Chapter Text
“There it is, my lord,” said Princess Blaze of Agnia, reverently lifting her helmet’s visor, “Tophet.”
Knuxahuatl slowly lifted his own helmet’s visor. The mounted warriors had stopped on a grassy hilltop. On the otherwise empty plain before them, there was an encampment the size of a small village. A chaotic muddle of tents, shacks and bivouacs surrounded the perimeter walls of a rundown temple complex. Pillars of black smoke arose from chimneys atop the temple’s domed shrines.
“Is that it?” asked the echidna.
Blaze shot him a glare. “What did you expect?”
Knuxahuatl hesitated, unsure how to answer without causing further offence. The cat had been talking this place up for the last four days: Tophet, home of the pyromancers, diviners of Lord Iblis’s fiery will. It had led him to expect something grander.
“I don’t know, my princess,” he muttered.
Blaze’s expression softened at the use of her title. “Well, perhaps it’s more impressive closer up.”
Her horse’s chainmail trappings chinked as she trotted off down the hill. Knuxahuatl lingered on the hilltop, looking over his shoulder at the craggy peaks of Galderia on the horizon. As far as he knew, no echidna had ever ventured this far west. Even Xhade’s grandfather, with all his stories about Agnian knights, hadn’t been further than the queen bee’s court in Loegria.
“My lord?” Blaze called up.
Knuxahuatl looked down. The cat was already halfway down the hillside. He promptly cantered down to join her.
“Why did your people build such a place here?” he asked as they proceeded side-by-side.
She’d told him previously how most Agnians lived in the south. Presently, they were in the northeastern corner of the kingdom.
“At the time, it was the safest place for it,” replied Blaze.
“Safe from what?”
“Hedgehogs, obviously.”
Knuxahuatl frowned behind his visor. “Why should that be obvious?”
“Those tales you say Xhade liked so much,” said Blaze, “Don’t they not mention Erinians at all?”
“You would need to ask Xhade that.”
The cat tutted. “Well, suffice it to say what your slave did in that throne room was hardly unprecedented.”
The echidna eyed her quizzically. “You mean Shadow?”
“Who else?” said Blaze, “I truly thought they were different, him and his wife. Honey did, too.”
She snorted ruefully.
“But no, he’s just as savage as the rest of his kind.”
She suddenly looked him straight in the eye.
“Erinians are barbarians, my lord. It’s just that simple.”
Lowering her visor, she turned away as their horses set hoof on a dirt track winding its way towards Tophet. The track led to what looked to be some kind of waiting area. There were several cats — presumably slaves — sitting around, minding their masters’ horses and carriages. Elsewhere, bored kittens sat watching their younger siblings play in the dust.
“Wait here, my lord,” said Blaze, bringing her chainmail-draped horse to an abrupt halt near the frolicking kittens.
“What? Why?” spluttered Knuxahuatl, watching the armored cat dismount.
“I don’t need you for this,” she said, handing him her horse’s reins.
“But the queen—”
“The queen sent you to dangle emeralds in front of mercenaries, not to be my chaperone,” Blaze cut in, detaching her twin-bladed battleaxe from her horse’s saddle, “I am in no danger here.”
Resting the weapon on her shoulder, she strode off towards Tophet, leaving Knuxahuatl to mutter behind his visor.
A wave of nostalgia struck as she entered the encampment. She felt ten years old again. That’s how old she’d been on her first visit here nine years ago, smuggled in on the orders of her mother, Queen Hathor. She was supposed to have been the lynchpin in a scheme that resulted in the queen’s downfall. A scheme so straightforward, Blaze had understood it even then.
Agnian monarchs had always sought pyromancers’ advice when weighing difficult decisions. For most of her reign, Queen Hathor longed for a pyromancer whose interpretations of Lord Iblis’s will aligned with her own. What better way to win over courtiers who’d grown squeamish at General Honey’s methods of maintaining order in the south?
And who better to become her tame pyromancer than her deeply pious daughter? So pious, in fact, Blaze had begged to stay at Tophet as a regular novice after the scheme was uncovered. If only her older brother hadn’t died, she might’ve become a pyromancer on her own merits by now.
Up ahead, a gaggle of peddlers were hawking charms and amulets to passing pilgrims. Blaze could hear them swearing their wares were blessed — or even carved — by a pyromancer’s own hand. They weren’t, of course, but most pilgrims were simply happy to take home an affordable memento of their journey. For most cats, the pilgrimage to Tophet wasn’t an easy trek.
“A charm for you, fair knight?” mewled an elderly serval, jumping in the princess’s path, “Blessed by no less than Lady Ebony herself!”
Blaze stopped in her tracks. She recognized the serval. Her ears were a little droopier, her spotted fur a little greyer, but it was Hesta, still shamelessly namedropping the High Pyromancer like they were old friends.
“Excuse me,” mumbled Blaze, stepping around the serval.
Hesta’s fellow peddlers stood clear of the armored cat, warily eyeing the battleaxe on her shoulder. The serval went on parroting her falsehoods as more promising prey came ambling down the muddy track.
Before long, the gates of the temple complex were in sight. Blaze stopped and looked to her left. Above the tents and shacks lining the track, she saw a battle standard hanging limply on a pole above a knightly pavilion. The frayed purple banner bore the image of a sword with a jagged blade shaped like a thunderbolt.
Blaze stepped off the track and trudged towards the extravagant tent. Finding them open, she tentatively drew back one of the heavy canvas flaps. Inside, a brown lynx sat upon a wooden chest, repairing a much-repaired purple tunic with a needle and thread.
“Is there no one around here who could do that for you?” remarked Blaze.
The lynx’s black ears pricked as she looked up. The tunic slipped off her lap as she sprang to her feet.
“Who are you?” she demanded, snatching up a throwing axe.
Blaze calmly lifted her helmet’s visor.
The lynx’s eyes widened. “M-my princess?”
“Hello, Storm,” said Blaze, stepping inside the pavilion.
“What brings you here?” asked the lynx, setting down her throwing axe on a table, “Is Conifer with you?”
“I’m afraid not,” replied the princess, “She wanted to, but it wasn’t practical. She has duties of her own now.”
Storm frowned as she picked up the well-worn tunic. “What duties?”
“She’s the queen’s bodyguard.”
“There’s only one queen that girl should be serving,” the lynx scoffed, tossing the tunic over the wooden chest.
Blaze suppressed a sigh. “She has no other queen to serve.”
“In which case, my princess, I would rather she served no one at all,” sneered Storm, “Anything’s better than having her answer to that mangy deserter!”
“You needn’t worry about that,” said Blaze solemnly, “Honey is dead.”
The lynx spun round, eyes wide. “Truly?”
“Truly. She was murdered by an Erinian. I saw it myself.”
“Iblis be praised,” whispered Storm, clutching an amulet dangling from her neck, “I can hardly think of a more fitting end.”
Feeling her facial muscles twitch, Blaze resisted the urge to scowl.
“Where’s Lightning?” she asked flatly.
“Wherever Honey left him—”
“Enough, Storm!” snapped the princess, “You asked what brought me here. This is the answer: I have something for him.”
The lynx eyed her warily. “And what would that be, my princess?”
“Honey’s ashes—”
“Keep them!” hissed Storm.
Blaze’s grip on her battleaxe’s haft tightened.
“You’ve made your feelings abundantly clear, Storm, and I realize much of Agnia feels the same,” she said patiently, “But Conifer would like for her uncle to be able to grieve.”
“So good of my daughter to consider her aunt’s feelings in all this,” the lynx muttered, “Is this what you’ve been reduced to, my princess? Running errands on behalf of your own warriors?”
“Conifer is Queen Rouge’s warrior. As am I,” said Blaze sharply, “I am grateful you wish it were otherwise, but unless my uncle sees sense, what else can I do?”
Storm sank back down onto the wooden chest.
“I wasn’t being glib, my princess,” sighed Storm, “Lightning’s been in the same place since Honey abandoned us all.”
“Where?”
“In Trebizond where he belongs,” said the lynx, “Just look for the flag.”
жЖж
“Have you ever seen a dragon, my lady?” asked Zoë earnestly.
Ashura looked up from the scroll of verse she’d been reading aloud for the illiterate vixen. Not for the first time on this journey, she wasn’t sure what to say. Even her seven-year-old daughter would know that question was absurd.
“I’m…not certain anyone has,” replied the hedgehog.
“Truly, my lady?” said Zoë downheartedly, “But, if that’s so, how do the scribes know what to draw?”
She pointed at a corner of the parchment. There, an illustration of a winged reptilian beast had been woven into the scroll’s ornate border. Ashura bit her lip. The two-legged beast in question was actually a wyvern, but saying so would only provoke more questions.
“It’s…what they’ve been taught they look like.”
“But, my lady, surely that means someone must have seen one at least once?” said the vixen, “Otherwise, how would they have known what to teach the scribes in the first place?”
Perplexed, Ashura bit her lip again. She hadn’t expected this kind of deductive reasoning from a street urchin-turned-slave, much less one who believed wearing a statuette of a sentient vegetable around her neck would aid her pregnancy.
While Miles had come on a mission to try and dispel superstitions about kitsunes, here she was, hoping against hope that a beast out of a bard’s tale really existed.
“Zoë, do you not think—”
Just then, the vixen inhaled sharply. She looked down, frantically feeling the small bulge in the front of her maroon dress.
“Zoë?” said Ashura, setting aside the scroll, “Zoë, what’s wrong?”
“I…I felt something, my lady,” said the vixen, still groping her belly.
“Can you still feel it?”
Zoë didn’t answer, nor did she look up.
“Zoë!” snapped Ashura, prizing one of the slave’s hands away from her belly, “Whatever you felt. Can you feel it now?”
The startled vixen slowly shook her head.
The hedgehog cracked a smile. “In that case, I think someone might’ve just been saying hello.”
Zoë’s eyes widened. “The cub can do that?”
“My Bella certainly did,” said Ashura warmly, massaging the vixen’s hand.
“Bella?” echoed Zoë, tilting her head, “Is that what you call the princess, my lady?”
The hedgehog blinked. “You know about Decibella?”
“I do, my lady,” said the vixen, smiling, “Her name is very pretty.”
Ashura felt herself break out in a smile.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, “I was allowed to choose it myself.”
Courtiers had quibbled about the break with tradition, but Sonic had insisted upon it. As soon as he’d arrived in Tesiphon after the birth, that is. Having him present for the delivery itself had been too much for his teenaged bride to hope for.
Just then, Zoë gripped Ashura’s hand in fright as one of Styx’s rolling ululations sounded outside.
“Wh-what could that mean?” breathed the vixen.
With a patient smile, Ashura calmly extracted her hand and crawled over to the opening in the wagon’s canvas canopy. There, Sonic sat on a benchseat, driving the lumbering vehicle. Grabbing his shoulders to steady herself, Ashura stood up and peered out of the wagon.
She toppled backwards, blinded by the harsh sunlight.
“Asha?” said Sonic, looking round in alarm.
His wife merely smiled. Sunshine that bright could only mean one thing. There was no tree cover.
They were finally out of the woods.
жЖж
“Impressive enough for you, my lord?” asked Blaze, looking across at Knuxahuatl.
The echidna slowly raised his helmet’s visor, revealing a mouth agape. The cat grinned in triumph. Even from their vantage point atop this high hill, they couldn’t see beyond the vast city of Trebizond.
“How is such a thing possible?” marveled Knuxahuatl.
The Agnian capital’s stone walls were twice the height of Laputa’s mudbrick fortifications. Several buildings were taller still, their rooves peeping over the wall top. Then there was the colossal citadel in the distance, overshadowing it all.
“We’ve always been fond of building tall things,” said Blaze, “You see?”
She pointed to a neighboring hilltop, upon which stood an octagonal marble tower. The structure was topped by an ornate windvane. The black metal was cut in the shape of feline silhouette in mid-pounce, brandishing a bident.
“Is that a watchtower?” asked Knuxahuatl uncertainly. He couldn’t see a single window on the tower.
“It’s a temple,” replied Blaze, “Typha’s Tower, we call it.”
The echidna nodded. As the cat had explained in the days since their stop-off at Tophet, the wind goddess Typha was second only to Iblis in the Agnian pantheon. Whilst He was fire incarnate, it was She who spread that fire.
“We should go, my lord,” said Blaze, turning her horse around, “The gates will be closing soon.”
жЖж
“You won’t see anything like this in Cambria, my prince,” said Tiara.
“Indeed not,” said Prince Miles of Cambria, lifting the visor of his red-plumed helmet.
Their horses were standing on the lip of a rocky ridge, overlooking a shallow valley. The valley was basically one big vineyard. There were no vineyards in Cambria. Grapes simply would not grow there, no matter how hard the wannabe winemakers prayed to Cosmo.
“Is that your home, my lady?” asked Zoë, peering over Miles’s shoulder at a villa nestled amid the rows of grapevines.
“That’s my grandfather’s home,” replied Tiara, steadying her restless horse, “My family lives in the capital.”
“So, why’re we stopping here?” grumbled Styx, “It’s light enough to keep going.”
Miles cocked a brow. The setting sun was bathing the vineyard in a light as orange as the villa’s terracotta roof tiles.
“If there's a chance for Zoë to sleep in a proper bed, we're taking it,” he said firmly.
“Because that worked out so well last time,” muttered Styx.
“For the last time, that wasn’t his fault,” groaned Sonic, sitting behind her.
Miles rolled his eyes. A few days back, the party had happened upon a roadside inn. Still giddy about escaping the Celadon Forest, he’d declared they would spend the night there to celebrate. The bed and hot meal had been a welcome reprieve from camping and preserved meat, but things turned sour in the morning.
The innkeeper was happy to take his Cambrian coins, but he’d refused to take Ashura’s silver. Being stamped with the portrait of Sonic’s father rendered the coins worthless, apparently. Once Styx had been successfully restrained, Tiara had talked the innkeeper into accepting the wagon as a payment, plus whatever supplies they couldn’t carry.
“You won’t have to worry about that here, my princes,” said Tiara, “Grampa isn’t like that.”
“I hope so,” said Ashura guardedly, perched on the back of Bunnestra’s horse, “Shall we go?”
жЖж
“Commander Larian, sir?”
The brown lynx looked up from the duty roster he’d been puzzling over. A puma was peering round the guardhouse’s half-open door.
“Can you spare a moment, sir?” asked the sentry, “Rez has a…problem.”
“What is it now?” asked Larian, “Someone look at him funny again?”
“More like something looked funny to him, sir,” replied the puma, “Seriously, though, he isn’t letting this go.”
“When does he ever?” muttered the lynx.
Laying down his quill, he stood up and trudged across the guardhouse. Stepping outside, the first thing he saw was a knight waiting on the cobbles by Trebizond’s east gate. They were dressed in a suit of iron armor, their face hidden behind a slitted visor, with a twin-bladed battleaxe resting on one shoulder.
“Not that one, sir,” murmured the puma.
He directed the lynx’s gaze to the bottom of the guardhouse’s steps. There, the tiger Reza was holding the reins of a palomino stallion, engaged in a stare-off with a red…was that a hedgehog?
“What appears to be the problem, Reza?” asked Larian.
“This hog swears he’s an Arkadian, sir,” replied the tiger, “As if we wouldn’t know a prairie-dog when we see one.”
“Do you, though?” said the lynx pointedly.
“Look at him, sir. Whoever heard of an Arkadian wearing this much plate?”
The lynx frowned. The red creature was indeed sporting a fine suit of armor, but how many hedgehogs bothered to wear armor in Trebizond? They were forbidden to carry weapons.
“I’ve never heard much of anything about Arkadians,” said Larian, looking Knuxahuatl up and down, “He carrying any emeralds?”
“He won’t say, sir,” sneered Reza.
The lynx suppressed a sigh. It was safe to assume this creature would have already bribed the tiger if he had the means to do so.
“Juba, take his weapons,” said Larian, eyeing the flanged maces hanging from the echidna’s belt, “We’ll leave it at that.”
The puma descended the guardhouse steps and disarmed the echidna.
“Welcome to Trebizond, whatever you are,” said the tiger, grinning as he handed Knuxahuatl his horse’s reins.
Just then, Blaze and her chainmailed steed set off down the congested street without a word. Knuxahuatl scrambled after her, his horse clopping along behind him.
Reared on the prairies, the stallion was as unaccustomed to navigating crowds as the echidna was. he was to moving in such crowds. Mercifully, none of the alleyways branching off this street were wide enough to fit a horse. He simply kept sight of Blaze’s battleaxe until she stopped in a small plaza.
“Could you possibly slow down, my prin—”
“Don’t say that here!” hissed Blaze through her visor, “Anyone could be listening.”
Knuxahuatl glanced about the plaza. Of all the felines in sight, only a couple of gawking kittens were paying them any attention.
“Would it matter if they did?” he asked.
On the journey here, the only precaution she’d insisted upon was not to stay at any inns. That had been fine by him. The thought of some cat stealing his horse turned his stomach.
“I…don’t know,” Blaze conceded.
Knuxahuatl rolled his eyes. “Well, which way now?”
Blaze pointed a gauntleted finger towards the narrowest of the three thoroughfares leading out of the plaza. Grimacing, Knuxahuatl dutifully followed the cat down the gully-like street. Born and raised in a thatched mudbrick hut, he found it hard to think of these towering buildings as homes rather than sheer rockfaces.
“Finally,” murmured Blaze, abruptly stopping at an intersection.
“What?” said Knuxahuatl, hurrying to her side lest she take off again.
Blaze pointed down the adjoining street at a purple banner, hanging from a horizontal flagpole above a doorway. It bore the image of a sword with a jagged blade shaped like a thunderbolt.
“We go there.”
They moved briskly down the street in lockstep. Dawdling cats scurried out of the duo’s path.
“Would you, my lord?” said Blaze as they stopped below the purple banner.
The echidna gladly hammered the wooden door with a gauntleted fist. Eventually, it creaked open, but only a little. A young brown lynx poked her head round. Her eyes goggled at the sight of the armored duo.
“Electra?” said a gruff voice behind the door, “What is it?”
A second brown lynx’s face peered round the door. His black eyebrows arched in surprise.
“Hello, Lightning,” said Blaze, partially lifting her visor, “May we come in?”
“Electra, go help your mother,” said the older lynx, ushering his daughter inside.
“Y-yes, Papa.”
Knuxahuatl heard claws skittering on flagstones as the child fled inside the house.
“If you must,” said Lightning, opening the door a little wider.
The warriors and their horses filed into the house’s cramped courtyard. While the lynx closed the door, Blaze took off her helmet and turned around.
Lighting’s fist struck her under the chin. Thrown back against her horse, she landed on her iron-plated backside. Her helmet clanked on the flagstones at Knuxahuatl’s feet.
“That is for ruining for my niece’s life,” the lynx growled, stamping on the cat’s dropped battleaxe, “You’ve got some nerve sneaking back in here, Hellcat.”
Stunned, the princess fumbled her hand out of a gauntlet and anxiously felt her chin. It was tender but intact.
“And who’s this?” demanded Lightning, glaring at Knuxahuatl, “Weirdest hedgehog I ever saw.”
“He is Arkadian,” said Blaze, wincing at the effort.
“Prairie-dog, huh?” said the lynx, “That bat queen really will take in anyone.”
Knuxahuatl clenched his fists.
“Stop, my lord!” said Blaze, hauling herself upright with the help of her horse’s saddle.
Lightning’s glare shifted back to the cat. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t drag you to the citadel right now?”
His eyelids narrowed as he watched Blaze delve into a saddlebag. She produced a sealed pot.
“This is why,” she said, offering him the pot.
He eyed it with disdain. “What in Typha’s name are you—”
“This is Honey,” Blaze cut in, taking a step forward, “She — Conifer, that is — told me what she meant to you. So, here she is.”
Looking on, Knuxahuatl frowned behind his visor. This was the first he was hearing of any of this.
The anger slowly drained from Lightning’s face as he gazed upon the pot.
“How?” he murmured, “How did she die?”
“I will you everything,” said Blaze softly, glancing at the door his daughter had fled through, “But privately.”
Lightning snatched Honey’s ashes out of her hands.
“This way,” he said brusquely, starting across the courtyard towards an open door.
Before Blaze and Knuxahuatl could move, the door slammed shut. A stubby arrow protruded from the wood. The trio in the courtyard looked up. A turquoise ocelot was crouched on the roof, hastily reloading a crossbow.
Just then, a terrified yowl came from inside the house.
“Papa!” wailed Electra, running out into the courtyard with her mother and two siblings.
The lynxes were followed by a dozen koalas armed with halberds. They were dressed in blue tabards, the uniform of the Citadel Guard.
Blaze bolted for the door leading onto the street. Throwing it open, she almost impaled herself on the gleaming prongs of a bident.
“Welcome home, my princess,” said the brown lynx holding the polearm.
“Nike?” breathed Blaze, backing away from the weapon.
“That’s ‘General Nike’ to you,” said the turquoise ocelot, abseiling down into the courtyard.
Before Knuxahuatl could turn around, he felt the ocelot’s crossbow pressed against his back.
“You too, prairie-dog.”
жЖж
The crouching bobkitten narrowed his eyes as a yellow butterfly alighted on a long blade of grass. Carefully, he adjusted his footing, preparing to pounce. Twice already, he’d scared the same butterfly before he could make her move. He couldn’t let it happen a third time.
It was nearly dinnertime.
Just then, a stiff breeze swept across the lawn in the villa’s courtyard. The butterfly clung tenaciously to its swaying perch. The bobkitten pounced.
He landed flat on his face.
Rolling over, he saw his prey flying away on the breeze.
“Coward,” he grumbled.
Sitting up, he looked to his right. The veranda overlooking the lawn was unoccupied. Good. At least Grampa wouldn’t be able to tease him at dinner. Then, he looked to his left.
“Tia!” he squealed as a certain brown bobcat came trotting through the villa’s gate.
He jumped up and charged across the lawn. Tiara hurriedly dismounted, intercepting the bobkitten at the edge of the grass. He leapt into her arms.
“Laurel!” cooed Tiara, squeezing her little brother, “But...what’re you doing here?”
The bobkitten looked up as if to answer, only to be distracted by the sight of a fox in a red-plumed helmet riding into the courtyard.
“Who’s that, Tia?” he whispered, peeping over his big sister’s shoulder.
“They’re friends,” said Tiara.
“But…”
He squinted at Ashura.
“Isn’t that a hodgeheg—”
“Tiara!”
“Uh-oh,” whispered Laurel, covering his ears.
Tiara looked up to see an auburn-furred bobcat marching across the lawn, dressed in a flowing amber gown.
“Laurel and I have been here all summer,” said Tiara’s mother, coming to a halt, “What brings you here? We received no word.”
“Is something wrong?” asked Tiara, ignoring the question, “Is Grampa alright?”
Her mother frowned. “He’s…improving.”
Her daughter’s eyes widened. “What’s happened? Why didn’t you write?”
“We couldn’t spare anyone. You know how busy things can be at this time of year.”
The auburn bobcat folded her arms.
“And anyway, it’s been long enough since your father’s last letter. Do you have something for us?”
“No,” said Tiara meekly, “We’re just passing through.”
“We?” said her mother, as if only just noticing the rest of the party, “What in Typha’s name…”
She trailed off, squinting at Styx and Bunnestra.
“Are those Erinians?” she said darkly.
Tiara tensed. “Mama…please don’t—”
“You’ve brought Erinians here?” her mother spat, “Here? To your grandfather’s home?”
“Forgive us, my lady,” said Miles, climbing down from his horse, “If I may—”
“You may not!” snapped the auburn bobcat.
“Mama, you can’t speak to him like that!” blurted Tiara.
“I will speak to uninvited guests however I see fit—”
“But he’s a prince!”
“Prince Miles of Cambria, no less.”
Tiara’s mother whirled around. An elderly bobcat, his auburn fur flecked with grey, was shuffling across the lawn, his hands tucked into the sleeves of a red robe. A lanky margay followed one step behind.
“Father, you shouldn’t be up—”
“The situation suggests otherwise, Coronette. I won’t have you making trouble for poor Ghazal by offending King Furlong’s son.”
“I know a misunderstanding when I see one, my lord,” said Miles amiably.
“Be that as it may, my prince, we are in your debt for the hospitality you’ve shown my son-in-law,” said the elderly bobcat, “And I am no lord. To you, my prince, I am merely Diademes.”
Miles acknowledged this show of deference by removing his red-plumed helmet.
“Vigo?” said Diademes.
“Yes, master?” said the lanky margay lurking in the background.
“Kindly tell Cosina we seem to have gained seven more guests for dinner.”
“Right away, master.”
The margay turned to leave. Coronette caught the slave by the arm.
“Father, you can’t seriously…for Iblis’s sake, they’re Erinians—”
“So what?” blurted Tiara, “Why do you have to be like this, Mama? They’re nothing like the thugs who hurt Gramma! They’re just—”
“Tia! Mama! Stop shouting!” mewled Laurel, crouching on the grass with his hands over his ears.
Silence fell. Diademes broke it with a weary sigh.
“Vigo, would you find our Erinian guests a comfortable room? I’ll have Cosina send food up.”
“Grampa?” said Tiara weakly, “You can’t—”
“He can,” Ashura cut in, slipping off the back of Bunnestra’s horse, “We’ll go where we’re told.”
“Wait, what?” Styx piped up, “This is no time for your damned decorum!”
Ashura ignored her as she proceeded towards the margay. Styx jumped down from her horse.
“Leave her alone!” hissed Sonic, grabbing the badger by the strap of her quiver.
Swatting his hand away, she rounded on the blue hedgehog.
“What?” she murmured, “Are you going to lie down and take that kitty’s crap, too?”
“I’m here for Asha—”
“Then try sticking up for her, for once!” growled Styx, grabbing the front of his tunic with both hands, “If that was Fiona, that horse-cleaver wouldn’t still be on your back.”
Sonic calmly wrapped his fingers around the badger’s wrists. He tried to jerk himself free. Styx gripped his tunic tighter.
“Trogg’s balls,” she muttered, “Is this your idea of being a good husband? Keeping quiet and doing what you’re told until she goes away?”
Sonic bared his teeth. “Get. Off. Me.”
“Unhand him, princess,” said Bunnestra sternly.
“Why?” countered Styx, “Are you going to shake some sense into him instead? I didn’t see you—gah!”
“Let go of him!” hissed Ashura, throttling the badger.
“Asha, stop!”
“Only if she does!”
“My lady, this isn’t necessary!” cried Zoë, tugging on the hedgehog’s cloak.
With Miles’s help, she pulled Ashura away. The black hedgehog landed on her backside.
Rubbing her throat, Styx stared at her attacker in disbelief.
“You’ve been forced to tolerate that cat’s presence for almost a moon,” she said, stabbing a finger towards Tiara, “Sure, we needed her help to get through those damned woods. But now? We know which way to go.”
Ashura recoiled as Styx approached her.
“Do you want to sit around this dump being treated worse than a slave? Or shall we go somewhere someone might know something about your brother?”
The badger held out her hand.
“C’mon. That blue oaf can ride with someone else for once.”
For several seconds, the black hedgehog stared silently at the proffered hand. Finally, she clasped it. Styx hauled her upright and made a beeline for her horse.
“Asha?” said Sonic.
Ashura looked round in surprise while Bunnestra helped her mount up.
“Remember to cover your ears,” said the blue hedgehog.
Husband and wife exchanged smirks as the badger climbed into the saddle. Then, they took off at a gallop. Styx let loose a rolling ululation as they disappeared through the villa’s gate.