Page 70 of The Princesses of Ruin
There’s a wolf to be hunted.
She pulls up her scarf, then secures mine. We don’t need words anymore.
I spray our tent and camp area with the deodorizer mixture, then do continual sprays as we move through the thick trees. Thirty minutes later, we’re nestling down into a snowdrift twenty feet from where we’ve left the gutted rabbit and the poisoned one.
We sit close together in the snow, our bodies touching. I thank my skill for the potion that has my mind on the task ahead rather than the goddess beside me. Minutes drag into an hour, then into two. It’s cold, but with our goggles and tightly wrapped faces, it’s endurable.
Emillia tenses beside me and then holds up two fingers, then makes an “O” with her hand. She then gestures for walking and points to our two o’clock. Two wolves close? Or maybe it’s twenty paces away? I’m not sure, but I direct my gaze to the location she pointed at, and I focus on it.
For a long time, we stay like that. Eyes trained on a thorny bush between the thick of the trees. Just as my attention wavers, I see movement. My heart picks up for a moment, but my potions do their work and keep my breathing steady.
Emillia shoulders her blunderbuss. Its muzzle sits in a valley of snow, frost-covered and cold. She moves ever so slightly, turning thebarrel toward her target. I follow the straight line of the gun and see where she’s aiming isn’t the rustling bush, but a thick pine tree a few paces from it.
There’s a flicker of white in the bush that draws my gaze, but Emillia is steadfast on the tree. The white isn’t a wolf at all, but an arctic fox.
Yebat.
It’s going for our bait.
The creature twitches its tiny ears as it steps into the bloodstained clearing. It’s maybe twenty pounds, if that, and sees those hares as a fine meal indeed. It wouldn’t be much for a five hundred-pound wolf however, so why would it be hunting the tiny thing?
It takes a tentative bite of the gutted rabbit, avoiding the poisoned one. Then it starts dragging its prize away.
I hiss a curse through my teeth, prepared to pounce on the fox and make it my new lure.
“Wait.”
Emillia’s voice is so quiet I almost miss it. Her finger strokes the trigger, anticipation building in the space between her and the end of her gun. I follow the length of the barrel back to its spot, poised on an unassuming tree.
Glowing green eyes is all I see before the pine tree explodes with movement. The blunderbuss barks beside me and I’m deaf, wincing my eyes shut for a fraction. A sharp ring pierces my ears, and I open my eyes to a horrifying sight.
Emillia hit her target, but the wolf is not dead—it’s running toward us. Emillia rolls and kicks me in the side, shoving me out of our snowdrift. White powder fills the air as the wolf slams into what was our hiding spot. Irrational fear takes hold as I worry for Emillia. Did she make it out of the drift in time?
Through the haze of snow I catch the eyes of the wolf again. Green orbs of killing intent lock on my face, cutting short all thought like a candle snuffed between pinched fingers. Its teeth gleam with drool as it stalks toward me. Blood drips from its chest and mats its fur, but there’s no blood on its teeth or claws.
It didn’t get Emillia.
I snatch a grenade from my belt and quick-detonate it, covering myself in a cloud of sleeping powder. I close my eyes and roll to the side, hearing the wolf pounce on where I’d just lay. It hacks, a deep, resonating noise that sends a chill down my spine.
I rush to my feet and run for the closest tree, snatching another grenade from my satchel. I slip, falling into the underbrush of the pine, and lose the sleep grenade in the snow. A loud crash above me snaps branches, and the white wolf comes slamming down in front of me. It rights itself faster than I can, and I find myself scrambling backwards on my elbows.
There’s anotherbangand blood explodes from the wolf’s neck. Its green eyes dart away and it leaps over me in a single bound.
Emillia’s scream breaks through the ringing in my skull and pulls on my stomach. Fire fills my body and I roll to the side, grabbing another grenade. I push into the snow and it gives, making me slip again.
Curses bellow from the pit of my chest as another shot rings out. I come to my feet and take a half second to understand the scene. Emillia’s arm is in the wolf’s mouth, her pistol dangling from her limp fingers. The wolf shakes its head, spraying blood from its eye and shredding the leather on Emillia’s arm. She screams again and I prime the grenade.
As it leaves my hand, I realize it’s not a sleep tonic, but Reina’s magic and ipsain. It smacks against the creature’s side and detonatesin a blinding blue flash. The wolf howls, going up in a blaze that eats away at it faster than any real fire could manage.
“The fur!” Emillia screams as she falls to the ground.
She cradles her right arm to her chest and recovers her pistol, then fires another round at the flailing wolf. The beast goes down in a dramaticwhumph, and is extinguished by the snow. The scent of charred flesh permeates the air with pungent stink. I pull up my scarf to hide from the reek, then run to Emillia, wanting to hold her above all else.
“Are you all right?” I ask, stopping myself short from touching her. “Your arm?”
She grits her teeth as she stares at the wolf, her pistol still aimed at it. “Bruised at least. Maybe broken.”
“Fuck.”
