A very odd experience, to go from crushing agony and struggling against impending death to feeling singingly alive and better than she had in years. Zeph had never had to be healed by someone else—that truly spectacular wreck had been the first time in her life that she hadn’t been able to heal herself—and Zeph figured she owed Stella a huge favor.
Stella, however, had brushed off that suggestion with a gentle smile and seemed none the worse for wear. By the time Zeph woke, the others had cleaned up the cottage where they’d spent the night, pressed some breakfast on her, then herded her onto the road north, away from Gieneke and the area’s lingering air of disaster. Astar was all business, in crown prince mode, spurring them all to move on. He wanted to reach Castle Elderhorst as quickly as possible, so he could discuss the disaster with King Groningen in detail, conveying the reassurances of the high throne and whatever else mossback manners demanded.
Though Astar greeted her with a broad smile and inquiries after her health, he treated Zeph with his previous formal distance. Back to cold Willy. So much so, that Zeph wondered if his impassioned promise to let her do anything she wanted to his mouthwatering body for an entire night was something she’d dreamed up in the delirium of near-death. Stories had it that some people saw a bright light when they nearly died. It would just figure that she would hear promises of longed-for sexual favors.
At any rate, after leaving their extra supplies and a bag of coin as a gesture of appreciation for the cottage’s occupants—who were hopefully not casualties of the stone giant—the six of them were soon on their way. When she asked where Rhy had gone, everyone exchanged looks from amused to annoyed—and Astar had tersely replied that Rhy went to report to Ordnung.
Clearly there was more to know, but she’d find out.
Though Zeph felt fine, she’d been instructed not to shapeshift yet, and instead conserve her energy by riding double with Lena on Gen, who’d showed off by taking the form of a massive white draft horse, easily strong enough to carry both of them all day. Most shapeshifters were happy to acquire one kind of a particular animal, but not Gen. No, she probably had tried every breed of horse possible. Jak rode Stella, a much more delicate bay mare, while Astar ambled along at point in grizzly-bear form.
Zeph had defied Astar’s order just long enough to momentarily shift away and back, so she could be wearing her fighting leathers and her golden-furred cloak. He gave her a narrow look, but didn’t comment. Lena made a good riding companion. As a librarian’s daughter, and a serious student herself, Lena had a rare gift for accurate storytelling. She related everything that had happened the day before, and Zeph repaid the favor by filling in her own details.
Checking that Astar was far enough ahead not to hear, Zeph moved Lena’s long hair to the side and propped her chin on her friend’s shoulder, mouth close to her ear. Gen would hear, but maybe not Jak or Stella. He seemed to be relating a long story to Stella anyway, and she listened, one ear swiveled back in interest. “So,” Zeph said quietly, “was I delirious, or did Astar promise me a night of wild debauchery?”
Gen snorted and stomped a hoof, while Lena shook with silent laughter. “I’m only amazed that this isn’t the first thing you asked me.”
“I have a modicum of self-control,” Zeph replied, casting a glance to be sure Jak was keeping Stella occupied. Stella might not be against Zeph’s interest in her twin, but she also might not enjoy picturing him doing the nasty things with Zeph that she had fantasized. “And discretion—though I’m guessing it actually was real and everyone knows?”
“True and true,” Lena replied cheerfully. Gen’s hide twitched, and she flicked her tail in irritation. “Gen will want me to tell you that the promise was made under duress—out of fear for your life—and though we all know Willy will honor his vow, that you should do the gracious thing and release him from it.”
Gen snorted and bobbed her head vigorously.
“What do you think?” Zeph asked.
“I think I am the last person to give anyone romantic advice,” Lena replied bitterly. “I’m abiding by Willy’s Moratorium and considering a full-out vow of celibacy. Some priestesses of Danu take them.”
“Are you going to become an acolyte?” Zeph couldn’t quite see it.
“I’ve made worse decisions.”
“If you take Astar up on the Night of Debauchery,” Jak said, breaking in with a knowing grin, revealing that he had his spy mother’s skill of talking and eavesdropping simultaneously, “it is technically a violation of Willy’s Moratorium. You jeopardize the harmony of the group at your peril.”
Except neither she nor Astar was bound by that vow. Had he realized that—or was he even now struggling with his conscience? Strike that—of course he was struggling with his conscience, as that was practically Astar’s favorite hobby.
The real question was, would she release him from the vow? On the one hand, he had made it under duress, out of fear for her life, and it didn’t get more honorable than that. On the other, she had zero qualms about taking him up on the offer. And not just for herself either, though getting her hands—along with the rest of her body—on him would be the culmination of everything she’d wanted for years. She also firmly believed it would be good for him. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. That had been abundantly clear in that interaction in the giant’s skull. Astar did want her enough and, arguably, he was looking for a reason to compromise his principles.
Who was she kidding? There wasn’t even a decision. She was going to ravish him to unconsciousness.
“I never agreed to Willy’s Moratorium,” she announced. “For that matter, neither did Astar, if you think back.”
Lena stiffened, making a small noise in her throat. “You’re right. You asked about romantic entanglements outside the group and everyone got distracted.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I have newfound respect for your wily gríobhth mind.”
Zeph preened, feathers glossily shining in her wily mind.
“If Rhy returns,” Lena continued, “it will be interesting to hear how he takes that news.”
“If?” This was the gossip Zeph wanted, the other reason she hadn’t minded riding with Lena. “So he didn’t just take the report to Ordnung?”
“He did,” Lena allowed. “But Astar also told him that he was sending Rhy away to give him an out, that if he couldn’t control himself and stop trying to seduce me—or tease me to death—then he could just not come back.”
Wow. Good for Astar. “He said that in front of everyone?”
“No,” Jak put in. “We eavesdropped at the door while they had it out. You were in the room for the whole thing, but asleep.”
Dang. That was another downside of nearly killing yourself—you missed all the titillating stuff while you were passed out in healing sleep. Surely that conversation was buried in her subconscious somewhere. She’d love to dig that out—though she also felt bad for Rhy. He had superbly terrible judgment at times. “What did Rhy do to set this off?” she asked on a sigh.
Gen pricked her ears, and even Stella sidled closer, Jak looking interested. Aha, so this story wasn’t known yet. Zeph hadn’t missed everything.
“You can all stuff your curiosity,” Lena said tightly, “because I am not discussing it.”
Zeph squeezed Lena’s waist. “All right. Don’t get mad. Please don’t go become a celibate Priestess of Danu. You hate sparring.”
Lena choked out a laugh and sagged back against Zeph. “True. I just…” She sighed heavily. “It’s so much easier now that he’s gone, and I hate that it’s true.”
Zeph agreed. She also figured Rhy wouldn’t be able to stay away for long.
They spent that night at an inn perched on the banks of the Grace River, which was fully frozen in that region. Astar arranged for rooms and set it up so that he and Jak shared and the four girls a much larger one. All too worn out for much, they ate and crashed, rising groggily in the gloom of another late sunrise and a snowy final leg to Castle Elderhorst.
An ancient edifice, Castle Elderhorst looked like it had grown out of the granite hills surrounding it, rambling with additional wings, courts, and the occasional tower. Snow covered the gray stones, and warm lights glowed from the walls and battlements. It should’ve looked haphazard and graceless, but Zeph found herself liking it far better than Ordnung.
Of course, Ordnung was barely more than fifty years old, and had been built as a monument to a tyrant’s ego. Ordnung’s white towers were striking, and perfectly aesthetic, but always somehow cold and arrogant to Zeph’s mind. One of the many reasons she didn’t much like being in Ordnung.
In contrast, Elderhorst reminded her of a kindly grandmother, skin no longer pure and smooth, some ungainly folds and more than a few wrinkles, but someone who’d weathered all kinds of trials and could still win a game of I Eat You handily. It also looked warm, and she was more than eager to get out of the wind, even if it meant walls. Humans weren’t naturally equipped for winter weather. She would have switched to a furred form for the day’s journey, if not for solidarity with Lena and Jak.
They stopped short of the actual approach, so the shapeshifters could return to human form and change clothes, in Astar’s case, then continued on foot, ready to take up their cover story. Upon hearing who they were—who Astar was, really—the gate guards almost immediately produced King Groningen’s seneschal, who greeted them with lavish manners. He said that court had adjourned for the day, but that the king would receive His Highness Crown Prince Astar immediately in his private study.
Though they all teased Willy about being Ursula’s heir, times like this reminded Zeph of the rank—and respect—that he truly held among the mossbacks. Karyn was right that the Tala tended toward irreverence, truly honoring only King Rayfe and Queen Andromeda, and then not with much pomp or circumstance. So, Zeph tended to forget the burden of Astar’s role in life. But seeing him gravely receive the bows and honorifics, standing so tall and handsome, Zeph was sharply reminded that Astar lived in a very different world. One she truly didn’t belong to.
Gen, who spent far more time in the mossback world, visiting with her father’s family in the house Zynda and Marskal kept on a lake on their land, never forgot the role Astar played in the Thirteen Kingdoms. And sure enough, Gen was sliding Zeph a look to see if she was paying attention to how the seneschal conferred with Astar. Gen’s determination to protect Astar from Zeph would be more irritating if Zeph didn’t understand her reasons.
“I know you all are tired,” Astar said, returning to the group, “so I’ll meet with the king alone. I’ve asked the seneschal to take you all to your rooms, where you’ll get hot baths and a warm supper.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Lena said fervently. “Those of us who can’t shapeshift clean are forever in your debt.”
“Also, I bet the steaks won’t be burnt,” Jak quipped, and Gen elbowed him.
“Wait,” Lena said, halting the incipient charge for baths and food. “Willy shouldn’t have to deliver the bad news to Groningen alone. I’ll go with you.” She looked down at her bedraggled self. “Though I’m not exactly presentation-ready.”
“Neither am I,” Astar told her with a smile. “Nothing wrong with being a little travel-worn.” He didn’t look mussed to Zeph’s eye—of course, he always looked good to her—but he could at least shapeshift back as a clean human with orderly hair. His clothes were wrinkled from being crammed in the saddlebags, though. “That said, it’s kind of you to offer, but this is my responsibility.”
“I can go with Willy,” Stella said. “I’m not that tired.”
“You’re gray with exhaustion,” Jak corrected, nothing playful in him now. “You aren’t recovered yet from all the sorcery and healing, plus carting my heavy ass all day.”
“You’re not that heavy,” she countered, “and—”
“Nilly,” Astar broke in, “Jak is right. You need rest.”
“So do you,” she shot back with a concerned frown.
“I’m fine,” he soothed her, standing straight and smiling broadly. The shadows of weariness clung to him, though. “This shouldn’t take long, then I won’t be far behind you all.”
“You forget that we’ve met Groningen,” Lena inserted. “He may be ancient, but he can still drink anyone under the table. He’ll expect you to keep up with him, go over the report at least three times, and strategize a response, rebuild, and how to prevent recurrences.”
Stella nodded. “Lena is right. He’ll keep you up all night if you let him, and we know you—you won’t extract yourself. You need at least one of us to help wrangle the king.”
“I’ll go with Astar,” Zeph said impulsively, not at all flattered when they gaped at her in very real surprise.
“You do realize it’s not that kind of up-all-night with Astar, don’t you?” Gen asked.
Zeph ignored that snide remark, though it was fair enough. The last time she’d volunteered to go to a meeting with Astar, when the high queen had first summoned them for this quest, her intentions had been far from pure. “I had a long, healing sleep thanks to Nilly, and have been lazily riding for two days thanks to Gen.” She quickly shapeshifted away and back again, wearing a formal gown, her hair up in mossback-lady coils. “I can do this.”
“I so wish I could do that,” Lena murmured enviously.
“It’s not the same as having an actual bath,” Zeph reassured her, then turned to Astar. “I can help.”
“But can you be diplomatic?” Gen muttered.
“I can keep my mouth shut,” Zeph replied sweetly, “which is more than I can say for some people.”
“All right,” Jak said, taking Gen by the shoulders and steering her toward Stella and Lena. “All cranky people are going to their rooms.”
“I’m not cranky,” Gen complained in a decidedly cranky tone as they followed the patient seneschal. “I’m just concerned that—” Her voice cut off abruptly, either by a door closing or some other means.
Zeph turned back to Astar with a bright smile. “I think Gen is concerned that I’ll seduce you and the king into a kinky three-way, but Groningen’s probably too old to take on more than one at a time, hmm?”
Astar laughed and offered his arm, patting her hand when she slipped it through the crook of his elbow. “If anyone could seduce him into it, it’s you.” He gave her hand one more squeeze before letting it go, as they followed another page through the long and rambling hallways. “I know you hate walls and talking, so thank you for coming with me.”
“Thank you for saving my life,” she replied with a saucy flutter of her lashes.
He didn’t respond in kind. “You saved mine first.”
“Are we keeping score?”
Shaking his head, he slanted her a warm smile. “I can’t help it. It’s an honor thing—and you know I would’ve died up there in that giant’s skull if you hadn’t insisted on carrying me out.”
“Yes, well, you shouldn’t have come in there after me.” Remembering the chill of horror at seeing him, along with the thrill that he’d come to save her… She still wasn’t sure which was stronger. Maybe both could be equally true at the same time. “You really need a form with wings.”
He sighed. “I’ve thought about what you said, but I think I have to reconcile myself to the reality that I’m going to be one of those shapeshifters who only ever has First Form.”
“Not true,” she countered. “You had more forms as a small child. That means the ability is in you.”
“Your dad, of course, says the same thing—but Zyr has also officially given up on trying to teach me.”
“Again, not true. What were his exact words to you?” Sh
e knew already, but she wanted Astar to say them. Zyr had trained thousands of shapeshifters—including Zynda when she thought she’d lost the ability forever—and he had a favorite maxim for the one group that always fell into this category.
“That he can’t teach what I don’t want to learn,” Astar answered, his smile weary. “I know, I know.”
The page stopped at a small salon with a lovely fireplace blazing with heat. “Your Highness Crown Prince Astar, Lady Zephyr—His Highness King Groningen will be with you momentarily. Please make yourselves comfortable.”
Zeph beelined to the fire, standing as close as she could without igniting her fancy skirts. “I like Castle Elderhorst. Suddenly I’m a lady!”
Astar laughed, bringing her a copper goblet of hearty red wine. It was warm and redolent of spices like those that scented the air at Ordnung for the Feast of Moranu. Tasting it gingerly—should wine smell like pinecones and bark?—she moaned at the delicious flavor and drained the goblet. It hit her empty stomach like sunshine, and she immediately went to find the source for a refill.
“More?” she asked Astar.
He shook his head. “I’ll sip this one, so I can keep my wits sharp. Wine on an empty stomach is a recipe for trouble with me.”
“Yes,” she said, rejoining him by the fire. “I’m so hungry I could eat a bear.”
Choking a little, Astar actually blushed. She couldn’t wait to show him things far more blushworthy than that mild comment. “We, ah, haven’t talked,” he said, staring intently into the fire, “about the promise I made you.”
Was he going to ask to be released from the vow? And, if he did, would she grant the request? Probably. Though the prospect filled her with bitter disappointment—an abrupt wave of it that nearly crushed the breath from her—she didn’t want him unwilling. She’d had enough of Astar’s noble sacrifices. Especially if bedding her became one of them. “It doesn’t violate Willy’s Moratorium,” she said in a sadly desperate bid to take at least that ethical quandary off his mind.
“I know.” He raised a brow at her consternation. “I could hear everything you all were saying. Grizzlies aren’t deaf.” He tapped her on the nose, a gesture that made her want to smile and weep simultaneously at the simple, sincere affection. “Clever girl,” he added, his gaze admiring. “I never had a chance of eluding you, did I?”
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