Talvi dropped her head in her hands. “Make it make sense.”
“Have you considered changing into your human form?” asked Demelza. “Would that make it less… painful? Perhaps?”
Ursula stared at her in horror. “Bear anatomy is nothing at all like human anatomy! Imagine someone took an axe to my hind leg! I’d probably be able to scamper off and tend to my wounds, but if I turned into a human after that injury I’d lose the whole leg!”
“So you’re saying that that splinter”—Demelza pointed at the splinter in question, which was impressively long but incredibly thin and very shallow—“would take out your whole hand?”
“I don’t know but I have no desire to find out!”
“Very well, then,” said Demelza. “Deep breath and on the count of three, ready?”
Ursula kicked her legs. Since she was a bear this had the effect of shaking the floor and sending lemons tumbling everywhere. Talvi had given up trying to be upright and had curled up on the rug. She was asleep, which was annoying, but she was still here, which was endearing.
“Surely this cannot be your first splinter,” said Demelza.
Ursula mumbled something.
“What?”
“First one away from home… My… my mother had a way of very deftly removing them.”
It was rare for Ursula to discuss her mother.
“And how did she manage that?” asked Demelza. “Poultice? Potion? Pure force?”
If Ursula could turn into a bear then her mother must be just as imposing. All the Wyldfolke possessed two spirits: one animal, one human. Most could only become badgers and rabbits, stoats and hedgehogs. It was far more rare for a Wyldfolke to take the form of wolves and bears, foxes and deer.
Ursula was the first Wyldfolke she had seen who could shape-shift into an imposing animal and had apparently not enlisted in the army. The Isle was defended by a battalion of beasts, all recruited from the Wyldfolke, who had once been led by the fearsome General Azeria. Demelza had always loved hearing tales of the great general and the clever ways she outsmarted her enemies. Demelza eyed Ursula, who was still miserably pawing at her snout. When there were no wars or skirmishes, the more imposing Wyldfolke served as mercenaries for distant kingdoms. For one who could take the form of a bear, the opportunities must be infinite…
And yet here was Ursula.
“Well?” prompted Demelza. “Tell me how your mother did it.”
“Stories,” mumbled Ursula. “She would tell me a story and then she’d just… do it, I don’t know, but I wouldn’t care because by then I was more drawn to the tale.”
“I know just the tale,” said Demelza, smiling. Ursula looked at her hopefully. Demelza took hold of her great, warm paw. Her fur was the color of watered-down honey and her paw pads were licorice dark and astoundingly soft. “I will tell you the tale of a Wyldfolke lass who was a foxborn into a family of badgers. In her youth, she could not attack like a wolf, but she could run faster than them. She did not have a snake’s bite, but she had a serpent’s agility. She did not possess a bear’s strength, but she could leap through the trees as if she had wings. And her name was Lady Azeria!”
“No!” said Ursula. “The last thing I want to hear is another story of how great my mother is and—OW!”
Demelza yanked out the splinter. Only then did Ursula’s words fully register. Mother?
“Lady Azeria is your mother?” said Demelza.
Even Talvi had woken up at that. “What?”
“Yes, Lady Azeria is my mother, though I’m sure she curses her misfortune at being so as much as I lament being her daughter,” said Ursula. She shook her shaggy head. A moment later, the blonde fur lengthened into golden tresses, and when Ursula tossed back her head she was human once more. She eyed them warily, her shoulders hunched about her ears as if her body could not decide whether it wished to fight or flee.
Talvi was the first to speak. “I’m certain your mother doesn’t consider it her misfortune to have you as a daughter.”
Ursula snorted.
“Look how talented you are!” said Demelza encouragingly.
Ursula peered at the wreckage of eggs, cream, lemon and cushions.
“You’re an artist,” said Demelza. “Things can get messy.”
“Tell that to my mother,” said Ursula, slumping into theleast maimed armchair in the sitting room. “She does not understand why I wish to throw away my talents to be ‘a cook.’ Then she went on and on about service to the Crown and then my father suggested we come to a compromise and let me enter the tournament. If Arris picks me, then as queen, I’ll live in service of the Crown. If he doesn’t pick me, then at least I’ve had a run of the kitchens and an introduction to the cooks.”
