At last, the brothers gave in, and I let the wind spirit slip free from the box I’d conjured. The little speck of light, desperate to get inside, darted straight into the mid-level wind spirit’s arms. For the first time, I saw something like emotion flicker across its face—a gentle, almost shy smile. It drew the tiny spirit close, holding it to its chest, then drifted northwest, back to the flower field they called home. They didn’t spare us a single glance, as if the rest of the world had faded away for them.
The brothers let out a breath they’d been holding, relief softening their faces as the spirit vanished into the distance. We loaded the bound Halflings onto my horse and started the slow walk back to camp. She had carried me here, let me save Janus and his brothers—and so many others—when every other horse had shied away in fear. Still, I kept calling her just ‘horse.’ She deserved better. My mind wandered through names, but all I could think of were Heracles’s man-eating mares or Loki’s strange escapades—he did turn into a mare to birth Sleipnir, after all, but the mare was wiser and greedier than mischievous. Maybe Epona would fit: the Celtic goddess of horses and abundance, sometimes riding side-saddle, sometimes even turning into a horse herself, helping souls to reach the afterlife. It felt right, even if it did remind me a little too much of my favorite video game series.
The more I rolled the name around in my head, the more it grew on me, even if it tugged at memories of late-night gaming sessions that were now a long-gone dream. I glanced over at her, and in that quiet moment, decided she would be Epona. She tossed her head and let out a soft, approving nicker, as if she could read my mind.
On the way back, we gathered up the wounded I’d managed to save. Most of them looked dazed, blinking at the world as if they’d woken from a bad dream, trying to piece together what had attacked them and how they were still breathing. The boys wasted no time bragging about their bravery and my supposed heroics, their voices carrying all the way back to where the carnage began. In a tangle of thorny bushes, I spotted the first man I’d found, still wrestling with the thorns like a fish caught in a net. The others kept their distance, eyeing him as if he might explode at any moment. I couldn’t bring myself to care who he was; exhaustion had settled into my bones, heavy and dull, probably from juggling all those strings. I just wanted to collapse into my bed and sleep for a week. Once I’d fixed his legs, he scrambled free, only to yelp as he stepped straight onto the thorns with his new, bare feet. I couldn’t regrow boots, after all.
“AHHH!”
“Fuck, who did this? Who stole my shoes?”
Didn’t he even notice his legs were missing?
“Was it one of you lowborn foul wretches…huh?
When he finally tore his gaze away from his bleeding foot and looked up at me, he froze, words dying on his lips. He was blond and lanky, a little taller than Janus, with golden eyes and arms that looked like they’d never done real work. His newly regrown legs were just as thin. A wispy blond goatee clung to his chin, making it look even pointier—almost comically so. His light brown pants now ended awkwardly above his knees, stained with blood, and his golden tunic was torn and dusted with dirt and thorn scratches. The ridiculous cavalier hat perched on his head had lost most of its feathers and was now decorated with burdocks instead. And then there was the codpiece, oversized and gleaming with the sun’s emblem, a relic from a fashion era the north had long since abandoned. He looked like a lost actor from an old play. Maybe this was still fashionable in the south?
I waited for him to say something, anything, but he just kept staring, mouth half-open. Eventually, I gave up and let the procession move on without him. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Janus shooting him a look of pure disdain, the kind a lion might give a particularly annoying kitten. I was too tired to care about whatever noble drama was brewing. Let them sort it out without me.
It wasn’t until we were well out of sight that I heard him stumbling after us, swearing every time another thorn found his bare feet.
When we finally made it back to camp, we were swallowed up by a sea of nobles, servants, and guards, all desperate for answers. The noble ladies peered through the crowd, their faces tight with worry—some broke down in tears, others just sagged with relief. Janus, seeing how close I was to collapsing, stepped in and told the story for me. By the end, the whole camp was ready to string up the halflings, and I overheard more than a few creative, if deeply racist, curses. Whatever those two had hoped to accomplish, all they’d really done was make everyone hate Halflings even more.
Even in my exhausted haze, something felt off—no one else had even tried to go into the forest to see what was happening. On my way to the carriage, I overheard that the host, former Duke Henry, had been more worried about rounding up the horses and calming the camp after the forest animals stampeded through. That struck me as strange. I hadn’t paid much attention to the details, but I knew from the other women that all his grandsons were out there, competing in the hunt. Why wouldn’t he send anyone after them?
That was the last thought to drift through my mind before I surrendered to sleep, curled up on the carriage cushions. I only stirred when Janus climbed in beside me. The sun was still bright when we left the forest, but now he stood in the doorway, haloed by the last golden light. He closed the door, murmured something to the driver, and settled my head in his lap, his fingers brushing the hair from my face. I let myself sink into the comfort of his scent, warm and familiar, and drifted off again, safe for a little while longer.
The next time I woke, I was no longer in the carriage but tucked into my own bed. I sat up, groggy and still half-dreaming, rubbing the sleep and a bit of dirt from my eyes. Someone—Emma or Janus, I hoped—had changed my clothes while I slept. Janus was already up, of course. The house was quiet, no babies crying yet, so I almost drifted back to sleep. But then I heard heavy breathing through the open window. The curtains fluttered in the lazy summer breeze, and through them I saw Janus, shirtless, sword in hand, drilling. Up and down, up and down, his movements almost hypnotic. Sweat ran down his hair, over his chest and arms, glistening on his skin. I couldn’t look away—something about the way he moved, so focused and effortless, made my heart skip. He looked like some ancient hero, sunlight gilding every line of muscle, and for a moment I was sure I’d never seen anyone so beautiful. My cheeks heated as I followed the line of his neck. And then—necklace! I still hadn’t told Janus about the engagement necklaces we’d forgotten.
Now wide awake, I pulled on the simplest dress I could find—a light blue summer dress—and ran a brush through my tangled hair. I slipped on some shoes and hurried out to the garden, where Janus was still lost in his training. He didn’t notice me at first, only stopping when I was nearly in his sword’s path. He let the practice blade sink into the earth, grabbed a towel from a nearby bush, and wiped the sweat from his face and chest.
“Huff Huff, Good morning, Ruby. Huff Huff,, what is it?”
For a second, I couldn’t help but stare, utterly entranced. The way his muscles flexed, the way the sweat shimmered on his skin, how intensely alive he seemed—it was magnetic. I felt a flutter of nerves, a rush of something giddy and wild, but before I could fully lose myself, I forced my eyes away and spoke.
“Janus, I think we forgot the Necklaces.”
“Huh? What necklace? I think we made sure to get all your jewelry before we teleported. At least Emma said so…”
“No, we did get everything; it’s just that we got our sun and moon necklaces for the wedding, but we still don’t have any for the engagement.”
As I went on, a sudden jolt shot through Janus, which he neatly masked by bending down to pick up his sword again so even I didn’t notice.
“Ah, those you don’t have to worry about; I already put in the order.”
“Then when will they be ready? If it takes too long, some of the other women might get suspicious.”
“Uhm, I think next week. Don’t worry about it.”
After taking the engagement necklaces off my list, I made myself ready for the rest of the day. Today, nothing was scheduled, but right after the whole fiasco with Rika and the Ivory King, I had written her a letter, and so far I still hadn’t heard back. Usually, I would have waited patiently for her to write back, but after several days, I got worried. So I made up my mind and paid Rika a surprise visit. If I waited any longer, I might not have any time at all to talk with her once I revealed my true healing abilities.
When I reached their house in the lower—well, main—city, it was immediately obvious why Rika hadn’t written back. Right outside her door was a mountain of treasure, guarded by northern tribesmen who looked fierce enough to scare off even the bravest soul. I saw countless gold coins in all shapes and sizes, silver bars and goblets, and most of all two full mammoth tusks, easily fifteen feet long, plus expensive carpets, many, many different dresses in all shapes and colors, and so much more hidden away in crates and bags. The tribesman guarding this treasure carried poleaxes that seemed part harpoon, part halberd, and wore mismatched armor patched together from rusty chain, battered plate, and scales. What really caught my eye, though, was the thick fur they wore underneath it all. In this summer heat, it must have felt like wearing a furnace.
Once our carriage was only twenty meters from the Camael residence, one of the guards stopped us and refused to let us through. I dismounted and confronted him; he was stunned at my sight but quickly recovered and bellowed.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Other nobles might have been offended by his lack of manners, but thankfully I wasn’t like other nobles.
“I’m Ruby Yuwen, and I want to visit my friend Rika Camael.”
“Visit, huh?”
He looked back at one of the men guarding the pile of treasure, a fat yet muscular man in full plate armor, though it was jumbled, and he made me think of a mountain. The mountain, who must have overheard our brief conversation, nodded and let us through. Or well, I was let through. Collin was refused entry with the words.
“No Men!”
I looked apologetically at Collin, whom Janus had ordered not to leave his sight, and knocked on Rika's door.