We met the other two in the spa’s lobby, looking fresh and

  rested. Everyone’s fur was soft and shiny, and even La'a’s scales were

  burnished and practically glowing.

  She was in a great mood still, immediately leading us off

  down the main street to a place she’d heard about from her masseuse. “He

  said he’s never had a better roast fowl than the ones they make at the

  Golden Badger,” She enthused. “And they have a few bear chambers, I

  asked.”

  “Bear chambers?” My mind flashed to large hairy male couples.

  Ever chimed in again. “It’s easy slang for a room with a

  bigger bed. To accommodate the occasional Ursur, or others with

  particular needs.” She looked me up and down, pointedly.

  “Ah. Useful. So there folks bigger than me out there, huh?”

  La'a coughed, and Ever’s ears flicked back.

  “Eh, sorta?” Fiddle offered.

  I frowned at them all for a moment, but shrugged it off

  and took a deep breath. The sun was fully set now, and the street was

  illuminated with a combination of oil lamps and ’caged’ fairies of

  various shades. The night air was crisp and full of friendly scents:

  wood smoke and roasting meat coming from every direction, nearly

  drowning out the background clamor of dust and bodies.

  The building La'a led us to was one of the strongest

  sources of the wonderful, meaty smells, as well as light, laughter, and

  music from inside. I couldn’t help but smile at the welcoming ambiance

  that flooded out with the opened doors.

  Inside, a lion man in a multicolored coat played an

  instrument and sang from a small stage on the far side of the large

  room. Several raccoon girls in cute green dresses flitted gracefully

  between tables, and an older raccoon man staffed a bar near the

  entrance.

  “Welcome!” he said, turning to us. “You four all together? Here for drinks, or dinner?”

  Ever stepped up, surprising me a bit. “Yes, we’d like dinner, as well as rooms for two nights, if you have them.”

  “Yeh, how many rooms?”

  “One bear, three regular, please.”

  He nodded and turned to a decorated board on the wall

  behind him, pulling down four wooden cards and hanging a pair of little

  brass hooks in the place of each. “That’ll be fifty lunars all told for

  the rooms,” he said, and set the cards on the bar as Ever paid him with

  five gold coins. Then he turned and waved a hand to one of the girls in

  the dining area, gesturing to us. She flashed a practiced smile and

  glided toward us through the crowed room.

  Ever handed me one of the cards, physically larger than

  the others, and attached to a metal…object…that looked more like some

  kind of puzzle piece than a key, but I figured it must be a key, given

  the context. I nodded to her and tucked it into my pocket. It still felt

  weird calling an extra-dimensional space that, but then why wouldn’t

  you?

  The waitress collected us with another grin and chirruped,

  “Welcome!” and led us to a recently used table that she quickly emptied

  of wide bowls and hefty mugs, then swabbed once with an already

  well-used cloth. “Make yourselves comfortable, folks! I’ll be back in a

  moment to see what you want.” And she was off.

  I gave the table and ’chairs’ a suspicious look, circling

  around to the least crowded side and watching as my companions settled

  themselves. The table, like all the others in the room, was much lower

  than I was used to, not even considering my outlier size, only a bit

  more than knee-high on the others. And the chairs were more like little

  padded blocks, angled so they leaned in toward the the table. It turned

  out you were supposed to kneel on them, toes tucked behind, and sit on

  your haunches, much like the way Ever and Fiddle crouched out in the

  woods, actually.

  I maneuvered myself carefully onto my seat, putting a

  knuckle on the slightly sticky floor to keep from falling as I did so.

  It wasn’t too uncomfortable once I got into position, but my knees had

  to balance right on the edges of the little pad. I put my hands on the

  edge of the table and chewed on the tip of my tongue, concentrating on

  staying in place.

  “Ah, the menu’s over there,” Fiddle pointed, and I saw a

  large slate on the wall, chalked with the local text—all sharp, straight

  lines, like it originated with claws scratching wood, which it probably

  had, I suppose. I started looking it over, but was distracted by La'a

  making an irritated grunt. She was staring at me, looking annoyed. I

  raised my eyebrows at her.

  She shook her head and rose gracefully from her seat,

  stepped around a couple of tables and grabbed another little stool-chair

  from a stack near the wall, came back and stood over me. “Up.”

  Frowning, I rose, managing not to look too clumsy doing

  it, and she set down the second stool right next to the first, shoving

  it over to make room. “Now put one leg on each. That way you won’t tip

  off after your first beer.”

  I settled again, finding it a much better fit indeed, and

  was able to relax into the pose pretty comfortably after all. “Thanks,” I

  told her.

  La'a just shrugged, not meeting my eyes. After a moment I went back to looking over the menu.

  Our waitress returned before I’d done more than skim the

  options, but that turned out not to be a problem. As Ever opened her

  mouth to make a choice, La'a overrode her. “Nah, nah, nah. One of

  everything, darling! Except the roast chicken. Two of those. One of

  everything else. That should be just right, yes?” She stared at the cat

  with a toothy grin more challenging than friendly.

  Ever’s shoulders sank a bit. “Yes, fine. That should do. I’ll have a dark beer to go with that please.”

  “Same for me,” Fiddle said.

  “Make that three,” La'a agreed, clearly very pleased with herself.

  I’ve never developed a taste for beer or wine. Just not

  much of a drinker. But the sign on the wall mentioned… “Mead, please.”

  Hard to find back home, but quite yummy when you could.

  The raccoon girl nodded happily and bounced off to put in our order.

  My companions all looked at me for a moment, and I looked back calmly. “I like mead. I have a sweet tooth, so sue me.”

  Our food arrived surprisingly soon after the drinks, and

  the various dishes got shuffled around, passed out and sampled. One of

  the two roast chickens was firmly planted in front of me, the other set

  near the middle of the table for everyone else to share. I smiled a

  little sadly at this thoughtfulness. It was so strange to have strangers

  understand my body’s needs better than I did. I finished the whole

  chicken, in between forkfuls of the other dishes. I particularly liked a

  roasted tuber medley with a bit of a honey glaze and several root

  vegetables I’d never encountered before. The pieces were all very evenly

  cut so they’d cooked properly, no burnt little corners or undercooked

  oversized chunks. I kept going back to that one till Fiddle slid the

  half-empty bowl over in front of me.

  I smiled at him, picked the bowl up in both hands and

  pretended to slobberingly snarf down the whole thing, complete with

  goofy nomming noises. When I lowered the bowl to show it untouched and

  my big grin, they all stared at first. And then Fiddle snickered. And

  Ever smiled and chuckled a little, and then we were all laughing. It was

  only a moment, and it passed as I tucked another forkful of tasty

  tubers into my mouth, but I felt myself relax after that, feeling more

  like I was really here, a part of this night, this table of friends,

  even though I barely followed most of their conversation.

  I leaned back, cradling my third huge mug of mead, and focused on the musician for a while.

  He had a wonderful deep baritone voice, just perfect for

  the long, melancholy ballads he seemed to prefer, and the instrument his

  fingers danced across in harmony was some relative of a guitar. Long

  neck, a pear-shaped body, with a circular back, it reminded me of the

  Russian, whatzit called? Balalaika, was that it? The sound was a little

  more twangy than a guitar, not into banjo territory though. I’ve always

  loved deep male voices, and even though there was a lot of cultural

  detail missing from my understanding of the stories he sang, I got the

  gist fine; lost loves, broken hearts, forbidden passions and jealous

  rages.

  He was pretty damn good looking too. I won’t even say “for

  a guy with a lion head.” I was getting used to everybody being animal

  people, I guess. I wondered briefly if there were monkey folk who looked

  more like my remembered humans, pictured it, then hoped not. The

  singer’s thick, silky mane hung down around his shoulders and over his

  eyes just like some grunge band-leader from home, and his voice soared

  and plunged with the song. I caught my free hand sliding across my inner

  thigh and finally acknowledged just how fucking I was getting. Damn, youthful body, youthful hormones, I guess. I hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

  I bit my tongue and turned my attention back to the conversation at our table.

  There was a bit of a pause, and I leaned in, spoke up.

  “Hey, I was wondering. When we were coming into town here, I nodded to

  the guards, and it seemed like they reacted really—strongly to that.

  What am I missing there?”

  They perked up at the question, shooting looks at each

  other, not as though they were considering hiding something, but as

  though they had no idea how to go about explaining something so

  fundamental. Finally, Fiddle took the lead.

  “So, those guards were Ulfur, and wolves in particular, they’re really impressed by size.”

  “Heh, the bigger they are the harder they’ll fall!” La'a interjected, waggling her eyebrows to show me I wasn’t the only one feeling something from the musician’s sexy vibe.

  “Okay, but—”

  “It’s just that they were surprised someone so, well,

  above them, would acknowledge them at all. You had us to speak for you,

  so you didn’t have to interact with them, and they just didn’t expect

  you to. You gave them a big compliment, is what I’m saying.”

  “Oh. Okay. So it’s not something that’ll cause problems if I happen to do it again, then?”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “No, it shouldn’t,” Fiddle reassured me. He pressed his lips together. “You’re very cautious.”

  I shrugged. “There’s so much I don’t know yet. And social

  interactions are full of pitfalls when you’re dealing with multiple

  different cultures. Is there a lot of difference in how the different

  species interact? Or is cultural stuff pretty similar within this

  nation?”

  “Hmm.” Fiddle looked intrigued by the question, La'a kind of stumped. Ever, more…relieved?

  “I think we’re more similar than different around here,”

  Fiddle finally ventured. “Sure, there are species quirks. Like the Ulfur

  will always react more strongly to your size than anybody else, but

  anybody in Ulthara will still react some. Our rulers are Ulfur, after

  all, we all absorb things from them.”

  I nodded, tucking away that bit of info. “Just how many different sentient species are there in this world, anyway?”

  La'a groaned at that. I gave her a questioning stare but she only shook her head and took a deep draught of her beer.

  “Well—” Fiddle began. “We refer to ourselves as the

  eighteen peoples, but nobody quite agrees on exactly how that count gets

  made up.”

  “Huh?”

  I was then treated to a rousing treatise on the

  disagreements over what exactly constituted a separate species in this

  world, from wolves and dogs, who came from a shared background, but had

  very different cultures and appearances, but could mostly interbreed as

  they chose, to ’cats’ like Ever and the two ’big cats’—lions and

  tigers—all of whom were incapable of interbreeding reliably with one

  another but were usually lumped into one group anyway, mainly because of

  the tiny size of the big cat populations. Then there were the weasel

  family; martens and ferrets and stoats and minks, oh my! They got more

  than one spot in some places, but only one all together around here, and

  so on. It sounded kinda crazy once he got going. Good news, no monkey

  folk.

  “And then there’s the flyers,” Fiddle continued, his

  pointing hand wavering a bit in the air. “Bats and ravens and owls and

  eagles. They all get their own place, just out of respect.”

  I stared at the bare bottom of my fourth mug. Fifth?

  Fourth. Here came the waitress with the fifth, right in time! And

  considered the bored looks on La'a and Ever. Seems they were nowhere

  near as interested in species taxonomy and semantics. Maybe we needed a

  new subject.

  “Say, La'a,” I grabbed her attention from the air above

  the musician’s head. “At that spa place today, you said they do—” I just

  kept myself from glancing around nervously. “Sex work too.”

  “Mhmm.” She smiled widely and took a slug of her fresh beer. “All sorts of fun activities for the asking! —And paying.”

  “Is that—legal here?”

  They all looked at me blankly.

  “I mean, is the government actually okay with prostitution, or is it an open secret kinda thing?”

  “Why would it be illegal?” La'a asked.

  I opened my mouth, then left it hanging for a long moment,

  realizing that I was in no state to explain how the interrelations of Puritan ideals, patrilineal inheritance, sexism, and the prudishness of

  Saint Paul combined to make having sex for money such a fraught idea in

  my world. “Hard to say. So it’s just a thing, huh?’

  “Yeah. I mean there are rules and taxes and so on, so

  there’s some places or people who work under the table, so to speak,”

  La'a said. “You want to avoid them if you can, if just for the stink of

  desperation. But if you want to pay, you totally can.” She dipped her

  snout back into her beer, muttering, “Don’t know why would.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?” I asked gently, seeing there was some pain there again.

  La'a’s mug thumped to the table, sloshing over her hand. “

  would’ve been jumping that minstrel’s bones by now. She could literally

  have anyone in this place for the asking, and some nights she’d just

  challenge a bar collectively. Offer a reward for the one who pleased her

  best.”

  “In ” I felt my cheeks reddening under my fur.

  La'a blinked hazily. “Not the act. Just the challenge.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Light n’ Shadow the parade of stunned challengers

  wandering back down from her room. She usually gave each of ’em

  something for their time, even if they couldn’t manage a thing.”

  I just stared at her, baffled by this revelation, and

  reddening further at what this body had gotten up to before I took over.

  I looked to the others for confirmation or denial, but Ever and Fiddle

  were both looking away, also embarrassed by the topic, I thought.

  “Okay then. So my predecessor was kind of a nympho.” I took a long draught of my latest mead mug, letting that sink in.

  “Not a—whazzit,” La'a objected, lifting a finger to point at me. “She

  She did everything with gusto, to the limit! She fought hard, trained

  hard, drank hard, fucked hard.” The drunk drake snickered to herself at

  the double entendre. “She knew how to drag every last sliver of life out

  of living. Didn’t skulk around looking like she’z gunna bolt at the

  first noise.” This with a glare at me. My face flushed again, for a

  different reason.

  “I still have a lot to learn,” I parried, not even sure exactly what I meant.

  “Thass for sure.” La'a went back to her drink, and I accepted the sort-of-rebuke in silence.

  #

  Their drinking got a lot quieter, after Anne and La'a’s

  sex squabble, and Fiddle found himself withdrawing from the conversation

  as well, sipping at his beer without enjoying it much.

  The dinner rush slowed, leaving more and more tables

  empty, cleaned up by the three raccoon sisters, and eventually rolled

  away against a wall to open up space in front of the minstrel. He was

  joined by a wolf with a hand-drum, and then the oldest raccoon sister

  singing harmonies with a high, clear voice. His song choice changed as

  well, going from old, melancholy ballads to bouncier, up-tempo jigs and

  reels, and one by one the remaining patrons came out to dance.

  Fiddle stepped out for a couple of the dances, mostly the

  simple, cheerful ones without particular steps, but when the minstrel

  started up one of the simpler line dances popular in the capital

  recently, he caught Ever’s eye and offered his hand and the two of them

  stepped out for it, the forms coming as easily as breathing, blending

  smoothly with the locals. Ever took her seat again as soon as it was

  done, but Fiddle found himself approached by a few other local ladies.

  He’d found before that the combination of his reasonable dance skills

  and un-intimidating size made him an attractive choice for a quick spin,

  and he didn’t mind. Certainly never expected anything more to come of

  it, and it didn’t.

  He dropped back into his seat—now just at the edge of the

  dance floor—after a trio of such quick spins and swallowed half his

  remaining drink before noticing the look on Ki—on Anne’s face. She was

  staring at the dancers, tapping a hand on the table in time with the

  tune, but her eyes were sad, her expression forlorn.

  She noticed him noticing her and lifted the large mug of

  mead to her mouth, but then set it down again without drinking. She let

  out a windy sigh, and began to stand up.

  “I think I’d better turn in, or I’ll find myself out there

  trying to dance and knocking folks over left and right.” Her words were

  steady, but with the focus of someone in their cups making an effort

  not to slur or stumble.

  Fiddle started to suggest she go ahead and dance, but held

  off. She was probably right about the outcome, all things considered.

  Instead he rose again himself.

  “Let me help you find your room,” he offered.

  She met his eyes and blinked a few times, working to gather her wits. “Yeah, good idea,” she finally said.

  “Hand me your key.”

  She fumbled the little wooden plaque out of her pocket and

  dropped it in his open hand, and he grabbed her hand too, setting it

  atop his shoulder as a guide and support. She squeezed just a touch, and

  smiled slightly at him. His heart lifted.

  They made their way upstairs, unimpeded by other revelers,

  who cleared the way after one look—up—at his companion. Fiddle smiled

  to himself, hanging onto the railing carefully so the supporter didn’t

  end up in need of support.

  Near the top she missed a step, and came down hard on his

  shoulder. It took all of his near-adept strength to stay upright and not

  let them both tumble down the stairs, but he managed it. He’d have

  managed anything at all for her. For Kiri. The love of his life.

  Anne regained her balance and patted his shoulder in gentle thanks as they finished their climb.

  Her room was at the end of a hallway, farthest from the

  music and cheer, and as he opened the door and lead her inside, Anne

  craned her head back toward the sounds and sighed again, deep and

  conclusive, like a turned page.

  “Nunna the songs in my head match up to your music,” she

  muttered. “S’ pretty music, dun get me wrong. I jus’ can’ dance to that.

  Where’s the Bangles when ya needum?”

  The room was unlit, but at his request Toma easily solved that, dim blue light making yellow shadows flare.

  “Maybe we can find you some bangles tomorrow?” he

  suggested gently, guiding her in the door and to the edge of the huge

  bed, whose rounded bulk took up all but a sliver of the only slightly

  larger than average space.

  She plopped down hard on it, the whole construct bouncing

  for a moment before settling in place. “Na, na. Wouldn’ help. Thanks for

  the thought though.” She reached out and patted his shoulder, only

  missing by a bit. “I dun even know all the lyrics to Walk Like an

  Egyptian,” she continued with cryptic mournfulness. Her face fell even

  further, and impulsively he sat next to her, resting a hand on her leg.

  Her eyes widened. “That song came out when I was a

  I been singin’ along to it all my life, but you can’ understand half

  the words? Always meant to look it up, but I never did. And now I never

  can.” Tears overflowed as she stared at him.

  She leaned in even closer, and for a moment Fiddle worried

  whether she was going to fall on him or perhaps (oh dear) come in for

  an entirely inappropriate kiss. But in the next moment, he found himself

  swept up by two very strong arms, draped across her lap, and hugged

  like a favorite stuffed animal.

  She pressed her cheek into the top of his head, as her sobs shook them both. “I miss my husband so much.”

  Fiddle leaned his head against her chest, and wrapped his arm as far around her as he could reach.

  #

  Once Anne had cried herself out and relaxed into sleep,

  Fiddle went to the bathroom to wash the snot out of his fur and returned

  to their table.

  La'a and Ever looked like they’d been sniping at one

  another again, each staring off in a different direction. But when he

  sat down, La'a turned and made kissy faces at him. He stuck his tongue

  out in return.

  “She needed the help. Nearly fell down the stairs.”

  “I saw. Might have done her good.”

  He frowned. “How?”

  La'a shrugged and didn’t answer. He shook his head and

  took a drink of the beer he’d left behind. He managed not to spit it out

  again, despite the horse-root sauce had dumped in it since.

  “Really?”

  La'a shrugged again, a tiny smile playing on her lips. “Rules are rules. You left the room first.”

  He caught the attention of the last waitress still serving

  and asked for a fresh mug. “Mead this time.” She smiled and winked at

  him, dancing off with the empties.

  “Ooh,” La'a teased. “Had an influence already, did she?”

  “I’m just curious.” He turned his attention to the musicians till the barmaid returned.

  The mead was tasty. A bit stronger than the beer they’d

  been drinking, with mild sweetness an odd replacement for the bitter

  hops. He stared into his mug for a long moment.

  “She was married.”

  Both his friends looked at him at that.

  “Almost thirty years, she said. She’ll never see him again.”

  “That’s a kick in the balls,” La'a opined.

  “Strange.” Ever’s voice was distant. She glanced up toward the rooms. “I guess—somehow she wasn’t really real to me. You know?”

  Fiddle frowned, then nodded reluctantly. “I do. Just kinda ’not Kiri’, not a person to herself.”

  “ not Kiri,” La'a growled. “Like the of Kiri somehow.”

  “That’s not the worst thing,” Ever murmured.

  “Hmph. You just like that she’s cautious. Makes your job easier.” La'a said.

  “ Kiri wouldn’t have needed any healing

  after taking out that tiny bug nest. Certainly wouldn’t have stabbed a

  hole all the way through her own hand.”

  “Eh, sure, but she’s not the sort to go running into danger, now is she? We had to coax her into even that.”

  “We know better now, I guess,” Fiddle put in.

  “She’ll still need to adventure to gain rank,” Ever argued.

  “Why?” La'a asked. “Not like she was ever meant for the

  throne. Kiri wanted the strength. Wanted to be able to dominate the

  ministers and take her place at Eli’s right hand as head of the Guard.

  Anne won’t want anything to do with that. Her majesty probably won’t

  want her anywhere near the capital, just a reminder of her loss. Or she

  can hole up in the library with her boy toy, out of the way.” More

  smooching noises in Fiddle’s direction. “Just think, bookworm, you could

  finally have her all to yourself.”

  Fiddle ground his molars together and ignored her.

  When the musician finished, and silence fell, Ever broke

  it. “Tomorrow will be a rest day. Poke around town however you like.

  I’ll try to get Anne to recover the rest of her powers and we’ll head

  out the morning after.”

  “Why such a hurry?” La'a asked.

  “The fastest way home from here is out into the southern grass sea, to the Step-Gate at Langtutsny, right, Fiddle?”

  Fiddle consulted the blue-indigo map in his head, their

  current location a pulsing dot. “Yes, ma’am. By four or five days over

  returning the way we came.”

  “So, the grass sea is no barrens, but it’s not terribly

  safe, and it’ll take us most of two days to cross. She should be as

  ready as possible for whatever we happen to come across.”

  La'a snorted, but not as pugnaciously as she might have. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Ever stood, counting out coins for their drinks and food. “So, get some rest. See you for breakfast.”