“She was using you. You understand that, right? She was using magic to enchant and manipulate you. You must get that?” Luchar’s voice was bright and high, springing from one word to the next. He was taking wide steps, carefully inserting his narrow leather boots though the thinnest patches of bramble. Each step seemed, in Bridget’s estimation, to take most of the day. 

The three of them had spent over an hour looking for a stretch of bramble thin enough to pass through without cutting their way through. Finding the least dense brush had been Luchar’s idea. Bridget had wanted to simply force her way through the first wall of thorns they had come across. 

Still ignoring Luchar’s questions. Bridget moved a hand near the still-glowing cord of white-blue light around her neck. The Fion had looped it there after their battle–after her defeat, she thought. That thought smarted like a slap across the face. She was a better swordswoman, but she had yielded in the end. And now she had a collar around her neck. Her blood ran hot. 

Twisting up her mouth and biting hard into her cheek, Bridget slammed a greave-protected boot down through the brambles with a satisfying series of cracks and pops. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Luchar said in the same lively cadence. 

At Luchar’s phrase, Bridget’s body recoiled reflexively, and the image of her writhing in pain on the ground–Luchar hovering hungrily over her–came unbidden to her mind. She clenched her teeth, and her cheeks flushed bright red. 

“Do what?!” Bridget snapped. Luchar was taking too long. The Princess was in danger. At best she was without food and shelter and unlikely to find either. At worst some creature of the forest might have her. She thought for a moment of Ago’s father and the tree. Her heart pounded in her throat as she toyed with Amaryllis’ pendant in her pocket. The image of The Princess split open and draped across a wall of brambles flashed in her mind. If that happened, she would never be able to forgive herself. 

“Make a mess of the brambles,” Luchar answered pleasantly, as if they were two friends having a playful conversation. “Haven’t you noticed how they’ve changed?” 

Bridget sighed. She had not noticed, not consciously at least. Looking at them now, however, she did note that they were greener than the walls of brambles they had come across before. When Bridget had been traveling with The Princess, the brambles had mostly been dead and brown. A gnarled mass of angry limbs grasping out with thorned fingers. These brambles were thicker, full of new growth and grasses. There were even small berries growing on some of the limbs. Blackberries by the look. The greenery and life was bizarre to see in the forest’s dim light. 

The dense canopy of evergreen branches above blocked out almost all of the daylight. Given the low light, the underbrush should, Bridget knew, be choked out and dying. It wasn’t. Bridget’s eyes narrowed.  

“It’s green. What of it?” Bridget snapped back. She lifted her other boot and prepared to drop it again. 

“I really wouldn’t,” Luchar offered from behind her with a high lilt.

Bridget felt her body betray her again, tensing in anticipation of the pain to come. The ex-knight bit her cheek in defiance and slammed her foot down. The collar at her neck crackled, and a searing pain shot through her neck and out across her body. Instantly her limbs seized, and she almost fell face first into the brambles below her. Her fingers flew to the collar still crackling around her throat, but the moment her fingers connected there was a loud, sizzling pop, and another wave of pain shot through her arms. “Cur! What was that for?” The pain was briefer and less intense than the agony she had felt when Luchar had her bound and writhing on the ground, but it was still enough to make her already short patience burn out. 

Luchar laughed merrily. “Cur? I wish I were as noble as a dog like you, Syr Pup.” 

“Why did you hurt me!?” Bridget demanded again, whirling to face him. 

“Pup?” Luchar met Bridget’s gaze and searched her face. His brow was gathered in concern, but a sneer was playing at his lips. “Whatever do you mean?” Luchar asked. “You hurt yourself by putting yourself in danger so recklessly.” His voice lilted high at the end. 

It seemed to Bridget that the pitch was too high, held too long. She did not know Luchar well, but she took it as mockery. “You used your magic. You hurt me with this.” Bridget jabbed a finger at the still glowing loop around her neck, careful not to make contact with the collar. 

Luchar met Bridget’s gaze. He held it for a long moment, unblinking. “I have no notion of your meaning.” He continued to hold her gaze for another long moment. 

Bridget returned the gaze unblinkingly, unwilling to be intimidated. She noticed for the first time that his eyes were hazel, although it was difficult to make them out underneath the ring of kohl around them and the tousled locks of hair over them. She felt her cheeks redden further. 

His lips split into a satisfied smile. “Regardless, I think you should be careful tromping through these woods. They are The God’s Wood, and they–as you might infer–do not belong to us.” Luchar glanced down to the broken brambles around Bridget’s feet. “You might be abusing someone’s prized possession.” 

Bridget looked down at the brambles with renewed distrust. She picked up her boot and moved it a little more carefully through the bramble with her next step.

“Good pup.” His voice was a warm hum, and Bridget raged at her heart for skipping as she heard it.  “As I was saying, you know she was enchanting you.” 

“Do not call me pup,” Bridget snapped, still facing away toward the brambles.

“Well, I cannot call you hound. That is our dear companion Heidrun. Dog, perhaps? Puppy or lapdog might be most appropriate all things considered,” he offered. 

Bridget twirled and caught his eyes again. “You will call me Bridget, or you will regret referring to me.” 

“Bridget, then. I am nothing if not accommodating to beautiful women,” Luchar smiled wickedly, his eyes twinkling. 

Bridget rolled her eyes. “So if I smash these brambles, some old god will come out of the Aesvithr and devour me.” 

Luchar shrugged, “Stranger things have happened. But all this is nothing but a weak parry. You know I’ve hit true. She was manipulating you.” He stuck out his tongue just enough to place the tip in the middle of his growing grin.  

Bridget held his gaze a little longer, her lips tightening as she stared him down. She could feel her blood begin to boil. She wanted to reach out and grab the young warrior’s jaw. “What do you mean?” Bridget turned around again and continued through the brambles, hoping to increase Luchar’s pace by example.

Luchar's voice followed after her, still unhurried and pleasant. “Do not play dumb with me. You know what she did. I’ve seen the crystal in your pocket. The evidence is right there.” 

Bridget toyed with the pendant in her pocket again. “If you are trying to besmirch the good name of Princess Amaryllis, I will draw on you–collar or no.” 

“I don’t think you should do that either, but I’ve been parried again.” She could hear him hop daintily from one thin patch to another behind her. “Worry not, Syr Knight, your secret dies with me. I promise not to tell anyone else, apart from Heidrun. She’s listening to all of this, surely, and already knows regardless. So, out with it, admit that you knew she had you ensorcelled.”

She maintained her pace, sliding her greaved feet around the branches as carefully as she could without slowing down. Bridget was furious with being ignored. The cur had shocked her and then denied it. She would return the favor then, she decided. 

“I understand, Syr Knight. Bending the knee before a beautiful lady as she empties out your head and makes you a useful servant? You would not be the first to enjoy such a thing. I could imagine relishing a pleasure like that. There is no shame in it.” He giggled. “Well, no more shame than you wish there to be.” 

Bridget was blushing furiously now. She imagined The Princess’ foot pressed into her face and felt a wave of shame. She was being goaded again, she knew. Trying desperately to reign in her anger and embarrassment, she took in a deep breath and spoke, “Luchar, I do not know what you mean. Her Grace had me as a knight in her service.” Hearing the sentence in the past tense made her want to heave, but she pushed through the nausea. “She is the only member of the Sinnach Household I ever saw use magic, and I only ever saw her use it on Heidrun.”

Luchar stopped. 

Bridget felt another spike of anger. He needed to keep moving. They needed to find The Princess and keep her safe.

“You actually don’t know.” Luchar murmured.

Bridget wheeled on her feet again. “Know what!? Luchar, Princess Amaryllis is out there, and we have to help her. She could die.” Hot tears were forming at the edge of her vision.

Luchar’s mouth hung open, his brow was furrowed, and his eyes were wide and… wet? Bridget stopped and blinked. Luchar had tears in his eyes–Luchar? All the mockery and ironic distance was gone from his face. 

“By the Lords and Gods, girl,” Luchar whispered. “She,” Luchar took in a deep breath scanning the air in front of himself for the words, “she used magic to control you. It’s common practice in the Sinnach Household. The royal family practices enchantments that bend wills and control minds. From what I’ve heard, they subject all of their servants to it for years before allowing them near the royal family. They do it to the knights as well. Household knights, as I understand it, are subjected to particularly thorough mental bondage.”

Bridget felt her blood run cold. Her gaze had never left Luchar’s, and now she refused to allow it to wander from his face. She searched every inch of his face for deception–any hint of irony. She found none. “You’re a liar,” she spat, and turned to continue moving through the brambles below her. 

“Thank you for being more careful as you walk,” Luchar offered, his voice bright and pleasant again. 

The way he refused to acknowledge her anger made her furious. She had called him a liar, and he had merely brushed it off and bounced back to the same merry cadence. 

“It’s true though. You have the evidence in your pocket–that gem? That’s what she used, you know.” 

“It’s a symbol of her station and royal blood. It’s a rock.”

“So you don’t remember Amaryllis holding that stone up in front of you while it was glowing? You don’t remember her giving you commands while she did?”

Bridget stopped again. The drive to keep searching for The Princess was still there, but for the first time another desire tempted her from it. “She did the night she left. The night I attacked her and was rightly degraded for it.” 

Luchar, slow careful steps and all, closed the distance between them, stopping to stand next to her. He looked over at her, trying to catch her gaze from the side. “So she did use her magic to control you?” He tilted his head a little and, placing a long index finger against his chin, allowed himself a faint smile as he carefully scanned her face.

“I attacked her,” Bridget stated firmly. She picked up her feet and began to carefully pick through the brambles again. The drive and excitement was gone now though. She felt distant, as if she were floating outside her body. 

“After she forced you to look at the glowing crystal and…” Luchar let the words hang. “What did she tell you before you ‘attacked’ her, Syr Knight?” Luchar’s voice was dripping with irony as he borrowed Bridget’s description of the assault. 

Bridget’s heart pounded in her ears. She tried to ignore it. “It matters not. There is no excuse for my actions.” 

“I don’t think you should do that,” Luchar offered merrily. 

Bridget froze before she thought about it; anger rose in her at her body’s reflexive response. “I’m being careful,” she gestured toward her feet. “Not that a Sidhe would care. They’re monsters. Not gardeners.” 

Luchar walked a pace, closing the distance between them again, and craned his neck up to meet her gaze. “Oh no, your steps are careful. Well done in that, Syr Pup. I mean I don’t think you should deflect and parry every opportunity to think about Amaryllis.” Luchar giggled, extending the finger that had been at his chin into Bridget’s belly. It bounced harmlessly off her braced muscles. Luchar blushed visibly, “My, those are muscles.” He giggled, raising his eyebrows in interest. “But as I was saying, a good knight learns from her mistakes, does she not?”

“I am no knight.”

“Humor me all the same. You have made an unforgivable mistake. Is it not your duty to interrogate that mistake and learn all you can from it, lest you fail in your duties again?” 

Bridget’s head spun. It was true enough. She wanted to push him aside–insist she wasn’t a knight. He was right though. “She…” Bridget felt a lurch in her stomach. She tried to recall what The Princess had said, but it would not come. There was only a chaotic mix of memories–Amaryllis standing over her, the gem glowing, Her Grace’s foot on her face. Her pace quicked and her cheeks flushed. “I do not recall what she said, exactly.”

“Well done, Syr. You didn’t parry!” Luchar said, a wide grin beaming on his face. He stuck out his tongue again. Nestling the tip in the center of his smile. His eyes narrowed as his cheeks grew round. For a moment, the long sharp lines of his face softened. 

Bridget felt a wave of relief. She hated Luchar, but the praise was nice. It reminded her of Golla, her first master at arms. After being recruited to Castle Ogh’ir, he had been the first to train her. Golla had been stern and demanding, but never once had he failed to praise Bridget when she was on mark. “Why don’t I recall?” Bridget stopped and turned to meet Luchar’s gaze.

“Perhaps, she enchanted your volition and your memory,” Luchar extended all ten fingers toward Bridget and wiggled them in mock spell-work. “Or, it was an upsetting and frightening night, making it hard to sort out what happened through all the passion and excitement.”

“Perversity is not passion.” Bridget replied curtly. Her lips narrowed and she diverted her gaze to the brush below.

“Oh I could not disagree more, dear knight, but you’re attempting to deflect the blow again.” 

Bridget furrowed her brow. She tried to bring up the memories of that night again. The Princess had ordered her to feel her desire even more intensely and denied her… She saw her hands sliding a knife through The Princess’ bodice, like some highwayman ravishing a noble woman. Her stomach lurched and the blood fled from her head. She almost toppled over but managed to throw out a hand to clasp Luchar’s shoulder. 

Luchar, to Bridget’s surprise, threw out his shorter arm and braced hers with his own. His free hand shot forward–an offer of more support. “That bad, is it?” Luchar searched her face for a moment. “Well done for now, dear knight, but perhaps it is best to take this journey one step at a time. Can you agree though, that she used her magic on you?”

Bridget was dizzy. She wanted to cut herself out of her skin. She wanted to be anywhere else–anyone else–right now. She had washed away the mud of the gully, but she had never felt more thoroughly covered in filth. “Yes, she did. It wasn’t the first time either, was it?”

“No, likely not, Syr Pup.” Luchar said, sighing heavily and gradually loosening his support on Bridget’s arm. 

Bridget still could not bring herself to meet the other warrior’s gaze. She occupied herself by tapping the pommel of her sword instead. “I must have always been a monster if she had to exert that much control over me.”

Luchar rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, “Zounds, you are a wreck, pup.” He hummed with concern and paused a long moment before speaking again. 

Bridget turned to meet his eyes, intending to glare at him angrily, but there was a softness in his darkly-ringed eyes that forced her to look away before the younger warrior noticed the tears forming at the edges of her eyes.

Luchar pretended not to notice. “And we were making such good progress. Ah well, for now, I will merely offer that violating a person’s mind is the only monstrous thing I’ve heard you describe so far.”

There was a rustling high in the canopy above them then. Reflexively, Bridget drew her blade and turned her back to Luchar. 

Scanning the canopy above, she saw the contorted visage of the monster from the cabin. Rapidly, the rest of the creature’s body emerged from the dense evergreens. Bridget shuddered to see it. The creature’s long limbs extended and folded, doubling back and twisting to grab a branch or propel the creature’s body forward. In a few moments, the thing was hanging in front of them, suspended from a leg and arm. The other two limbs hung ready like the pedipalps of some enormous arachnid. 

Even hanging horizontally as it was, the creature spanned seven feet or more from the tree branches down to the brambles at their shins. 

“Is this harlot worming her way into your head, little knight?” the creature hissed through a mouthful of needle-like teeth. The Dearg Due’s rasping voice still unnerved her. It sounded less like a human voice and more like a rock-filled brook that happened to form words.  

Bridget lowered her sword slightly. Furrowing her brow at the creature’s words, the creature must have been referring to Luchar. She turned to scan the Fion’s face. The ex-knight noted that Luchar’s lips were downturned, and his eyes had lost their softness. She decided to ignore it for now. “Are you sure we can trust The Dearg Due?”

A loud hiss came from the creature in the trees, “My name is Heidrun, little pup.”

Bridget furrowed her brow and studied the creature’s contorted face. It was still breathing heavily from exertion, and a viscous lather was sliding down its dense cluster of needle-like teeth. As alien as the face was, the lengthening at the edges of its mouth and the tightening around its bulbous black eyes clearly read as annoyance to Bridget. For a moment she felt embarrassment at her faux pas. She tried to shake the feeling.  

“So little trust, Syr Pup. She needs to find The Princess as much as you do. We all need each other if we are to be successful in this venture.” Luchar was smiling again, glancing between the two of them. “Now, apologize and make up. I will not have my dogs fighting.” 

In the same moment, Bridget snarled and Heidrun hissed, and both turned to Luchar. Startling each other with their parallel reactions, the two turned again and caught one another’s gazes. 

Luchar giggled wildly. When his mirth finally subsided, he turned to the creature. “What did you find, Heidrun?” 

Before the creature could respond, Bridget interjected, “This monster tried to kill me and The Princess. You are a fool to trust it.”  

“Her. I am a fool to trust her,” Luchar corrected. “And I am no more fool to trust her than you are to trust me, Syr Pup.” 

“Do not call me that,” Bridget bristled, her hand tightened around the hilt of her still-drawn sword.

Luchar’s features darkened, and he raised his left hand, palm open for the moment. “I would not brandish that if I were you, pup.” 

Bridget’s heart skipped at the challenge. To her right she saw the creature–Heidrun–watching her intently. Her wounded pride flared. “Draw, Syr, if you’ve any honor at all. I am done being insulted by a wretch like you.” 

“I am a wretch, and I have no honor.” Luchar’s fading mirth quieted into a half-smile. “Put the sword away.” Luchar’s hazel eyes bore into her own for a moment. “Now.” His voice was surprisingly deep, and for a moment Bridget fidgeted, fighting the impulse to sheath her sword. Luchar’s eyes narrowed at the motion, and his smile gradually widened into a smirk that cut across the left side of his face. An arc of blue light snapped along his naked left arm. 

Bridget flinched again at the light. Anger coursed through her at that. Her body was her own, not Luchar’s. Bridget spat at the Fion’s boot. His eyes narrowed further, and she saw his fingers begin to curl. She wanted the bastard to grab his sword, so she could cut him down. She flicked the blade into a full plow guard and stepped forward hoping to bait the shorter warrior into drawing. Luchar closed his fist, and there was another loud crackling.

Before Bridget knew anything, she was balled up on the ground in pain. The wave was brief but searingly intense. Every muscle in her body was painfully tense. Her arms were curled against her chest, and her blade was lying forgotten in the brambles nearby. 

Luchar was already squatting above her, a blush forming on his cheeks. His left fist was half open again, tense and ready. He licked his lower lip and rolled it between his front teeth as he looked down at Bridget. “This really will not do, Syr Pup.” 

Bridget felt her pulse quicken at the title. She tried to glare at the Fion, but there was no anger in her body. The knight felt a heat rising in her own cheeks and a tingling between her legs as she stared up at Luchar. She was glad at having managed to stitch up her trousers. From this angle she could see his eyes clearly.  

“None of us can rescue The Princess without the others’ aid.” His voice was a pleasant sing-song again, and he was carefully scanning her face. “Our lady hound here knows more of these woods than either of us could learn in two decades. Isn’t that right?”  

Luchar turned and faced Heidrun. The creature had descended from the branches above and had closed the distance between herself and Luchar. She loomed above him–hunching to keep her head below the branches above, taloned hands half-raised. 

Luchar sneered at her and held up his left hand. 

Heidrun hissed and stepped back, “Truly, Lady Witch-Knight. You both need me if you want to keep from becoming a meal.”

Luchar nodded in agreement before turning back to Bridget who was beginning to relax and test her arms. A trickle of blood rolled down her forehead and into her right eye. She flinched and closed her eyes, and suddenly felt an arm around her. Luchar had reached down and was helping her to sit out of the thicket of thorned brambles. She must have cut herself on the thorns when she fell. She opened her right eye and saw Luchar, still cradling her in his right arm, reach to her forehead and wipe away the trickle of blood with his thumb. Her heart skipped a beat until she saw him pop the digit into his mouth. 

“Disgusting,” she cried and pushed him away. Fighting her shaking limbs, she managed to stand again. She began to search herself, quickly locating another half dozen cuts left by the thorns. 

Luchar rose as well, smiling around his thumb. He popped the digit from his mouth. The tip of his tongue followed and rested playfully at the center of his smile for a moment. Stretching happily, he turned to stand between Bridget and Heidrun. Luchar scanned Bridget again and noticed her cataloguing her wounds. “It hurts, I know,” he purred, his brow furrowed in concern. 

Bridget’s eyes widened and snapped up to meet Luchar’s. He stared back at her, the look of concern not leaving his face. 

“I am sorry, pup.” Luchar offered a hesitant smile on his lips. 

Bridget turned away and blushed. She felt like an idiot. Luchar was no friend. He had hurt her multiple times now, badly, but his praise still reminded her of Golla’s approval. She hated the fact that she wanted it. 

Luchar turned back to Heidrun. “Lady Hound, let us assuage our pup’s fears. Why do you need to find The Princess?”

Heidrun’s black eyes narrowed in distrust. She stared at him for a long moment before responding. “She has bound me. I cannot return to my home until the wench lifts her curse on me.” 

Luchar nodded, “And do you think you could find her on your own?” 

Heidrun relaxed at that. “No, I know for certain I couldn’t.”

Luchar’s eyes narrowed this time, but the expression quickly faded. “And you swear on your honor that you will not harm either of us until we find The Princess?” He asked, smiling widely. 

Heidrun let out a staccato of raspy scrapes that might have been a giggle. “I swear it on all the honor I have.” 

He turned to Bridget with a satisfied half-smile on his face. “See, she needs us. Just as much as you need her and me.” Luchar held her gaze a moment longer. He pushed a few errant strands of dark hair from his eyes. “Just as much as I need you, pup.” He was looking up at her, one eyebrow raised. 

A shiver went down Bridget's spine and her mouth contorted in frustration. The ex-knight’s limbs stung and her pride throbbed from Luchar’s earlier assault, but the urgency of both was fading a little as her pulse quickened. She stooped to pick up her sword and sheathed it to buy herself time to collect her thoughts. “Fine, let us be off then. We need to find The Princess.” 

“Uh uh uh,” scolded Luchar, wagging a finger at her. “You and Heidrun are going to be like litter mates from now on, pup. You need to apologize for insulting her earlier and promise to address her respectfully.” The smile on Luchar’s face never wavered as he studied Bridget’s expression.

Bridget felt her pride flare again, but took a deep breath. She turned to Heidrun and sighed. “I am sorry, Madam Heidrun. I will address you with respect, if it pleases.” 

Heidrun snorted. “I care not for your titles and pretense, lapdog. Do not call me Dearg Due or ‘it.’ I am no royal or madam, but I am a woman.”

Bridget’s brow furrowed as she considered her statement. Perhaps she had been hasty to conflate this creature–Heidrun, she corrected herself–with whatever murdered Ago’s father. “My apologies, Heidrun. I shall remember that.” 

Heidrun’s eyes narrowed in surprise, and she stared unblinking at Bridget for a long moment. Finally, she shrugged. “All’s forgiven.” She smiled then and turned down to sneer at Luchar. “So thoughtful of you to see that we get along. You truly are like a mother hen with her chicks.”

Luchar snorted and then giggled. “Perhaps I am,” he admitted, his cheeks reddening a little. 

Bridget was still standing, watching the two, brow furrowed ever more deeply with confusion. “Why does she keep comparing you to a woman?” 

Heidrun let out another series of raspy laughs and flicked a talon gently against Luchar’s cheek. “Because the little thing is moon-touched.”    

Luchar’s eyes went wide, and he sucked his teeth in anger.

Bridget stopped then and tried to catch Luchar’s gaze, but he kept his eyes on the ground. “Is that true?” 

Luchar’s eyes flitted to Bridget’s and down again. “This is folly. We are wasting time.” 

Bridget smiled wolfishly. “Now who is deflecting blows, Syr?”

Luchar snorted, but it was short and sharp, his lips curling downward in anguish. “I am, but you are aiming your point at old wounds that festered and never healed,” he replied, turning and beginning to carefully place his narrow boots through the brambles again. 

“And you were not?” Bridget replied, easily closing the gap between them in a stride.

Heidrun laughed again, following not far behind. 

Luchar stopped and turned, finally meeting Bridget’s gaze. He shrugged, “What if it is so? What does it matter?” 

Bridget’s eyes went wide. “Why did your parents not care for you?!”

Luchar flinched at that and closed his eyes. “The Lord Teahan was not a caring man. He…” Luchar began walking again.

Bridget kept pace at his side, waiting for him to continue. Eventually she offered, “Your father?”

Luchar nodded. His eyes still on the brambles as he walked. “He cared not to hire a witch-nurse, and he cared even less to pay for a daughter’s dowry.” He sneered as if he had made some witty jest. “It was a great relief to him when the Citadel agents came and demanded he relinquish me, I am sure.” Luchar refused to meet Bridget’s gaze, but she could see his eyes were glistening. His breaths came slow and shallow.  

She did not relent. “Surely you had access to all manner of magic arts at the Citadel. It would have been a simple thing.”

Luchar met Bridget’s gaze. Something like a smile was playing at his lips, but it was anemic and weak. “You keep making thrusts, Lady Knight,” Luchar’s smile widened a bit as he saw Bridget flinch at the title. “Perhaps we should trade blow for blow then?” He jabbed a finger into her sternum as he swallowed hard, choking something down. “Princess Amaryllis fucked with your head. Probably for years. She’s been using and abusing you. The whole royal family likely has for as long as you lived with them.” 

Bridget’s blood ran cold, but she did not flinch and her gaze did not leave Luchar’s. 

He stepped closer, a gleam in his eyes now, and a hungry smile on his lips. “What's more, you liked it. You are probably aching,” he drew out the word into a long moan and grasped at mock breasts at his chest, “for her to do it again even now.” His eyes were wild–searching hers.

Bridget remained stoic. “You are right. Well struck.” She shrugged and blinked away the tears forming at the corner of her eyes. “And you,” she extended a gauntlet-clad finger at Luchar. “Could have found the medicine you needed at the Citadel. What kept you? Were you too much a coward, cur? Or should I call you bitch instead?”

Luchar’s cheeks were suddenly flushed. “I’ve told you: I am no dog.” The younger warrior raised their arms in a shrug and attempted a laugh, but it was hollow and unconvincing.

Bridget continued to stare them down.

Luchar bit their lip hard. After pondering for a moment, they shook their head and sniffed, their eyes glistening. “The Fion of the Citadel tolerate no weakness. Any vulnerability would have been used to rip me to shreds.”

Bridget's face was stern, and she refused to release the young warrior’s gaze. “I don’t see any Fion around here.” She gestured to the walls of brambles on either side of them. 

“Do not bother. This one’s rotted in her shell,” Heidrun said between rasping chuckles. Bridget turned and saw that the blonde woman had resumed something of her mortal form. Her eyes were still too-large and inky black, and her teeth were thin needles, but her limbs had shrunk and her face had returned to the inscrutable, soft mask Bridget remembered from the cabin. “Changing all at once is a thing of the Otherworld, but the medicines she needs are common enough. Slow though they may be. If she was going to, she would have.” 

Luchar’s brow furrowed and their cheeks reddened further. Their gaze flicked between Bridget’s and Heidrun’s. “It matters not. I’ve been this,” their lips curled and their expression soured as they gestured at their body, “for all the years the Lords have watched over me. What claim do I have to say I’m something else?” 

Bridget’s heart sank at that. She remembered arriving at Castle Ohg’ir. Every fresh-faced recruit had been eager to prove himself her better. Golla had insisted that Bridget train harder than any of the others and prove each of them wrong, and she had, but she still remembered the terror of the early days when her victories were not certain. She still remembered the bruises that motivated that little girl to drill for hours on end. 

She searched Luchar’s face. “You lived for years fearing being torn apart for not being what you were supposed to be. That’s as much claim as any of us have.”   

Luchar held Bridget’s gaze for a long moment. Their eyes glistened and their lips parted, but no words came. For the briefest moment, Bridget thought she saw Luchar’s lip tremble. Finally, they spoke, “So say I am a woman; what difference does that make?” 

Bridget closed the distance between them and placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. She felt Luchar recoil slightly at her touch and paused, allowing her hand to hover over Luchar’s shoulder. They looked up at her, then, still searching her face. Bridget let her hand descend again and ran a thumb along their collar bone. “A great deal, and probably not enough.” 

Luchar sniffed again and turned away, rubbing their cheeks. The ex-knight noticed a black smear on their cheek behind the arc of their hand. 

Bridget stepped away to give them privacy as they walked.

Heidrun silently swept up behind Bridget, placing her mouth near the ex-knight’s ear. “I’ll warn you again, idiot girl.” Heidrun rasped half in a whisper. Bridget half turned in surprise and Heidrun met the ex-knight’s gaze. “Don’t fall for the little harlot’s act.” 

Bridget looked down her nose at Heidrun, “Is that so? And I suppose it would be terribly wise of me to trust the advice of a sidhe?”
 

“It would be wise of you to learn to trust yourself,” Heidrun replied coldly, her lips curling in a smile. 

As they continued to walk, Bridget noted that the canopy of evergreen branches above was rapidly becoming denser. After a few minutes, except for the dim glow of the collars around Heidrun and Bridget’s necks, there was no light at all. Scanning above her, she could not make out even a glimmer of daylight. She knew not enough time had passed for nightfall to have come. Her brow furrowed.

“I think we’ve wounded each other enough for now,” Luchar announced finally. “We need to stay focused. The Princess is still Lords know where in these woods.”

“No,” Heidrun stated simply, “she is not, I fear.”

Bridget and Luchar turned to her, eyebrows raised.

“Our little princess has wandered into The Otherworld.” The sidhe explained.