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Clarimonde stared at the old Lady Hollowvale, whose panic had now visibly quickened as she thrashed against the fog. Is this my doing? she wondered. But I’ve done no magic. What is happening?

“Yes, how boring.” Tertia’s voice echoed softly through the trees. “How boring, and how painfully predictable. All it took to draw you out was a simple hunt, after all.”

Tertia stepped out into the circle of Clarimonde’s moonlight. Her long black hair was still loose and wild about her shoulders; her eyes had deepened to the same crimson colour as her lips, now curved into a hungry smile as she absorbed the sight of the thrashing faerie creature before her.

“That little fox told me all about you,” Tertia drawled at the phantom. “How she hoped to take back her name and her realm and become a mighty hunter once again. But that will never happen now, will it?”

Twigs shifted and snapped in the darkness. Clarimonde realised then that Tertia’s hounds had crept in around them, closing in from every side.

Mr Brand’s black dog had vanished, leaving her entirely alone with the fox that trembled at her feet. Mr Brand would not help her against Tertia directly, if matters here turned dire.

Clarimonde scooped up the fox warily, holding it against her chest with one arm…

…but the hounds were after different prey.

High, thin howls mingled on the air. The sound coalesced into a single, chilling note—and then, the hounds leapt all at once upon the old Lady Hollowvale, tearing at her wavering form.

Horrible shrieks cut through the howling as the faerie woman struggled, lashing out with tooth and claw—but the hounds soon bore her eagerly to the ground. Long after her shrill voice had died, the creatures continued tearing at what remained, while Tertia watched on with a rapt expression.

Foxglove’s iron collar pressed against Clarimonde’s neck, exacerbating the nausea that rose up to her throat… but she held the faerie more tightly, regardless.

Eventually, the hounds receded—spattered with crimson and panting with blissful satisfaction. All that remained of the old Lady Hollowvale was a few wisps of fog and a tattered pile of bloody white feathers.

Clarimonde waited, still and silent, as Tertia basked in her moment of victory—keenly aware that any movement might attract the hounds again. Eventually, however, Tertia turned to regard them both.

“My other prize awaits,” Tertia said softly. She moved closer to Clarimonde, opening her arms with expectation. “Give me the fox, Clarimonde. Fulfil your task.”

Clarimonde’s stomach twisted again with alarm. The fox in her arms did not move—though she felt its heartbeat quicken, like a tiny beating drum.

“No,” she said.

Tertia reared back as though she had been slapped. Slow, trembling outrage dawned upon her features. “You offered me tasks!” the Leanansidhe spat, in a low tone. “You gave them freely—I did not compel them! And now, you dare to retract your word?”

Winter gathered around Tertia, crackling through the leaves. Bitter cold snapped at Clarimonde’s skin. The fox in her arms shivered violently.

But the cold still does not bother me, Clarimonde realised dimly. She did not dare to wonder long at the observation though, as Tertia’s hounds turned their attention towards her, raising their hackles.

Clarimonde straightened her spine. “You asked me for a puca,” she told Tertia loudly. “And I have just delivered one to you. My task is already complete.”

Tertia stared at her in disbelief.

“You recall?” Clarimonde asked. “You asked me to find the puca first, and to give it into your keeping. I found it first. I trapped it for you. You took it as your prize.”

Silently, Clarimonde had to admit that she still did not know how she had trapped the old Lady Hollowvale. But somehow, she had done, and that was what currently mattered.

Tertia’s crimson eyes flared with naked fury. She closed the distance between them in a flash, gathering up Clarimonde’s collar in her hand. “You insist upon being so very clever with me,” the Leanansidhe hissed. “You know very well that I asked for that fox⁠—”

“I know what I heard you say,” Clarimonde said breathlessly. “And you are bound to your word. You have what you wanted, regardless; Foxglove will never regain her name now. She is no threat to you.”

“She was never a threat to me!” Tertia shrieked. Clarimonde flinched back sharply. “What could possibly threaten me, you foolish mortal insect? What I want is satisfaction, and you will not take it from me!”

Tertia shoved her back, and Clarimonde stumbled, still clutching Foxglove tightly to her chest. “Perhaps you have completed your task,” the Leanansidhe gritted out. “But I will have that creature, all the same. She has abused her guest right.”

Clarimonde wrestled down the fear that pounded in her veins, as Tertia’s hounds circled ever closer. Tertia could not harm her directly; she was still under guest right, herself. But could the hounds still attack her, now that the task was complete? She did not know enough about faerie law to guess—and the iron around Foxglove’s neck had clearly stolen the puca’s voice, so that she could not offer any advice.

What would Foxglove have done in Clarimonde’s place?

Foxglove would use what she has already observed of Tertia, Clarimonde thought. She would remind the Leanansidhe of what it is she truly wants, above all else.