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He dives into the stalks after Alina, follows her trail of giggles until he stumbles into a patch of rocks too big to be moved from the field. Alina waits at its peak.

“‘Enrir!” she squeals, making grabby hands, and all the weird feelings inside him evaporate.

They hunt old Snake Tail together, creeping through the corn stalks and climbing the haystacks until the sun is limning the farm’s shadows orange. By the time their stomachs are growling for supper, Dad is outside, washing sheets in the big water trough and waving them over.

“Where’s Mum?” Fenrir asks, jogging up with Alina on his hip, hay in his hair.

Dad smiles gently and plucks a piece from the mess. “She’s inside, wanna go say hi?”

Her name is Elise, and she’s smaller than seems right, but Fenrir thinks that’s okay because it’ll make it easier to carry her and Alina together.

“What do you think, Fenrir?” Mum murmurs where she lies, holding her hand out to Alina while Fenrir cradles Elise to his chest.

“She’s beautiful.” This makes his mum smile.

It’s hard work, but if Fenrir carries Alina on his back and Elise in a sling against his chest his hands can remain free for his chores. Months pass like this, winter coming and going and by the time spring is creeping to an end, Mum’s belly is rounding again—though she seems sick in a way she hadn’t with Elise.

“It’s too soon,” he overhears her saying to Dad one evening when they think he’s asleep.

“It was only one time…”

Fenrir’s not sure what they mean by that, he’s just excited he has another sibling on the way. I hope it’s another sister, he thinks when he curls back under his blanket and Alina makes a soft bubbly sound in her sleep. He closes his eyes and loses himself to a daydream of a dozen little sisters armed with shields and swords following him into a battle against old Snake Tail and quickly falls asleep.

Chapter XIV

The Map

If anyone asked what compelled Fenrir to hole up in his hospital room until the dead of night, he’d have told them he was being responsible. Major amputees weren’t generally cleared for active duty until a month into their recovery. At eleven days, Fenrir’s wound had hardly begun to close, let alone his body purge the heavy dose of drugs used to keep him under. But as the moon waned to a near sliver, he didn’t have an excuse for why he all but tip-toed through the Lab’s halls, remaining hand kept to the wall because—if he was honest—the room hadn’t quite stopped spinning yet.

The night was cool, the moon full. And in the flat expanse of the Lab’s former parking lot-turned-patchwork lawn, Farris stood waiting with Nightmare, just as he’d asked him to.

Nightmare stomped his foot and snuffled loudly when Fenrir steadied himself by scratching behind his ear.

“Thanks, Farris. The sooner I head out the better.”

“Ya sure this is a good idea, sir?” Farris clutched Fenrir’s gear like he was scared a ghost was going to pop out of the shadows shrieking—either that or Red.

“I’ve wasted too many days already, like hell I am wasting one more.”

Red may not think he was up to the task, but Fenrir had been here before, facing odds worse than this. Maybe the price had never been as high as Orpheus’ life, but that didn’t change anything other than the lengths Fenrir would go to win. Riding off alone on a rescue mission was hardly a great length, anyway. He could do this. Of course he could.

We’ll talk more later. Except, Fenrir had made sure later did not have the chance to happen. He wasn’t disobeying Red if she never got to outright tell him he couldn’t leave.

“But your wound, sir…”

“Gotta get used to it eventually, yeah? What better way to learn than diving into the deep end?”

Fenrir lifted the cuirass from the pile in Farris’ arms and shrugged it over his head. His stump snagged on the rigid leather, a twinge of pain shooting through it and replacing that itchy phantom feeling he’d been battling since he woke up out of that coma. How the hell did he ever get this thing on before?

“…do you need my help?”

Fenrir huffed a breath and tried again, tugging the cuirass up to realign the position and wincing when it caught his hair. All hells, this must be why the knights of old had squires.

Farris wrung his hands, then reached. “Here, let me help, sir.”

With Farris’ help Fenrir slid the cuirass into place, leather fitting comfortably across his chest. He didn’t comment about how he couldn’t reach all the buckles. Farris wordlessly worked through them, then turned back to the pile to retrieve his gloves.

Gloves. Two gloves. But all he needed was one…