It took nearly another one and a half hours of walking to draw near The Starving One’s camp. Beowulf occasionally sniffed the air as they walked and then readjusted their course, but Priscilla was finally able to spot those speckled stones the sacrifices were supposed to follow. They were roughly the size of a closed fist, dark gray in color with peculiar white spots over the top.

  Priscilla had done her very best to keep Beowful engaged in conversation while they walked, even though the way his gaze lingered over her made her skin crawl. She reminded herself that enduring now would get them into a better position to help Illnyea later on.

  Beowulf had slung his club into the holster that was hidden by the wolf’s pelt, so Priscilla wasn’t afraid of him suddenly changing his mind and attacking them. It still could happen, of course, but they’d see it coming this time. Priscilla took the moment that Beowulf holstered his club to tuck the summoning stone away into her pack so he couldn’t get a good look at it.

  She first probed with, “How’s the operation in the fens doing? When the summoning stone didn’t work, Captain Azurin was worried something had gone wrong.”

  “It’s been boring,” Beowulf complained in a petulant tone. “Raven spends all her time calibrating the circles and Her Glory has been helping her when she isn’t too hungry to think.” Beowulf frowned and let out a drawn out sigh, as if dreading the future. “We were almost done with this assignment, but if the summoning really did go wrong, then they’re going to spend so much more time on it and Raven is going to be such a bitch about it. She's going to complain about having to recheck her work endlessly and Her Glory is going to have to soothe her ruffled feathers so Raven won’t be stuck in a depression spiral and make everything so much more difficult.”

  So the Raven was here then, and it seemed that the goal of being in the fens was to test out the summoning stone like Priscilla thought.

  The Raven was the Wolf’s foil, taking a more intellectual approach to helping The Starving One and specialized in using runes to both create traps for her enemies to fall into and buff her allies. Priscilla glanced at Beowulf’s chest, where something had been drawn in a red liquid that looked suspiciously like dried blood in the way that it flaked. The design was in the same strange runic language that had been carved into the summoning stone, so the Raven probably had painted it onto the Wolf’s skin. While Priscilla couldn’t be sure what exactly those runes did, she guessed it increased Beowulf’s physical capabilities.

  A glance at the part of the club that wasn’t hidden beneath the pelt revealed it too had light runes carved into its surface. Perhaps it made that electricity attack all the more potent or added an extra oomph when it was swung. The only way to know for sure was for Beowulf to use it and that was something Priscilla was trying desperately to avoid.

  “What do you do while they work?” Priscilla asked, letting the revelations fade into the back of her mind so she didn’t get too distracted.

  “It changes with each day,” Beowulf said with a casual shrug. “Hunt down monsters for Her Glory to enjoy, check the perimeter, play with sacrifices – I do whatever I think is most fun at the moment.”

  The man smirked at Priscilla that suggested the other type of fun he was interested in.

  Priscilla pretended to be affected by the expression and glanced away as if playing coy, asking, “What do you do with the sacrifices?”

  “It depends,” Beowulf said after a moment of silence, sounding a little disappointed. “Sometimes, Her Glory is hungry for some mundane meat and claims them, and those strong enough without an obstinate streak are put to work doing odd jobs for the others who follow Her Glory. But those who are useless are used as bait for the exotic meat Her Glory desires.”

  So there were hostages after all and that made everything even more complicated because Priscilla knew that neither Illnyea nor Kavil would allow her to leave innocents behind.

  “We were meant to have a new one two days ago,” Beowulf continued, his lip pulled back into a snarl, “but that damned silver fox stole them through our fingertips, and killed an entire patrol unit while she was at it.”

  Oh fuck yeah, Illnyea, rock their shit.

  Priscilla kept her joy at that news hidden as she gave Beowulf a commiserating look.

  “You mentioned this fox before,” Priscilla said, keeping her body carefully relaxed as if this wasn’t the topic she hadn’t tried to steadily move the conversation towards. “How’d she end up in your sights anyway?”

  “She was traveling with some fools who planned to cut through our territory with pitiful defenses,” Beowulf said, his purple eyes crinkling with violent delight as he shared this tale. “The weak were easily dispatched and a few useful ones collected, but the fox was the only one who put up a true fight and got away – I didn’t mind it at first because the hunt is so much more satisfying when the prey thinks they have a chance of escape.”

  Priscilla took in a fortifying breath before saying, “It’s certainly more entertaining when you actually have a bit of a challenge instead of picking off sitting ducks.”

  “See, you get it,” Beowulf said, leaning into Priscilla’s space to sling an arm over her shoulder and pull her close. It took every ounce of self-control to not cringe away and keep her legs moving. His teeth were only an inch away from Priscilla’s head and she could see every single sharp point as he grinned at her. Priscilla could now say for sure it was blood on his chest because the smell of old blood filled her nose, mixing in with the musk of the pelt in an unpleasant combination.

  “Raven is always going on about ‘an easy kill being a safe kill,’” Beowulf continued, pitching his voice higher and mocking as he imitated the Raven, “but that’s just because she relies on those stupid little runes of hers instead of pure strength.”

  “Oh?” Priscilla said, trying to not breathe in too deeply. “Like the ones on your chest?”

  Beowulf scowled and pulled away to glare at Priscilla, his body language going stiff with displeasure. The expression was frightening with how his purple eyes went dark with anger and he drew himself up to his full height.

  “She wrote these on me, yes,” Beowulf growled, crossing his arms, “but it only enhances what’s already there.”

  “Of course it does,” Priscilla agreed easily. “Anyone who looks at you thinks that you could take on a Red Dire Bear bare-handed. Add in that magic you showed us, and I don’t know if our mercenary band could defeat you even if we all came at you at once. I was just wondering how much stronger it had made you when you’re already powerful.”

  It seemed Beowulf’s ego had been appropriately soothed by the compliments but thankfully he didn’t wrap his arm around Priscilla again, instead lacing his fingers behind his head.

  “Those bears are weak,” Beowulf said dismissively. “I barely have to try when I fight them, but with the Raven stupid runes, it takes just one punch to kill it if I don’t want to play with it. Let me tell you about the time I took on the two-tailed saber tooth tiger – now that was a fight that got my blood pumping.”

  Fear spiked within Priscilla but she kept shoved it deep inside of her. The madman could kill her with barely any effort but Priscilla just had to keep him entertained and occupied so he wouldn’t think to do so.

  Priscilla interjected here and there when it was required, but she didn’t try to bring the conversation back towards Illnyea and chose to just listen to Beowulf boast about the monster he’s killed for The Starving One over the years.

  They walked ever closer to the monster that wanted to eat her sister, ever closer to ending the cannibal's life.

  Asha’s anticipation was dark as it filled their bond, the artifact clearly showing just how ready it was to be wielded for violent means.

  Priscilla’s answering smile to the Wolf’s statement that they were almost there was finally real as she promised Asha, soon.

  …

  Sulaiman’s patience was wearing thinner and thinner the longer he followed behind Priscilla and the psychopathic wolf-man.

  When Priscilla first started spouting nonsense about meeting The Starving One, Sulaiman had been momentarily confused, his brain still stunned from the fact he had nearly died without even realizing he was in danger. Sulaiman could still feel the way his hair stood on end from how close the lightning flashed above his head.

  But when Priscilla called Sulaiman Lala, it snapped him out of his shock and let him realize what she was trying to do, attempting to portray herself as part of the organization in order to deescalate the situation.

  For a long moment, Sulaiman considered not going along with her plan because he wasn’t in the mood to play pretend again instead of burning the bastard down, especially not when he had to pretend to be so despicable, but then he met Priscilla’s eyes.

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  Though the rest of Priscilla’s body oozed casual confidence and ease, there was deep set fear in her dark green eyes that grew the longer that Sulaiman stayed silent. But it didn’t seem to be for herself, no, the stubborn idiot was afraid for him based on the way Priscilla went utterly still when the wolf-man looked at Sulaiman.

  So, Sulaiman decided to go along with Priscilla’s plan and listened to the lies she so expertly spouted without a beat of hesitation. Even though Sulaiman knew it was utter bullshit, Priscilla weaved the disparate facts together in a way that made it all sound so believable. The wolf-man’s body language began to relax as Priscilla answered his questions in a way that provided such tidy, reasonable explanations.

  For a moment, Sulaiman wondered if Priscilla lied to him that easily, if anything she had told him was true.

  But Priscilla kept drawing the wolf-man’s attention back to her whenever it wavered, making herself a target by opening her mouth again and again before squeezing their shoulders with shaking hands in a way that was likely meant to reassure them, and Sulaiman scolded himself for that thought.

  Priscilla had proved too many times that she was willing to sacrifice herself to ensure that Sulaiman was healthy and whole. Her disregard for her own safety was infuriating and the way she attempted to hide her pain made Sulaiman want to scream.

  When Priscilla had looked up at Sulaiman several hours ago, eyes filled with tears that made her green irises glitter like jewels while she bled out from a wound she got by prioritizing Sulaiman’s safety, she didn’t cry out, didn’t complain or say anything at all.

  Instead, the idiot smiled, as if to reassure Sulaiman that everything was alright and that – that was too much to bear when he had already been so close to losing control, the roar of a bonfire echoing through his mind.

  Priscilla was a liar, yes, and a good one at that, but Sulaiman would not repay someone who saved his life with distrust. She acted like a madwoman sometimes, but there was always a method to her madness and Priscilla rarely acted without a goal in mind.

  Sulaiman would just have to trust her once more.

  Sulaiman fell in line with Kavil as they walked, whose eyes stayed fixed on the back of Priscilla’s head as the wolf-man (Sulaiman refused to give the man the dignity of referring to him by name) leaned in close to her. Kavil was clearly struggling with the fact that Priscilla had made herself a target to take the wolf-man’s attention off him.

  “In more ways than one,” Priscilla replied in the same tone of voice she had used to flirt with them in Aidais’ Lament.

  Kavil went stiff, his mouth parting as he stared at Priscilla with a complicated expression like he wanted to say something. But Sulaiman bumped him with an elbow and shook his head firmly. They didn’t have time for Kavil to interrupt and draw attention back to them when Priscilla was doing an expert job at being a distraction.

  Sulaiman didn’t like the way the wolf-man looked at Kavil earlier, like he was a young buck whose neck could be easily snapped, and he was glad that Priscilla hadn’t let that go on for very long.

  Kavil caught himself before speaking and his expression returned to something more neutral, though clearly still unhappy.

  Soon, however, it was Kavil’s turn to keep Sulaiman in check when Sulaiman realized that the wolf-man was hunting Illnyea. Sulaiman had taken a step closer without thinking, hand drifting to his sword as rage curled around his thoughts at the thought of his oldest friend in danger.

  He had always struggled with his anger, but in that moment Sulaiman wanted to give in and burn down the entire accursed swamp if it gave him the chance to reduce the wolf-man to ashes. As the wolf-man taunted him by calling him Lala like Sulaiman was some sort of show dog, Sulaiman felt his self-control slipping as his magic surged to answer him, itching to let loose the black flames to swallow everything in its path.

  But then Sulaiman caught sight of Priscilla’s face.

  Her expression was frozen in faux interest with a smile that was on the edge of crumbling and she had gone so still she didn’t look like she was even breathing. Priscilla’s green eyes were dark with fear, her eyelids shaking from the force of keeping them open as if she couldn’t afford to blink.

  Even though she was clearly terrified, Sulaiman saw that Priscilla’s hand hovered near her dagger as if she couldn’t be sure that Sulaiman could control himself.

  The sight of Priscilla’s irrational fear for Sulaiman cut through his rage like a bucket of water tossed over a fire. Not enough to put out the coals beneath, but just enough for Sulaiman to regain control of his magic and himself.

  It was a delicate balancing act from there, as each time the wolf-man spoke, Sulaiman’s temper threatened to raise its head, a seductive croon in his ear to let loose flames and burn that disgusting wolf pelt and leave the wolf-man's skin black and crispy. Every word that came out of that psychopath’s throat was another reason to slit it and watch the blood drain from his body.

  The way that Priscilla carefully pried information out of the wolf-man was one of two things that helped Sulaiman to stay his hand and he tried his best to process the implications of what was revealed. Kavil’s presence was the other, the other man bumping his arm against Sulaiman’s every few minutes. It may have just been a method to soothe himself, but Sulaiman took it as a reminder that if he lost his temper, there was more than just his own life at stake.

  Illnyea’s fate swirled around Sulaiman’s mind.

  With how deadly just one day in the fens could be, there was no telling what had happened to her so far. Without Priscilla’s obsessive knowledge of monsters, their trio would have been far worse for wear, and Sulaiman knew that Illnyea rarely picked up a book unless she was forced to.

  Curse Illnyea’s bleeding heart for drawing the cannibal’s attention by sticking her nose where it didn’t belong – curse both these sisters for their incessant need to protect those around them rather than showing a single thread of self-preservation. Curse the way they threw themselves in danger, curse the way they smiled as if that simple gesture made everything else okay because it didn’t.

  The wolf-man laughed obnoxiously at a joke Priscilla made and Sulaiman couldn’t hold back his sneer. The wolf-man was so easy to fool, so eager to have his ego stroked that he didn’t question the way that Priscilla refused to let the conversation turn back towards her cover story.

  Illnyea didn’t deserve to be hurt by the hands of such a pathetic man that took pleasure in inflicting pain and looked at Priscilla like she was a piece of meat he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into.

  Illnyea was one of the few things in the world that was good, and Sulaiman hoped beyond hope that these wretched fens hadn’t tainted her innate generosity and kindness that had led her to extend her hand to Sulaiman all those years ago.

  Even now, Sulaiman didn’t know what possessed Illnyea to do so. Illnyea had only been six years old and full of life in a way that Sulaiman had never encountered before on the streets or in the orphanage. When she smiled with three front teeth missing, it had been blinding when Sulaiman realized it was a true smile, the second one that he could ever recall being sent his way.

  (The first had been Aldren and that… that hadn’t ended well.)

  Sulaiman didn’t want to let Illnyea get close to him because he knew it would only bring them both pain, but she was stubborn even then, and wormed her way into his life like a parasite, showing up to the orphanage again and again and demanding to play together. He hadn’t wanted to open his heart to her, but over the years, Sulaiman had come to realize that Illnyea was the closest thing he had ever had to family, the only person who might mourn him when he died and lay a flower upon his grave.

  Illnyea would survive this.

  There wasn’t any other future Sulaiman would consider.

  The wolf-man said that they were almost at the cannibal’s camp and Sulaiman couldn’t take not knowing Illnyea’s whereabouts anymore. He slipped his hand into his pocket where the marble made of Illnyea’s blood and orichalcum rested and curled his fingers around it.

  It barely took a thought to imbue mana into the device and the marble warmed in Sulaiman’s grip. The marble was warmer than it was before, but as Sulaiman subtly twisted, the marble wasn’t tugging in the direction the wolf-man was taking them, and it was somewhere east of their current position.

  The wolf-man stilled and then sniffed the air. He spun on his heel and stared at Sulaiman, the wolf mask shifting so Sulaiman could see how the psychopath’s pupils were dilated in unnaturally purple eyes.

  “Why do you smell of the silver fox?” the wolf-man asked, taking a menacing step forward as he unslung the club from his back, letting it drag against the soggy ground. Sparks of electricity shot off it, crackling as it hit water.

  Sulaiman did his best to channel Illnyea’s faux innocence when she was caught, cutting off the flow of mana as he said, “I do?”

  Priscilla sniffed dramatically, stepping forward quicker than the wolf-man and adopting a confused expression as she sniffed at Sulaiman.

  “What does the fox smell like?” Priscilla asked, tilting her head in a way that had her long ponytail block Sulaiman from the wolf-man’s direct line of sight. “I know Lala smells, but it seems to just be the regular stink we get while traveling.”

  Sulaiman resisted the urge to glare at Priscilla and tried his best to look puzzled at the wolf-man’s accusation.

  The wolf-man shifted to study Sulaiman, his gaze raking over Sulaiman like a collector does to a butterfly pinned under glass. Sulaiman didn’t make a single move that could be interpreted as aggressive as the wolf-man glanced between him and Priscilla with suspicious eyes.

  “It must have been a scent on the wind,” the wolf-man said and he turned, beginning to stalk back down the path. He didn't put his club away, instead having it lean against his shoulders like he was prepared to swing it at Sulaiman at any moment.

  Priscilla gave Sulaiman a look that was likely meant to convey a myriad of swear words meaning, ‘what did you do?’

  But Sulaiman didn’t want to reveal the marble or speak of it aloud when it seemed the wolf-man had extraordinary senses, so Sulaiman just shrugged.

  Priscilla pursed her lips, unhappy, but she took a deep breath and the false smile slid back into place like it was natural before Priscilla retook her place by the wolf-man’s side.

  Kavil raised his eyebrows after they resumed walking. Sulaiman glanced at the pair ahead of them, who had fallen into a conversation about how Firebog Wolf meat was apparently ‘spicy.’

  Sulaiman shifted so the marble was at the edge of his pocket and Kavil’s eyes widened.

  “Is she?” Kavil mouthed, gesturing ahead of them with his head.

  Sulaiman shook his head and Kavil frowned, biting his lip.

  But before they could continue their silent communication, a familiarly horrible scent filled the air. It was like they had stepped over a barrier that kept smell hidden as all Sulaiman could now focus on was the overpowering scent of blood.

  “Welcome to Her Glory’s camp, Scylla,” the wolf-man said, throwing out his arms as if he was presenting Priscilla with a high class hotel.

  As he stared at the horrible camp before him, the only thought that Sulaiman could focus on was that he wanted to burn it all until only soot and smoke remained as the only evidence that it once existed.

  But Sulaiman could not give into that instinct and instead grit his teeth as he followed Priscilla into the cannibal’s den.