The hallway beyond the stable opened into a great hall, empty now, with sagging tables shoved against the far wall and the dais cleared of all furniture entirely. Tapestries moldered, flickering in the torchlight. The remaining rags depicted hunting scenes: muscular horses charging bristling boars, slashed through here and there by disturbingly large claw marks. I stayed close to the woman, even as a small voice warned me that her humanity was a trap. If this castle was the lair of a beast, there was only one candidate for its queen. Her dark hair shifted in the light, more like shadow than anything cast by the torch.

The deserted hall led eventually to a low flight of stairs, bringing with it warmer air as the steps curved around a pillar that looked as if it had been hewn from the mountain itself. The wolves jostled against me, their fur brushing my cold fingers, their paws silent on the stone, and then we were in the kitchen. Here, herbs hung in fragrant bunches from the rafters, and a long, low fireplace radiated warmth from its banked coals. A heavy iron kettle hung over it and the rich smell of meat stew overwhelmed me.

“Sit,” she said, pointing to a worn but clean table. Its surface was an unbroken slab of wood, milled from a tree that must have towered over its neighbors in height and girth. She tossed her bearskin cloak over the far end of the table and stooped to stoke the flames while the wolves settled down around the hearth, panting past gleaming teeth and hot red tongues. One turned and licked at its hind leg. Pink blood stained the white fur. She scolded it in a soft voice, and the leather of her jerkin gleamed in the rising flames. I watched the light shift over it, making shapes and faces that I half recognized. I jumped when she straightened, the trance broken.

She placed a bowl of stew on the table, full of venison, potatoes, carrots, turnips, onions and greens, and seasoned with fresh herbs. The rising steam wreathed my face and thawed my lips and nose. My stomach grumbled again.

You may as well eat, said a timid voice in the back of my mind. Reason, it seemed, had decided to reappear, this time on the side of my traitorous stomach. I picked up the wooden spoon and took a bite. I had not had anything to eat since I left my father’s house, and my insides roared to life at the taste of food.

Warmth followed the meal. It crawled back into my limbs on silent paws, leaving faint impressions on my skin.

So did her gaze.