Emma bent over the parchment. The top sheet had a few lines written in large script. But underneath were many more pages, packed with tiny text.
“What about the rest?”
“That is merely the details of the contract. The only piece you need to say is here.”
“No, I want to read it. The whole thing.”
The clerk spluttered. “You have the right, but—”
Emma ignored them and stooped over the contract. The language was almost impenetrable, but flashes of meaning gleamed out between clauses. She blessed her diligent, determined law lecturers. Despite her best efforts, they seemed to have taught her something. She managed to decipher some terms of her service.
She was swearing loyalty to the Night City and obedience to its laws. She must abide within the City and never leave. In return she was to receive her rights as a citizen, and a new life as a fox maiden. She read that fox maidens earned their wages as huntresses for the Night City. She would have a wage, then. That was a relief, knowing she might have something of her own to trade with, or perhaps to bribe her way out. It was difficult to tell what form those earnings would take, and what the hunting duties entailed. The language became obscure, laced with complex references to payment and debt.
Emma let the last sheet fall. The terms bound her to the Night City and to the House of Foxes, on pain of death. The word “eternity” had appeared several times.
Emma bit the inside of her cheek. She had to choose a path. She’d never done it when she was mortal, when it should have been easy. She had lived where her mother had taken her and moved when she was told. She had changed her degree at the University at her father’s insistence and stayed on a course she hated, too afraid to choose for herself. Now she had a decision. Underher hand, the words that would seal an eternity of service. Outside, a life of running from monsters in the shadows, never safe enough to rest.
She could crumble, or she could decide. That whatever she chose, she would have the strength to find her way back to her mortal life. The contract in front of her was only words, after all. And words were malleable things. She could spin them to her advantage, just as the creatures here did. It was a strange feeling, the certainty that coursed through her. She had never thought anyone would believe in her—least of all, herself.
Emma picked up the parchment. She got the first line out with only a slight waver.
“I pledge myself to the service of the Night City.”
The clerk rose, a tab of silver in their hands. They pressed it to Emma’s neck, and the metal slid around it, a molten snake. The pain was instant. Light flared from her throat.
“I—I pledge myself to the House of Foxes,” she continued. She had to force the words. The collar was a vise. Agony seared her skin, until she could no longer tell which part of her screamed at its touch. Colors danced before her eyes. She would die of it, she was sure. She struggled upright, fighting her spine’s cries to curl in on itself. She spat the final phrase.
“I am Emma Curran.
“By my will
“This contract is sealed.”
As quick as it had arrived, it was gone. The pain, the screaming in her blood. The collar lay around her neck, quiet and cool to the touch.
The doors to the chamber crashed open, hard enough to splinter.Four boar-men shoved through the entryway. With them was the tailor. Pointing at Emma.
“That’s her.”
Emma’s lips had peeled from her teeth. A hissing came from her throat. The Boars were knocking clerks aside, gavels and quills flying, clearing a path to her. She leapt for the nearest desk, papers scattering beneath her scrabbling limbs. But unseen hands dragged her back, legs flailing, arms scratching at anything she could find.
bite them claw them kill they will kill
“Unhand her.” The Sister’s voice cut through the hubbub. “What is the meaning of this?”
A growl burst from Emma’s throat, rising to a screech. Two Boars had her, one on either side.
trapped
hurt them bite
blood on claws and jaws
“She is being taken to trial,” said the tailor.
“Trial?” the Sister growled. “For what? By whose order?”
“The Judge decides her fate.” The tailor cackled.
