Ursula’s castle had been built atop a small hill. She could see the whole of her queendom, from the dark scribbles of the forest to the stubbly quilt of farmland to the bridge to her brother’s domain. Fire was everywhere.

Men on horseback dipped their torches as they galloped through the smoke, leaving more fires in their wake, as though destruction was the crop they were planting. She had only minutes before they reached her.

She ran down the stairs, where she found her servants cowering in the hall.

“Where are the guards?” She looked about. No one offered an answer. “Tell me!”

The cook spoke. “They’ve left. There was talk of joining Albrecht’s unity army. We thought it was nonsense. Just ale and bravado.”

“What talk?” She’d heard nothing and felt sick. She’d not been paying attention. She was a fool. This was her fault.

“That your brother—King Albrecht—would take your queendom sooner rather than later. That he was rallying men to unify.”

He wouldn’t.

But as soon as she had the thought, she knew that he would.

“Run,” she told the women. “Run to the woods. Take what you can carry.” When she looked at them, she knew some of the women would do as she said. And she knew that some wouldn’t. She could see the doubt in their faces. The resistance. The fear. Even now, when they’d seen him attack unprovoked, they would join him.

Her brother’s men were coming for the summer castle. Its ancient timbers, dried for ages, wouldn’t stand a chance against their torches.

Ursula ripped off her nightclothes and flung open the door, becoming the bear before she’d even crossed the threshold. A world of scents assaulted her, all violent, all wrong. Without a village full of people with buckets and deep wells, they could not extinguish these fires. The only thing she could do was find Albrecht and talk sense into him.

She crossed the burning farmland, running straight through flaming bushes and grass, moving too fast to be burned. She mowed down Albrecht’s men without missing a stride. Albrecht, she knew, would be somewhere he could see all of it. Somewhere he didn’t have to risk his own hide.

He might have been good with weapons. But he always made sure the advantage was his. He used snares. He shot arrows from afar. He’d sent men in masks after her rather than coming himself. Albrecht was a coward.

She’d never let herself think in such stark terms, always chalking it up to that day he fell out of a tree, a day that made him afraid of being hurt by the world. But she thought it now. His fear had made him dangerous. It had made him develop bows that shot harder. Arrows that flew farther. That mask he was wearing—the lion. He’d probably also made armor that covered every inch of his skin. His metal men. That’s what they came from. It wasn’t genius. It was fear.

His fear and what he would do to avoid it made him unlike her. She knew this in her bones. Whether as a bear or as a woman, she could brave anything.

Wind blew from the north—this was why she hadn’t smelled the smoke earlier. It also meant she couldn’t track her brother by scent alone. The most likely place he’d be, she realized, was the bridge where his stupid monkeys were. She’d head there if she wanted to stay above the fray. He’d be in one of the watchtowers, looking down on things, out of harm’s way, ready to descend when victory was his, ready to wind the monkeys so they could shriek into the wind.

She’d see to it that this never happened.

When she reached the bridge, she spied him in the west tower. His golden mask, lit by a lantern, gleamed through the smoky air, his pale hair wild around his head, exactly like a lion’s. She supposed that’s what he would have wished to be, had he been a were. A lion. A nod to their father, to the line of men stretching back like an arrow through time—and of all animals, perhaps the only one that could take on a bear.

She managed to surprise the four men stationed at the tower, two with spears and two with swords. A hastily thrown spear whisked through her fur as it sailed past. The other missed. She leapt, spinning midair, taking out one with her front paws and the other with her rear. One of the swordsmen, a man in an owl mask, escaped across the bridge. The other feinted. She had him on his back before he knew she’d even left the ground. She batted his sword toward one of the monkeys. It crashed into it, denting the clockwork before flying into the river. She didn’t care that she’d cost the man such a precious thing. He’d cost her more. Stepping hard on his chest, she reached for the ladder and clawed her way up. Wood squeaked overhead. Albrecht, aiming an arrow.

“Not one inch closer,” he said.

She shifted back to her human form. She’d give him a chance to end this with words. He’d of course have to atone for what he’d done. The things he’d destroyed. The lives his men had taken. But she could make him see that he’d made a mistake.

“I’m coming up.” She reached for the next rung.

There was a twang and then a sharp pain in her shoulder. He’d shot her. He’d actually shot her. “Albrecht!”

“I told you not to. You have only yourself to blame. Don’t make me do it again. Next time, I’ll shoot to kill.”

The wound wasn’t deep, though it ached. She clung to the ladder. Albrecht nocked another arrow, and she noticed his bandaged stump.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Not your concern.”

“You’re my brother.”

“You’re my enemy,” he said. “Surrender your territory and you can keep your life.”

She pulled the arrow out of her shoulder and felt better immediately, even as she was now gushing blood.

“It’s not too late,” she told him. “We can fix this.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he said. “Fixing a kingdom wrongly split by a man who’d lost his sense to age and disease.” He drew his arrow back. She wished she could see his eyes, but it wasn’t possible. She became her bear self again and released the ladder, dropping into the night. The bow zinged and an arrow sank into the hump on her back.

She tumbled through space, spiraling so that she could land on her feet. The impact knocked the wind out of her. The arrow burned. One more shot would finish her.

She crawled beneath the tower, out of range of Albrecht’s arrows. She couldn’t believe he wanted to kill her. But he’d shown her his intention, so she had no choice but to accept the fact.

In the distance, people clashed swords and limbs and teeth. Some of these people, she knew, were fighting for her. Their lives were her responsibility. Her queendom was lost. But they might live to fight another day if they fled in time.

She burst from her hiding spot and rushed toward the battlefield, what once had been acres and acres of apple and pear trees. Now the smoking silhouettes of burned stumps raked the sky. A few last men and weres fought on. The sun would rise before long. She stood on her hind legs and bellowed. It was the biggest, most ferocious sound she could make, and she thought she would split into pieces from the pain.

Her people answered back. Some with the voices of men, some with the cries of weres. And that’s when she remembered the cages. Weres—children—would have been locked inside them and would not be able to get out unless they managed to keep their human form, which would be impossible for children in the midst of the madness. She couldn’t leave those children to be found by Albrecht and his men. He would show them no mercy.

All around, fires burned. Many were crops, but some the cottages of farmers. She hadn’t a moment to waste. Ursula turned and heaved herself to the cages. Every time she found one, she shifted to her human form so she could work the locks. She freed raccoon twins. Two fox brothers. Three tiny goats.

“Run,” she said. “Flee to the woods.”

She caught the scent of Sabine but couldn’t see her anywhere. Nor had she seen her on the battlefield, though with her coloring, she would be impossible to see if she’d fallen. Ursula grew queasy at the thought. When she could find no more trapped werechildren, she became her bear self again and headed toward the woods. The forest was vast. Albrecht would not have had a chance yet to secure it. There would be plenty of space there to hide. And she needed to. She could fight no more. She’d lost too much blood.

The music called to her through her pain as she ran, and she let it fill her with purpose and urgency. She crossed into the woods. Moving in time with the music, she weaved through trees, unaware of anyone else who might be near. She ran toward the cottage, hoping Sabine might still be there. Or if not, that Greta would take pity on her.

The world darkened. Her senses faded. Her mind traveled to her father, wondering if his death felt like this, a great easing of the self from the substance of the world.

She felt nothing at all as she took one last leap forward, not even the shaking of the earth as her great body fell.