Minnie returned to her duties with mechanical calm, but the moment the Crone left the castle again, she made straight for the menagerie.

  Herman was curled in a tight knot on the sofa, tail wrapped around his body like a shield. At the sound of her footsteps, his ears twitched, and he slowly raised his head. His fur was ruffled and dull, as if he hadn’t slept in days. His golden eyes flicked to her face, pupils huge.

  “You’re alive,” he said, voice thin and disbelieving.

  Minnie nodded. “Barely,” she said. “I got away by the scruff of my neck.”

  Herman leapt down and began pacing, fast and erratic. “I thought you were done for! You left, and then the castle groaned, and boom, She was back. There was no way you could’ve made it back to your room in time. What happened? Did you hide?”

  “No.” Minnie wrapped her arms around herself, shivering at the memory. “She found me. It took her all of three heartbeats. But she didn’t kill me. Just knocked me out. I think she saw my face and… I don’t know, maybe she pitied me. She seemed to be in a good mood.”

  Herman turned to gape at her. He thought it might be the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard in a very long life. The Crone in a good mood? The Crone pitying someone?

  Then he squinted. “Wait. Your face? It was fine when you left me.”

  “One of the bees stung me,” Minnie said with a sheepish shrug. “I think I startled it, running like mad.”

  “Let me get this straight. A bee stung you in the face. And then you ran into the Crone.”

  “Yes.”

  “She talked to you, and you talked back?”

  Minnie nodded. “She told me not to wander at night. Then shot some kind of green beam at me. I blacked out. Woke up a couple of hours later, I think, and I was just fine.”

  Herman didn’t answer.

  He just sat down hard, tail thumping once against the sofa.

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  That spell.

  He’d seen that magic flay knights and arch-mages to the marrow, crack enchanted shields like eggshells. That spell didn’t leave survivors. The Crone hadn’t pitied her. She killed her.

  And yet, here she was.

  There was no room for doubt anymore. The country maid with the plain face and undistinctive smile was an immortal in hiding, buried so deep, even she didn’t know. Her power was sealed, her mind veiled, and she’d walked straight into the heart of death and come out blinking and confused.

  He stood, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time.

  She was still talking, he barely heard her, but then she said something that snapped him back:

  “I guess I got lucky.”

  Herman’s mouth twisted. “You really are the luckiest idiot alive.”

  Minnie raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, double lucky.” He gestured toward her face. “The Crone let you live, and now she won’t even recognize you. That bee did you a favour.”

  That wasn’t luck, he realized. It was strategy. The sting didn’t just swell Minnie’s face, it had veiled any stray thoughts of talking cats and fallen gods behind a wall of pure physical pain.

  Someone had intervened. Someone clever. Someone patient. Someone with a long memory and an uncanny foresight.

  Herman’s ears twitched as the pieces clicked together. He knew only one being capable of that kind of subtlety and long game, and that being was not a big fan of his.

  He muttered aloud, mostly to himself, “Crazy pitch…”

  Minnie blinked. “What did you just say?”

  He flinched. “Oh, nothing. I said ‘lazy itch.’ And I wasn’t talking about you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Right.”

  He gave her his most innocent feline grin and waved a paw. “Well, thanks for the update, but I know you’re not really here for me. Go on in. Your fluffy abomination is waiting.”

  Minnie didn’t argue. She smiled thinly and slipped into the back room.

  Herman watched her as she disappeared through the door.

  Ravenna must have offered her immortality as reward for participating in her insane plan. It was the greatest reward possible, but still, to Herman, it felt like she was getting paid gold to jump off a cliff.

  The brightness still made her eyes ache, but she had grown used to the strange, echoing quiet of the place, the rows of vats, the metal rails, the faint hum of leftover magic. The air was sharp and sterile, but it didn’t scare her anymore.

  Fin sat where he always did, hunched low on the padded mat beside the far wall. His form was still grotesque, but his breathing was steady. His eyes tracked her the moment she entered, wary and alert. At least he no longer tried to hide himself when she came in.

  “Hi,” she said softly, as if greeting a wild animal. “It’s me.”

  She approached slowly, keeping her movements fluid, sat cross-legged a few feet away and opened her satchel. “I think you liked it last time.”

  She scattered a small handful of soaked grain and slices of fruit across a clean cloth. Fin didn’t lunge for it. He stayed still for a long moment, watching her, not the food, before finally shifting forward and starting to nibble cautiously. His movements were growing smoother and more accurate as days went by.

  Minnie watched him quietly, her heart full and aching.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” she said, keeping her voice low.

  He glanced up at her, and for a brief instant, something flickered across his face, too fast to name.

  Then, slow and deliberate, he reached forward, not for the food, but toward her hand. His oversized beak hovered just above her fingers. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t flinch away. Just lingered there, waiting.

  Minnie went very still.

  On impulse, she turned her hand palm-up.

  After a long pause, he leaned down and pressed his beak lightly against her skin.

  When he pulled away, his eyes were as vacant as ever. But for a moment, she thought the colour had shifted, deeper, touched with violet. Or was her own vision blurred?

  She bit her lip, holding back the flood of words that wanted to spill out, too fast, too loud, too much. There was no one there to understand anyway.

  He didn’t remember her. But some part of him, some deep, buried part, knew her. Just as she knew him.

  And for now, that was enough.