caught in time like a fly in ointment. The same happening to others around him, flesh and bone knitting back together, blood no longer spilling against linen-pale cloth and skin. Something, some tight-as-a-fist thing within Stray’s stomach loosened as she realised the nature of the Child Phoenix’s gift and without warning tears prickled her eyes, hope pounding new-feathered in her chest-

“As I said,” the little girl replied, her expression reddening shyly. “He is most beautiful- Your mate. All your companions are.”

A beat.

“But then you know that better than I, Mistress Stray.”

And the little one gestured to Illyenka’s hall, the light from the star in her palm broadening and brightening. Other pin-pricks of light appearing, reminding Stray of nothing so much as that night she’d slept with Logan in the Wolf Mother’s Cave. It seemed a lifetime ago now. But something warm and sweet-bitter as a hearth-tale’s ending stole through her at the sight and for the first time since she had entered the hollow Empress’ realm Stray realised that she truly wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t.

The pounding of her heart bespoke something other, something far more delicate and fragile than fear.

“Are you really the creature Illyenka and Gold are fighting over?” she asked then, because she had to say something. And if Logan were able to talk he’d want that something to be useful, the better to help protect her or to help her protect him… If she thought the question impertinent the Child Phoenix did not say however. She merely bobbed her head once- Yes- her eyes still on the werewolf. There was something in her gaze that was both strange and wonderful, that held the memory of agelessness and doubt.

“I am the being which has caused all this to come to pass,” she answered softly. “I am the one to blame.” And she sighed, her eyes still on Logan. The solemn words sounded strange, when spoken with a little girl’s voice. “I have been remiss in my duties- so very selfish, Mistress Stray- and now I must make reparation. But for the first time in all the ages of my living,” she continued, “I have no idea how to do it. It’s why I called you here.”

And the little one chewed on her lip, her face set in a grave, childish frown.

For a moment surprise robbed Stray of her voice.

It came back to her though, Trouble-Begot that she was. Her heart’s disquiet was too great for it not to. “Is healing my companions not enough?” she asked, eyes still fixed on Logan. It was such a relief to see him whole and well- if unmoving- that she couldn’t seem to look away.

“Would it be for you?” The Phoenix-Child asked sharply, her gaze narrowing as she walked around the frozen figures of Ororo, Azazel, Illyenka; She reminded Stray strongly of Lord David’s father when she came to inspect the stained glass windows he’d gifted to his son. “Would healing them be enough, knowing that your own self-indulgent passions had brought this battle to pass?” the little one was asking. “If your purpose, your entire reason for being was to create life and you had nearly allowed yourself to be the cause of a massacre? To become enthralled to a creature without charity or pity who was mistress of a realm such as this?”

And she gestured to Illyenka’s quarters, her youthful lip curling in disgust. The scent of brimstone and ashes was not as strong here as it had been but it still hung on the air, tainting it. The hollow Empress’ realm was bereft of comfort, after all. “Repairing the effects of my stupidity is not enough,” the Phoenix said tightly, “Not when I was the cause of so much loss-”

“But you weren’t. Not directly. I have it on good authority that Mistress Gold was a goblyn-born plague-bitch before e’er she met you-”

The child’s smile turned cutting. Cold. “Aye, that she was. She needed no lessons in cruelty from me, I’ll give the woman her due in that.” The smile became a frown. “But before our… dalliance, she was merely a powerful one of the Cursed, less dangerous even than her sister for she had so little control of her gift.” And suddenly fire flared in the child’s eyes, burned beneath her skin. For the first time since she had appeared she seemed the firebird spirit both Gold and Illyenka craved. “After me though- after I became ensnared by her- we both committed cruelties unimaginable,” she murmured. “Cruelties that have hurt so many people you cannot begin to count.”

Stray blinked. “But if she was so weak, my lady, then however did she manage to enslave you?”

“She did not enslave me.” Platinum-white eyes, old and ageless, came to rest on the spring maid and despite herself Stray suppressed a shiver. Just for a second the creature before her looked nothing like a child. “I came to her willingly,” she-it- was saying. “Gold… seduced me, I think that’s the word you’d use. Or perhaps I seduced her. I’m not entirely sure what was the way of it, I know only how it felt-”

Stray shook her head impatiently. “But how though? How could she seduce you?” She gestured to her friends, to the Company of Miracles.“What could a being as powerful as you want from one of us?”

“Can you not guess?”

And the child smiled again, suddenly looking much older. Despite herself Stray’s mind flashed back to Ororo’s face, the night she’d explained how her T’Challa met his death. “You cannot imagine the…pitilessness of my life before I met her,” the Phoenix said softly. She was staring at the unmoving Gold now, her fingers sliding across the sorceress’ skin in a touch that was more like a caress. “You cannot comprehend the massive coldness of my heart for all I burned like the stars. I watched, always from afar. Never judging. Never choosing. Never desiring. It was not my place to become involved, I knew that as I knew all other creatures’ place within the Great Mother’s bones. I was implacable. Irreplaceable. Unstoppable. I was the Maker and Slayer of Stars. And then one day…”

Her gaze went to Gold, and thence, unaccountably, to Logan.

The next words did not, somehow, surprise Stray though she knew they should.

“One day,” the creature continued, so softly the words were barely audible, “I saw Gold and Logan by a riverbank. Saw what was between them, saw their… Hunger, the violence of their passion. The sheer, glorious, knife-blade want of it. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before, unlike anything I had ever thought to feel.” And the Phoenix’s expression became hungry. Greedy. This look was a crime when worn upon the face of a child; Fear began to knot in Stray’s chest. “Suddenly,” the creature was saying, “All my years of coldness seemed to matter not…Suddenly my meaning and purpose seemed written on the air. Suddenly it did not even matter that the woman who so bewitched me had used hex-craft to lure her lover and their dalliance to ignore a child’s abduction. Because I… wanted something. I wanted them. I wanted to, to… be them.”

And she shook her head to herself, even now staring at the pair in question as if they were a puzzle she would never, ever solve.

Stray felt her heart take another, more painful in her chest.

“You loved him,” she said softly. It was not a question.

She realised she couldn’t imagine anyone not loving Logan, even if that love meant her rival would take him away and there was nought she could do to intervene.

But the Phoenix turned her burning, feverous gaze upon her. Her expression clearly told the spring maid she did not understand her words. “I loved her, I loved him, I loved the way they made me feel when they were together,” she snapped, her voice impatient. “My heartscraving for their presence may have given Gold mastery over me but I did not care. I… couldn’t. Not when my heart had finally burst into flame after all its ages of being cold as starlight’s death. Not after I had experienced them.”

And molten eyes bored into Stray’s, setting a shivering across her bones.

There seemed a touch of madness in the depths of the creature, for all her child-like form.

“But that is not love as you feel it,” she continued after a moment, seeming to collect herself. “And it is not love as he-Logan- feels it for you. As he felt it for-” Her eyes glanced away, coming to rest on Illyenka. For a moment Stray swore the Hollow Empress’ image seemed to change, seemed to shiver and ripple until the child she’d once been stood there for all her demonic battle dress. It reminded Stray that this was the little girl who had been stolen away that first day when Logan and Gold dallied on the riverbank, this was the child who’d been failed so badly by the Company of Miracles, by everyone who should have cherished her and kept her safe. Stray wanted to hate her, wanted to want to cut her into a million pieces for all the hurt she had inflicted upon herself, her mate and her companions-

And yet, how could she hate a child who’d been abandoned?

For that was all Illyenka was beneath her armour of ambition and hex-craft and bone.

The Phoenix-Child nodded. “So now you see my trouble,” she said quietly. “The harm I have permitted to come to pass in not easily undone.” She stared mulishly, at her bare, childish feet. “In fact, of all my deeds, this harm alone may be impossible to salve.”

“Could you not… Could you not save her too?” Stray asked gently. The image of the child Illyenka had once been burned behind her eyes. “Could you not… Undo what has been done to her, if you are truly the Maker and Slayer of Stars?”

“No.” The child shook her head and suddenly the illusion of the child Illyenka had been disappeared, replaced by the pestilent creature she’d become. Her sword was raised, slashing at Logan, the look on her face terrifying, completely inhuman and cold. “She is enmeshed within this place,” the Phoenix said quietly. “She has become a part of it, as much necessary to it as heat is to a star. I cannot create a vacuum, I cannot make a hole and not fill it in. That is not what I was wrought to do. All that I am concerns balance.” And she looked away, her childish cheeks burning with shame. The adult, frightened knowledge of her helplessness written all over her face. “Someone would have to agree to take her place, to… keep the Cloth of Living a-weaving,” she was saying. “To keep the Great Mother’s bones intact. I cannot do it: Even if I could discover a way to shed my immortality I am clearly not to be trusted with passion or power, as your own mate can attest-”

The glance she shot Logan was deeply ashamed.

Suddenly, for no reason she could fathom, the look in Logan’s eyes when he told her he was dangerous popped into Stray’s mind

“Then who?” she asked, her voice weary.

She suspected it was no accident that she and she alone had been asked to this exchange.

The Phoenix smiled. “It cannot be you, Mistress Stray,” she said, as if reading her thoughts- And mayhap she had. “Sacrificing one innocent to save another would just be compounding my failures.” Her golden gaze darkened. “And I could not countenance putting you in close contact with Mephisto, when it’s so clear what he wishes to do to you.”

A sudden fear tore at Stray’s heart. “You cannot mean to ask Logan-”

“No.” Again the Phoenix shook her head, more curtly this time. “I stole enough from him when I joined with Gold, I’ll take no more from him. He deserves his mate and his quietness, deserves to travel the moon-burnished sea.” And a wistful look flitted across her face, her eyebrow cocking as she took in Stray’s frankly unconvinced look. Suddenly she looked both very grownup and slightly amused.

Stray frowned, frustrated. “Then who?”

The Phoenix glowing gaze came to rest on Gold and the spring maid’s heart began to pound in her chest.

“No.”

“She would no longer be a danger to you or yours, Mistress Stray.” And the Child-Phoenix looked at her shrewdly, the callow eyes now narrowed. The little body tilted and eager as a snake poised to strike. “She would be confined in this place,” she continued silkily, “enthralled with it. Unable and unwilling ever to escape. Imagine it, realms upon realms to conquer, power beyond her imaginings. Demons to worship her, which is what she truly wants after all. And always, the veil between your world and hers would be policed. Secured, as it should have been. Our Empress Goldfeather would suffer no rivals, there would be one mistress and no masters here. And there would be no chance whatsoever that she could hurt you again- Or that she could tempt me-”

Which was what really drove the Phoenix, Stray thought caustically.

It set fear quivering in her belly to realise that a creature that powerful feared her enslavement to the sorceress still.

“So what do you want me to do?” Stray asked tartly after a moment. “Why are you bothering to have this conversation with me at all?”

The words since you’ve already made up your mind hung between them on the air though as a silk-merchant’s daughter Stray was far to well brought up to say them out loud.

The Phoenix-Child narrowed her eyes for all that she smiled. “Logan is a creature of transformation,” she said softly, the star she’d held in her hand breaking in two as she gestured to it, both lights hovering slightly above the ground. “In magic, he would represent quicksilver.” And she pointed to one of the pricks of light, its colour turning hazel-golden as Logan’s eyes were. Stray fancied it looked feral and grave. “You are a creature of re-formation, Stray,” the Phoenix continued, gesturing to the other light which promptly turned jade-green. “In magic, you would represent salt. The substance which knits together, which holds its form.” Again she gestured and the yellow prick of light split in two, a burning, platinum ball glowing next to the other two. Stray couldn’t help but notice that it looked rather ominous, burning there against the grey. “And I would be sulphur,” the Phoenix-Child continued, nodding to the platinum light, “that which burns, that which catalyses. This is the way of all magic, the Heavenly Substances Three.”

And with a flick of her wrist she set the three balls of light spinning around one another like dice across a table. They skittered and leapt but the green and the yellow ball seemed always to remain within one another’s reach, orbiting one another. Stray wondered whether that too was a message or simple an illustration of the way the universe worked.

“I want you to help me bind Gold to this place,” the Phoenix said softly then, eyes still on her waltzing, scapegrace planets. “I want you to do it quickly. We will use Logan and we will enact the hex-work which will make us all safe, right here, right now, and then I will set you and Logan free and never bother you again.”

Her gaze was shrewd, calculating. Weighing.

But for the first time in her young life Stray felt more than up to taking that stare.

“You will let us go,” she said tightly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The Phoenix nodded.

“You will return us to our realm and never bother me or mine again.”

Again the creature gave a tiny dip of the head.

Stray put her face into the Phoenix’s. “And you will save Illyenka, you will take her from this place and restore all that your interference cost her.”

The creature opened its mouth as if to protest and then shut it. For a split second the Phoenix-Child really did look like a little girl, caught in some grave misdoing. But she still nodded- As did Stray. She had to.

She would endure no more of these plague-bitch power games.

“Then tell me what I have to do,” the spring maid said softly. She was looking at Logan as she said it, for she knew she did this for him.

“My dear,” the Child-Phoenix told her, “I must make you weep, I must make you sob for me-”

And with that the Phoenix gestured with her hand and the green prick of light darted up to touch Stray’s forehead. The yellow ball starting as if, like Logan, it would protect her if it only had the power of its own will. Green washed through her vision and Stray saw a blast of dazzling light, felt the heat and the burn and the power of it-

And then there was only sorrow, harrowing wrenching sorrow.

She couldn’t be entirely certain but she thought she saw the Phoenix smile.

In all the months she’d been on the road Stray had never really cried.

Not when that first kiss she’d shared with Lord David had gone so horribly, terribly wrong. Not when her father yelled at her and beat her for not being what he wanted her to be. Not even when Mephisto had attacked her wearing Logan’s face had she truly broke down though nobody would have blamed her-

But in this moment, with the Child Phoenix staring at her in its mixture of calculation and pity, Stray felt the weight, the sorrow of all that and more press down onto her, squeezing her heart like a fist within her chest until she thought she might crack open. Might spill everything she was out into the world. And so she cried.

She cried so long and so hard she feared she might never stop.

She shuddered as she felt the tears scald and start their way down her cheeks. She cried as she remembered all that had been done to her, all that she had lost and why. It felt as if every ounce of feeling were pouring out of her, the emotions too volatile to ever possibly check: All she had been was coming to an end, it seemed like. And all she might become was a mystery she could not possibly glimpse. The thing-without-words inside her howled its baleful call as if mourning the passing of the spring maid she’d been and still she cried, though her throat ached and her shoulders shook and her breath caught from the force of it-

But this was a process Stray could not hope to halt and she knew it.

It felt strange not to be able to tell whether she was mourning or finally letting go.

She heard the Phoenix Child’s slight hiss of breath through it all, the sound triumphant and eager though it seemed very far away. The frozen world of Illyenka’s chambers wavering, the tears making everything run and swim together. Making everything turn golden and twisted and coal-into-smoke-bright. Illyenka’s domain seemed to bleed into itself like a scribe’s wet, unset inks, every image molten and liquid, her friends and enemies alike starkly illuminated. Their forms broken into shards of light like bits of coloured glass. Their battle a tableaux, a rose-window like the ones Lord David’s father had gifted to her father’s house when she was but a girl. Stray thought she heard breaths being taken, thought she saw the Company of Miracles moving. Thought that perhaps the world was waking up again after the Phoenix had enchanted it, though she couldn’t really be sure. Her body was still trembling, quaking with the force of her sobs as every ounce of emotion, of fear and hurt and anger and worry erupted out of her-

And then suddenly someone’s arms were around her, rocking her.

She didn’t need to see him to know that it was Logan who held her now.

“Hush, my cariad,” he whispered, “Hush, my little trouble-begot. Don’t cry, there’s no need to now, I promise you-”

Despite her best intentions Stray felt the sobs get worse.

“What did you do to her?” Logan was snarling at the Phoenix now. “What hex-craft have you worked on her?”

“I have shown her how to heal all that has gone astray,” the creature answered him. Her voice was low and bell-like as she spoke, the voice of a little girl no longer. It made the hair on the back of Stray’s neck rise. “Have faith in your lover and her heart’s innocence,” the Phoenix was saying. “Have faith and all will be well, Logan Silver-Arm, you must put your trust in her...”

“My trust in her is without measure.” Even without being able to see him properly Stray could hear the bared teeth in his tone. “My trust in you however is well-nigh intangible. And if you have hurt her-”

Stray heard the sound of skin tearing, recognised the early moments of his transformation.

He was in earnest as he threatened the Phoenix, as he threatened the Maker and Slayer of Stars.

It was this which finally allowed her to stop crying: The thought that he needed her to keep him safe finally sealed her sorrows back inside her skin. “Logan,” she managed to croak out, “Logan, stop it.” And Stray forced herself to take a deep breath, the intake of air setting her chest to fresh aching. Blinking, the tears running down her face even as her sobs finally came to a halt. She managed to pull one of her hands up to her eyes and she felt the hot, wet tears smear it; She realised how she must look to him and that she must calm herself if she had a hope of soothing him in turn. “She told me crying were necessary to save you,” Stray whispered softly, her small hands, still wet, reaching out to trace his features. “The Phoenix said that if I wept all would be put to rights again…”

“Your tears can never be right, Stray.” And his fingers travelled the path of her jaw, his hand tucking a single lock of hair behind her ear. She felt his nose ghost down to nudge gently along hers, the touch electric and teasing, too brief to set off her Curse. The thing within her purred. “You should not weep,” he was saying, “You were not meant fer it-”

“Neither were you. But sometimes we do what needs to be done.” And Stray laid her hand against his cheek, careful to keep her fingers against his beard. She could not bear the thought that she would hurt him, after he’d already been through so much. “She told me to weep and that all would be well: I believed her.” She had leaned over and was whispering in his ear now, her voice little more than a puff of breath over the ache in her throat. “Did she lie?”

For a moment Logan paused and then he shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice scratchy, “I don’t believe she did. Look around you, cariad.”

And he shifted so that Stray could see over his shoulder, finally taking in the room about her with eyes that did not swim with tears. What she saw she could barely believe: Illyenka’s domain was bright and golden, the infernal pall which had hung over it seemingly dissipated now that she had cried. The aching-with-memory walls shining and bright and new-built, the fires she had seen dancing across the walls bright as sunlight new-born. Stray looked at her wet hands, soaked with her tears and as she did her eyes followed a tiny globe of liquid falling from them, splashing onto the flagstones almost like a raindrop. The tear spattering apart, dispersing, turning wherever it landed molten and golden, streaking it with possibilities like rain. Like hope, that rare, precious, newly-feathered thing. The salt-water flowed everywhere in rivulets, melting and ink-like. Making the world of the Hollow Empress look like nothing so much as a drawing that had not yet begun to dry. It seemed wonderful, and impossible, and unlike anywhere Stray had ever seen before-

And yet…There were still some things which were constant. The Company of Miracles and Illyenka’s goblyn men were standing where they had been, though their weapons were no longer raised, their faces now puzzled rather than battle-eager. Sebastian Shaw was holding Emmalaine in his arms, her white-clothed body streaked with blood and violence, her blond-white hair brushing past his knees and matted with dirt and gore. Gainsborough had his blue arms wrapped around Katherine Shadowskin, her youthful face pressed against his shoulder even as Emmalaine’s silver-skinned guard- Kitty’s former husband, Stray remembered- blinked and tried to touch his wife. Her movements away from him making him implore her softly, his face as ashen as only a man in love’s can be. Everywhere the signs of Illyenka’s and Gold’s hex-craft was visible: Shaw’s mechanical servants were blinking at one another, their clock-work limbs held before them in wonder, some of their number weeping against their men folk while others snarled and swore. The living, moving cage in which both Illyenka and Mistress Gold had attempted to keep Stray and Logan had disappeared, nothing left of it but a pool of silver and bone at Shaw’s feet; As Stray watched it writhed and bubbled for a moment and then the molten metal hissed and turned to steam as a single drop of her tears touched its mass. The scene seemed slightly unreal: Those who had been harmed were healed, even Remy. Those who had been transformed by magic were now free of it, even Kitty’s husband and Emmalaine Frost. In fact, the only creatures who did not seem transformed were Mistress Gold and Illyenka, though the latter was nowhere to be seen so Stray could not be sure of it-

As if drawn by this thought Gold’s eyes came to rest on Stray, her face a mask of rage and powerlessness and anger. Instinctively Logan tried to move to shield her-

The girl however looked on her rival for the first time without fear.

“You shrike-born little whore!” Gold snarled at her then, making to ram straight into her rival. Hands raised and claw-like, her expression terrifying to see. Stray however was strangely unmoved; The fear she had once felt for Gold somehow seemed very far away now. In fact, she didn’t even try to move away from the other woman’s attack. She knew that if Gold touched her she would be able to defend herself; She knew now that the only power the sorceress truly possessed was the will to manipulate and harm. For as she stared at the world around her, the world her tears seemed to have made anew, something had occurred to Stray, something she’d never considered before. Could it be that all women, even spring maids, had the power to protect what was theirs within them? she wondered. Could it be that she had had the power to protect herself all along?

Her eyes darted to Ororo and she remembered the huntress’ words in the Wolf Mother Cave so long ago. The thing-without-words within her growl its approval at such a notion and in that moment she knew- knew- she was right.

Because that was the only reason she could surmise for the effect her tears had had: The Phoenix had said that of the Heavenly Substances Three she was salt, and salt was the thing which binds. The thing that hold everything else together. The thing which survived Lord David and her father and the road and nearly losing Logan. The thing which even now was holding this new world together, at least until it became solid enough to keep its shape on its own. Stray had magic, she had a place in this world and a purpose: If the Phoenix could use her to remake this realm then surely she was powerful enough to face one fearful, jealousy-ridden, vindictive plague-bitch. Surely she had nothing more to fear than the fear she’d already felt. And if that meant defending Logan then so much the better: She would not have him thinking she needed him to shield her all her days. She would not have him thinking that was all he was to her. He was not the target, she thought, he was the arrow. He was not her shield, he was her life.

Maybe her new confidence showed on her face; Maybe it was the evidence of what her tears had wrought which did it but Gold came to a stop before she even touched Stray, her eyes narrowing, incomprehension blooming in her features. Gaze darting from Stray to Logan to the Phoenix and back again, though suddenly she didn’t seem able to move. The Phoenix held its hand out to her, its expression almost welcoming. Incomprehension, then fear flitted across Gold’s face in quick succession as she watched the creature smile. “What is this?” she muttered, her voice suddenly bereft of its usual confidence. “What… What have you done to me?”

“What I had to, my Empress,” the Phoenix said softly. She reached up and kissed Gold’s forehead, her form still child-like, her voice ancient. Her eyes were bright as if filled with tears, fire threatening to spill over their lashes as Stray’s tears had done. “It is time for you to let go of Logan and I,” the Phoenix said softly. “Just as it is time I let go of both of you.”

And before Gold could answer there was a sudden, soft cry, followed by a delighted laugh. A tiny, blond-haired girl darted into the middle of the Company, her straw-yellow hair flowing behind her like a sail. Her eyes sky-blue and merry, though once they had been streaked with brimstone and rage. Illyenka ran to Logan, her arms held out and though shock moved across his face instinctively he swooped down to pick her up, holding her aloft and looking at her. There was so much joy and wonder in his eyes it almost hurt Stray to look.

“Illyenka,” the werewolf said softly. “Little one, is that you?”

“Yes!” And the child who had been an Empress giggled, the sound bouncing brightly off the once-were-hellish walls. She’d wrapped her arms around Logan and was babbling so fast Stray could barely keep up. “We went out to play,” she was saying, “And a bad man came and tried to take us away. But me and Spark, we ran away and we wouldn’t let him and I’ve been hiding here all day waiting for you to find me.” It all came out in a blur of words and movement, the sound almost too breathless to decipher. Stray saw Ororo smile. “So can we go home now?” the little girl asked, her blue eyes bright. “And can we go and see Bin Rais tomorrow? You promised that if I was good we could see the market day this year and I-”

Mercifully Ororo decided to take over. “We can see anything you like, child,” she said in her soft, warm voice. She held her arms out. “But you must come with me now, Logan has been through much this night.”

The child’s expression was quizzical. “Has he been fighting again?” she asked.

Ororo nodded solemnly and the little girl rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Then put me down!” she said, squirming until Logan deposited her back on her feet. She shot him an unimpressed look. “Silly Logan,” she said severely. “Where is my brother and Kitty?”

“Silly Illyenka,” Logan answered, though the tone of his voice held something more than a child would understand. “And Kitty is over there.”

His big hand reached out to tussle her hair, just for a moment, before pointing towards Kitty, Petya and Gainsborough. The three looked up and words could not describe the joy Stray saw on Petya and Kitty’s faces as they held their arms out and scooped Illyenka up in a hug that looked like it would never end. For a moment Gainsborough looked uncomfortable and then the child held her arms out to him too. He folded her carefully into them and laughed as her little hands tugged at his tail, his yellow eyes softening with delight. Stray let her own fingers thread through Logan’s as she watched, squeezing his hand lightly. Ororo gave his shoulder a soft pat and then padded quietly after the child, her eyes suspiciously bright. It was not every day that a lost child is returned. Gold watched all this and as Ororo reached Mistress’ Kitty’s family Stray saw the Phoenix reached over to her and whisper something softly to her. The sorceress was staring very hard at Katherine Shadowskin, her expression almost wondering but Stray could not guess her thoughts. But then-

“If I stay I will have power?” Gold asked softly.

She was staring at Illyenka as if she’d never seen her before, all trace of interest in Stray apparently gone.

“Aye,” the Phoenix answered softly. “You would have realms to rule and conquer. Servants and all manner of creatures intent on keeping you safe.” She nodded to Mephisto, Azazel and Belasco. They visibly paled at the sight. “And you would have these companions to do for you anything your heart desired. Your power here would be unquestioned, unparalleled. You would be Empress of this realm” The Phoenix child’s fiery eyes came to rest on her. “But you could never, ever go back, Mistress Goldfeather,” she continued softly. “I would see to that. You would have to bid goodbye to your sister here and now-” She gestured to a limping, grim-faced Mistress Red- “And then you could never return. Those are the terms of this bargain. I will not trick you: This power, like any other, has a price.” Her gaze bored into the other woman’s.

“The question is, are you willing to pay it?”

Gold barely even seemed to think about it, her eyes turning greedy and vicious as she stared at Illyenka’s goblyn men and her head bobbed a quick yes.

Mistress Red’s eyes flashed with hurt that she seemed not to even think of leaving her sister though Stray could not say she was surprised.

“Aye,” Gold said then, “For power I will pay this price.” And for a split second her eyes went to her sister’s, something that might have been contrition visible in their depths. But when Red reached out to touch her she pulled away, leaving her twin to wrap her arms around her husband and hold him tightly. Scott kissed his wife tenderly, shooting a look of deepest loathing at his sister-in-law though if Gold noticed Red’s distress she gave no sign of it. “Then you agree to this of your own free will?” The Phoenix was saying.

Gold nodded.

“You agree to be bound to this realm and our agreement for all eternity, My hollow Empress Goldfeather?”

This time the sorceress actually smiled.

“Then we are in agreement and this realm is yours, as it was once Illyenka’s,” the creature said solemnly. “So mote it be, and hail your Infernal Majesty.”

And with that there was a hiss of magic, a sharp burst of brimstone and the Company of Miracles was in Hollow Empress’ realm no more-

Not that the place they rematerialised was necessarily any better though.

For a long moment Stray and Logan were utterly still.

Unmoving, disbelieving. Staring into one another’s eyes as they felt the familiar pop of travel through the portal. As they lay, entangled in one another, bodies pressed tightly together as if they feared being ripped apart at any moment. All around them Stray could hear the Company taking breaths, muttering out prayers to whichever Gods they followed that they had been delivered from Gold’s fetid realm. Mistress Red crying softly somewhere to the right of her, Mistress Kitty and her former husband Petya whispering rapidly in the silver-skinned man’s native tongue while Gainsborough tried to calm the newly-childlike Illyenka. Stray went to move away- it was hardly proper, their being pressed together like this- but before she could Logan tightened his grip on her. His arm locking around her waist tightly, his gaze still on hers. She frowned, not sure what was wrong even as she felt a low, relieved growl echo through his chest where her palm rested. Even as he reached out and laid his forehead, very gently, against hers, his exhalation of breath wafting across her skin. “Don’t go fer a minute, cariad,” he said softly. “Just- I just don’t want to lose you…”

She had to smile. “You will never lose me, Logan,” she said. “My heart, just like my gift for finding trouble, will always be yours.”

And she pressed a kiss against his lips, shy in front of everyone but knowing now that this was what she wanted. Felt his slight inhalation of breath at her boldness even as she wrapped her arms more tightly around his waist. She was dimly aware of the claps and wolf-whistles from the Company; Apparently they at least felt it was long past time for this to happen. But Logan, while he did not pull away did not engage either, and she knew that in a minute he would stop her, would remind her that their relationship was merely sham to protect her from others-

And yet, for here and now he was alive, and he was in her arms, and she was happy.

So Stray, despite her embarrassment, did not let him go.

Perhaps Logan agreed with her assessment. Perhaps he too had feared loosing her so much that he was willing to loosen his restraint. But after a split second’s hesitation he responded, his mouth pressing more fully against hers, his arms sliding up her back and into her hair to caress. Shifting her so that her knees were splayed on either side of his hips, her chest and belly snug against his. The pressure and contact felt divine, the feel of him as right as it had been that night long ago in the Wolf Mother’s Cave and despite her ladylike upbringing, despite the fact that they had an audience and they were unwed and they really should be too tired for this Stray let herself fall more fully into her desire. Let herself move and press and push against him even as she caressed him, determined to follow her instincts to their logical conclusion. She did not care if people knew that she wanted him; They would just have to deal with it. She had never felt less like her father’s daughter, less like Lord David’s virginal bride than she did right now. This was where she was supposed to be. She pulled back for a moment to find him smiling the most blindingly… happy smile she had ever seen from him-

And in that moment a single, tapered blade pressed itself between them.

Another joining it to press against Logan’s throat.

He snarled, manoeuvring himself easily in front of Stray to find two men in armour glowering down at him while more surrounded the Company of Miracles and Shaw’s newly-healed servants, their blades drawn.

A long, brittle, extraordinarily tense beat wherein it occurred to Stray to despair of ever having a quiet, uneventful life.

The spring maid shifted then, her chin on Logan’s shoulder, her eyes following the blades’ lengths upwards to the two knights who threatened them. Each was dressed in armour of a different colour, their forms and equipage making them as different from one another as night was from day. The first- and nearest to Logan- was a tall, muscular man with blond hair and blue eyes. His armour was a deeper blue, edged here and there with silver, a single silver star emblazoned on his chest. She could see the outline of a massive shield attached to his back, the metal’s edges glinting in the light: He was staring at her thoughtfully, his expression showing that he’d noted the difference in herself and Logan’s ages as well as the chatelaine’s ring she wore. The knight next to him was shorter, his face equally handsome though his dark brown eyes were world-weary and mocking: His armour was crimson and gold, so brightly polished it almost hurt to look at it though it occurred to Stray to wonder whether- it being so decorative- it would be of any use in a fight. This man seemed more amused at being able to sneak up on them than anything; He held himself with the natural hauteur of the aristocracy, his blade playfully digging at Logan’s throat although Stray knew such smugness would irritate her man on principle. For no matter what he felt Logan would not be able to challenge such a man to fair combat, and he knew it-

Though he would win any fight he would be executed for treason the next day, the price for killing a noble was so high.

As if he were flicking something casually from his boot the crimson and gold clad knight flicked his blade again then, the skin of Logan’s neck opening a little, a single drop of red bleeding out onto his shirt. Without hesitation Stray reached down, kissing it and then wrapping her arm possessively around his throat to cover the mark. She could not risk the knights seeing Logan’s healing, not with the price of being Cursed still set at death. Though Logan snarled again he held onto her tightly, his grip growing more possessive; Apparently even in his temper he could appreciate that this was one fight which he could not afford to begin. Instead he pressed a single kiss to her palm, almost defiantly. She tightened her hand against his and the blue-clad knight’s worried expression lessened a jot. Their evasion apparently worked: The crimson knight rolled his eyes at his companion, his handsome face breaking into a grin that was anything but suspicious.

“What do you think, Etienne?” he said. “Should we present them to their Graces?”

The blue-clad Etienne nodded. “Aye, Anthony,” he said. “I imagine the Duchess will wish to speak with them, to see what they know of the disappearance of Seneschal Shaw.”

It was at this that Stray found her voice. She should have guessed that people would be waiting for them here: Shaw’s marriage had been set for Mabsday and that had been but four days hence when Mephisto took her. Suddenly the armed men surrounding them made more sense. “There was no disappearance, my Lords,” she said quietly, making sure to keep her voice polite and her eyes lowered. A rich man’s daughter she may have been but that still did not empower her to address two knights as her equal.

“Oh aye?” the crimson-clad knight- Anthony- asked tartly. “Then where might he be?”

Logan spoke over her before she could answer him. “His Lordship-” he made the title sound like an insult- “Is over there, with his bride-to-be.” And he gestured to Shaw, who had managed to make his way to the back of the group with Emmalaine, using Petya’s bulk to hide himself from notice. Realising he was being used as camouflage the massive man picked Shaw and Frost up, roughly depositing them in front of the knights. The apologetic look he shot Mistress Kitty seemed to soften her ire at his having to touch Frost though when he went to move towards her she skittered away- An action which seemed to please Gainsborough no end. Shaw and Frost were still bleeding- the Phoenix had done little to heal them- and both looked far more dishevelled than a Lord of the realm and his Lady had the right to look. Nevertheless when they realised they were visible they straightened up, tried to execute a bow and a curtsy. Neither were very elegant, Stray mused, but then they’d had a devilrous day all round.

Of course, if they hadn’t been a scheming, evil shrike-monger and plague-bitch she might have felt some sorrow about it.

“Shaw, there you are,” Anthony boomed. He looked deeply amused at the notion that the Seneschal had been trying to hide and Stray swore she heard Etienne give a long-suffering sigh which would have done Ororo proud.

Shaw’s eyes were narrowed but his tone was polite. “Anthony Ironclad, as I live and breath,” he huffed out, trying for jovial. “And Etienne de Rogeres, as always I am gratified by your presence. You must forgive my appearance, we have had a period of misadventure-”

The crimson knight’s expression was almost gleeful. “I do not doubt it,” he said. “Though your future lady’s beauty of course shines like the most precious of gems.”

This time Stray was sure she heard Etienne sigh.

Ororo joined him in it and their eyes met for a brief, startled moment before both looked away.

Sir Anthony was not done flirting with his hostess however. He reached out and kissed her hand lightly, an intimacy which would be unthinkable with so young a woman as Stray. Perhaps, the spring maid mused, Emmalaine’s reputation preceded her. Shaw must have thought something similar but he held back, aware that he could not act with impunity towards these men as he had towards the Company of Miracles and the servants he had abused. Stray had been around enough powerful men to recognise the mantle of authority when she saw it and both Anthony and Etienne wore it with ease. “Yes, well, nobody resists my Emmalaine for long,” Shaw said, trying to sound good natured. The fact that Anthony had moved on from the lady’s knuckles with his kisses and was now foraying onto her wrist wasn’t making it easy; Emmalaine smiled at the attention but as soon as Anthony paused to take breath she pulled her hand back. The knight took the semi-rebuke with a smile, though his eyes showed he wasn’t repentant at all.

Again Etienne and Ororo sighed at the exact same time.

The tips of Etienne’s ears turned a dark shade of pink.

“I am sure you have a wonderful tale to tell us,” Sir Anthony said then, his tone playful. “Perhaps you would like to tell it at feast tonight, since your lady-” he inclined his head towards Emmalaine- “Requested so many members of court come to see you wed.”

Just for a tiniest moment Emmalaine actually looked embarrassed: One did not summon the court, Stray knew, one waited for them to summon you. Maybe Gold had talked her into that, the girl mused. Or maybe she had just been so punch-drunk on the notion that she was marrying a Lord that she thought such impropriety would go unnoticed. Whatever the case Frost had the good grace to look chagrined now and she took a step away from Lord Anthony, her gaze remaining floor-ward. Stray guessed it was killing her: Demureness- as the past few days had proved- was not Emmalaine Frost’s natural state. “Yes, well, I did not expect anyone to read the invitation really,” the thought-reader said hesitantly. “Lord Sebastian’s friends have so much to keep their notice, what with their role in ruling this land-”

This time Anthony’s eyes were hard. “Indeed, my dear. But nothing would stop us coming to meet the woman the King’s Seneschal wished to marry. Nothing.” He smiled a bland, friendly grin that Stray just knew had preceded many a battle; Lord Etienne’s expression was equally hard though his eyes were not as cold. “But rest assured you have our complete and undivided attention, Mistress Frost,” the crimson knight continued. “Including that of Duchess Shushanna Stormhold, who has come to meet you especially-”

Shaw sputtered, shocked that his would-be wife had dared contact the most powerful woman in the realm besides the Queen. Shushanna Stormhold was the wife of Duke Richard Stormhold, the king’s alchemist. Next to Victor Latverius he was the most senior courtier in the land. “I’m- I’m sure that her Grace will have much to say on the matter,” Shaw stammered.

For the first time Etienne’s mouth quirked into a smile. “And I’m sure we’ll all get to hear it,” he muttered. “Every last word.”

Ironclad nodded. “But to do that we shall simply have to move ourselves to the banquet hall next door-” He held out his arm to Frost in mocking invitation. “So won’t you join me, my dear?” His eyes twinkled. “After all, you brought us all here, including that strange guest of yours from the Hrimcaeld. It would be most impolite to leave us to entertain ourselves.”

The look on her face showed that Emmalaine would indeed have liked to leave her guests to entertain themselves but she knew politeness would not allow it. So she took Ironclad’s arm with as much good grace as she could muster and began walking towards the room’s double doors, Shaw following behind her. Etienne De Rogeres’ presence an intimidating bulk on his right. The Seneschal looked more like he were going to his execution than a night of courtly feasting- But then how in blazes would he explain where he’d been and what had happened to him, without mentioning Illyenka and the Phoenix and Gold? As the aristocrats walked away the Company of Miracles exchanged looks, waiting to be released from their guards. The men themselves seemed unsure what to do, one brave soul raising his voice falteringly to ask Lord Anthony for orders though he seemed more frightened that the Lord would answer than anything else. Without even glancing back the crimson knight called, “Bring them,” in a tone which would have irritated a paragon into wrongdoing. The snarl Logan gave at such indifference echoed through the room and Ironclad laughed. But the guards still herded the Company of Miracles forwards, Shaw’s much abused servants with them-

And as soon as they set foot inside Shaw’s ballroom Stray heard a voice she hadn’t wanted to encounter ever again call to her. A voice from her past. A voice from her nightmares.

“Mahri,” Lord David’s voice said, his tone angry, “Mahri, is that you girl?”

And then- “You had better hand her over to me, Ironclad. The chatelaine is mine.”

Lord David’s words seemed to reverberate upon the air.

Hand her over to me, Ironclad, he’d said.

Hand her over to me, the chatelaine is mine.

Around Stray all was silence, her heartbeat galloping in her chest, tears scalding her eyes as she stared at the boy she’d abandoned. The boy she’d sworn she’d marry. The boy whose kiss had first revealed to her what she truly was. Servants, aristocrats and the Company of Miracles were shifting uncomfortably, their collective gazes darting back and forth between herself and Lord David. Some shocked, others nervous, the two knights who had first accosted her and Logan glaring at the young Lord, their faces set and grim. At the very edge of her vision Stray could see a couple sitting on a raised dais, surrounded by other nobles. A redheaded beauty dressed in widows-full-mourning stood at their left hand, a young, laughing-faced boy in a red and blue tunic and hose sat near their feet to the right. The throned woman they guarded was lovely and fair as a honey-lily, the man broad of shoulder, his face covered- curiously- with a bluntly-forged silver mask. All of the nobles were staring at her situation in open interest: Stray did not understand why, but for some reason the sight of the masked man set the beast within her snarling even more than it already had been-

She heard a low growl come from behind her and realised with a start that Logan felt the same way.

But she could not concentrate on that now: She was too busy wracking her brain for a way to deny what Lord David had just said. Trying to conjure a way to escape. She could think of nothing though. Were she to explain what her supposed sweetheart had done to her the night before their wedding she would likewise have to explain his discovery of her Curse and what it had inadvertently done to him. And that would be signing her own death warrant and the Company’s, she entertained not a doubt of it. There was no legally recognised excuse for hiding one of the Cursed except for ignorance of their condition, and Stray sincerely doubted that suspicion once raised against her would remain fixed on her alone. Ororo’s exotic looks would stir curiosity at the very least. By the looks of things it already had: Etienne de Rogeres kept shooting the huntress these unreadable little glances. In fact, the knight couldn’t seem to keep his gaze to himself at all. Stray shook her head, the seriousness of her situation setting panic clawing in her stomach. She was about to be sold to a boy she knew she’d never want just when she’d found the man she knew she’d always need and there was nothing she could do about it-

As the first tears began sliding down her cheeks she felt for Logan’s hands, there where they were splayed against her waist.

She squeezed the fingers so hard she thought she might have heard them crack, and without a word he pulled her more tightly against his chest.

Clearly Lord David found this amusing though, for he shot her a smile as arrogant as it was galling. His mocking, dark eyes raking over her and Logan’s embrace in frank distaste. Stray stiffened, the memory of the last time he had done so spiking through her- fear and snow, the press of skin on skin- No, David, No- and as she did so she heard Logan growl again, more softly this time. Felt the prickly of his beard as he nuzzled his hairy cheek against her temple, his arms tightening around her waist. She recognised the gesture as one meant to comfort one’s mate and it calmed her panic. The effect must have been obvious for she saw David’s eyes narrow sharply, something ugly moving over his handsome face. His grin turned wicked as he looked to the gathered nobles and bowed jestingly as if playing to an audience. “I see you’ve taught her manners at least, huntsman,” he announced lightly, inclining his head to Logan. Stray couldn’t be sure but she thought she heard the man in the silver mask snicker at his words. “Pray, did you have to show her a weapon,” the boy continued politely, “or did she spread her legs of her own free will with you, as well..?”

One moment Logan was behind Stray, the next he was before her. His hands going for Lord David’s throat, the beast within him shivering far closer to the surface than was safe among people such as this. The Company’s reaction was immediate: Ororo, Katherine Shadowskin and Master Summerisle all darted forward. They moved with such perfect synchronisation that it was clear they had done this before. Neither of them would have been fast enough however, had not Etienne de Rogeres and Anthony Ironclad darted into the fray, each grabbing one of Logan’s arms and pulling them loosely behind him. He swore and snarled but they held him, their armour weighing him down as much as anything else. Stray couldn’t be certain but she thought she heard de Rogeres hiss, “You’re no good to her dead, man-” and this seemed enough to stall him-

Before she could ask what that meant- or even thank de Rogeres and Ironclad for their interference- the man in the silver mask rose from his dais and walked slowly forward. As soon as he did so the entire room, including Seneschal Shaw, swept into their deepest bows and Stray couldn’t help but notice that even Anthony Ironclad’s handsome face lost its cocky grin. “Your Grace,” the knights said quietly, managing between them to wrangle Logan into a sufficiently respectful bow by the scruff of his neck. The werewolf snarled at the indignity of it, but he had enough self-possession not to fight- This time.

The masked man’s voice sounded amused. He nodded to Ironclad and de Rogeres. “Lord Etienne, Lord Anthony,” he said. “As always you retain your tiresomely diligent streak. Could you not at least have let the woodsman gut the boy and provided us with some sport?”

Ironclad went to answer but Lord David bristled, speaking over him. “Your Grace,” he huffed, “The same blue blood runs through my veins as yours. You couldn’t mean to-”

Faster than should have been humanly possible the masked man rounded on the boy. David had the good sense to skitter a couple of steps back. “Our blood is not even the same temperature,” he rasped in a voice unlike any Stray had ever heard before. No human throat could have made that sound. “And if you wish to keep your head and your shoulders in their current, charming configuration then you will keep your thoughts to yourself, is that clear?”

David gave a quick, shaky nod, suddenly looking every inch the youth Stray had been betrothed to. The realisation made her stomach feel slightly sick. Lords Anthony and Etienne threw a dark look at one another, worry etched clearly across their faces, but this was to be the least of her problems. For now that he had left his throne the masked man walked towards her, his tread certain and heavy, everything about his large, powerful body designed to intimidate. Unfortunately- or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it- Stray had recently faced the Hollow Empress, the Phoenix and Mistress Gold: Set in that auspicious company the masked man’s demeanour barely registered as a threat. He came to a halt before her, far closer than was comfortable or polite, and she felt rather than saw his eyes narrow as they met hers. There was something, something weighing and measuring and utterly, utterly dismissive in that gaze and Stray held her breath as it rested on her.

“Do you know who I am, girl?” he asked softly then.

Stray shook her head, the beast within her growling ever louder in anticipation of danger.

Of course, Logan was doing that openly.

The masked man gave a bark of laughter. “Shushanna!” he called to the blond woman seated behind him, “Did you hear that? The chatelaine says she doesn’t know who I am.”

Stray might have been imagining it but she thought the blond woman winced slightly at his words. When she spoke her voice was steady however- low and soothing and as lovely as the chime of a brass bell. “She is from the frozen Hrimcaeld, Victor,” she said. “Pray, do not hold her ignorance against her-”

“You wound me, Shushanna,” Victor said. “Clearly you’ve spent too much time listening to your darling Richard’s fictions regarding my temper.” So this, Stray realised, was the Duchess Shushanna Stormholt that de Rogeres had mentioned. But if that was the case then surely then where was her husband? Who was the man in the mask? Not that Stray had time to ponder that right now, for said nobleman was hovering right over her, his breath practically mingling with hers. In fact, had his lips not been covered Stray almost thought he might have tried to kiss her.

“Such a scandal she is, my dear Shushanna,” he murmured, his tone confiding. It seemed to slither across Stray’s skin like a snake. “A highborn woman who willingly wed naught but an upstart hex-worker like Richard Reed. A Duchess who could have had anyone- even me- but who chose a whoreson peasant to warm her bed.” Victor leaned in closer, his tone gloating. From the very corner of her eye she saw De Rogeres grit his teeth in annoyance, but Ironclad’s hand on his shoulder held the knight back. “Fortunately, my dear, I saved her from all that,” Victor murmured. “I took her away from Reed’s brats, and his idiocy, and gave her the life she was supposed to have had- The life my Shushanna deserves. But she is not grateful for it. You can see that, can’t you?”

Mutely Stray nodded, having not a clue where this conversation might go.

“So perhaps you can enlighten me?” Victor was asking, his voice low and dangerous and coaxing. “Perhaps you can give insight into why my Shushanna behaved as she does. I ask only because I see you too left a highborn lover for a lowborn one, so perhaps one might consider you an expert in the field: What is the fascination between women and peasants, little chatelaine? What do women like you-” He jerked her chin up with his fingers, “always seek out men like him?” And he indicated Logan with a dismissive flick of his chin. “Do you itch so for cock that you’ll take it wherever you can find it, even if it’s in a slave’s bed?” he was asking. “Do you crave an animal because no man would put up with your wantonness and filth? Tell me please-” He put his face directly in hers, his fingers tightening painfully on her chin, “What exactly is it within your blood that makes a gently-raised woman behave like a whore?”

And with one swift, sharp, calculated movement Victor drew his hand back and struck Stray forcefully across the face, sending her reeling.

She hit the floor with a painful thump, shock and humiliation coursing through her frame.

Had Stray had more practice at controlling the thing-made-not-of-words within her what happened next might not have happened. Had she been older, or wiser, or more trained or less angry or more noting of the cynical, calculated quality to Victor’s stance when he struck her then she might have been able to halt the reaction which went hissing through her bones right then. But she wasn’t older or calmer or more trained; She was young and frightened and horrified and tired and the beast within her came howling to the surface with nary a thought for the consequences. Tearing at rational thought and worries for her safety. Obliterating anything but the need to not be helpless around another aristocrat again. The creature took over her skin and her reflexes faster even than it had in Illyenka’s vile court: One moment she, Stray, was standing before the gathered nobles, in her own skin and body, trying desperately to keep the gathered aristocrats from guessing the Company of Miracles’ secret- And the next moment she was entirely transformed, her gown and her human skin dropped from her bones like an unneeded cloak. Her teeth going for Duke Victor’s throat like the wildest animal, the will to harm the man who had so insulted and harmed her- and whom she suspected wished to hand her over to Lord David for devilry- driving out the last traces of the girl she was from her mind. Victor laughed as she clawed and snarled at him. Laughed even harder as Logan broke away and sheer blind panic began to bring transformation on him too. The masked Duke sounded delighted as he called out to Ironclad and de Rogeres- “Finally,” he muttered, “Finally, I’ve found a breeding pair for my legion-”

There was a hiss of smoke and magic and brimstone and for some strange reason Stray could not fathom Ororo gave a long, furious, wicked-with-purpose scream.

Deep down, Stray had never really believed that Ororo could transform.

Oh, she’d listened to the woman’s story of the loss of her husband, experienced for herself the tie between a Moonlight Key and a Sunlight Lock. Had even thought she understood the loneliness, the set-apartness she sometimes spied in the huntress’ regal self-mastery. But she’d never really believed that Ororo could actually turn into another creature-

Suffice it to say though, the spring maid believed now.

In fact, she had never held less doubt about anything in all her living life.

For without warning, without the slightest suggestion of hesitation Ororo transformed, her inner beast bursting from her skin as Stray suspected it had once burst from her husband T’Challa’s. Blue eyes and white-to-black, dappled fur exploding into existence as the huntress dropped her human form as easily as a bird would dip in flight. Feline grace shuddering through her limbs as she stalked forward, her new body- that of a giant, sinuous cat- so extraordinarily, lethally lovely that it seemed the form Ororo had been born to take. The form in which she belonged.

All around her the gathered nobles’ eyes widened, their realisation that they had Cursed in their midst clearly shocking them. Making their fragile, mortal frames tremble with dread. But Stray could not help but note that though their Duke was now faced with three fully-transformed and clearly dangerous creatures not one of his court moved to help him. In fact, Anthony Ironclad had edged subtly backwards to protect the Duchess Shushanna, her black-clad lady-in-waiting and the youthful, red-and-blue liveried page who crouched beside her quietly following suit. Only the blue-clad knight Etienne de Rogeres stood his ground, his gaze was flickering back and forth between Ororo and the Duke, his expression horrified. His chain-mailed hands clenching and unclenching by his sides, his shield lying almost forgotten on the floor. But he did not move to help his liege. In fact, he was staring at him in something very close to horror. His handsome face sickened with something that looked almost like guilt. The silence stretched out as nobody moved. More tense, more disturbing than any thus far in this longest of long days-

And then Ororo padded forward until she was nearly nose to nose with Latverius.

She crouched back on her hind quarters, as if ready to strike, and let out the longest, most terrifying, most heart-sick roar Stray had ever heard.

The words were simple. “Leave my family alone.”

The room shook with it, let alone the people. Even some of the Company of Miracles flinched, both Gainesborough’s and Petya’s arms coming instinctively up to wrap around Katherine Shadowskin and Illyenka. Scott’s arms wrapping tightly around Mistress Red. Latverius didn’t flinch but de Rogeres did, his face turning ashen, blue eyes worried. Again it occurred to Stray that he looked guilty, though what he could have done to merit Ororo’s anger Stray couldn’t imagine. After all, he seemed a good man. And it was thanks to his intervention that Logan and she were still alive. But be that as if may, this time he moved to gently stand beside Ororo. His hands held out before him now, his voice gentle and soft.

“Mistress,” he murmured, breath ragged as he spoke to her, “Mistress, I beg you not to do this…”

Latverius’ smile was mocking. “If she thinks herself able to save her friends, let her try it, Etienne. The garrisons always have room for another whore.”

De Rogeres’ gaze flicked distastefully to Latverius. “Pray, sir, hold your tongue before a lady-”

The Duke’s laugh was harsh. “Have you not been listening, boy? There are no ladies here present. Just the Cursed and their dogs. Isn’t that right, little one?”

And he went to chuck Stray- entirely lupine, entirely transformed Stray- under her chin, as if she were but a crabby child in need of coaxing. The spring maid snarled, snapping at his fingers but doing nothing else. Because the gesture, Stray suspected, had merely been designed to set the powder-keg atmosphere in the room off and she would not give him the satisfaction. Clarity was returning to her and also, she suspected, Logan- Which was probably for the best.

Besides, if anyone was going to instigate a battle in this room, the smart coin would be placed upon Ororo, not Stray or her Moonlight Key.

And the spring maid appeared to be right. For at Laterverius’ words Ororo began padding around him, circling. Her shoulders dropping, rage coming off her in ever increasing waves. She opened her mouth again and snarled, this time hissing something in that sing-song language she occasionally spoke with Logan. The sound of it like a battle cry now, a hymn to a war-goddess whispered in the dark. Stray did not speak the tongue, barely understood it. All she could make out for certain were the words “T’Challa,” and with it, “Msiri.” And then a string of something that sounded so much like curse words that she doubted they could be anything else. De Rogeres frowned as she spoke, almost as if he knew the language. His eyes widening, disgust and anger shuddering through his form. His hand moved down to the blade at his side, and instantly Anthony Ironclad drew his own weapon, moving to stand at his comrade’s flank. His loyalties clear, for all his annoying arrogance and the fact that he’d counted Sebastian Shaw as a friend. The Duke did not appear to notice though and it occurred to Stray that for a man with so much ostensible power, Latverius had very little actual support in this company-

“Is what she says true, your Grace?” de Rogeres asked then, his voice hollow. Ragged.

His hand had tightened on his sword’s hilt, awaiting his liege’s answer, and his eyes flicked calculatingly towards his shield.

Latverius laughed at the question, a short, sharp burst of anything but merriment. Even this close to his own destruction he unable to fathom how much trouble he was in. “So you remember the language of the garrisons, do you, Etienne?” He sneered at the knight in disgust. “I had thought Richard Reed’s hex-craft healed you. Thought when you brought that charlatan to court he cured you of your nightmares, of the memories of the experiments that made you who you are today-”

De Rogeres’ jaw tightened. “You swore to me that nobody was harmed in the building of my army,” he muttered. “You swore to me that those you brought from over the sea were allowed to return home-”

“And you believed that, boy?” Latverius turned his masked, burning gaze on de Rogeres. Instantly Ironclad tensed beside him. “Mab’s tits, how stupid are you? You actually thought I let those animals live?”

The knight gestured to Ororo with his sword. “She is not an animal, not all of the time anyway my liege. And the story she tells- The story of losing her husband…” His voice trailed off, his expression grave. Sorrowing. The voice of a truly good man who found himself in the middle of a truly terrible thing. “I should be ashamed if any of what was done to him was meant to aid me,” he said quietly. “And I will help her avenge your actions with my last breath, your Grace, do not doubt that.” His jaw tensed.

“Do not doubt it in the least.”

The Duke rolled his eyes, apparently unimpressed. “A soldier does not fret over the losses of a Cursed animal and a whore-”

“I am not a soldier.” De Rogeres whispered it. He was staring at Ororo, his words meant only for her. “I am a knight of this realm, and it is my duty to guard a lady’s honour.” He looked at the huntress. “Any lady who had been injured by actions that have me at their heart. Any lady I have failed. Any lady I have injured. Any lady standing in this room, and one is.” And his gaze flickered to his feet, his shoulders slumping. Suddenly he looked almost… young. Almost like a boy. “And for all my failures to you, Mistress Wildcat,” he said softly, “I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

Ororo’s feline voice growled, the words almost impossible to make out. “For that, I thank you,” she murmured.

“But I will do what I must.”

And with a tiny incline of his head she looked up, nodded to the knight. Watching as he drew his sword, Latverius still laughing at him. Flipping his great shield easily upwards and bringing it forward to guard Ororo even as the Duke belatedly lashed out, the gravity of his situation apparently finally occurring to him. A dagger appeared suddenly from somewhere in Latverius’ sleeve, his arm darting out to strike at Ororo, trying to stop her or slow her down. Time seemed to stop as Stray watched huntress and knight move in unison, fighters both, and honourable, each in their own way. Ororo slashing forward with her claws even as de Rogeres defended her. Ironclad guarding his comrade from any who might think to interfere, though none but Lord David appeared even tempted to try. There was a flash of steel, the snarl of a beast taking down its prey in time honoured fashion even as Latverius’ body hit the floor- Dead-

And then there was silence.

Total, overwhelming silence.

Stray felt the transformation move through Ororo even as if moved through her and Logan, the huntress collapsing in a pile of tears and blood-stained clothing, her shoulders shaking in her grief.

De Rogeres moved forward then, gentle as a lamb, and draped something heavy around her form. It took Stray a moment to realise that it must be his cloak. With a single, terse gesture from Shushanna the Duchess’ servants moved forward, soothing Ororo, coaxing her. One of them even offering a blanket to Stray and Logan despite the facts that by all accounts they should be terrified to touch one of the Cursed, let alone two. Logan padded forward, human again, and wrapped his arms around her. That was more than enough heat for her, Stray thought happily, and she took the opportunity to bury her head in his chest, burrowing into his warmth. The Company of Miracles slowly began to relax, taking the fact that nobody was trying to arrest them as a positive sign. The fact that they apparently had some sort of advocate in de Rogeres calming them, though Stray had her suspicions about how long this détente would last.

But more than anything else the spring maid allowed herself to finally- finally- breathe, as she realised that her long, long, long journey into darkness was probably over. That, judging by the way de Rogeres and his Duchess were glaring at Lord David, she wouldn’t be obliged to return to him any time soon. Besides even if they tried to make her go back, what did she have to fear?

And so, with pity in her heart for Ororo and relief that she’d survived Stray and Logan stole out of Shaw’s Great Hall as soon as opportunity would allow them. Walked into the evening hand in hand, each knowing that all they wanted was each other, each knowing the their way now was clear. And when Logan tugged Stray towards one of the darker paths, the moonlight streaming down on both of them both Moonlight Key and Sunlight Lock knew what they wanted to do with this night- What they wanted to do with each other-

“Come show me what mischief you can work, my trouble-begot,” Logan told her.

And there, in the healing starlight, Stray decided to do just that.

The forest was singing.

Stray cocked an ear as she passed beneath the moonlight, the leaves of the Echoing Green shivering in the breeze. Singing out mournfully, hauntingly, their crystalline structure taking the wind and giving it voice, making it call like a lover for her dear one. Mourning like a mother for her child. Every step seemed difficult, drenched in tiredness, but she did not even try to turn back-

After all that she had been through, she knew that her journey was finally coming to both its beginning and its end.

And she could no more have stopped this than wanted to.

Before her she could see the vague shape of Logan, a shadow moving through the wildwood, every line of his body a gladness that traced through her heart. His steps so light they made no noise, his shoulders stooped, with tiredness or wariness she could not be sure. Every so often he would stop and look behind him, hold out a hand to her in invitation: This usually meant that the forest trail had turned dangerous and he felt she needed his help. Pointing out that she now shared his abilities seemed to make no difference so after the first few times Stray didn’t bother. Instead she allowed herself the comfort of being swung across treacherous patches of ground, of being helped through the spider-web-delicate tracery of roots underfoot by a strong, steady arm around her waist or on her shoulder. It felt so… easy. So… right. It had been an age since anyone had touched her with kindness, let alone with the easy comfort which Logan now displayed: She had been the Cursed, Untouchable girl for so long that the notion of that easy gentleness seemed almost something from another time, another land entirely…

Her Sunlight Lock did not speak, did not tell her where he was leading her. He seemed so sure of his way that it didn’t occur to her to worry- For she knew he would never willingly lead her ill. And so they threaded deeper and deeper into the wildwood, the fresh, sharp air cleansing Stray of the last of Lord David and Victor Latverius’ collective stenches. The starlight gentle and kind after so long in Illyenka’s hex-ridden realm. The ground became more difficult to walk on- at some point she couldn’t recall Stray seemed to have lost her shoes- and without warning Logan swung her up and began to carry her. Growling something vaguely proprietary and entirely bad-tempered when she made to protest. So after a moment Stray acquiesced, smiling shyly when he looked down at her in surprise but not pulling away from him-

“It’s not much further now, girl,” he murmured, his hands tightening against her almost instinctively.

“Doesn’t matter,” she told him softly. “I trust you.”

And as if to illustrate his point at that moment the foliage began to clear.

Stray leaned forward then, watching as the trees began to lessen though their musical leaves still murmured in the breeze. Mixed in with it she could hear the sound of splashing, the clean, fresh tang of running water dancing on the air. Logan stopped, murmuring gently that she would have to put her feet down now. She did so, bare skin touching the rocky ground gingerly as he slowly moved her body to arm’s length, his arms still taking her weight. Stray looked around through bleary eyes: she was standing on a precipice of some kind, Shaw Manor far behind her and silhouetted against the soon-to-be-streaked-with-dawning sky. Stars a canopy of silver fireflies above her, the moon a lazy, reclining mistress to her right. But the sight did not hold her interest, for right in front of her, ranged in an almost perfect semi-circle, was a waterfall, the likes of which she’d never seen before. Its length was enormous, its height stretching out below her like a massive, hissing maw-

The last rays of starlight spilt over the horizon like liquid silver and instantly the bubbling water lit up, shards of faint rainbow light tumbling through its depths.

“This way,” Logan said then, and Stray took his hand as he carefully led her forward. A set of steps which had been roughly hewn into the rock side of the waterfall and Stray followed them all the way down: The light of the was full moon was wavering, and every so often she would misstep, but still she continued her journey, only stopping when she got to the bottom. There Logan held out his hand again and this time he pulled something from her shoulders. She realised with a shock that at some point in the journey she had been wrapped in his greatcoat- When the blazes did that happen? The smell of it- of him- soothed her even as she felt the shock of cold air against her skin. He laid the coat on the ground and then, still holding her gaze, stepped towards the edge of the water. There was a quick splash and then suddenly he was chest-deep in the pool, pushing soaking wet hair from his eyes, his (mostly) clothed body now sopping wet. He beckoned her with a cock of his head and for a moment Stray hesitated, her body beginning to shiver and her teeth chattering. The effects of her own tiredness and the night’s misadventures finally taking their toll. But then she saw Logan- the real one, she reminded herself, she could tell this was the real one, this was no trick of Gold or the Phoenix or anyone else- smile at her, his expression softening in understanding-

He pushed himself over to the pool’s bank with three swift strokes and stared up at her where she stood on the bank.

Stray knelt down in front of him, the welcome sight of his face more calming than anything else could have been, and laid her hand where it was safe, upon the whiskers on his face.

“It’s warm,” he told her softly then, his own grin answering hers. It seemed almost shy, for all the familiarity of his face’s stern lines. “You should come in, it will help you. Water- it’s cleansing, I promise.” For a moment his head ducked down, gaze moving away from her. Worried. “I know you’ve already been through so much this night,” he said.

She felt tears prickle her eyes, worry arching through her. The image of Lord David’s face rose in her mind- The chatelaine is mine- and she tried desperately to push it away. “So- So you- So you think I’m dirty?” she whispered. “You think I’m in need of cleaning-”

“No!” It came out louder than he intended it to, she could see that, but the sound of it still made Stray jump. He winced. “No,” he said more softly. “There’s nothing could sully you girl, not a bastard of a magician who tried to hurt you, not surviving Gold’s viciousness and managing to fight back. Not even that foolish boy back there who thinks himself good enough to own you, as if any creature could. You’re better than that.” And he gritted his teeth at the mention of Lord David’s claims. Something told Stray he suspected how cruel that boy had been. “But you need heat- care- and I couldn’t do this in the mansion,” Logan was saying. “I don’t want you near that little lordling and moronic accusations- I didn’t think you’d, you’d want the attention of that-”

And he shook his head to himself, his expression one Stray recognised.

He was frustrated because he didn’t know how to put what he wanted to say into words.

But words were not needed, not after all they had been through together. Words had never really been needed, not between the two of them. And the tiny fear she’d been nursing, that Logan would take Lord David’s accusations and cast her off as unchaste, withered at his words, warmth expanding in her chest to fill their space. He loved her and her only. Not her maidenhead, nor her reputation, and certainly not her father’s silk and gold. So despite her misgivings Stray allowed herself to be beckoned closer. More moonlight was filtering into the grotto now and she carefully sat down, letting her bare toes dip into the water. The warmth of it- not too sharp, not too bitter- travelled through her limbs, stilling her shivers and Logan made a little growl of relief she wasn’t even sure he noticed himself making.

That decided her: She beckoned him over and he placed her in the water, his hands easily taking her weight as she held onto his shoulders and he her waist. Their wet flesh met, protected by both water and clothing, and for a moment they just stayed like that, each staring at the other, the eddy and flow of the current pressing them together and pulling them apart with an unconscious, sinuous grace. His mouth was an inch from hers and she had to bite her lip, the desire to kiss him was so strong. The knowledge that what was begun now would not be called to a halt by anything other than her expressly-stated wish tying her stomach into knots. And yet… His hands went to her waist to steady her and she thought she might actually melt, the sensation of it was so delicious. So arousing. Was this what others felt when they touched someone they cared about? she wondered. Was this the joy of which the ballads sang? But he wasn’t half transformed, wasn’t protected from her by his wolf’s pelt. If she gave into her inclinations, she thought, she would be as good as sticking a knife in his back. So she tried to move back, tried to head for the bank again-

Apparently Lady Love had other ideas however: Another, stronger current burst over her and knocked her right into him.

This time though he held onto her and didn’t let her go.

She tensed up for a moment, desperately willing her Curse not to activate. Her attention so focussed on trying to keep it docile that it took her a moment to realise that nothing was happening. Her Curse was not effecting him though their flesh was pressed as tightly against each other’s as the sky was to the winds. Stray blinked in surprise, looking up to find Logan smiling at her gently: He reached out and brushed a lock of dripping wet hair from her forehead, his wet touch lingering over her skin. It tingled.

“Do you not remember the bath?” he asked, his hazel eyes warm. “You cannot hurt me in water.”

Stray frowned. “But I though that was- that was the Dove’s Heart potion. I thought it was that which had protected you-”

He shook his head, placed one thumb over her lips to still her talk. The pressure of his skin against hers burned. “No, water seems to be enough,” he murmured. “Water and your good graces, my little trouble-begot- Which I assume I have secured?” She nodded wordlessly and he smiled again, pressing his nose and forehead against hers.

Stray thought again that it seemed almost shy, for so gruff and confident a man.

“I had my suspicions those mornings when I kissed you after washing myself and your skin did not react,” he continued softly. “I suspect that when you wish to be touched, truly touched, Stray, then you can be.” And he reached forward, pressing a single, chaste kiss to her forehead, then each cheek, one after the other. His gaze burned into hers, as if the answer to his question mattered more than sun or light. “Do you want me to touch you, cariad?” he whispered.

It had been so long since anyone had asked Stray’s permission about anything that for a moment she was almost shocked by the question.

But then she blushed, remembering the pleasure of every other time he had touched her. The gentility he had always shown her, the care for her welfare even when he was half-transformed and terrified of himself. Again the memories of what had happened between her and Lord David flared through her mind but this time they did not wound her as they once had. They no longer seemed proof of some failure on her part, but proof of a destination she had been meant for, a point of no return about which neither David, her father nor any other in her village could ever have known or guessed. Her skin had been right: She had been meant for Logan.

Her silence seemed to worry the werewolf for he began peering at her, the openness of his expression turning guarded. Stray could well imagine what he was thinking, what dark cast his mind was putting on her silence. So screwing her courage to the sticking place the spring maid reached forward and pressed her lips, once, very softly to his. Tasting him, breathing him in. Greeting him. “Yes,” she said once, very simply.

Logan’s hands tightened on her where they’d grasped her elbows and Stray realised she’d done the right thing.

Pleasure blossomed, warm and honey-trickle-steady, through her body then. Her hands moving of their own accord, threading through his hair, his nape, the broad tightness of his shoulders. Her hips pressing instinctively into his, the warmth and hardness of him both tease and relief. She kissed him again, her lips suddenly hungry as her skin had once been. The taste of him- water and salt-sweat, flesh and magic- tantalising both nose and tongue. He shifted them, the warm liquid eddying and swaying them together, his thigh pressing confidently between her own even as he held her tighter. Her breasts strangely, achingly heavy as they flattened against his chest and her nipples tightened into peaks.

She gasped at the sensation and he grinned, suddenly looking years younger, his own kisses turning bolder, more joyous, as he pressed into the cradle between her thighs again- And again- And again- And again. The pleasure of it seemed hot and tight and unbelievable, and yet there it was. Delight arching, jewel-like and glittering, through her now. Stray knew her own body and she knew her own pleasure: She had been advised to learn as much by the few trusted servants who had seen her before her wedding, women who had- she suspected- known David for what he truly was. And even if she hadn’t she had always been far too inquisitive a creature to not investigate her own flesh, not to lay at night touching herself when she knew all else were abed. But this was different than her own hands moving over her. This was different than Lord David’s unwanted touch. This was… Logan. This was… This was her heart’s delight. This was why her flesh had learned to feel at all. She and Logan broke apart, the need to breath finally claiming them and despite herself Stray laughed out loud at the realisation, flinging her arms out and throwing her head back before the heavens. The wonder of this moment, of this feeling, a miracle for which no language- she was sure- had ever had a name. Logan cocked an eyebrow in question and she grinned. She couldn’t help herself.

She would never get tired of grinning at him, and making him grin in return.

“I like being touched by you, cariad,” she said happily then. The cocked eyebrow continued unabated and she reached out, pressing a quick kiss against it, trailing another down his cheek to his throat. He felt so good in her arms. “I like being touched by you, Logan!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, the happiness she was feeling suddenly dizzying, wonderful. Too massive to be kept inside her heart or mouth or body for long.

“I love being touched by you, my wonderful, gruff, handsome, infuriating, wonderful Sunlight Lock!”

And at Logan finally smiling she burst into laughter again. Throwing her arms around him, pulling him tightly to her even as their kisses became went from sweetly distracting to scorchingly, achingly pleasurable and Stray’s body went from warmly mellow to tight with joy. At some point- she wasn’t really certain when, and she doubted it was important to know- they managed to walk, nay, tangle their way through the great sheet of falling water into the waterfall’s heart. The pressure of it stinging Stray’s eyes and scalp until she had to gasp, the delight of the sensation making her laugh anew. She brushed her hair out of her eyes to see a cavern, its walls lined and veined with glowing green and gold. Every so often the water’s fall would break a little and moonlight would hit them, turning the green and gold to platinum-white. There was a ledge at the back and this Logan walked her to, set her sitting upon it, grinning at her as only a man newly loved can do. Stray frowned as he reached out, pulling her slightly forward by her hips and setting her thighs apart. His hand trailing up her wet gown to bare her soaking flesh.

“You won’t look away?” he asked softly and she nodded, confused.

“Not if you don’t wish me to.”

His grin turned… Well, it turned positively wicked. “Then watch me, my trouble-begot,” he murmured. “Keep those eyes on me.”

And he reached out, pulling her left leg towards him. Nipping and biting and nibbling at her ankle. Then her calf, then her knee. Eyes still on her. His lips and teeth making their way steadily upwards. His hands caressing and stroking her other foot until it tingled from arch to toe. As Stray watched he kissed the curve of her hip and then trailed his tongue down her belly towards to her inner thigh, leaving shivering, achy little kisses in his wake. Making her stomach tighten in anticipation of pleasure, though what pleasure was coming to her she could not say. Her flesh almost jumped up to meet him, its joy at finding him present nearly a separate delight in itself. The rightness of what she felt with him a balm caressing her heart. As Stray watched Logan parted her legs further, one hand keeping up its torturous attentions to her ankle, the other reaching forwards to stroke her curling maiden-hair. His tongue slowly following suit, lips tugging up into a grin as Stray let out a gasp of surprise and delight. Instinctively she closed her eyes at the sensation and she felt rather than heard the rumble of his laughter against her most delicate flesh-

“You promised you’d keep your eyes on me, Stray,” he said softly, moving his mouth to blow gently on the throbbing flesh between her thighs.

The beat of it sent a tremor through her though she did not understand quite why. She had never… She had never felt this before.

“I- I forgot,” she stammered. “I haven’t- Nobody has- “ She tried to focus her thoughts but they remained resolutely scattered. “I’m new to this, you know,” she muttered, half bad-tempered, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

What she saw there surprised her though. His expression was no longer wicked but gentle. Soft. Almost… earnest. It made her temper disappear in a thrice. He nodded his head once, the sight of him there between her legs sending something burning and liquid through her. Like everything else between them it felt so damnably good.

“Aye, I know that,” he murmured. He placed a gentle kiss against her thigh, sending a shiver through her again. She sighed. “That is why I want you to watch.”

And this time when he pressed his tongue into her, that’s exactly what she did. Watching as his mouth and teeth moved over her, the sight of him pleasing her almost as good as the pleasure itself. Stray gave herself up to it, let herself finally relax into this tenderness. All the months of fear of touch and hopelessness for the future drifting away like dust upon a strong wind. At some point she must have shifted onto her back, her hands tangling in his hair and stroking him as he pressed down on her. Showing him how much she wanted this- wanted him- in the only language they both always understood. Pleasure rose and ebbed in waves, happiness along with it. Her perceptions grew hazy; It seemed as if her body would fly apart with the wonder of this, as if the starlight itself were made of this soft, hot, wet, gorgeous ache.

And then, when she thought she might not be able to take it anymore starlight was what she became, flying apart with a suddenness that astonished her. Her moment, that hunted-and-longed-for-pleasure-of-a-moment which she had only ever managed to give herself before dragging her under like a riptide in its wake. She gasped out her lover’s name, pulling him to her and kissing him. Desperation for something-anything-everything- making her writhe beneath him and press her body ever more tightly to his. There was more, there was more, she knew it- “Please,” she murmured, “Please, I want- I need- ”

“I do,” he answered her. “I know you do- I want to be inside you cariad-”

And then she felt Logan’s hand beneath the curve of her backside, tilting her hips upwards. Felt the hot throb of his length brush against her belly and then against her thigh. That hazel gaze met hers with a seriousness she did not expect as he pressed inside her. The stretch of him burning, aching, a fullness both gorgeously wanted and frighteningly new. “Be still,” he rasped out, “let yourself adjust to me…” He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, every inch he could reach of her. His hands stroking soothingly across her shoulders and spine, caressing her with infinite care. “I won’t hurt you, it won’t be like the last time, I promise you-”

She met his eyes with all the strength and bravery she could muster. She couldn‘t bear to have him think she believed him like that whoreson boy. “You couldn’t ever be anything like him,” she said fiercely. “You have not his wickedness, you never will have.” And she forced herself to stay still, to accommodate the feeling of him seated inside her. Her arms wrapped more tightly around his neck, a strange possessiveness moving through her limbs. “I would trust you, my Sunlight Lock,” she told him, “with my dying breath. Tell me you believe that.”

His gaze held no doubt, just warmth and acceptance. It was a wonder.

“And I will be true to you, my Moonlight Key,” he told her, “Until my dying day.”

There can be power in words and those words worked some sort of magic. The same magic, perhaps, that had been created when Logan gave her his cut-iron, or perhaps the same magic that had been born when she first agreed to let him take care of her, there beneath the pale moonlight. It wasn’t that the pain eased much, though it did. It wasn’t that the unfamiliarity of lovemaking disappeared, though as Stray began to move against her Sunlight Lock she found that her body knew much of what was needed though her mind did not. But the words they had spoken seemed to act like a charm, a spell, a piece of hex-craft. The pleasure of what was between them, though so new, building and building until Stray didn’t even remember that there had been any bitterness mixed in with the sweet. Couldn’t remember why she had been nervous at all.

So they moved together, her astride, him beneath her. Joy answering joy. Pleasure answering pleasure. Emotion and delight tumbling through her until she thought it would never end. And then it came, that wave of bliss, that riptide. Her breath expanding through her lungs and through her body until she thought once again that for a second she hung with the light between the stars. Her body a cage and a solace, the man beneath her all that she knew or wanted here upon this earth. Stray gasped and collapsed, her heartbeat hammering as she felt climax wash through Logan, a distant, lovely echo of her own-

And then it was done, and they were curled together, and the day was dawning. The spring maid and her wolf lay, one-into-the-other, and let the darkness be their cradle as the starlight and the sun’s first beams looked on. “…Until my dying day,” were the last words she heard murmured before slumber finally came to her…

They would never see it but a single golden feather brushed past them both, borne aloft by the breeze and then out into the world. A blessing and a promise, the end of one road the beginning of another.

Wakefulness came slowly to Stray and for that she supposed she should be thankful.

After all, she thought, smiling up at Logan’s profile, she hadn’t really slept properly in months and months.

Not since leaving Illunis. Not even on the road with the Company of Miracles. Every night she’d tossed and turned, always near to waking. The knowledge that she wasn’t safe- that nothing she did was safe- setting fear growling at the top-most layer of her mind like a hungry wolf. But when she’d fallen asleep last night, safe in the heart of the waterfall and in the arms of her Sunlight Lock, Stray had finally let herself relax. Let go, in a way that she could not have previously imagined. For she was with Logan, and they were safe, and she was finally where she was meant to be-

Not even the Phoenix could pull them apart now, she mused, her smile widening.

Logan’s arms tightened around her, the length of his body a warming comfort at her back, and she felt rather than heard him chuckle as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“You’re awake,” he said without preamble. His hands stroked upwards, across her arms as he buried his nose in the neck.

Her skin tingled as Logan murmured something that sounded like “…still smell so good.”

Stray grinned at him, no shyness now. No reticence. “So do you,” she murmured, turning in his embrace and reaching down to kiss her way across his chest. Licking. Suckling. Nipping. Any semblance of maidenly modesty apparently lost in the night. Logan groaned, a pleasure-drenched sound, and she almost purred in answer as she felt his arms tighten around her. Sweat-streaked skin and wiry, springy hair tickling her cheeks and nose, his greater weight pressing her tightly into the ground as he rolled her body beneath his. His gaze collided with hers, hazel to brown and they both smiled, unable to help themselves. The simple, honest happiness bubbling between them more than Stray had ever let herself believe would be hers. Logan closed his eyes, touching his forehead to hers and breathing in deeply, as if taking her scent into himself.

For the first time since she had known him, Stray thought he looked…peaceful.

“I knew you would be worth the waiting,” he said softly then.

Stray frowned, placing a tiny kiss between his eyebrows. “You were waiting for me?”

He nodded. “Aye, for you. For this. For all of it. Sometimes I thought that you wouldn’t come to me, but Ororo always told me to hold my course and in this she was right.”

And his eyes opened, his smile genuine, almost boyish. He gestured to the grotto in which they lay before brushing his hand gently across her cheek.

“I began my time in the Twelvelands in this cave, not knowing whether I would live through the night,” he told her softly then. “That is how I knew to bring you here, that is how I knew my way to Shaw’s Manor when the Company of Miracles began their journey to Emmalaine’s wedding. You remember how I was on the journey, my nightmares and bad tempers?” Stray nodded. Oh, how she remembered. “Well, that was because I was remembering what had happened to me the last time I was in these lands. You see, Stray-” He took a deep breath. He seemed to be working himself up to something.

“You see, this is where I washed up when I was shipwrecked.”

The girl gasped at that and he nodded to her in acknowledgement, pressing a kiss to her palm. She knew it was a ridiculously unnecessary reaction, but she tightened her arms protectively around him all the same, as if the sea could steal in here and take him away. Her mind flashed back to the Phoenix and suddenly the creature’s words made sense: He deserves his mate and his quietness, deserves to travel the moon-burnished sea.

So her beloved had been a sailor: She had not known as much.

But he was still talking. “I made my way here, my ship lost, the storm which had claimed it raging outside,” he was saying. “This place called to me from the shore, told me that I would be safe here- And safe I was. I had to crawl here, half dead, half broken- For a long many years I felt like I would never be anything else- But this place helped me survive it.What I found here helped me survive it.”

And he reached down, lightly kissed her nose. His smile was serious.

“You see,” he told her, “the first night I slept here, I dreamed of you.”

His voice dropped at the memory then, turning gravelly. A burning, seductive grin spreading slowly his face as to counteract the darkness of his words. An answering warmth flushed through Stray, making her skin feel hot and tight, overloaded with the memory of pleasure. But she couldn’t let him simply drop something like that last statement into their conversation and not pursue it- No matter how he was looking at her.

“I beg pardon,” she murmured, pulling her mouth away from his, “but did you just say you dreamt of me?”

Logan nodded, as if this were simply to be expected. And mayhap in the land from whence he came, it was. “Aye, I dreamt of you. Of course I dreamt of you. Or rather, I dreamt of my Moonlight Lock that first night I slept here.”

Stray frowned, pushing herself upright. “But if that is so then why did you try to push me away when you first knew me?” she asked. “Why did you resist me so much in the beginning?”

If anything, Logan’s smile turned chagrined. Some of the light dimmed in his eyes. “You must understand lass,” he told her, “I dreamt that night that I would find my Moonlight Key in this land, though all my previous years of searching in my own country had proved fruitless. I did not dream that you were she. And why should I have? I assumed that my mate would be similar to myself in both years and temperament, similar to me in all things. I did not dream that she would be young and lovely as you, nor a rich man’s daughter. I did not dream that she would be both brave and tender, as you so surely are.” And his gaze turned grave, eyes burning into hers.

Stray’s belly gave am queer, giddy little flip.

“So you did not know me when you saw me?” she guessed.

He nodded. “My life has not been an easy one, Stray,” he answered quietly. “Though there are plenty of others on whom Lady Austerity has sharpened her axe far more harshly than I. I dared not dream such as you would be for me: Such, it seemed to me, would be folly on a massive, goddess-angering scale. And if I had taken you and turned out to be wrong, what harm would that have done you? You would have had your heart broken, you would have been left bereft of your maidenhead and the chance to marry where you chose because of my rashness and lust. I would not- could not- permit that to happen. I had to keep you safe.” He shrugged. “So I told myself that no matter what I felt I must be mistaken, that you could not possibly be the one who was meant for me-”

“But I am.” Stray’s voice spoke over him; It brooked no disagreement. She really hoped he wasn’t working his way up to inflicting any on either of them. “And you are the one meant for me. Do you not accept that, Logan, is that why you tell me this story?”

Again her stomach flipped nervously, sudden fear making her nerves spark.

She need not have worried however. He blinked at her in surprise, obviously reading her expression, reaching out a hand to rest it against her wrist. “Of course not,” he said quietly. “I accept- I would not have brought you here had I any doubts. We would not have lain together if I had any doubts. I just wanted you to know my tale: Not another soul does, save for Ororo. It was she who found me on the road, brought me to Father Javier and the Company of Miracles when I was half dead from starvation. It was she who convinced me that living was a wise choice, no matter what I might have thought at the time. And today I am happy she did so, for today…” He took a deep breath. “Today I didn’t have to dream of you. Today you were real for me.

Today you were mine.”

And his sudden smile was so bright it dimmed the very morning sun outside, so bright no fire or gold or even phoenix-flame would ever dim it.

In that moment Stray vowed that she would give him cause to smile like that, broadly and often and well.

The werewolf took her hand in his then, pressing it to his chest gently. Taking the other, planting another kiss firmly on her wrist. Stray’s worry eased, the realisation that he just wished to have honesty between them making her glad. The fact that they were not about to start their first day together with an argument a massive relief. “I just wanted you to know who I am and what I have done, what you mean to me lass,” Logan said softly.

He’d begun kissing his way down her throat again, confession apparently over, his mind on more important things.

Not that Stray minded. “And I thank you for it, my Logan,” she answered simply, pressing a quick kiss to his wrist then taking his lead, kissing his own throat gently. Pushing him down onto his back, her own, native hungers roaring back to life. Logan grinned at her enthusiasm and she at his, the realisation that this day was getting off to a truly wondrous start making both of laugh together-

And for the next few hours, wondrous is what things most certainly were…

Stray and Logan did not come out of the cave for a long time after that, but come out they eventually did.

After all, as Logan pointed out, they would have to find food if they were to keep up their strenuous… activities. And lovely as she was in her nakedness, Stray at least would have to find some clothes. Not that he particularly wanted to see her wearing them, he stressed, his grin wicked, his hands roaming, but it really wasn’t very fair on the other ladies that one so lovely should go unclad in front of their men folk-

Stray couldn’t have been entirely certain, but she suspected he was jesting through that last part.

Nevertheless, with a heavy heart and a decidedly uncooperative attitude to dressing- Logan may have stated that he wanted her wearing something but his attempts to keep her out of even his shirt and coat told a different story entirely- Stray and her Sunlight Lock eventually managed to get themselves looking vaguely presentable and made their way back to Shaw Manor. Their hands joined together, Stray’s flesh singing where it touched his- For it was true, she could touch someone that she truly wanted to touch. By the time they got to the great hall it was obvious that they had missed Shaw’s wedding: They came into the great hall to find Emmalaine seated at the head of the room on a raised dais, her bride’s diadem glittering on her head, her hand pressed firmly into Seneschal Shaw’s as if she were afraid someone was going to appear and run away with him-

And considering some of the creatures she had angered over the years, Stray supposed that was no idle fear.

To Frost’s right Duchess Shushanna sat hand in hand with a tall, distinguished-looking man who sported twin streaks of greying hair at each temple: This, Stray realised, must be her true husband, the King’s Alchemist Richard Stormholt. The man who’d once been a commoner called Richard Reed, the man from whom Latverius had spirited Shushanna away. Beside the Stormholts two small children played together at the edge of the dais, a blond girl and a dark-haired boy who looked so much like their mother there could be no doubt they were her kin. They laughed and capered, merry as only children can be, but when the Duchess looked at them Stray could see worry and doubt in her eyes. Could see the pain of a separation which had not been her choice but the work of the masked man Ororo had killed. Stray was not the only person to notice the Duchess’ distress: Other members of her retinue were ranged around the room, dancing and laughing, trying to engage her in their merriment- After all, it was a wedding.

Even if it had started out with a would-be-husband’s murder.

Nobody it seemed could succeed in distracting the Duchess though, despite their obvious attempts. Not that it stopped the party from trying, or moving at its own, hectic pace. Stray watched as the merry, red-and-blue clad page she had spied earlier led a pretty blond girl close to his own age through a quadrille, swinging her up and around with such deftness and grace that Stray was tempted to think the boy one of the Cursed. He looked almost like he could climb the bare walls. Beside him Gainsborough danced, dressed to the nines in a gentleman’s doublet and hose, swirling Kitty Shadowskin. Petya looked on jealously, Illyenka seated on his knee. Every so often a muscle in his jaw would clench as Gainsborough whispered sweet nothings in his former wife’s ear, the reaction making Stray frown.

“So no change there then,” Logan muttered to her, and Stray found she had to agree.

“He’d best get used to the notion of sharing her,” Logan added, but she was too wise to say anything to that.

Not that it mattered though: There were far too many other interesting things going on for Stray to dwell. Anthony Ironclad was seated by the massive fireplace, a lovely redheaded woman to his right: Her body was covered in armour as lethal and shining as his own and she had an open, happy smile. Stray heard someone refer to her as Lady Phillipa, but since nobody made any formal introductions she couldn’t be sure this was the woman’s name. And the lady was hardly dressed to dance, so she wouldn’t get to ask. Beside her sat the woman Stray had spied earlier wearing widows-full-morning: She had her head bent closely towards a muscular, compact man who wore an archer’s ring on his thumb and a soldier’s leathers, one hand wrapped around his with a fierce possessiveness which Stray suspected she could understand. The archer’s eyes were covered as if he had been blinded, and from what Stray could see his skin was greyish and sickly, its surface cut and cross-hatched with a multitude of scars and marks. His lady was clearly upset, trying to coax him into eating something: Stray heard Anthony Ironclad call him Lord Barton, telling him to do as his Natenne bid him before she started trying to mother everyone else. At his words Stray started, realising that he must be the famous Blackhawk, head of the King’s Guardsmen-

But the rumour was that he had been accused of treason several years ago by Victor Latverius. Ballads had been sung in mourning for his loss. What in Mab’s name, Stray wondered, would he be doing here?

For the only reason the Blackhawk would come would be if he were reinstated into his duties by the King, a King who had been invited to his favourite Seneschal’s wedding…

The spring maid- no, she amended to herself, she was a summer dam now she’d given her heart and her maidenhead- Shuddered at the thought of it, a chill running through her for the first time that day. For whatever understanding the Company of Miracles had found here would be undone if the King arrived: His hatred of the Cursed was oft-told and well-known, and he had personally written the Proclamation which had designated all the Cursed as bound-beyond-law. Many who had stood against him had been sent to their deaths for their trouble; It was said that the very walls of his palace had wept for the untold numbers of the dead. Stray swallowed, worry peaking as she reached down and took Logan’s hand, suddenly in need of reassurance. One look at Gainsborough alone would probably be enough to send the regent into fits, and if he was coming to the wedding-

If he was coming to the wedding then she, her mate and the entire Company of Miracles would do well to begin planning their departure. Now.

Logan frowned, sensing the change in her mood. Cocking that eyebrow at her, the question so obvious he did not have to give it voice. Stray tried her best to be discrete, gesturing towards Barton with her eyes; She could only hope that he understood the import of the blinded man’s presence without her having to endanger them both by saying it out loud. Logan followed her line of sight, frowning, knowing that there was something wrong but not really understanding what it was. His hand tightening in hers though, giving her his reassurance that all would be well. But before Stray could ponder how to further communicate she heard something which knocked the breath right out of her body, thoughts of Barton and what his presence might mean flying right out of her head. For suddenly there was a clarion call of trumpets and a sound of men- many men- marching-

And then the doors of the Great Hall flew open and suddenly every person in the room, noble, servant and Cursed alike, bent double, their blessing hand pressed to the ground, their face averted.

A massive, armour-clad man strolled into the room, Etienne de Rogeres and Ororo at his heels, his copper-toned armour flickering in the candlelight, an iron crown on his head, and in that moment Stray realised that the King had truly arrived.

For a moment there was absolute silence, fear hammering through the room. Every one of the Company of Miracles freezing in place, both Gainsborough and Petya moving stealthily to hide Katherine Shadowskin though she was surely in less danger of discovery than most. The music stopped, the musicians unwilling to raise their faces up; Even the cocksure Anthony Ironclad kept his face and that of his Lady turned resolutely downcast. And then, very slowly, Shushanna Stormholt got to her feet, a look of wariness and then slow-dawning wonder on her face. Her hands reaching out, beseeching, towards the man Stray knew must be the King. Shushanna let go of her husband’s hand, her fingers ranging out to gently stroke over the monarch’s chest, his face, like a blind woman trying to trace his features. Her hands coming up to cradle his cheeks, her blue eyes suddenly awash with tears. The King reached out, pressing one massive hand to the Duchess’s and in that moment Stray realised that what she had taken for armour in fact looked more like dullish, copper-coloured rock. The pieces of it moving together as if it were living flesh or cunningly wrought armour, though if it was the latter they made not a single sound. For a moment she could not understand what she was seeing and then the answer came to her, obvious to anyone who knew the history of the Summerlands, the import of it dizzying-

The man who is King is one of the Cursed, Stray thought dizzily, who would have thought it?

But he can’t be- Richard isn’t- it was his brother Benjamin who was rumoured to be the Cursed one.

And Victor Latverius slew Benjamin many years ago…

But then the newcomer said the words that sealed his fate and told everyone in the room just who they were in the presence of. Told everyone just how much Ororo had changed the course of the Twelvelands’ fate when she took her revenge on Victor Latverius. “Suzette,” the King said softly, “Suzette, I knew you would recognise me…”

Duchess Shushanna reached out, stroking his cheek again and slowly, hopefully, smiled.

“Benjamin,” she said softly, “My dear Benjamin, is that really you? Have you really returned to us..?”

The stone-fleshed King nodded, reaching down to press a kiss to the Duchess’s knuckles. “Aye, little one, I am restored to my throne.”

In that moment a great yell of joy suddenly moved through the room, the assembled people throwing themselves to their feet with a great, happy howl. The realisation that the King was one of their own making the assembled Cursed clap and grin. Duchess Shushanna threw her arms around the King as if he were a long-lost brother, which, Stray realised, in many ways he was: For the man before her was not King Richard, Hammer of the Cursed, the man who had hated them with so much passion that he had declared them all wolfsheads. No, the man before them was his brother, the true and legal heir, King Benjamin, the man the ballads said had raised Shushanna Stormholt as a child. The man the ballads had called the Stone Prince.

And now, Stray thought, her grin widening, he was the Stone King.

“Benjamin,” Shushanna was saying joyfully, “Oh thank the Goddess you have returned to us. But how- When-?” And then understanding moved through her eyes. “It was Latverius’ death which did it, wasn’t it?”

King Benjamin nodded. “When word reached his people they finally let me go: They had not wished to keep me prisoner but dared not disobey the King’s Conjuror. After that it was merely a matter of facing my treacherous brother and taking back the throne that was rightfully mine.” He gestured to Ororo and then, surprisingly, to Gainsborough.

Stray and Logan both laughed as the blue man gave the room a dashing bow.

“I had help though, do not think I did not,” the King continued. “But thanks to my loyal subjects, Cursed and Uncursed alike, I have persevered and returned to you, and now I can set about restoring our realm to rights. This man-” he nodded again to Gainsborough, “Came and rescued me, at the bidding of Etienne de Rogeres. Saved me, when a guard would have done me harm. And this woman here,” he gestured again to Ororo, “rid me of Victor Latverius and helped restore to my proper place. Bowed down and showed fealty to me, though I am told my brother’s reign did her a grave harm and robbed her of her beloved husband. Neither of these fine people had to help me, for both are Cursed and have been treated unjustly during my brother’s reign. But they still aided their liege in his time of need, and I will not forget it-”

And King Benjamin reached out and took Shushanna’s hand, placing it in Ororo’s to the obvious pleasure of the crowd.

Ironclad, de Rogeres, even Lady Barton smiled then, the black-clad woman whispering what the King had done in her blinded husband’s ear. Even Logan grinned and clapped, his usual tough-headedness softened by the obvious kindness with which the King was treating his friends. Stray brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it, blushing bright red when Lord Ironclad saw the gesture and laughed. Blushing even more brightly when Lady Phillipa scolded him for the actions. But the King was still speaking, and Stray supposed she had better listen.

She supposed they had all better listen, for such times as these were rare.

“I can think of no better place for a new beginning than a wedding, can you my little Suzette?” King Benjamin was saying, and the Duchess nodded, sharing a delighted grin with her own Duke Richard and her babes. Her daughter had bounded forward to be presented to his Majesty but the boy remained hidden shyly behind his father’s long legs. The King made sure to shake the boy’s hand though, another gesture which made the room smile. “So why don’t we celebrate as we are wont to do,” King Benjamin continued, “and begin my reign with laughter and lightness and a dance, eh?”

And with those words Duchess Shushanna raised the stone-flesh monarch’s arm above him and yelled out the only words that would suffice in such a situation:

“The King is dead,” she told the room, “Long live the King!”

And then she swung her monarch into a dance, the fine Duchess finally finding it in herself to smile.

And so that is the story of how I came to be here.