“And you took it just like that?” Sionann asked.

“I did.”

“How daft,” she snickered.  “How soft.  And your friend there didn’t stop you at all?”

“Henry’s first instinct is to protect all women and children,” Roderick said.  He spared his aide a glance and smiled weakly at how the man still lay draped across the dusty butter churn, red hair a right mess and mouth open and drooling.  “He has his reasons.”

“Did his reasons learn a lesson?”

“I hear he made sure to have a front-row view of Lady Calanthe’s execution.”

“…She’s dead?  For using magic?”

“Not for the magic itself, no,” Roderick said.  He pressed his lips into a thin, grim line, hesitated…and eventually admitted, “I killed a serving boy, crippled a squire, and surely left scars on the bodies of no less than three others that night.  Including Her Highness Rohesia.”

Sionann sat in silence for a long while, one dirt-crusted nail tapping at the corner of her mouth.  The silence and stillness let him have a moment to study her features—not just the long, dark hair or the depth of the shadows living beneath her eyes, but other things like the crimson tattoo that marked her chin and the two moles on the crest of her left cheek. 

A waifish figure, bony features, and sallow skin.  Does she take care of herself at all?

Fragile and ephemeral as she looked, her eyes were sharp and vividly alive.  In fact, the strength of her expression alone stymied any inclinations he had to worry about her health.

“Do you have any consciousness as a werewolf?” she asked at length.

“Minimal consciousness.  It seems to be improving over time.  I barely remember snatches of the first few weeks, but my mind has become clearer just since the last full moon or so.  Two days ago, I—or should I say, ‘the werewolf,’ do you think?—I was finally able to recognize Henry as a companion instead of as prey.”

“We’re cutting it close, then.”

“What do you—?”

“A body gets used to magic,” she said, and grimaced.  “In another two or three months, you’ll likely be a werewolf for keeps.  Are you sure you don’t have a lover?”

“I— I do not.”

“Best way to break a love spell is to have a lover.  No lovely ladies you’ve been pining after?  No gallant gents?”

“Please, don’t tease me so much,” he begged.  Roderick scrubbed his face with his palms and took a deep, steadying breath.  “If I have no one…is there nothing I can do?”

Sionann eyed him critically, thumbed her bottom lip, tilted her head as if to consider him more closely.

“If you remain this way, the magic will eventually take to your bones.  Your consciousness will become ever clearer, your will ever stronger.  Your instincts will become more controllable.  You may even gain the ability to use magic for yourself in due time, you know.”

 “But it would mean sacrificing my humanity.”

“Do I lack humanity to you?”

Words caught in his throat.  Sionann was indeed inhuman.  She said as much.  But she was not lacking in humanity—she was a gracious host, even with all her oddities.  She made tea and soup, and asked after their health, and scolded them with an overly familiar sort of fondness.

“Are you saying that form would gain its own humanity?”

“With training and a little guidance.”

“…Even so, if I can become human again, I would be grateful.”

She sighed.  The sigh was followed by a grumpy glance, followed by an even grumpier groan and a belligerent grunt.

“Fine.  Fine.  There’s one possible workaround.”

“There is?”  His heart leapt.  There was hope then—!

“Lucky for you, I’m probably the only person who knows how to cheat her way to true love’s kiss.”