After she failed to find Sabine among the early survivors, Ursula had been afraid to hope. She’d been more afraid to face her fear—that her brother’s act of war had killed her. Sabine’s survival made her feel as though she had a second chance at being queen. That she could undo this wrong.

They stood away from the camp, between trees whose leaf-laden branches curved overhead, washing them with red-gold light. Ursula was so relieved she no longer even felt the wound in her shoulder. She took Sabine by the sleeve and tugged her close.

Then she stepped back and examined Sabine’s ash-streaked face. “Your stitches are nearly ready to come out.” She traced the line of them with her finger. “Do you have any fresh wounds in need of attention?”

Sabine stiffened. “Nothing too bad. Some burns on my hands. A sword nicked my shin. I don’t need anything, not really.”

“Let me look at them anyway.”

Ursula wished they still had the cottage. She wanted to sit Sabine in a chair. Heat water. Tend every inch of her and follow it up with kisses. But in truth, the cottage had never been theirs. They’d been playacting. This was real, though. She was queen, and they were together, and side by side, they would fight back. Someday they would build a home together. A castle of their own, with just-right beds and chairs. Fine things, comfortable things.

She would give Sabine everything she’d never had on the Row, everything she wanted. Sabine needed only ask and the world would be hers. The memory of their kiss had made everything that followed survivable. Ursula was counting the moments until they could have another.

She took Sabine’s hands in hers and her heart responded, beating against her rib cage, urging her to kiss Sabine again, but Sabine didn’t return her gaze. She was no doubt exhausted and bewildered. Even so, it stung. Trying to remember that she’d had probably been awake most of the night and had no doubt seen horrors, Ursula led her to a nearby stump.

She gestured for Sabine to sit. “Your throne.”

Ursula reached into a bag of supplies slung over her shoulder. She set a bottle of liniment on Sabine’s lap. She took Sabine’s hands again, turning them so that she could examine the contours of every finger. Her skin had been turned shiny by burns. It would peel away. But her hands would heal. This was good.

Ursula rubbed them with liniment, tenderly, so that she wouldn’t cause Sabine any pain—but also because she loved holding her hands.

“Now the leg.” She examined the shin. A cut ran straight across it. “I ought to sew this or you’ll have a scar.”

“I don’t mind a scar. It’s fine. Let’s finish this.” Sabine looked around, as if she’d just woken up. “It’s strange.”

“Strange?”

“Last night was the first night I can remember sleeping outside of a cage. And it scared me. I kept waking up and seeing the leaves and bits of sky and I’ve never felt so small. So alone.”

“I know what you mean. But it’s because you were used to the cage. You’ll get used to this. And if you still want a cage, I’ll have one made for you. You can have anything you want.” She brushed the skin of Sabine’s wrist with her lips. “You might have been alone last night. But you aren’t now. You’ll never be alone again. I promise.”

Sabine’s hands stiffened. She pulled them away. “Ursula, I told you this would happen.”

“What—that my brother would attack my kingdom? You never told me that.”

“I told you that things would be different between us.”

“I will make things right again. I promise.”

“That’s just it. You can’t.”

When Sabine looked into her eyes, Ursula knew what words were coming. She knew, and she was powerless to stop them, and she had no armor to protect herself from the wounds they’d cause.

“No, Sabine. Please. I’m not ready.”

“You’re queen now,” Sabine said.

“I’m a queen without a queendom. Nothing has changed.”

Sabine’s voice was rough, impatient. “Everything has changed.”

“But I’m going to make things better for werefolk,” Ursula said.

“That’s exactly what your brother has been telling people—that you planned to assert new rights for werefolk, rights that would ‘put them ahead.’ That’s how he described it.”

“I never said that. That’s not what I meant by … How could he—”

“He’s been whispering for months. Telling people about the metal men he’s working on, how he and he alone can make the kingdom stronger than ever. He’s told people that you would destroy everything great about it. You never noticed because you’d been spending your time with me instead of your people. It took your brother a single day to take your queendom. ‘Unity,’ he told them. Your brother told his people a better story than you did. He was ready. You weren’t.”

“You sound like him.” The words stung. Ursula fought back tears.

“It’s partly my fault. I took you away from your duties, and I regret it. It never should have gone this far, not when we both knew I will never be the partner to a queen. Because I was selfish, you’ve lost your throne, and many weres and farmers have lost their lives.”

Ursula struggled to catch her breath. This blow, at this time. She’d wanted to count on Sabine. She had. She still thought she could, if only she could make Sabine understand.

“Sabine.”

“I will not be in your service as queen. I cannot be. You are my friend. I will fight alongside you. Defend my people. Build new homes for us all. But we could never be equal partners, and I would settle for nothing less.”

Ursula felt something inside her collapse. She could not speak. She could scarcely breathe. If she’d given up her throne, if she’d let Albrecht rule, none of this would have happened.

But she hadn’t wanted to give it up. She’d wanted her birthright, her crown, the chance to lead. She wanted to make good decisions for her people. To be just to all. To improve the lives of weres. And she knew she’d be better at this than Albrecht, who cared only about proving his superiority to her. She’d had no choice in this. That was the truth.

She wanted to be angry with Sabine. Wanted to go full bear and snarl and claw. To fight her the way Albrecht had fought her in the cage. Not to hurt her, no. She would never hurt her. But to win. To show her that she was wrong.

But she knew Sabine. Ursula could roar all she wanted. Sabine was stubborn. That was one of Ursula’s favorite things about her: how steady she was, how forthright, how consistent. Sabine wouldn’t change her mind because of an argument. But maybe Sabine would change her mind once she saw the sort of queen Ursula was.

“All right,” Ursula said. “I think we’re finished here.”

Sabine opened her mouth as if she was going to say something else, but Ursula didn’t want to hear it, especially if it was going to be something kind and gentle. That would make her cry, and that was the last thing she wanted.

“Keep the liniment. Put it on your burns until they don’t feel tender anymore. The scar on your leg shouldn’t be too bad. We weres do heal from our wounds quickly, after all.”

She left Sabine. She had survivors to focus on. Werefolk who needed her. And there was the matter of the dead as well. Their bodies would need to be burned. Sent back to the dust and ash they came from.

By the time Ursula returned to the clearing, two new souls had arrived. One looked familiar, a woman who would have been about her mother’s age. She’d seen her before, but where? Had she been a maid? A merchant? Her clothing was no help—it didn’t look like anything made in the kingdom. It was far rougher, dyed the exact shade of moss. It might even have been moss, though Ursula had not known hands that could weave such stuff.

Meanwhile, the girl held a golden pipe in her hand. Where had such a thing come from? Then it struck her. That piping sound she’d sometimes heard on her trips to the woods—that had been the girl, and this had been her instrument. More than once, Ursula had felt her mood change because of this girl’s music. Anger dissipated. Feelings of tenderness emerged. She’d attributed it at the time to the presence of Sabine, and maybe that was partly the case. But she could recall times that the music alone transformed her.

This music might be something to fear. It might be something else. But the most chilling realization that struck Ursula was that if she’d heard this music in the woods, then this girl and their mother were forest dwellers. She did not know them. And she had no idea if they were friends or foes.