Our stop at the “Hunters’ Guild” didn’t take long. Ever

  spoke to the raven-woman at the front desk about the creatures we’d

  encountered on our way here from the lumber town, while I did my best to

  avoid seeing the adoring gleam that suddenly filled Fiddle’s eyes after

  my little intervention at the doorway. La’a also complimented me on

  my behavior. It all made me doubly uncomfortable. Those kind of

  dick-measuring intimidation tactics were anathema to the way I was used

  to moving about in the world, and having these otherwise

  sensible-seeming folks encouraging me in them caused a brain-aching

  level of cognitive dissonance.

  It was truly a different world around here. I was going to

  have to learn to deal with it one way or another. Just as I’d had to

  spend a good portion of my life learning to deal with how my world

  reacted to my looks, my physicality. Being a pudgy, disabled white woman

  meant much different things than being whatever I was now. And yet

  there was a surprising similarity in the difficulty of figuring out how

  to deal with the messages I got about it.

  My brain was thoroughly occupied with this continuing

  concern as we left the guild building and headed across a few more

  streets to a fancier part of town and a nice inn in the shadow of the

  giant vine garden. I missed the name, but the decor inside featured lots

  of brass and both art and pieces of sailing ships. It wasn’t quite as

  tchotchke-filled as your average TGI Friday’s but it made me want to

  avoid the walls for fear of knocking something over.

  The person who greeted us here confused me for a long

  moment. At first I assumed it was another wolf, as they seemed to be

  pretty damned common around here, but then as I blinked away my

  distraction and paid closer attention, I noticed the differences, and

  had to acknowledge that this fellow was, in fact, a . He

  reminded me of nothing more than a frickin’ Labrador. Dark chocolate fur

  was going gray around his muzzle and cheeks, and his voice as he

  welcomed us was kinda gravelly with age, but he seemed physically sound.

  By the time I actually paid attention to what he was

  saying, he was describing their various different rooms, and something

  he said made me sit up and take notice.

  “Could we get that one? The Duchess’ suite?” I asked Ever, who seemed firmly in charge of the purse-strings.

  She glanced back at me with a surprised expression, “Sure,

  Anne. If you’d like we can do that. We’ll only be staying one night

  anyway,” she told the hopeful innkeeper.

  The dog-guy took a collection of keys out from under the

  counter and led us upstairs to the room himself. He opened the door at

  the end of a corridor and invited us inside with a grand gesture. “Here

  we are! Our finest suite for our fine customers! Will you be dining with

  us tonight as well? The restaurant on the first floor is at your

  service, or, as I mentioned, we can bring a meal to you here instead.”

  “I would like to eat here in the suite, if that’s okay with you folks,” I murmured. “It’s been a very public day.”

  The three of them shared looks and I worried that I was asking too much. “You can go down if you’d rather. I won’t be offended.”

  “No. No, a private dinner would be a nice change,” Ever

  opined, and the other two nodded along—La’a, I thought, a bit

  reluctantly.

  “Excellent!” Our host proclaimed. “I shall send up a

  waitress shortly to apprise you of the menu.” And with that he handed

  over the keys and left us. I stepped into the common room of the suite

  behind my companions and glanced around. There was a dining table

  surrounded by several variations of chairs as well as more casual

  seating, with the doorways to three bedrooms and a restroom opening off

  in different directions. Instead of wooden doors, these interior

  doorways were each hung with a heavy drapery, weighted down with metal beads at the bottom. The central bedroom was almost

  overflowing with a huge bed, just like my room at the previous place,

  where the other two had a bit more space to move around, and even a

  small table and cushioned chair each.

  I settled myself in a large beanbag-like contraption in

  the corner of the common area and watched the other three check the

  place out and eventually settle nearby.

  “Why the sudden decisiveness, Anne?” Ever asked me.

  I sighed. “I’m just—not used to the way people look at me

  like this. It’s uncomfortable. Well, honestly, it’s kind of exhausting.”

  I couldn’t help my eyes drifting over to Fiddle, examining the surface

  of the table. “I don’t like being admired for acting like a bully.”

  His head snapped up and he stared at me with a complicated

  expression on his fuzzy face. I could tell there was hurt there, but

  the rest was opaque to me. “I’m—” He stopped himself, ducking his head,

  and stepped into the nearby side bedroom, pulling the rattling curtain

  closed behind himself.

  “Shit.” I didn’t want to hurt the cute little guy. I

  wished I could take back what I’d said, for his sake, but you never can.

  And honestly, I’d meant it. I shouldn’t take it back, even if it wasn’t

  what he wanted to hear. Then, staring at the closed curtain, another

  thought occurred. I glanced around, quickly confirming my idiocy. “Oh, crap, I didn’t even realize. There’s only three bedrooms in this place,

  not four! Dammit.” I put my head in my hands.

  “Don’t worry, Anne,” Ever soothed. “There’s still plenty of room. We’ll work something out.”

  “Gah, I feel so stupid. Thank you for putting up with me.”

  “Oof, give me the bully back, please,” La’a muttered. “This cringing mouse makes my gorge rise.”

  I dropped my hands and stared at her, lounging on a chaise

  sort of thing with her chin propped on one hand. Her tone made me want

  to follow Fiddle’s example and run off, but it also made me angry. “Are

  you seriously saying you’d rather have someone stomping around abusing

  their power over you than apologizing too much?”

  She met my gaze with no wavering, her eyes slitted slightly. “Yes.”

  My own eyes narrowed as I considered the enigmatic lizard. “I don’t buy it.”

  “Hmph.” She looked away. “A little spine is better than none, I suppose.”

  Our awkward silence was eventually disrupted by a brisk

  knock on the door, and a young woman’s voice calling out, “I’m here to

  take your dinner order, gentles!”

  Ever stood and let her in, closing the door behind her.

  I’d been pretty much expecting a Labrador puppy, but this

  gal was some variation of mustelid. She didn’t have a ferret’s mask

  pattern. Her fur was entirely silver-gray and very soft looking, though

  it didn’t exactly go with the green and cream of her outfit.

  The menu turned out to be surprisingly fish-forward. I

  hadn’t even noticed, but apparently a large river ran by on the western

  side of the city. I ended up ordering a couple of steaks and a dish that

  sounded much like fish en papillote. Each was served with its own side

  dishes, rather than sides being ordered separately the way they did it

  at our first stop. I wondered which style was more common, or if it

  varied a lot, but didn’t bother asking. I’d figure it out eventually.

  Fiddle came out in time to choose his own order, and

  settled in a basket-like chair by the table, and after the waitress left

  he pulled out his thick notebook and went back to writing in it. I

  wasn’t sure if he was actually giving me the silent treatment or just

  engrossed in his work, but I let him be.

  “Hey, Fee,” I murmured, “Let’s go ahead and get ourselves a

  library card, huh?” She didn’t get what I meant, but I clarified and

  settled into meditation with her. The two ignitions went easily.

  We were just finishing up when the weasel girl came back,

  wheeling a little cart piled with our food and drinks. I smiled at her

  without moving, letting the glowing fairy in front of my face excuse my

  preoccupation, just like a cell phone call back home. We’d finished up

  by the time she was done laying everything out, and promised to return

  shortly to check on us.

  The food was fine, but the uncomfortable silence between

  the four of us made it a less enjoyable experience than the place in

  Graidal had been, and I found myself regretting the privacy. At least in

  a busy dining room our sudden awkwardness wouldn’t have been so

  obvious. Too late now.

  Once I’d eaten my fill—the last to finish, of course—I

  excused myself from the table and went into the all-bed room to lay

  down. The curtain rattling closed behind me sounded too cheerful for my

  mood.

  This bed was even bigger than the one at the previous inn,

  and a bit more gently curved. I shifted around a bit, stretching then

  curling to find a comfortable position, but nothing really clicked. I

  knew from experience that it wasn’t the bed’s fault. Probably not even

  my new body’s. I sighed. After all the running I’d done today I should

  have been physically tired, exhausted even. But I wasn’t. There was a

  warmth in my muscles, a little lassitude. The relaxation that sometimes

  comes after a good workout—something I’d felt rarely in my former life,

  and not for decades now—but no more than that. It was my mind that was

  tired and unsettled. It kept replaying the look of terror in the

  bird-man’s eyes at the door, and the adoration in Fiddle’s. The swelling

  sense of righteous anger and power I’d felt in that moment before the

  tile cracked.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  I closed my eyes and must have nodded off for a bit anyway, because I was startled awake by the sound of the curtain moving.

  “Can we talk?”

  Fiddle stood leaning against the doorway, the curtain just a few inches open. He looked sad and uncomfortable.

  “Of course.” I sat up in the bed, scooting my legs away from the entry to give him room. “Come in.”

  He stepped through and pulled the curtain closed behind

  him, even though it was no barrier to sound. “I just wanted to say—need

  to say—that I don’t want you to be a bully. I don’t want that for

  anyone. And I don’t think that’s a fair description either, but that’s

  not the point. I—”

  I leaned toward him, folding my legs up tailor fashion again, but didn’t interrupt.

  “I was just happy to see you look . Strong and sure of yourself, not awkward and worried.”

  “More like your friend was?” I asked softly, perhaps unkindly.

  He flinched a bit, but didn’t retreat this time. “I suppose. I—” the sorrow on his face deepened.

  “You cared for her very much, didn’t you?”

  “I loved Kiri with all my heart. I always have.”

  My hand flew to my mouth at that, though I wasn’t entirely surprised by his admission. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  He stepped forward and sat on the edge of the huge bed,

  staring down at his hands in his lap. “I know you’re not her. I know

  it’s dangerous to let myself pretend that you are. But moments like

  that, it’s much harder than the rest of the time.”

  “I can’t imagine,” I said, honestly. Like being on a soap

  and your unrequited love was replaced by an evil twin. Or something. I

  never watched soaps, only heard jokes about them.

  I wanted to reach out to him. Put a hand on his shoulder,

  or offer a hug. But it didn’t seem like a good idea, all things

  considered. I just thought for a moment.

  “You guys haven’t said much about her. What was she like?”

  He sighed heavily, but his expression lightened, as I had

  hoped it would. “I’ve loved Kiri since we were kids. Her fire, her

  determination. Her looks.” He ducked his head. “You won’t understand

  just how unexpected it was for someone in her position to choose body

  magic as her specialty. She’s the queen’s second child. The backup kid.

  The sensible choice—the one everybody expected and pushed her toward—was

  something safe. Green or red, anything but orange. Rulers need orange.

  She could have had anything. But she knew what she wanted as far back as

  I knew her, and she never wavered. She had no problem bucking

  everyone’s expectations, right up to her whole family. I was in awe of

  her.

  “I don’t even recall for sure when we met. We’re close to

  the same age, and dad frequently brought me with him to the library.

  Lady Elskan—Kiri’s main minder when the queen was busy—loved to read, so

  she was there a lot too. Her majesty is a good mother. She spent a lot

  of time with both Kiri and Eli, but she had a lot on her plate as well,

  you know? So we saw each other there often, as far back as I can recall.

  We became playmates and chased each other through the stacks, much to

  the grown-ups’ chagrin.”

  I chuckled at the thought. Baby Fiddle must have been

  ridiculously cute. I wondered if they were any closer in size when they

  were kids.

  He then proceeded to tell me a wildly convoluted tale of

  the day she was given a wooden practice sword by her combat instructor

  and brought it with her to the library. He’d nabbed it and run off,

  playing keep away around and atop the stacks, while she chased him at

  ground level. He seemed to still remember his route leap for leap, and

  took great joy in recounting it, but in the end he’d missed a grab,

  pulled a bunch of books down on himself and gotten caught, at which

  point she took the sword back and started beating him with it. I gasped

  at that, but he brushed it off. The adults had separated them and

  scolded them both, and even Kiri’s mother had eventually gotten

  involved, apparently giving her a severe dressing-down for her violent

  behavior and punishing her with—

  “She lost privileges?”

  “Indeed! She’d just started her lessons with the sword,

  and her majesty not only took the practice sword away, she made the

  fight-master go back to unarmed combat for two full moons! Kiri was so

  mad she didn’t talk to me for a week. But she never attacked me like

  that again.”

  I frowned, wondering about their relationship dynamic.

  “It’s true, Kiri always loved fighting. But she learned to

  love fighting for a good cause. To help her people, to protect her

  friends. To get stronger.” He shrugged. “Like we told you before, Kiri

  saved all of us over and over in our adventures. She had rough edges,

  like anyone, but she was a good person, and a good friend.” He smiled,

  soft and reminiscent, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

  I reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. It covered

  him from neck to bicep, the thick black claw on my thumb curving in toward his throat like an unintentional threat. I gave him a gentle, carefully controlled squeeze. “I suppose it isn’t

  a bad thing to be compared to her.”

  He turned the smile to me, his expression lightening. “No, not at all.”

  From out in the common room of the suite, La’a’s voice

  rose. “Well, I’m claiming this room. You two fur-faces can have it out

  over the other one. Now I’m going out to have some .”

  The hall door opened and slammed shut, presumably behind her.

  Fiddle sighed

  and pushed the curtain aside, meeting Ever’s eyes. She shook her head.

  “You keep the one you were using, Fid. I’ll manage just fine.”

  After that we joined her in the common room, and Fiddle

  suggested we play a game to pass the time till bed. Turned out some of

  his pocket space was devoted to a couple of decks of cards and some

  other miscellaneous implements of amusement. They taught me a bidding

  game kinda like a cross between spades and old maid, and I cheerfully

  played till I’d lost all the copper coins Kiri’d had in her pocket.

  By that time it was getting late enough to go to sleep,

  and Ever assured me we didn’t need to wait up for La’a, she’d be back

  when she was ready and no sooner. Fiddle headed for the other bedroom,

  and Ever started looking over the softer chairs out here, comparing

  heights to each other. I stood for a moment, watching her.

  “Hey, this is silly,” I said finally. “Chair sleep sucks

  no matter what, and we need you at your best. The bed in my room is

  crazy huge, why don’t you share it with me?”

  Ever whipped her head around to stare at me, her eyes

  huge. I figured I’d stepped in it again, and she was going to start in

  on another lecture about propriety etc. But to my surprise she said

  nothing for a very long moment.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Really?”

  #

  Ever Daygur was a dutiful cat. Most of the time she liked

  that about herself. Some might call her strait-laced, or even

  sanctimonious, but she knew that laws and rules were made for good

  reasons. She saw them as the guidance of their ancestors, helping to

  keep them from making the same mistakes.

  Kirilan J’Varkona Styortnand had been determined to make

  every mistake for herself—over and over—so they had often butted heads.

  In her heart, Ever admitted that there was some truth to La’a’s

  accusation, that the new soul in Kiri’s body was a more comfortable fit

  for her; calm, cautious. Uninterested in banging or fighting every

  single thing she came across. And yet this otherworldly Anne was deeply

  uncomfortable in her own way as well. She had no sense of propriety at

  all, constantly offering touches right out in the open. Smiling at

  absolutely anyone. For the Light’s sake, insisting on them all around like some sort of bipedal horse!

  Ah, it had been so nice though. She’d controlled herself

  the first time, but the second—after that scrap with the grass-cats—her

  traitorous throat had begun to rumble before Anne even started running.

  She hadn’t felt so comforted, so safe, since she left her family years

  ago to live in the royal palace and train for her current role. The

  little stucco house in Lowlytown had been cramped, warm, and loving; the

  whole family shoulder to shoulder in the daytime and curled up to sleep

  in one big nest of cushions and blankets at night. The palace was vast,

  cold stone. Beautiful. Elegant in proportion and ornamentation. Her

  quarters in the greater servants’ wing were larger than her family’s

  whole house, and she slept there alone. Every night she told herself it

  was worth it. The honor of her position, the importance of looking after

  the second child of the queen herself. It was all worth it. But it was

  so cold.

  She had occasionally considered taking a nest-mate.

  Perhaps even a lover. Though cats were not a large population in the

  capital, still there were thousands around, and many would have jumped

  at the chance to support her, warm her bed and offer that comfort and

  closeness she missed. But no, someone as close to the royal family as

  herself could not afford such a vulnerability. Loved ones could be hurt,

  kidnapped, turned to the will of evildoers. It was too much of a risk.

  And so she slept alone in her lovely quarters, and did her duty as

  protector to the princess. As nursemaid, minder and nay-sayer to a

  headstrong berserker of a girl who would always resent her for it.

  But there were days when she’d give everything up to sleep curled in the warmth of family again.

  #

  When Ever collapsed into my arms, tears pouring down her

  face, I ended up just sitting down with her on the edge of the oversized

  bed, gently stroking her back while trying to make sense of her

  near-incoherent mumbles.

  It was immediately clear that I’d been super wrong when I

  asked if she disliked being touched back on the road. Like, as wrong as a

  well-meaning person could manage to be. In fact she seemed to be

  chronically, catastrophically touch-starved.

  Once I understood that much, I gathered her into my lap

  and let her cuddle against me, resting her head on my collarbone. I

  pressed my nose into her hair and took a breath. For the first time in

  days I could only smell one thing, and it was so familiar: Warm fur, and

  a faint, pleasant spice, just like a cat should smell. I found myself

  relaxing against her as though I were holding one of my kitties from

  home.

  Eventually she composed herself and started to talk again.

  She told me about her family, and growing up in what sounded

  suspiciously like a slum—or maybe a ghetto in the original sense of the

  word—in the capital. She’d been very much loved, but hadn’t appreciated

  what she had, like most teens through history. She’d gotten out, raised

  herself up by her bootstraps, and planned to never look back, but her

  current life was incredibly lonely. I’d noticed the tension between her

  and La’a, and it seemed she hadn’t been vastly closer to Kiri either.

  Fiddle liked her well enough, but they weren’t close, and I suspected

  that his feelings for Kiri had a lot to do with that.

  There was a lot of what she talked about that didn’t make

  sense to me. The feeling of missing context popped up over and over,

  like an itch I couldn’t scratch. But that wasn’t what was important

  right now. At this point she just needed comfort, and I was willing and

  able to provide it. As she relaxed I encouraged her to lay down and

  rest, and settled myself next to her. I hadn’t been the big spoon in a

  long time, but I had no trouble remembering how.

  As her breath drifted into soft snores, I heard Fiddle

  moving about in the common room. The lights snuffed out one by one, and

  then he poked his face through the curtain, winked at me, and put out

  the little magic light on my wall, and headed for his own bed.

  I nodded off easily, feeling safer and more relaxed wrapped around my kitty-teddy bear than I had since I’d awakened here.