She was even more determined now than before that she was going to be a part of the hunt. It was the human spirit inside of her, craving as all humans do for that which she had been denied. The woman wished to prove herself, to prove the others wrong, that ancient instinct. But now, as well, she had learned that the boar had been sent by the Half Moon Herself as punishment upon the kingdom for failing to properly honor Her.

  And why should She have been honored? What had She ever done to be worthy of any honors? Who was She to have demanded honor from anyone?

  Who was She to punish anyone who would not honor Her?

  The truth was, though, that the woman was not sure. She herself had spent months now refusing to honor her most hated mother, and to what consequence? Was the Half Moon really one to punish such things? Had She ever been?

  Perhaps that was what the centaurs had been for. Perhaps the Half Moon had sent them and their rancid lust as punishment— just as perhaps She had sent this terrible boar.

  Perhaps She had even sent the shadows to kill the old she-bear. Perhaps the woman’s second mother had also failed to honor Her.

  No. No, that was too much. For all of the disdain the woman felt towards the Half Moon, she knew full well when a thought had gotten too ridiculous. Send the boar? Perhaps. Send the centaurs? It wasn’t altogether impossible. But those shadows were a thing all their own.

  Even so. Even if this boar hadn’t truly been sent by the Half Moon, then it was still a symbol of the Half Moon among the people of this place, and if nothing else it would separate her from her mother to help see it dead. It would make her more of herself, it would make her her own.

  She let the cadre of servants guide her and Leto up to the fine chambers the King had promised her without resistance. This was none of their faults. They were doing as they were supposed to be doing. But when Meleager moved to follow her, she pierced his throat with a glare. “You are brave in armor, with a spear in your hand and a raging centaur facing you down, but against men? Against your own father and mother? You say not even a single word in my defense. Your hands are heroes, but your tongue is a coward, it would seem. A pity.”

  The woman did not stop him from walking alongside her out of the hall, though. Force of habit, more than anything tender, she told herself. They had come this far together.

  “I can only apologize,” he said to her, shrinking a little into himself. “There is not much else that I can do. This is how they are, these men, they aren’t the sort to be easily bent.”

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  “Says the man so easily bending. I suppose I should not be surprised that you understand them so well. You are just as they are, in the end.”

  “I swear to you that I am not.”

  “Come to think of it, now, even your hands are cowards, forcing down my bow towards the floor.”

  “They think they are better than you. They think they don’t need you. For them to be bent by my words instead of yours is really for them not be bent at all. Just men changing their minds because a man told them so.”

  “Perhaps,” said the woman, coldly.

  “And perhaps the truth is that actually, it is you who doesn’t need them, Starchild. I have seen your skills for myself.”

  She stopped short— and all the servants around her bobbed to a stop a heartbeat later, like egg-whites around the yolk. “Perhaps, perhaps,” she said, turning to face him, “perhaps I don’t need them— and perhaps I don’t need you to speak up for me, either. Perhaps you’re right and it really only means something if I’m the one to change them.”

  “Perhaps,” said Meleager, warmly, hopefully.

  “But me not needing you to speak up for me is not much of a reason for you not to speak up for me. You don’t need me to speak up for you, ‘oh Prince’, but would it be such a bad thing if I ever did?”

  At this, the Prince was stunned, silent. The woman carried on with her walking, and all the servants assembled around her carried on as well with their attending and anointing and guiding her towards the chambers that had been set aside for her. Meleager watched her go, and he thought, and he thought, and then, finally, he chased after her one last time, and he called to her a promise that from now on, no matter what happened, he would always speak up for her. Not because she needed him to, but because it was what was right, plain and simple— and what kind of hero would he be if he didn’t what was right?— just for the sake of it being right?

  That was the kind of person he wanted to be, someone who did that. The woman told him good night.

  The room she was brought to had a great stone tub in the corner of it, and a large pile of soft furs for a bed. Just like in the courtyard, she was quickly being assailed by lotions and perfumes, and she didn’t have it in her anymore to resist— not even the perfumes, which the attendants rubbed in her hair, behind her ears, between her legs, even. She felt stupid. She smelled ridiculous. But the lotions upon her muscles had made her realize how tired she was, how tired she had been— her entire life, up until now, how tired, how completely exhausted she had been and not even noticed it. All she cared about were those furs, that bed. Getting her eyes shut. If simply letting the attendants do what they wanted to do instead of making a fight around it meant laying down ten seconds sooner, then that was how it would go.

  Even Leto had given up a bit of her resistance. She let some of the servants tend to her scars and bring her lean strips of uncured meat. Allowing herself to be perfumed as the woman had was still too far. But the she-wolf was not miserable. Not entirely.

  All the same, the two of them were ill at ease. It was strange, being in a place like this, and stranger still trying to relax in a place like this. Surrounded by stone walls. A door. The chambers had a broad window, and a balcony as well, for the breeze to come in, and to look out onto the rest of the palace and the city beyond from— and it was a beautiful palace, and it was a beautiful city, thousands of other windows and squared intersections dancing with firelight, it was beautiful; but all that light drowned out the night sky. It was not cloudy; the Sun had already sunk beneath the distant horizon; but with all the light of the people of this place, the woman could not see the stars. There was only the Half Moon, above. And even Her, the woman and the wolf could not see as they lay, as they begged themselves to relax. Not through the ceiling. The servants all wished them goodnight and disappeared back out into the greater palace, and the two of them were left alone.

  They were contained. This was a containing place where they were, now. This wasn’t like hiding in the cavern behind the waterfall. They were trapped here, by these walls, the door, the ceiling, these foul scents and flickering lights.

  At least they had each other, though, the woman and the wolf. That was enough not to be nothing. That was enough for a little safety.

  It was a strange sleep the woman finally slept. It was a strange dream she finally dreamed.