If Arn’s mood weren’t so sour, he might have been impressed. Cyrus had training, but he’d seemed so young and timid when they first met. Now he saw a bit of spine, a good thing under most circumstances. Just not when Arn wanted to grab himself a bottle, slump by a fire, and drink himself to sleep. He leaned closer. Let Cyrus realize their size difference. Let him feel the presence and power of a former paragon.

“That’s not an answer, princeling. You’re not in charge. Move aside.”

Cyrus’s eyes widened behind his ridiculous crowned skull mask.

“I may not be in charge, but I care for those inside, and you’re putting them in danger. That’s my reason. If you want my trust, and my cooperation, you’ll tell me what we fought and killed for.”

Arn glanced over Cyrus’s shoulder, and he saw similar sentiments on Mari’s face. He signaled his surrender with an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine,” he said. “If you’re going to be a nosy little shit about it, I’ll show you.”

Arn removed his gauntlets and hooked them into his belt by the tiny rings carved into their bases. When done, he retrieved the charm from his pocket. It was the tip of a fox tail, hardly larger than a human thumb, with the cut side capped with a bit of bronze. It was mostly orange but for a long, swirling bit of white on one side. Arn held it before him, letting the prince have a good long look.

“There,” he said. “Happy now?”

Arn had to admit, the bafflement on the young prince’s face was almost worth the annoyance.

“That’s… that’s it?” he asked. “A simple little charm?”

Arn twirled the cap between his fingers.

“That’s it.”

Cyrus flung his hands to the air, his frustration overwhelming his attempt at being the calm, cool defender of his home.

“This is ridiculous. How could such a little thing be worth—”

Mari’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Cyrus, go inside.” He started to protest, but she gave him no chance. “And change your clothes. There’s blood on them.”

The two exchanged a look, a conversation happening silently between them. Cyrus pulled his skull mask off and wiped strands of hair from his face.

“If you insist,” he said, glanced once more at Arn, and then barged through the front door. Now alone, any resemblance of sweetness left Mari’s countenance. Her face hardened. She was stone. She was ice. This, this was the savage Lioness he was convinced lurked underneath the façade. So calmly she pointed to the charm, and it was like being singled out by a witness during a tribunal.

“Cyrus cannot see it, but he’s inexperienced with the world, and he does not commune with the divine as I do.” Her eyes narrowed. “That tail was cut from a god.”