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Killing the Messenger

Chapter 26

"Mm . . . mm . . ."

"Good boy. Suck it deep . . ."

Ettoras choked on the penis in his mouth, his tongue flexing desperately against the salty taste as it throbbed hard against his lips. The phallus was so long, it was prodding the back of his throat, and he thought he was going to be sick. They hadn't fed him all day, so even if he gagged, nothing would come up. Down on paws and knees, his tight young body convulsed as the penis prodded deeper, pushing through his wet, hot throat until he knew there was probably a bulge in this neck. His suffering eyes peered up at Marquis Jule McIntyre, whose lands he was unfortunate enough to have stumbled upon weeks before while fleeing Motsumi, Palesa, and Wilmer with the artifacts. From the way the servants talked, Jule's twin brother, the Marquis "Simple Simon" McIntyre, was the gentler of the two and would have shown Ettoras mercy - or at least he wouldn't have tied him up and allowed his cousins to gang-rape him.

That's all it had been for weeks. Jule would bring his male cousins, and they would have a party, taking turns pounding Ettoras on the bed, over tables, over chairs, until his helpless cries sounded down the hall. One female cousin - a foxhound with enormous breasts known as the Duchess Tabitha le Frey - was excited to spank Ettoras with a paddle, tail lifted, before all the nobles in Jule's court, until his penis was flapping and he was grunting audibly. How delighted the guests had been. And later when it was over, Jule had Ettoras stretched out on a table and put on display, like a trophy. He lay there naked, hard as a rock, standing stiff against the cool air as fascinated noble dogs in gowns and dinner jackets slapped his rigid organ with their fans, traced fingers down his ripping belly, and stared at him in awe, the big magnificent beast the marquis had captured during the Hunt.

None of the dogs could understand what Ettoras was and made the assumption that he was simply an abnormally tall and large fox with - of all things - a beautiful pair of golden wings. Some believed he might have been an angel sent by their Creator and protested his enslavement hotly, but for the most part, the dogs treated Ettoras like loathsome prey, as if he were a dumb beast that could not understand them when they spoke, often speaking to each other as if he wasn't even there. And Jule was so proud, so proud of his game. For that's exactly what Ettoras was to him.

Ettoras remembered the sudden sound of horse hooves thundering along, the panic that struck his heart, and then he was running through the grass, fear for his very life pumping through his chest. He could hear the hunting party approaching, drawing ever nearer, and then the sound of shots: they were firing at him! Dogs laughed and hooted as the darts whizzed by his ears. In a sudden panic, he took off like a frightened bird into the sky. He was such a large target, they shot him down easily. He flopped through the hard branches of a tree, grunting in pain as thin twigs scratched his face in lines of blood. The dart that sank in his neck left him in a daze, and as he slumped in the grass, he could feel the foxhounds touching his penis and spreading his backside to examine his anus, he could hear them speaking in awe of what a beautiful specimen he was.

The dogs spoke in their own language and none of them seemed able to understand that of the foxes. Thanks to Wilmer, Ettoras knew enough words to grasp the gist of their conversations, even if they never understood his words. During his travels with the Guides, Wilmer had been very adamant that Ettoras learn what he called "common tongue," and now Ettoras understood why. If the foxhounds had captured him _before_he met Wilmer, he never would have known what was happening or what they wanted from him.

Now Ettoras was a trained pet, on a leash, always crawling. And always naked. When he awoke at the estate in Osterwill, Jule was standing over him and calmly informed him that his wings had been clipped, so there would be no flying away. And then the games had begun.

Ettoras remembered the first time Jule tried to give him oral pleasure. He recoiled against what was happening and closed his wings around himself tight, barring that eager mouth. After that, Jule had his wings tied back, and for three days, tied him to the bedpost, standing with his paws above his head, his rigid penis bare to any mischievous servants who wished to torment it. During those three days, Jule sucked Ettoras every morning and every evening, slowly and carefully, licking and tasting and moaning, until Ettoras himself was moaning, and after that, he surrendered. He never hid behind his wings again, but became a precious toy, unfastening the buttons and buckles on Jule's clothing with his lips and tongue each evening.

But in spite of everything, Ettoras didn't hate Jule, he just wanted to get away, wanted to find Kayya and his mother and return to S'pru. He'd been having terrible dreams of death and fire. And damned Nerayn, she was behind it. He saw her in his dreams, laughing and smiling as S'pru burned, and he hated himself for not killing her the moment she admitted her betrayal. That weakness on his part had cost thousands of lives. He had to escape Osterwill. He had to save his kingdom.

Ettoras just had to make someone listen. After eavesdropping on many conversations, he was soon to learn that many of the dogs worshipped his mother as a reincarnation of some legendary martyr. If he could make them understand who he was, perhaps they would actually help him.

The longer Ettoras remained with the dogs, the easier it was to speak their language, though he hated that his words remained disjointed and his sentences broken. He was fully aware that he sounded like a savage to them, and that somehow, his broken attempt to speak their tongue was considered wonderfully adorable and also made him appear stupid in their eyes. He hated it. But every night, he attempted to talk to Jule while the marquis took supper, begging the foxhound to let him go. And every night, Jule listened with an amused smirk.

Jule was an arrogant foxhound, ruthless, and cold . . . and incredibly handsome. He was tall and graceful, often clad in the tight pants and ruffled blouses that the richer dogs in Osterwill seemed to wear. He had no wife and had been refusing one for many years, though he was far past the age he was to have married. Many seemed to frown on his same-sex activities, including his elderly father, who Ettoras heard him complaining about on a regular basis.

Ettoras found such a thing flabbergasting, as no one in S'pru cared about same-sex love -- until it got in the way of traditions that required reproduction. Ettoras, for instance, would have been expected to reproduce with Kayya. Period. Though Ettoras had the feeling he wouldn't have minded: he was beginning to suspect that he liked both.

But Jule was clearly a male who desired only males, as all his servants were young male foxhounds, and he never paid any mind to the beautiful female foxhounds who made their interest more than clear at every ball. Many said females were perfectly aware that the marquis would never find them sexually stimulating, they just wanted the wealth, connections, and titles that came with wedding one of the most prominent "sons of Maldoene," as Jule and his brother were often referred to. That was all marriage seemed to consist of to the dogs: wealth and titles. Ettoras was amazed to discover that many dogs seldom if ever married for love.

The servants, however, seemed to marry for love. As they bathed Ettoras at night, they would gossip about so-and-so's wedding out in so-and-so's barn, and Ettoras would listen as they prattled on, completely unaware that he understood their language a great deal more than anyone suspected.

There were some days when Ettoras thought the servants were worse than their master, for they never let him be. When they bathed him, fed him, or groomed him, they were always looking for the chance to finger his anus or grope his sack. He was constantly covering himself, wincing away the sudden intrusion of a tongue, grimacing against an unwanted erection that left him dripping when they dragged their tongues down it. But the servants were not allowed to pleasure Ettoras, and if they were caught doing so, Tabitha - not Jule -- always had them publicly spanked, pants around their ankles, before all the servants.

The only female servant on the estate was the cook, a rather plump Dalmatian named Emily Swill, who reminded Ettoras a great deal of Wilmer given her kindness and concern for his wellbeing. She often sent Ettoras meals especially made for him, and somehow, she always knew just what he liked to eat. Jule would snort and call the meals "fox slop," as if Ettoras were a barn animal or a pig.

Sometimes Jule fed Ettoras from his own plate, calling him to kneel between his thighs as he took supper in his room each night. Jule never took supper in the dining hall unless he had thrown an event. He seemed a very solitary kind, always preferring the stillness and warmth of the hearth in his magnificent bedchamber. Ettoras would have placed him at twenty-two at the most, a handsome and fiery stallion of a male with a bright red mane and cold, gray eyes, always dignified and somewhat aloof.

Present-day Jule grabbed Ettoras by his golden mane and his thick erection heaved against his straining mouth. Ettoras choked to swallow the hot cum as Jule watched with narrowed eyes, then he collapsed on his side on the carpet, his chest heaving for breath. Without a word, Jule rose from his chair. Lying on the carpet, Ettoras watched his boots thump away as he went to a small washbasin on a stand and wiped his penis clean.

It was the middle of the day, sunlight was pouring through the great windows, the hearth was barren, and Jule was clad in his usual attire: boots, tight pants, a ruffled white blouse, and an elegant coat. Today's coat was dark and velvety blue to match his gray eyes.

Jule carefully tucked his penis away and adjusted his ruffled sleeves. Sunlight dazzled his red mane as he gestured a waiting servant over.

Ettoras saw the servant smile at him as he passed through the room. His name was Selmer, a middle-aged and dignified foxhound who served as Jule's personal servant. He was short, plain, brown and white, and unremarkable in every way. Or so he seemed. Ettoras knew that behind his calm facade lurked a keen mind, always alert and ready to maneuver things with cunning precision into his master's favor. He was secretly the archenemy of Tabitha le Frey, often pulling invisible strings that defied her maneuverings should she attempt harm - political or otherwise - on Jule. Only a few weeks in Osterwill had shown Ettoras what a great deal Jule owed to Selmer without even knowing. Jule seemed firmly convinced that Selmer was actually a moron.

Selmer had been waiting against the wall, watching with hungry eyes as Ettoras was forced to suck on his knees. Ettoras was still rock-hard from the ordeal but knew better than to touch himself: he wasn't allowed to.

"How are things?" Jule asked as he slumped into a chair facing the open window. Ettoras couldn't see him any longer, just his boots on the floor and his heavily ringed paw on the armrest. "Tell Emily I want the biggest feast she can muster for the arrival of the princess. This is truly an honor. Do you know how long it's been since an Emerald has set foot in Osterwill?"

"No, your lordship," Selmer said quietly. He poured a drink at the desk and brought it to Jule, who took a dainty sip, as if the liquor were tea.

"Something like fifty years," Jule said with a wave of his paw. "The last time an Emerald was here, it was to see Verneus marry Victoria. What are you doing here, Selmer? You're supposed to be overseeing decorations! I'll be damned if the princess comes here and the place is strung up with tissue paper."

"Of course not, my lord. An ice sculptor was brought in, as you requested --"

"And you've hired someone to make a real cake, I'll assume. The princess deserves better than Emily's sugary mush."

"Of course, my lord."

"Why are you here?" Jule repeated, this time sounding very tired.

Selmer opened his mouth to respond, but Jule interrupted with, "Oh, and roast goose! I wanted seven, remember? I heard the princess adores goose. Why do you think she'd run away from her father just to come here? You think she wants to marry me? The Emeralds have married cousins before, when things have gone . . . sour. And Etienne . . . there aren't many allies he can trust these days. Whereas he'll always have the loyalty of House McIntyre. Better Zeinara marry me than some pup from Poston . . . Selmer? Why are you still standing there? Go and see to the decorations!"

"My lord, I've been trying to tell you --"

"Ah, yes. You had a message or some other."

"The princess has sent your lordship a gift. They have arrived ahead of her. She will appear later tonight at the ball. She is relaxing in her quarters at the moment."

"A gift?" Jule repeated, and Ettoras thought he sounded very pleased.

Ettoras only felt very suspicious. He slowly sat up, leaning his weight on one paw as he listened.

"Yes, your lordship," Selmer repeated and bowed his head. "They are in the hall. I shall bring them in, if it pleases y--"

"Yes, do!"

"Very well, my lord."

Selmer turned and went into the hall. As he was gone, Jule sprang from his chair and smoothed his mane. A moment later, and Selmer returned with two foxes crawling after him on leashes. Jule seemed disappointed to see they had breasts swinging down. His eyes hooded and he shook his head in disgust.

Ettoras couldn't move: the two foxes were none other than Kayya -- and the female from his dreams! The white vixen. The sad vixen. Who sang to the water. Who sang to him.

"Doesn't her highness_understand the _nature of my . . . situation?" the marquis demanded impatiently. "That I prefer the company of males?"

"Apparently not, my lord," Selmer said to the carpet. "Shall I have them skinned, then?"

"NO!" Ettoras burst, and everyone looked at him in astonishment.

Jule slowly smiled. "Well. It appears Ra-ra has an unsated lust for the creatures. It would be cruel to deny him. Leave them, then, and return to the preparations. I'll be down to check on your progress shortly."

"Yes, my lord," Selmer said with a bow, and passing the leashes off to his master, he turned from the room and closed the door behind him, pausing only a moment to give Ettoras a curious glance.

Jule retired to a chair that faced the room, forcing Kayya and the white female to crawl after him with jiggling breasts. They knelt before his chair, facing Ettoras, and both were completely naked, wearing gold collars and nothing else. Their long white manes tumbled around their shoulders, dazzling bright in the sunlight. Jule idly stroked Kayya's mane, but his eyes were fixed in amusement on Ettoras.

"It's no small wonder Zeinara captured such fine specimens. Her grandmother was a foxhound, you know. A _fine_huntress Evelyn Kingsley was, much as she despised the Hunt. That poor naïve girl. She actually believed you foxes are more than simple beasts . . . I suppose that's where Etienne gets it from."

Ettoras stiffened angrily to hear his father mentioned. Just the sound of Etienne's name made resentment stir in him. He was glad when Jule didn't seem to notice. As if Jule would believe Etienne was his father anyway.

Jule lifted his chin with as much pride as if Zeinara were his daughter. "I always thought Zeinara had more sense than her father. A truly robust, intelligent girl." He sighed. "Shall we get on with it then?" he said in a bored voice. "They're clean and healthy enough, it seems. Which would you like to poke, Ra-ra? Speak quickly. I shall bind them once I am to leave here. This is your only chance. After tonight, I will skin them."

Ettoras saw Kayya swallow timidly, saw the white female's dark eyes glare.

"Please, don't skin," Ettoras managed. He crawled across the carpet and bowed low. "Please," he whispered to Jule's boots.

"How heartbreaking," Jule said, his voice hushed and even sympathetic. "But I have no use for them. Your pleas will not move me, Ra-ra. Their pelts will make an excellent gift to the Duchess Anne Weiss. Perhaps she'll stop pursing me as mercilessly."

"Please . . ." Ettoras repeated to the carpet.

"I said no," Jule said firmly and frowned, a lick of red mane falling in scowling gray eyes. One fang appeared in a sneer. "Stop _wheedling_and make your choice. You can't have both of them, mind you. I'd rather not force my servants to scrub cum off _two_pelts."

Ettoras looked at Kayya, who was stiff and afraid after hearing Jule's words. But he wanted the white one. And she seemed to want it too. She glanced at his hard penis, her breasts heaved, and she quickly dropped her eyes.

"The white," Ettoras said in broken dog tongue, and he saw the white vixen blush right down her cleavage.

Jule smiled. "I thought so. For a moment there, I thought you'd ask for Big Tits." He petted Kayya's head and she seemed to stiffen again beneath his touch. "Alright. Make it quick," he said and released the white vixen's collar.

Her neck suddenly bare, the white vixen began to tremble. But she didn't move. Jule gave her a nudge in the back and impatiently told her to go to Ettoras, who knelt before her on the carpet, waiting. She started like a frightened rabbit and kept her head down as she crawled forward, her little breasts knocking softly between her thin arms. She stopped before Ettoras on paws and knees, as if she didn't quite know what to do.

Ettoras felt his heart beating a mile a minute. With soft eyes, he pushed her long mane back from her face and looked at her. It was really her, the vixen from the water. She looked at him breathlessly, and taking everyone in the room by surprise, she kissed him with sudden and sweet abandon on the mouth. Ettoras' lashes fluttered, but he kissed her back tenderly.

Jule laughed softly. "I dare say you know each other. Careful, Ra-ra. I may get jealous. Well, go on." He waved an impatient paw. "Make her scream."

The white vixen blushed harder and her lashes fluttered as Ettoras knelt behind her. He took her gently by the neck and bent her down, until her cheek was on the carpet and her backside in the air. She lifted her tail, and he could see the pink sex bulging between her thighs. Her thighs were tight together and he nudged them apart with his knee, moaning softly as the sweet, hot scent of her slapped his face. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kayya watching calmly, but something like fear flickered in her eyes. He wanted to hold her, to tell her he would get them all away before they were ever skinned . . . somehow.

Ettoras pealed one of the vixen's soft pink lips aside with his thumb, slipped a careful finger in, and paused. She was a virgin. He felt her shudder when he braced the head of his penis against her sex . . . but at the last moment, he plunged into her anus instead, forcing his way through the tight pink knot that instantly clenched to shut him out. Her soft, shocked cry escaped trembling lips, and her back tightened as he plunged deeper. But he couldn't bring himself to take something so precious from her without her permission. Better to take her under her tail.

Ettoras sighed as her hot walls enclosed him. No foreplay meant she was dry, and her sudden gasp was as much pained as it was shocked. He silently wished he'd licked her, at least. He began to ride, listening to her soft sobs, silently cursing himself for choosing her when he could have very easily taken Kayya without pain. She gasped beneath him, her eyes large, her breasts trembling with every thrust. The guilty pleasure of her helpless clenching and squirming sent him to Heaven. Her back started to snap. She rose up on her paws and twisted against him as if to escape, staring with large, unseeing eyes as she was ridden. He reached around, fondled her sex, and felt her shudder again when her tender clitoris was massaged.

Groping her in fistfuls, he pulled her back in his lap and stabbed himself up and in, slowly and deeply. Her anus was taunt and straining around him, and glancing over, he could see Jule and Kayya watching as his enormous shaft fed in and out between the softness of her backside. She braced her little feet on the carpet and arched her back, thrusting her breasts to the ceiling as she strained to pry herself, legs wide, from his erection. But it only plunged him deeper and sent him to further heights of pleasure. She was so soft and sweet-smelling and helpless. She convulsed and dropped her head back against him, almost as if she would faint. He buried an apologetic kiss in her neck, watching over her shoulder as her belly trembled and her breasts heaved in his paws. It was coming on strong. He caught her mouth to his and kissed her, tongue and all, as he released inside. She gasped to feel the sudden rush, and as she trembled in his arms, his cum seeped down her tail.

Ettoras gently laid the vixen on the carpet and pulled himself free with a soft suck. He stroked her mane as she lay there panting, and he thought she looked so small and pretty and delicate, with her little feet and her little paws. Her white tail was fluffy and incredibly soft. He stroked his big paw down her narrow back to her tail, and he wanted to lick her . . . all over. But she was in pain, and her face was twisted from the gentle rape. He cupped her backside in sympathy, and without knowing how he did it, he saw light shimmer from his fingers to heal her. The vixen blinked in surprise, and her long lashes fluttered as his healing magic tingled between her soft buttocks.

When Ettoras glanced up again, he was grateful to see Jule hadn't noticed the magic: the marquis was idly appraising his nails and seemed very bored by it all. But Kayya was studying Ettoras curiously from between the curtains of her long white mane.

"Back to the bedpost, Ra-ra," Jule said wearily and rose to his feet. "I'll send someone along to clean you and the vixen up shortly. Daddy has got to make certain Selmer hasn't let them string macaroni up as decorations."

Ettoras didn't want to leave the vixen's side, but he obediently went to the bedpost and allowed Jule to tie his wrists to it. As he watched, Kayya and the white vixen both had their paws bound behind their backs and their leashes were tied to a chair, far across the room from him.

Before he left, Jule gave Ettoras an affectionate kiss on the head, and Ettoras closed his eyes, wishing the marquis hadn't chosen that particular moment to drop his cold demeanor.

In the silence that followed, Ettoras was surprised when Kayya and the vixen easily broke their binds: their magic hadn't been taken by tranquilizers. They got to their feet, brushing off the tatters of their ropes and unfastening their collars and leashes only to let them fall. Ettoras went still as he watched them quickly cross the room to him with riding breasts and swinging tails. They were both gorgeous, and his penis got a little stiff.

"Ugh, he's worse than his sister," the white vixen cried incredulously. She spoke the language of the foxes with a clicking accent Ettoras had never heard before. It made his ears prick forward.

"He's really not," Kayya said darkly.

"My sister? She's here?" Ettoras said as the white vixen waved her paws over his binds. The ropes fell away, and Kayya clumsily helped Ettoras to his feet.

"Of course, Ra-ra," Kayya teased. She took his arm. "Quickly! There's no time to --!"

The door opened, and Ettoras saw the white vixen spin, her paws glowing with magic. But a Dalmatian entered the room dressed like a servant, and she lowered her paws irritably.

"Careful now, it's just me!" the Dalmatian cried and glanced nervously into the hall.

Ettoras squinted. "Wilmer? What's going on?"

Kayya rolled her eyes. "We're here to save you, idiot."

"Come on," Wilmer said breathlessly. "The carriage is waiting."

Kayya pulled Ettoras along toward the door. The white vixen followed, her ears forward and alert for the first sign of danger.

"Let's make this quick," Wilmer said, lifting an arm to beckon them. "The last time I tried to help someone escape in a carriage . . . it almost didn't end well."

They hurried through the estate, and Ettoras wasn't surprised by the lack of servants in the halls. All the servants in Canderly Manor would be down in the ballroom seeing to the decorations or else down in the kitchen preparing the feast. The upper floors were almost completely deserted, and those few servants they _did_come across were quickly and cleanly put to sleep by an upper cut to the face from the white vixen.

Ettoras found it almost jarring to see Wilmer - who had been wearing furs and feathers before - wrapped in the dog clothes of a manor servant. He wore simple pants, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and suspenders. He had even groomed his mane for the infiltration, as the once wild and white magnificence had been tamed to a tail. As they went along, he breathlessly explained to Ettoras that he had come to the manor posing as Zeinara's servant. He was the one who'd "delivered" Kayya and the white vixen to Jule.

"Jule thinks Zeinara's run away to him," Wilmer explained as they rounded a corner. "Our story is that she fled Wychowl with a few servants, wishing to choose her own path after it was announced she'd be marrying the prince of Poston. She met Jule once before as a young girl, and he's smug enough to think she's been in love with him ever since --"

"Blah, blah, no one cares," said Kayya irritably, and Ettoras looked at her in amazement. Kayya avoided his eye.

"But we can't leave yet," Ettoras cried. "Jule has the artifacts!"

Wilmer chuckled. "No, my boy. He doesn't."

Ettoras' ears pricked forward.

Guests had arrived early for the ball, and Wilmer made it a point to stop in the coat room to steal a few coats for Ettoras, Kayya, and the white vixen, who were all still painfully naked. Fortunately, one of the coats was large enough to fit Ettoras and long enough to cover his sex. All of the coats were too big for Kayya and the white vixen, however, as it seemed the earliest guests were male.

Wilmer quickly helped Kayya into a coat, but when Ettoras attempted to help the white vixen, she brushed him off, insisted in a hiss that she could do it, and gave him a glare that baffled him. She had been so warm and eager when she kissed him before. When the others hurried from the room, he grabbed her tail to stop her. He almost laughed when she looked at him incredulously, all that white hair tumbling around her pretty slanted eyes.

"What are you --?" she began angrily.

"I didn't catch your name," Ettoras said with a slow half-smile.

The vixen yanked her tail free. She turned to leave, but he blocked the door with his arm, and she backed nervously into the wall. As he towered over her, she gulped visibly, and her little breasts heaved behind the coat.

"Don't be stupid," she whispered, a slow blush creeping across her white cheeks. "We haven't t-time for this!"

"Ettoras?" Kayya called in the hall.

Ettoras smiled down at the vixen. "A name."

The vixen scowled. "You may be used to your subjects obeying your every word, Great Prince," she hissed, "but I am not Kayya! I am not a gift to a god!"

Ettoras stared at her, taken aback by her anger. He scowled. "Kayya is not a gift! She's my wife!" He blinked as his own words hit him. When he looked at the vixen again, she was smiling sadly.

"And there it is," the vixen whispered, her lip trembling with sudden emotion. She ducked under his arm and went into the hall.

Ettoras followed, feeling hollow.

They continued to the stables, and the white vixen continued to engage and knock unconscious what servants they stumbled across. She attacked with a vicious precision that impressed Ettoras to the point of a near hard-on, her mane flying, her shapely legs kicking, her pretty face creased in silent determination. Clearly, the white vixen had been trained for combat. Who_was_ she?

Ettoras himself had never been trained, though his mother insisted upon it. Ettoras didn't like hurting things. The first time he saw guns was when he came to Aonre, as they didn't have such weapons in S'pru. Guns horrified him, and he vowed to himself that he would never let such weaponry come to his kingdom. If he could only get back to it.

A stable boy had barely formed a sentence when the white vixen chopped him in the neck with a flat paw and watched him fall. As Wilmer had promised, a carriage was waiting, and inside was Zeinara.

Ettoras couldn't stop staring at his sister. She was beautiful and terrible, sitting in the darkness of the carriage with glinting blue eyes and a rifle in both paws, her golden mane tumbling in streaks across a pretty scowl. And she looked _just_like him. The same mix of black and gold fur, the same fox features mixed with dog, the same golden mane. But her eyes were both blue, while only one of his was blue and the other was gold. And of course . . . he had wings and she did not.

"Move your asses!" Zeinara hissed and threw open the carriage door, expertly keeping the rifle in one paw. Like the white vixen, it was clear she had been trained in combat as well, and it was slowly dawning on Ettoras that he was surrounded by females who could probably all kick his tail. He glanced at Kayya and knew she felt the same, if not horrified by the fact. But somehow, Ettoras felt . . . safe. His sister knew this strange world and could protect him and Kayya from it. Maybe she could even help them get home. And as he ran for the carriage, the irony of the situation suddenly struck him: he'd spent all his life dreaming of leaving S'pru, and now he just wanted to go back.

"Move!" Zeinara barked. She was wearing tight pants and a loose blouse, as well as a cloak and hood. Ettoras noted the affectionate way in which she wrapped the cloak around Kayya, and the guilty way in which Kayya avoided her eye as she climbed inside the carriage.

Of course, Zeinara was not alone. Ettoras also recognized Motsumi and Palesa sitting back in the shadows. Palesa was holding her glittering bow of light and had the wary look of the huntress in her eyes. Ettoras was reminded of the danger and precision with which she could master said bow. Back when they were traveling the grasslands, she would summon the bow and use it to hunt the deer that roamed there. She would cut them down mercifully quick, never allowing any to suffer, and from their flesh and hides she made clothes for Ettoras, meals for the four of them. Once they were attacked by one of the lions who stalked the plains, and it was Palesa who took the great beast down with her bow of light alone. But summoning the bow required a great deal of magical energy and always tired her out very quickly. If she had the bow of light in her paws now, that meant they were in real danger.

Motsumi was holding the stone, and it was glowing softly with red light. The light set the underside of his face aglow and swirled in his eyes as he urged the others to hurry inside.

"Have fun at Canderly Manor, Ettoras?" Palesa teased, her smirk framed by long sheets of gray mane.

Ettoras scowled at her.

Wilmer hopped up the carriage step, and Palesa helped him inside.

The white vixen tried to climb the step after Wilmer and slipped when her coat caught on the door. Ettoras caught her by the waist, and she blinked when he lifted her bodily and set her in the carriage. Her waist was so tiny. He let her go when he caught Kayya's disapproving eye, and he hastily climbed in and closed the door.

It was very crowded inside, and if not for the stone, it would have been decidedly dark. Even with the soft glow of Palesa's magical bow.

"You were spotted leaving the manor," Zeinara said breathlessly, and Ettoras realized she was speaking fluent fox tongue. "Someone is on their way here. We have to go - now."

The stone started to glow brighter in Motsumi's paws, but nothing happened.

"What's the matter?" Wilmer asked nervously. "Get us out of here, Motsumi."

Motsumi frowned. "Something is wrong."

"Yes. It is, isn't it?"

Everyone looked up to see a small foxhound standing outside the carriage. Ettoras went still: it was Selmer. He should have known Selmer would be one step ahead of them. Selmer was always at least two steps ahead on a good day. The sun was setting behind the foxhound, and for a moment, his plain features almost seemed as dazzling as his hidden brilliance. He stood with his head tilted down, his triumphant eyes fixed on them, as a strange crystal shimmered in his paws. The crystal glowed with blue light, and Ettoras recognized it immediately as a crystal from S'pru. Such crystals often washed up on the shore and were used by the foxes to negate magic and ward off spells from enemies: the crystal was keeping the stone from working. But how could Selmer have come across it?

Kayya recognized the crystal as well. Her mouth fell open and she exchanged amazed glances with Ettoras.

"Shit!" Zeinara snarled and cocked her rifle. She aimed it directly at Selmer's face. "Drop the crystal! Now!"

Selmer only chuckled. "Zeinara," he sneered, slowly shaking his head. "Such a foul mouth, your highness. What would your father say?"

"I said drop it!" Zeinara repeated menacingly, and her eyes behind the leveled rifle meant business. Ettoras was fully convinced she would blow Selmer's head off, but Selmer didn't seem convinced.

"No," the foxhound said darkly. "You have betrayed your goddess-mother. You would have sat in power in Aonre, you would have been goddess of the world. But you run from Maret and her will, as you run from everything." He shook his head again. "Maret regrets creating you from a sodding Kingsley."

Zeinara stiffened angrily.

"Whining, weakling Kingsleys," Selmer went on, a fierce light glittering in his angry eyes. The crystal lit his face from beneath, giving him a ghoulish pall that chilled Ettoras after having known him as the calm and collected boot-kisser he'd been before. "Maret sends you a message, princess."

"To hell with Maret," Zeinara said flatly, but Palesa lifted her voice and demanded coldly, "What's the message?"

Selmer tilted his head. "If Zeinara returns quietly to Wychowl, Etienne will remain unharmed. She of Death doesn't care who Zeinara marries, as long she sits on the Emerald throne. But if Zeinara continues in her defi --"

"First!" Zeinara shouted over him. "Talk to me, not her," she said, jerking her head at Palesa. "Second, no one is going to hurt my father! Especially not some rubbish goddess no one cares about anymore!"

Selmer slowly shook his head. "You have chosen. So be it." His lip curled in a slow sneer. "Your mother would despise you for this."

Zeinara's eyes flickered hurt, and Ettoras knew Selmer wasn't talking about Maret but Zeinara's _mortal_mother.

"Shut up about my mother!" the princess roared. Her eyes flashed . . . and Selmer shriveled up like a raisin. They watched in shock as his eyes rolled back in his head and sank away, watched as he collapsed as if deflated and gave a last dying gasp. The crystal fell from his wrinkled paw. It rolled to a stop, and its light went out.

In the silence that followed, Zeinara stared at the rifle in her lap, and Ettoras saw Kayya shrinking from her, ears flat.

"By the g-gods!" Kayya whispered in a shaking voice.

Motsumi cleared his throat, his eyes on the stone. "It's working now."