For a while, rebuilding took all the material and mental resources Baroness Guelder could muster, as well as all the juicy rebuilding loan Hazel drew down from Restov, and she used the occasion to introduce some much needed changes in town. To preserve the memory of Kesten Garess, she had the old prison reshaped into barracks for the guards and named it after the fallen militia leader, graciously letting his disobedience be forgotten forever. Also, the monument she'd envisioned after the fight with the giant owlbear (whose pelt now decorated the Beer Mug Inn's floor) was completed and inaugurated. It was the first stone statue in Tuskdale, made by a Brevan artist, depicting a leopard in the course of killing an owlbear. The base displayed the list of heroes who had given their lives to protect their homeland from the Bloom.

  Guelder tasked the High Priest with examining the remains of the Everblooming Flower, hoping to learn more about the magic that had turned an innocuous plant into a weapon of mass destruction. Also, in order to take Bokken's mind off of creating weedkillers, she launched a new project for him: developing a potion that would permanently give poison immunity to the field team on Nightvale territory, based on her own blood as the secret ingredient. If the research proved successful, it would not only make the field team's lives easier but also help Harrim avoid relapse into his old drinking habits, even if he couldn't resist a pint now and then.

  Alerting the neighbouring rulers of Lady Bloom's games was not as easy as it should have been. The East Sellen, Nightvale's border river towards the west, was infested by pirates to an extent that made it impossible to cross. Guelder couldn't help but think that King Irovetti turned a blind eye towards the phenomenon on purpose, either having an interest in the business himself or employing the pirates as border guards. That could not continue. Not if Guelder wanted to use the river for trade and traffic. She had Kassil redirect the bulk of her fledgling army to the bank of the East Sellen and build outposts to keep an eye on the pirates. She even founded a settlement across from Glenebon, at a ford that allowed easy crossing through the river, after heavily culling the local tatzlwyrm population that seemed to be in overshoot this year. She named the place Tatzlford in remembrance of the poison-spewing, two-limbed snakes that found their demise there. Their skins were purchased in bulk by Morhalan, a talented half-elf tailor increasingly famous for his creative combinations of fabric and reptile leather.

  Then the news came from Silverstep Village that a new cult was forming, with a silver dragon at its centre. Suspecting Lady Bloom’s never-ceasing footsteps behind her back, Guelder was sure that it had to do with her nemesis. She couldn't help but wonder if the silver dragon was, in fact, a jabberwock, the dragon-like First World creature that had destroyed Lady Bloom's dreamland in her visions. Still, before she set out to investigate the situation, she applied the lessons she was in the course of learning. She reinforced the official religion by building new shrines dedicated to Erastil, Gozreh and Sarenrae, and started looking into options to speed up her public education project. Thanks to Linzi, Nightvale had a printing house for newspapers and books, but all that was worthless without a susceptible audience. Guelder hoped that, given some basic education, her people would be less prone to respond to every unusual turn of events by founding another crazy cult. Of course, that would take a few human generations.

  This time, as she wanted to give a chance to some team members she called upon less frequently, she departed on her mission without Hazel. Her Treasurer had their hands full working out the financing of the school system, anyway.

  The expedition ended in manifold, utter failure. Guelder didn't get to make the acquaintance of a silver dragon, much less to seize its hoard of treasures. The dragon proved to be a simple wyvern, likely a leftover specimen from the Bloom. Incidentally, it also turned out that Baron Varn's historic site protection measures were not as airtight as he thought: in a cave near Lake Silverstep, Guelder and her team had to face a gang of bandits and a zombie cyclops that rose from a sarcophagus probably nicked from Dunsward or the Tors of Levenies. And if that wasn't enough, the baroness discovered another cell of the cult of Lamashtu in Silverstep, and the consequences of massacring the majority of Tsanna's flock caught up with her.

  Finally back from her journey, she had a bath drawn. Normally she would have bathed in the lake, at a secret spot not known to anyone, not even to Hazel (in fact, least of all to Hazel), but this was not a normal day. After she got rid of her dirty, bloodstained clothes and washed the muck of travel and combat off herself, she steeled her will and stood in front of the mirror. She avoided looking at the reflection of her face. The interesting part was below that, anyway.

  Lamashtu's curse, delivered by the priest of the newly discovered cell, had done a thorough job on her body. The skin on her left wrist, cut so many times to help Pangur to a few licks of life-giving blood, was now soft and smooth, as if never harmed. She searched in vain for the hateful spot where her shoulder had been pierced by a long, sharp claw in her youth. Both her breasts were in place, small, round and firm, perfectly symmetrical, the nipples intact, as if the owlbear fight had never happened. The ugly burn between her breasts, a keepsake from the Stag Lord's goons, was gone, too. And so on, and so forth. Her body looked as though it had never seen combat.

  It should have felt amazing, and to some extent, it did. Her new looks would prove advantageous if she ever decided to enter into a political marriage or get a lover, or both. Not that she planned to do either. On the other hand, her personal history written into her flesh had been deleted, and that left her with a bitter aftertaste of insecurity. The words she'd said to Darlac by the Pool of Tears just didn't seem to apply to herself. Whatever Valerie said, Lamashtu's curse was not a blessing in disguise. Still, Guelder could do nothing about that, except for going on with her usual lifestyle. In fact, she had already won her first set of new scars.

  She dried herself and patted her hair with a towel, soaking up the excess water to avoid dripping. She put on a dark green robe of fine wool, wrapped her neck in a light scarf (a piece of clothing she had considered completely unnecessary until today), and went to check on Hazel. Her Treasurer had not come to greet her when she'd entered the capital, either because they were offended at her or because they were busy. Guelder hoped for the latter.

  Hazel was neck-deep in paperwork when the baroness entered. They looked up from their work, glancing at her above Jubilost Narthropple's glasses. Guelder had never understood why Hazel wore those for work. The lenses consisted of simple, flat glass, and the entire thing looked silly on an elf whose eyes couldn't possibly be any sharper.

  "Welcome back, Guel," they said. "You look amazing. Do they have a wellness centre at Lake Silverstep?"

  The baroness rolled her eyes. She'd seen Linzi slip out of Hazel's office, so she knew they had already been updated on every detail of the expedition. Deep inside she yearned to share the pain of her loss with Hazel. She needed a friend's support while mourning for her old body. However, as she saw their gaze fixated on her breasts (safely hidden under a layer of wool, hardly noticeable, but still), she let go of this hope. She'd never thought that, let down by Hazel, she would have to seek out Amiri for understanding and consolation.

  "My eyes are up here, Hazel."

  "My apologies, Guel. It is just that... you are beautiful. I mean, you have always been. But now you look as if you had spent last year playing under the willows, instead of fighting monsters and suppressing a plague and navigating the maze of politics... Are you in heat again, by any chance?"

  "Are you asking for a claw swipe, by any chance?"

  "I take that as a no. Forget it. Look what I got you."

  Hazel held out a sheet of paper towards her. It was a list of herbs, drawn up with Octavia's swirly-whirly handwriting. Top Secret Anti-Nightmare Tea Blend. Guelder knew Octavia regularly brewed it for Harrim to help with his withdrawal-induced sleep disturbances. She rewarded Hazel with a warm smile, putting their disrespectful behaviour out of her mind.

  "Thank you, Hazel. You are so thoughtful. I see you made good use of your time in my absence."

  Hazel blushed, and Guelder started to suspect that Octavia might have demanded a certain type of price for the recipe. She smiled again, happy for both her friends (and probably for Regongar as well), then folded up the recipe and sank it into her pouch.

  "How did the expedition go?" asked Hazel quickly, before Guelder could delve into sensitive details. They sat back and put their booted feet upon their desk. Guelder eased herself into the comfortable armchair Hazel kept for visitors and negotiation partners, pulling up her legs, while Pangur curled up underneath it.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "Not too bad," she lied. "There was no dragon, though. It was a tale invented by a local hunter."

  "What did you find then?"

  "Fey, bandits, zombies, including a cyclops, local wildlife like tatzlwyrms, giant frogs, an unreal quantity of wolves and worgs, and a werewolf as a cherry on top."

  "In other words, just an average Toilday on the Stolen Lands. Well, that will not help us fill the coffers."

  "Sorry, Hazel, but I shall still not raise the taxes. The people have suffered enough. They need time to recover."

  Hazel bit back their response and switched topic.

  "On a different note, take that scarf off. I know what you are hiding underneath."

  Guelder's hand wandered to her neck. She braced herself for another lecture on recklessness and irresponsibility, and pulled the scarf off, revealing the teeth marks around her larynx. Hazel turned pale, even though they knew what to expect.

  "By the storms, Guel..."

  "Barkskin is hard to bite through. And Ekun’s arrows are very efficient in making people come to their senses in the last moment."

  "Did he infect you?"

  Guelder snorted derisively. Hazel leant forward and deployed their most reproachful gaze.

  "Guel, this is not funny. You have just about recovered from your ordeal in the Season of Bloom, and here you go, risking your life again. I thought your owlbear adventures taught you not to go melee."

  "Thorns and brambles, I was talking to him when he shapeshifted out of the blue! It was not even full moon! And if anyone had to get bitten, it had better be me, not the others. I cannot possibly become more afflicted than I already am."

  Hazel sank their fingers into their hair.

  "Now I can see what the next mass hysteria will be about, not to mention the next wave of Pitaxian defamatory propaganda. And it will hit all too close for comfort."

  "Hazel, everyone and their cousin knows what I am," said Guelder wearily. "It is a bit too late to worry about that."

  "Still, why did you not stay behind the others? A nice draught of wolfsbane could have cured anyone. Bokken's masterpiece is close to completion, right? It will surely be ready by the next full moon. That means you do not have to act as a meat shield against werecreatures anymore."

  Guelder glanced away. How could she explain this to Hazel? She, a wereleopard by birth, had felt pitifully powerless while facing a freshly afflicted werewolf. She couldn't even match him shape for shape, lacking the hybrid form. At the moment, she felt bitter resentment against wolfsbane and the late Master Thalion. Couldn't he just accept her for what she was, instead of trying to cure her and weakening or suppressing her abilities? Now she was a fraction of what she was meant to be, a wretch who struggled to avoid harming others, instead of a fearsome creature who could master and exploit her curse to her benefit.

  She couldn't stop a teardrop from rolling down her face.

  Hazel walked over to her, cupped her face in their palms and coaxed her to look into their eyes.

  "Guel, you did not let him bite you on purpose, did you?" they said softly. "To regain your lost abilities?"

  She gently pushed them away and turned aside.

  "That is not how it works," she said softly.

  "Guel, I can understand that you want more power. It is normal. But –"

  "It is not about power!" she exclaimed. "It is about what I am, what I was supposed to be, and what was taken away from me, without even asking me if I wanted it!"

  "Of course it is about power, Guel. Do not lie to yourself. You are the ruler of a state, entangled in an unceasing war against an ancient entity working towards your demise. There is nothing wrong with a healthy thirst for power. But this is not the way. You still think like a lone adventurer with nothing to rely on but her spells and wild shapes. Expand your horizon. You are a leader, with a team to watch your back, and behind that, an entire country. Who cares if you have a hybrid form or not? If you feel your personal abilities fall short, use your companions or even your army. You do not need to put yourself in harm's way to show off that you can slay a werewolf on your own."

  "I did not slay him."

  "WHAT?" screamed Hazel.

  "I let him go and encouraged him to move on with his life."

  "But he is a –"

  "He did nothing wrong!" The sentence came out a bit more sharply than it should have. Guelder took a deep breath to regain her composure. "Quite on the contrary. He managed his condition according to his best abilities, and used it to support his fellow villagers. He deserved compassion and respect, not death. Especially not by the hands of someone who has to deal with the same sort of organic waste on a monthly basis."

  It was a good thing that Hazel knew nothing about the two wererat communities Guelder had befriended and started to employ as spies. Only Jaethal knew, as they reported to her.

  "But Guel, he attacked you! He could have killed you! You cannot let monsters run free, just because you feel kinship to them!"

  "Monsters?" snapped Guelder, her eyes throwing daggers at Hazel. "Did you just casually call me a monster?"

  "Not you, Guel. Do not distort my words. You are different."

  "No, I am not," she said coldly. "Thanks for the conversation, Hazel. You and Linzi have three days to finish the education budget draft. Continue your work."

  She swept out of the office, feeling affronted and betrayed, and headed to the palace garden. That little patch of nature she'd smuggled into her living and working space always calmed her down. Also, she had to collect the ingredients for the tea. She needed a good night's rest, or more.

  "Guelder? Can we talk?"

  Annoyed with the disturbance, she stood up from amongst the lavender bushes, and her gaze met Octavia's big green eyes. Regongar stood close by her side, and this time he wasn't leering. In fact, he looked unusually intense and serious.

  Guelder felt a little ashamed. Here she was, mourning for her scars, planning to seek out Amiri for comforting words and a nice pat on the back (hopefully without bruising her ribs, for a change), and it hadn't even occurred to her that Regongar and Octavia had the same level of expertise on the topic. Their old master had not taken kindly to their stubborn escape attempts, or any other mistake they might or might not have made. Their constant sexual overdrive made Guelder unwilling to seek their input or company, and she didn't make much effort to get to know them on a deeper level. This time, however, she could tell they had something important to say.

  "Of course, friends," she said. "Is something wrong?"

  "Maestro Janush! He is here!"

  "He found us!"

  "He will hunt us down!"

  This was enough to take Guelder's mind off her own issues. Slavers on her lands governed by the River Freedoms? Hunting for members of her pack? That would end before it even started.

  "No, he will not. He might think himself a hunter, but he could not be more wrong. In this land of freedom, he can only be prey, and the predators are just about to pick up his scent. Come. Walk with me and fill me in on the details."