The commander found his voice somewhere beneath the terror.
"It's true I intended to take advantage of her," he rasped, "but I never even finished the act. You have no true reason to kill me. So why are you doing this? If you let me go now, I swear I'll never step foot in this forest again."
Aeloria tilted her head. A smear of blood still clung to one canine, turning her smile into a patchwork of crimson and white.
"A reason?" she repeated, almost curious. "There has only ever been one valid reason from the very beginning: you are Nyxelene's dogs, and you wear Runevale colors. Blame whatever gods you pray to that our paths crossed tonight."
She leaned closer, and the pressure on his chest increased until his ribs creaked.
The commander cursed every star in the sky and summoned every shred of will he had left. He strained, muscles burning, trying to throw her off. Nothing. She weighed no more than any woman, yet he could not shift her an inch. She had pinned him with the same casual strength a child uses to hold down an insect.
'To think the day would come when I despise my favorite bed position—a woman on top,' he thought bitterly.
"Now, now," Aeloria murmured, almost kindly. "Don't struggle. The sooner I eat my fill, the sooner the worms of the earth can have their turn."
She lowered her head and bit into the muscle of his chest just above the heart. Teeth sank deep. Flesh tore.
The commander screamed. The sound tore out of him raw and broken, tears streaming down his temples into the dirt.
"Quiet," she scolded, lifting her mouth, blood shining on her lips. "You'll wake the girl."
Rya still lay unconscious a few paces away, half-covered by the fallen gown.
Aeloria seized his right wrist with one hand. Slowly, deliberately, she twisted it backward—left, then right—in a tight spiral. Bone ground against bone. The commander sobbed, begging now, words tumbling over each other. She ignored him. With a final, sharp yank she tore the hand free at the joint. Tendons snapped like wet rope.
She examined the severed wrist almost thoughtfully, then bit the thumb clean off and chewed.
Blood poured from the ragged stump and from the gaping hole in his chest.
"I must admit," she said, swallowing, "your meat is better than the rest. Seasoned, almost. Would you like some?"
She held the wrist out toward his own mouth, expression perfectly sincere, as though offering bread to a starving beggar.
Rage and agony gave him one last burst of defiance.
"You mad woman," he spat, blood flecking his lips. "I'm not alone in these woods. My runner went for the main force. They'll be here any moment. Kill me and you die with me."
Aeloria paused, head tilted again, listening to the distant night.
"Too bad," she said lightly. "That means I should leave before they arrive. I've had my fill anyway."
She flicked the ruined wrist away like discarding a chicken bone.
Rising smoothly, she stood over him. Hope flickered in the commander's eyes—pain-mad, desperate hope.
'She's leaving. If she leaves, I live. I'll be the man who survived Aeloria. The queen will reward me beyond—'
"Goodbye, whatever your name was," Aeloria said pleasantly.
Her heel came down on the open wound in his chest with all her weight behind it. Ribs cracked like dry kindling. Blood erupted from his mouth.
She lifted her foot and smashed down again.
Again.
Again.
"I think a shard of bone is caught in my molar," she muttered, probing the back of her teeth with one finger while her heel kept crushing what was left of his ribcage.
After a few more leisurely stomps she stopped. The commander had gone still, eyes wide and staring at nothing.
Aeloria tore a wide strip from the banner still clinging to his shoulder. She used it to wipe her mouth, her hands, the specks on her neck and cheeks, and finally the soles of her boots until no trace of blood remained on her skin.
She drew the commander's own sword from its sheath, tested the balance with a small swing, then carried it a few paces into the bushes. She the stabbed it at something. Wet sound followed—once, twice—then silence.
"Thank you all for the generous meal," she said politely to the ring of broken corpses.
Satisfied, she stepped carefully between the bodies, avoiding the spreading pools of blood, and walked toward the unconscious girl lying among the leaves.
Rya never stirred.
Aeloria finally lowered her gaze to the half-naked, motionless form of the girl lying among the dead leaves and broken sticks.
She knelt beside Rya, and tilted the unconscious girl's head gently to the side, exposing the pale column of her neck.
"She's so pretty," Aeloria said softly, almost to herself as she licked her lips starring at Rya's neck. "Is she a noble of Runevale? An important figure perhaps?"
With careful, almost tender fingers she lifted the torn crimson gown with its silver-and-black lining and drew it upward, covering Rya's chest and shoulders once more. Then she slipped her arms beneath the girl's slight body and lifted her onto her back as though she weighed no more than a child. Rya's head rested limply against Aeloria's shoulder, her black hair spilled down her shoulders.
Satisfied, Aeloria turned and walked away from the ring of mutilated corpses without a backward glance.
A few paces into the trees she noticed the commander's sword she used earlier. She had skewered a large hare straight through the belly with the blade; the animal still twitched faintly. Supporting Rya's unconscious weight with one arm wrapped securely around the girl's thighs, Aeloria bent, grasped the rabbit by its long ears, and pulled it free of the steel. Blood dripped steadily from the wound onto the leaves.
She straightened, shifted Rya higher on her back, and called out in a warm, singsong voice.
"Darling, you can come out now. It's safe."
The little boy stepped out from behind the massive tree, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He looked at his mother, then past her to the dark shapes scattered on the ground far behind.
"What are they doing?" he asked, pointing.
Aeloria smiled the same gentle smile she used at bedtime.
"Don't worry, my sweet. Mama just put the bad men to sleep, the same way I sing you lullabies every night. Because of that, I was able to rescue this poor young lady here."
The boy wrinkled his nose and took a cautious step closer.
"You smell funny, Mom. Like raw meat." Aeloria may have wiped the blood from her body, but not the scents of the flesh she ate.
A soft laugh escaped her. "Nothing escapes you, does it, darling? You got me."
She brought the hand holding the dead rabbit around to the front so he could see, keeping the other arm firmly around Rya's legs so the girl would not slip.
The boy's eyes went wide and bright. "Rabbit soup! That's my favorite! Thank you, Mom!"
"Yes," she said warmly, "rabbit soup with potatoes and wild thyme, just the way you like it."
She started walking again, the boy trotting happily at her side. They moved deeper into the forest until the trees opened into a hidden, spiral clearing. A small, worn wooden house stood there, half-hidden beneath ivy and years of moss. A faint curl of smoke still rose from the chimney.
Aeloria stopped at the threshold.
"Dear, would you be kind enough to open the door for me? My hands are full."
"Of course, Mom!" The boy scrambled forward, pushed the heavy wooden door with both hands, and darted inside. A moment later the scrape of flint on steel sounded, and golden lantern-light spilled out into the night.
Aeloria stepped over the threshold, let the dead rabbit drop just inside the doorway with a soft thud, and carried Rya past the creaky table and chairs. She pushed aside a thick curtain and entered the small inner room. There she laid Rya gently on the bed, arranging the pillow beneath her head and pulling a patched quilt up to her chin.
"Dear," she called through the curtain, "could you please bring me a bowl of water and the healing salve?"
Small footsteps pattered away at once.
Alone with the unconscious girl, Aeloria sat on the edge of the bed and studied her face in the soft light. The worst bruises had already faded to faint yellow shadows; the split lip was almost closed; the burn on her neck had shrunk to a pale pink line.
Aeloria's eyes narrowed with genuine surprise.
"Does she knows Šērēĺįťh?," she whispered, wonder and something like respect in her voice.
The boy was still fetching water. There were a few moments yet.
Aeloria placed her palm flat over Rya's heart and spoke the forbidden Words, low and resonant, the ancient syllables rolling like distant thunder.
"Űlëin Lïsä, şhėle vəlâin öräën.
Zhürênin ën zhürênthirin vën nóirëin vąřéth lïsän.
Läel mæló ën šüvėlī vəlâ rävëš, zhënën vëló.
Moräth Šëlvën: Rävêšin Vëlthin."
("River of night, swallow her whole.
Drown her exhaustion, her wounds, and her fatigue.
Rejuvenate and spit her out stronger than before.
Primal Genesis: Reverse Baptism.")
A ripple of liquid shadow flowed from her hand, sinking into Rya's chest. The last traces of injury vanished completely. The girl's breathing deepened, steady and peaceful; a faint, healthy color returned to her cheeks.
"Now, what to do with you?" Aeloria said with a smile as she stared at Rya's neck.