Preparations to move went smoothly. Soldiers bustled about, loading harpy feathers, claws, Barghest chains, furs, and other spoils. Instead of horses, the carriages were drawn by Borophaginae—hulking beasts closer to wolves than steeds.
The carriages themselves were larger than those I had grown used to, heavy things meant for long roads and harsher terrain.
The elves were busy with their own affairs. From the looks of it, they would be heading in a different direction altogether.
I sat by the castle window, stroking Regina's hair as she slept on my lap. I had brought her here to talk, but she'd drifted off almost as soon as we sat down. Her breaths were soft, steady—but there was a fragility to them that gnawed at me.
By the time the soldiers were finished, breakfast was ready: salted pork, a thick, savory soup with bread. Wine was served, lightening moods and loosening tongues.
After what we'd survived together, Derek pardoned us. He no longer spoke of us as prisoners or anything close to it. Sister Hilfe busied herself serving food, smiling warmly at each person she handed a bowl to. Something about her unsettled me. Was it her good nature? Did it grate against me because I was… something darker? A demon, perhaps, disturbed by kindness?
When it came time to depart, we loaded into the great carriages—Regina, Alpha, Mésos, Omega, and Natsuki with me. The nun rode in another, along with Derek's officers. Derek himself remained on horseback, his paladin captain astride a massive wolf. Not long before we set out, Sister Hilfe joined us, bringing Zira and one of her attendants.
The day was hot, oppressive, but the terrain and vegetation kept my eyes occupied. Regina slept again, curled against me.
Then—
"Halt! Who goes there?!"
The shout of a knight thundered from the front as the caravan lurched to a sudden stop.
Others left to see what was happening, but I remained behind. Regina needed me. Her meals were now mostly fluids—solid food was too hard for her to swallow. Worse, her voice faltered. She said nothing of it, of course. It was Omega who had told me in hushed tones, when Regina had dozed off.
"Regina's trying hard to hide it from you," Omega had whispered. "But it's painful to watch. I think her pride won't let her admit it."
The more I thought back, the clearer it seemed—her silence during our last conversation, the way she had relied on gestures instead of words. Even now, her hand twitched faintly in her sleep, like she wanted to speak but couldn't.
When the others returned, the catwoman was missing.
"Where's Natsuki? Who was at the front?" I asked, stroking Regina's hair absently.
"Oh, her?" Mésos answered with a shrug. "She left with some people who came looking for her. A horse hybrid from Clan Mǎ, and a samurai from the Dog Clan. Anyway, she's gone." She settled into a corner of the carriage, indifferent.
I swallowed, then asked the question that had been burning holes in me. "Is Regina going to be alright?"
Sister Hilfe's eyes flicked toward me, then away. Zira had already explained earlier that the sister couldn't help, and that even her own people were unsure. Natsuki, before she left, had said it seemed like something deeper—something written in blood, perhaps genetic. If anyone could help, it might be the dwarves.
That night, the caravan halted again. By dusk, the camp was transformed into a crude but functional bastion. Dinner was lamb soup and bread. Regina could only take the broth. Talking was nearly impossible now—she wrote instead, filling the pages of a small book with words.
I had glanced through it when she'd dozed. Names—hers, mine, her surname, mine—written again and again, tangled with little sketches, curious and half-formed. It wasn't much, but it was hers.
And it was slipping away.