Priscilla blinked twice as she processed what she was seeing, trying to not breathe in the thick scent of blood and rot that permeated through the air.

  The Starving One’s camp was a rough circle that was about two hundred feet in diameter on a mostly flat patch of the fens that looked like it had been stripped of trees and brush, with a small pond in the left corner. Along the edge of the circle a spiky wooden fence had been erected as if to keep monsters out, except for an odd circular section to the right. It was difficult to see why that was from where Priscilla was at, but the ground looked bare as if it was a staging area for something. There were six lit braziers that gave off a persistent yellow tinged smoke placed equidistant along the perimeter.

  When the smoke drifted over Priscilla, she realized she recognized the smell – it smelled exactly like the incense that they had been burning earlier. It did not mix well with the scent of blood and honestly made Priscilla want to gag, though she tamped down that reaction by digging her thumb nail into the flesh of her pointer finger as Asha gave comfort the best it could.

  Scattered about the camp were large piles of bones that had been picked clean. At a glance, there were a variety of bones, some so large that looked like they could be from a Gorelock toad, others looked like ribcages from a four legged creature, and there were a few human skulls and femur bones that had been cracked open, the marrow now missing.

  Roughly ten people in dirty, tattered clothes huddled near one of the braziers, their heads tucked down as people dressed in various animal skins surrounded them with spears at the ready as they chatted casually with one another. That had to be the cultists who The Starving One collected like a corpse flower did flies. A sleeping area was nearby, and there looked to be at least twenty beds on the ground, though Priscilla couldn’t tell for sure from this distance. There was also a small tent that had been pitched up, where presumably The Starving One and her direct minions slept.

  In the middle of the camp was a campfire with a large hunk of meat that was roasting above it, and sitting on a log nearby, with her back to the visitors, was a woman with long, pitch black hair who slowly rotated the meat.

  “I’ve returned,” Beowulf said, his voice booming across the camp.

  The woman paused tending to the meat and stood, turning to face Beowulf.

  Contrary to the description that Kavil conveyed from Ulric, Priscilla could understand why some people became captivated by The Starving One even though she was bat-shit crazy.

  Though the woman’s long blue dress had mud on the edges that trailed across the ground, the dress had clearly been tailored to hug the woman’s proportions perfectly and had long flowing sleeves that were cuffed at the wrists. It reminded Priscilla of almost a greek chiton in the way the gossamer fabric folded over itself and a gold belt emphasized The Starving One’s lean figure. Her cheekbones were prominent in the way that only someone with no fat to spare could have, with a square jaw and high arched eyebrows, and it made her striking, especially combined with her purple eyes framed by long lashes. They were a lighter color than Beowulf’s, more lavender than amethyst.

  The Starving One’s lips were full and were the color of blood, and as she smiled, she revealed two sharp canines, even sharper than Beowulf’s.

  “Who are your friends, my little Wolf?” The Starving One asked, taking a step forward. Her voice was a contrast to her sharp appearance, soft and light like a distant bird’s call carried on the wind.

  Beowulf transformed before Priscilla eyes, his posture slouching as he walked forward as a genuine smile with no malice graced his face. As he grew close, The Starving One reached up to cup the man’s face briefly, and he nearly melted into the touch before brightening.

  “These three are here with a complaint from a Captain Azurin about the summoning stones,” Beowulf said, speaking so fast that it reminded Priscilla of the way that excited children spoke to their parents, the words nearly becoming one long sound as they tumbled over each other.

  The Starving One turned her gaze towards them, but she looked past Priscilla, lingering on Sulaiman and Kavil instead. The look in her lavender eyes sharpened as she studied the boys and she licked her lips.

  Priscilla clenched her fist and then purposefully relaxed even as the cannibal was looking at Priscilla’s friends like they would make a tasty meal.

  “This is Scylla,” Beowulf continued, gesturing at Priscilla who obligingly stepped forward with a bashful smile. “She’s the one the captain sent to speak with you.”

  “It is an honor to meet you,” Priscilla said, bowing shallowly.

  When Priscilla straightened, The Starving One was staring at her with a quizzical expression, her eyebrows slightly furrowed as she looked Priscilla over. Her lips were slightly pursed like The Starving One didn’t like what she saw.

  “How did you end up as the leader of this merry band?” The Starving One asked, tilting her head and sending a wave of black hair to ripple over her shoulder.

  This was the real test, and Priscilla couldn’t fail here.

  “So I wasn’t even supposed to be sent on this mission in the first place,” Priscilla said, scratching the back of her head with a self-deprecating laugh, “but the captain got pissed off at Jerry, the guy who was supposed to go, because Jerry started asking why he had to go into the fens and the captain said to shut up and do it anyways. Long story short, Jerry challenged the captain and the captain summarily kicked his ass – then the captain pointed at me and told me I was going in Jerry’s place since I wasn’t stupid enough to disobey orders.”

  Priscilla shook her head with a sigh. “That’s the problem with the rest of them – sure they know how to throw an axe so it perfectly splits a man’s head open, but ask them to hold a civil, intelligent conversation and it’s like their brain decided to go find a new home. I’m amazed our captain doesn’t smash their heads together more often.”

  The Starving One cocked her head, narrowing her eyes as she stepped forward. Though Priscilla was taller than The Starving One by a good four inches, there was a weight to the cannibal’s presence that made her impossible to ignore as her bare feet took her ever closer to Priscilla.

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  She stopped just short of invading Priscilla’s space, looking up with wide lavender eyes.

  “Mercenaries are usually idiots,” The Starving One said, reaching out to twirl the lock of hair that framed her face around one delicate finger that had the strength to crush throats. “You’re a rare breed, Scylla.”

  The Starving One let Priscilla’s hair fall from her finger and gave Priscilla a lovely smile that showed off her vampiric teeth.

  “Settle in the men with the followers, my little Wolf,” The Starving One ordered without looking at Beowulf, keeping her full attention on Priscilla, “and I’ll have a chat with Scylla about this problem.”

  A spike of unease ran through Priscilla at being separated from Sulaiman and Kavil but she couldn’t come up with a good excuse to keep them nearby when they were technically just her assistants. Plus, she did want to put distance between them and The Starving One, who enjoyed eating powerful mages. Hopefully the age old adage out of sight, out of mind would work.

  “Be good, boys,” Priscilla said as Beowulf gestured impatiently for them to follow him.

  “As you wish,” Sulaiman said from behind her, his voice flat and emotionless.

  As he walked past Priscilla, she saw that Sulaiman had defaulted to a face that could have been carved from marble, his hand firmly grasping Kavil’s elbow to keep him close. Kavil met Priscilla’s eyes for a moment, clearly nervous and doing a bad job at hiding it, and swallowed hard. Though Priscilla yearned to comfort him, it wasn’t possible right now, so she just gave him a tight smile.

  Beowulf stalked forward, leading Sulaiman and Kavil to the prisoners and cultists, who were watching the boys with interested eyes.

  “Join me by my fire,” The Starving One said. She turned as if expecting to be obeyed and though Priscilla wanted to deny the woman out of principle, she reluctantly followed. The log was large enough for three people to sit upon, but The Starving One sat in the middle, forcing Priscilla to sit closely. Priscilla took off her pack and placed it between her feet and tried to ignore how the smell of roasting flesh reminded her of when they burned Frean’s body.

  “Now, tell me of this problem with the summoning stone,” The Starving One said, tilting her head to rest upon her palm as she put her full attention on Priscilla.

  Priscilla repeated the story she had told Beowulf, adding onto the end, “Since the toads didn’t appear when we thought they would, the caravan our captain was targeting wasn’t dealing with a distraction, so the whole operation was bloodier than it needed to be.” Priscilla paused, looking down as if briefly mourning something to help sell the story. “Captain Azurin was especially angry because we lost a few good men to the caravan’s guards.”

  The Starving One hummed, tapping a finger against her gaunt cheek. “May I see the stone? Though my Raven handles the details, I do have some knowledge of how it's supposed to work.”

  Priscilla saw no way around doing that so she just nodded and pulled out the stone and handed it over. The Starving One’s skin was cool and papery to the touch as she took the stone from Priscilla. The cannibal hummed again as she turned the stone over in her hands, running a sharp nail down the swirling curves.

  “Well, I have no idea what’s wrong with it,” The Starving One said, placing the stone down on the side opposite of where Priscilla was. “We’ll have to wait for my Raven to return, she’s bound to have opinions about her masterpiece failing.”

  And now there was a time limit for the ruse – as soon as the Raven returned, the jig was up.

  “Where’s the Raven now?” Priscilla asked to get an idea of just how soon they’d devolve into fighting.

  The smile that grew across The Starving One’s face was dreamy, yet predatory.

  “She’s using bait to get me one last delicacy before we leave this shithole,” The Starving One said.

  “What’s she hunting for?” Depending on the beast, it could–

  “A Three-Headed Gorgon Newt,” The Starving One said, voice wistful as she cupped the side of her face with her hand as she imagined it.

  Priscilla’s stomach dropped. If The Starving One managed to get a bite of the newt… then they were totally fucked because of the petrification gaze.

  Blinking nervously, Priscilla said, “Oh? I hadn’t known there were any of those in the area.”

  “My Raven found signs of a nest nearby and told me she’d hunt it down for me,” The Starving One said fondly, as if speaking of a dog bringing back a stick for their master. “But it hasn’t wanted to come out and play, so Raven is trying to lure it out so I can get a taste before we go deal with witnesses.”

  Before Priscilla could figure out what else to say, The Starving One twirled another lock of red hair around her finger, tugging Priscilla closer so that the woman’s hair fell over Priscilla’s shoulder.

  “Have you ever tried Firebog Wolf before?” The Starving One asked, letting the hair fall away as she drew a fingernail down Priscilla’s cheekbone and chin to tilt Priscilla’s face upward. Beowulf must get his lack of personal boundaries from his master.

  “Can’t say I have,” Priscilla said, forcing out a chuckle as she tried her very best not to gag at the thought.

  “Then let me share my snack with you,” The Starving One said, turning to the carcass.

  The Starving One sank her fingers into the hunk of meat, her nails easily cutting through the flesh as she ripped a chunk free. She held it out to Priscilla with an expectant gaze, juice flowing down the woman’s hand and dripping onto the ground. The Starving One didn’t even seem fazed by the steam that wafted off it.

  Priscilla swallowed hard and tried to think of this as an opportunity to sell the ruse and get more information. Priscilla was proud her hand didn’t shake as she accepted it and asked, “What other things have you eaten recently, your glory?”

  The piece of meat was nearly scalding, but Priscilla shifted it so it rested mostly on Asha, who had shifted materials so that the juice slid right off.

  The Starving One tittered, reaching up to cover her mouth with the hand covered in juice.

  “Oh, I’ve had just about everything,” The Starving One said, reaching and tearing off another chunk for herself. “Some frogs legs here, whole roasted bird there, but I admit my favorite’s been the wolf.”

  The Starving One brough the meat up to her lips and took a bite, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as she slowly chewed. When she opened her eyes, The Starving One said, “Go on, try it.”

  Priscilla took a deep breath to steady herself as The Starving One watched and took a bite into the meat. It was the first time that Priscilla had had freshly cooked meat since Frean and it was just as unpleasant as she thought it would be as her mind lingered over that cremation ceremony and the way his body had laid broken on the table.

  The meat was lean and tough in her mouth, with a strong gamey flavor that was difficult to describe because Priscilla had never encountered it before, with a surprisingly spicy undertone like Beowulf said it would.

  It took a lot of mental effort to keep chewing and actually swallow the morsel.

  “It’s good,” Priscilla lied, hating how the flavor lingered on her tongue, “though I’m not really hungry right now since I ate recently.”

  The Starving One hummed, looking satisfied like the cat who had tortured a canary, saying, “I’ll eat it then. No need to let it go to waste.”

  Priscilla tried to not seem too eager as she handed it over.

  She’d only been here all of five minutes and Priscilla was already regretting going for diplomacy rather than open combat. She found herself wishing the Raven would show up sooner before Priscilla had to eat anything else.