by Sharon Shinn
But such dark thoughts couldn’t long be entertained in such a small and giddy brain. Donnal dropped to a rosebush and she settled beside him, happy to look for aphids or ladybugs or anything that might resemble an afternoon snack. Song trilled out of her, a few notes that might have meant something, though she didn’t know what. Donnal replied in the same language, and she almost understood him. He could have been naming her his soulmate, his lifelong companion. He could have been calling her attention to some tasty grubs wrestling in the dirt. It was all the same. It was all about the present moment, this brief and sun-kissed second of life. She hopped from the bush to the grass below and scratched at the dirt with a dainty claw.
They played all afternoon and it was Donnal who reminded her that there was another life to go back to. One minute he was beside her on a tree limb, chattering inconsequently, the next minute he had dropped to the ground and bulked into a dark, silken, ferocious shape. She was actually startled for a moment and chirped her alarm. Then she realized that he wasn’t a bird, he was a dog. He was Donnal who was a dog, and she wasn’t a bird, either. She was human.
So she opened her wings and drifted down, and the foot that she placed lightly on the ground was human and shod in embroidered leather. She stretched and shivered and extended her arms to remind her of their proper length, then she shook her head to remember the weight of her hair against her back. The dog sat and watched her, its head cocked to one side, a single ear back in a quizzical expression.
“What?” she asked. “Is my hair all mussed? Do I have feathers on my back?”
He barked once, and when she still didn’t understand, reared up on his hind legs and put his front feet on her hips. Another bark, then he whined, and nudged at her hand with his cold nose. She giggled and caught his paws so he didn’t scratch her.
“Donnal! What is it? You have to be more explicit.”
He squirmed in her hold and licked at her forearm. She laughed and dropped him back to the ground. “Casserah would never put up with that—” she started. And then she froze. Reached up a hand to tug on a lock of her own hair.
Gold. Curly. She had reverted to Kirra.
Trembling just a little, she focused, finished the transformation to her sister’s shape. She could not remember a time she had ever forgotten the form she was supposed to return to. Then again, she rarely went so long disguised as another creature, and perhaps her body had simply longed for its own familiar contours. But she knew that wasn’t it. She had spent the afternoon playing with Donnal, both of them in a primitive, elemental form. That was what she was used to considering as the constant reality of her life; that was what she envisioned when she had to picture her own soul. She had been Kirra while she had been a bird beside Donnal on a rosebush. She had only changed shapes as she returned to human form. She had not changed who she was.
AMALIE’S door was guarded by one of the Riders she didn’t know, so Kirra took a chance and went to Senneth’s room. Yes—there they all were—Cammon and Tayse and Justin lounging on the bed and playing a card game; Senneth sitting in the window seat staring out at Eloise’s front lawn. Donnal had followed her into the room and plopped down with a sigh on the floor beside the bed. Kirra went to sit beside Senneth.
“What’s this?” Kirra said. “You’ve dared to leave Amalie alone?”
“Valri’s with her and they’re discussing something highly secret. Also, I think the princess wanted a chance to bathe without me looming over her. I think she’s a little shy around me.”
“She doesn’t realize that you’re used to bathing in rivers and streambeds—if you get a chance to bathe at all.”
Senneth smiled somewhat reluctantly. “No, I have been much more civilized on this particular jaunt. I’ve actually combed my hair every day.”
“So why do you look so gloomy?” Kirra was just as happy to learn that someone else was having a bad day. It would distract her from her own.
“Thinking. Not sure what to do.” Kirra waited and Senneth eventually continued. “I don’t really believe Amalie’s in danger here. Even if we weren’t taking such fanatical precautions, I think she’d be perfectly safe. But I—I would like to make clear how far we would go to protect her. I can’t figure out how to do that.”
Justin spoke over his shoulder; the room was small enough that everyone could hear their conversation. “Set someone on fire,” he said. “That usually does it.”
“Ooh, can it be Justin?” Kirra squealed.
“I would,” Senneth said, “but something would have to provoke me.”
“Justin always provokes me.”
Senneth gave her a repressive look from her gray eyes. “You would be more helpful if you took this seriously.”
“Seriously, I’d like you to set Justin on fire.”
Tayse lifted his eyes from the cards in his hand. “Has anyone behaved inappropriately to the princess?”
Senneth considered. “Most of them have been very respectful. The one I dislike the most, for no real reason, is Toland Storian. He sits too close. He’s always touching her—putting his hand on her arm to get her attention or playing with the ribbons on her dress. I asked her, and she said she’s not afraid of him, but he’s the one I’d most expect to cross the line.”
Cammon discarded. “All the housemaids hate him,” he said.
There was a short silence while everyone looked at him. He glanced up, surprised. “What? They do. Apparently he’s got a history of forcing himself on them when they’re in the kitchens or the hallways.”
“There’s your villain,” Kirra said.
“Yes, but I can hardly punish him for overpowering an abigail on the back stairwell.”
“Really?” Justin said. “It’s just the sort of thing that I’d expect to bring out your vengeful side.”
Senneth bit her lip and tried not to laugh. “I meant, and make a point about Amalie.”
Kirra pursed her lips and tapped them with her finger. “I wonder . . .” she said. “Maybe I could push him a little.”
Now Senneth grinned outright. “I’ve always thought of Casserah as the type who could defend herself. Mystic or no.”
“I might take some other shape. Let me think a minute.”
Her hand was still before her face; Senneth reached out and caught her gently by the wrist. “What happened here? Did you burn yourself?”
Kirra let her examine the raised red welt, then pulled her hand away. “Oh, that was Mayva. Her moonstone brushed against my skin.”
Now Senneth was concerned. “That’s not going to be the only time someone’s going to touch you with a moonstone. Half the people here are dripping with them—which I noticed to my dismay our very first evening.”
“I know,” Kirra said. “I’m a little worried about it. And tomorrow at the ball—dancing—if a man’s wearing a moonstone ring and has his hand at my waist—well, it’s a very odd serramarra who yelps every time someone puts his arms around her.”
“And you’ll look even odder if you’re all covered with welts,” Senneth added.
“That I can take care of,” Kirra said. She made a fist, and the red marks smoothed away. “No one will even notice—unless I make a fuss when I acquire them.” She let the magic fade and the marks reappeared.
Cammon stood up, tossed his cards to the middle of the bed, and crossed to the window seat. Falling to a crouch, he took Kirra’s blemished hand in his. “Let me see that.”
Kirra shared a startled look with Senneth. “So you’re a healer now?” she asked.
“No,” he said absently and turned her wrist this way and that. Justin and Tayse had put down their cards and twisted on the bed to watch. Donnal sat up and gently panted. “Well, then,” Cammon said after a few moments, and frowned as if in great concentration. The rest of them looked at each other, looked at him, tried not to laugh. No one said anything. Kirra could feel a strange sensation dance along her wristbone and up her arm, and for a moment her whole body felt odd, as if she was
standing outside just as a thunderstorm was about to pass through. Then all the hair on her body smoothed down again, and Cammon released her. “There you go,” he said.
She said cautiously, “There I go what?”
“I don’t think you’ll feel it now. A moonstone will still scald you, so you need to be careful, but at least you won’t feel it when it happens.”
Again Kirra looked silently at Senneth. “Well, let’s just try that,” she said and held her arm out. Senneth stripped off her bracelet and laid it across Kirra’s flesh.
Nothing. Cool textures of metal and smooth gem against her skin. Kirra felt a little shiver go up her back. “That’s awfully strange,” she said, trying to keep her voice normal.
Cammon pushed the bracelet off so it fell into Senneth’s lap. “But be careful,” he repeated. “See, you’re getting a mark already.”
Senneth was watching him very closely. “When did you learn this particular trick?” she asked. “I can’t imagine it’s in Jerril’s repertoire. Have you been studying with someone else in Ghosenhall?”
He looked surprised. Kirra thought that surprise was probably the expression most often to be found on Cammon’s face. Surprise or happiness. “No, I just thought it was something I might be able to do,” he said. “You know, divert her mind.”
Senneth continued to watch him. Justin snorted and picked up his cards again. “Good thing we’re the ones who found him in Dormas,” he said. “I’d hate to have him working for the king’s enemies.”
“What else can you do?” Senneth asked very softly.
Cammon shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot of stuff, I guess. Ask me something.”
“I will—when I can think of the right questions,” she said. “But Justin’s right. We need to make sure you’re always our friend.”
Again, surprise on Cammon’s face. “Of course you’ll always be my friends. I don’t even have any other friends.”
“You would if anyone knew what you could do,” Tayse said. He was sorting through a fresh hand, aligning cards, and he seemed completely unfazed. For a man who, just six months ago, had distrusted mystics with all the considerable force of his personality, Tayse seemed remarkably at ease with them now, Kirra thought. It wasn’t just because he loved Senneth. It was because he had decided mystics were just another weapon, like a sword or a bow, and he figured he had a pretty good arsenal lined up. For Tayse, everything came back to strategy and strength.
Justin looked back at Cammon. “So are you playing or not? Since you’re our friend, I dealt you in.”
Cammon scrambled to his feet and launched himself toward the bed. Kirra and Senneth exchanged glances again. This time, Kirra was laughing. “Hey, you’re the one who found him,” she said.
“And what a good day that was,” Senneth said with a sigh. “So what’s your plan? Do you have one?”
“I think tonight. After the dinner. Doesn’t Eloise have some game organized where we break into teams and perform skits?”
Senneth rolled her eyes. “I cannot imagine how I will get through that.”
“I think Toland Storian might be induced to behave a little too rambunctiously with the princess. You might need to rescue her with sharp words or—who knows?—some kind of display. You might warn the princess that things are going to get ugly.”
Senneth was regarding her soberly. “And how exactly are you going to induce him to be stupid?”
Kirra laughed. This was the fun part. It was about time something in Kianlever was fun. “That’s my problem. Don’t you worry.”
IN fact, it was ridiculously easy. One of her dinner partners that night was a young lord from Tilt named Raegon, who was about as cocky as Toland Storian. In fact, the two young men were fast friends, and Kirra had seen them taunt each other into disreputable behavior a couple of times during this visit. She—well, Casserah—had not been particularly friendly to Raegon so far, but this night she made an effort to charm him in Casserah’s sleepy, beguiling way. She watched him from those wide-set blue eyes, an enigmatic smile on her face, and refused to give him complete answers when he asked her a direct question.
“Red and silver hell,” he exclaimed under his breath at one point. “You’re the strangest girl. Is it always this hard to talk to you?”
“So don’t talk to me,” she said, and then she laughed at him. “Though I like talking to you.”
He glanced quickly around the table, as if suddenly remembering their conversation could be audited by six other people. “Maybe you’ll be easier to understand when there aren’t so many people around,” he said.
“Maybe,” she agreed, and sipped from her water glass, watching him over the rim. “There’s a game tonight. After the dinner. I don’t know if it will be that interesting.”
He nodded, his mouth pulling back in a wide and rather frightening smile. Kirra wondered if Cammon would know whether this man enjoyed forced liaisons with the servants, too. “I’m sure it won’t be,” he said.
So they had a rendezvous out in the gardens, a few hedgerows over from the windows of the dining hall so no one would witness them. Kirra saw no way to prevent him from kissing her, not if she wanted this little caper to work. As he took her in a clumsy and rather drunken embrace, she spared a moment to hope no one else was wandering the gardens tonight for a little late-night breath of air. Romar Brendyn, for instance, who snuck out every evening for a break from the crowds and the vapidity. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the unpleasant feel of Raegon’s mouth pressing hard against hers, and she ran her hand in a kind of caress along the smooth silk of his jacket.
He pulled back from her abruptly, one hand to his mouth, one hand to his stomach. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I think—damnation—all of a sudden my stomach—serra, I believe I’m going to be sick.”
He was, all over one of Eloise’s prized rosebushes, and more than once. Kirra fluttered nearby, offering phrases of sympathy and helplessness. She’d never really used her powers of healing in reverse before, making the body turn against itself in a moment of deep revulsion, and she hoped she hadn’t been too enthusiastic. Then again, Raegon had had about a bottle and a half of wine with dinner; it would probably do him some good to expel some of that alcohol.
“I think you’d better go back to your room, ser,” she said, trying to sound concerned. “Shall I have Eloise send someone to you? There must be someone at the house with knowledge of herbs and healing.”
He wrenched himself upright and staggered toward the door. “No—I’d rather be alone—in my misery,” he gasped out. “I apologize, Casserah. I will feel—foolish—tomorrow.”
“Just go to your room,” she said. “Tomorrow will take care of itself.”
He nodded, rested for a moment with his hand on the wall, then stumbled through the door and inside.
It was a matter of a few moments to transform herself into Raegon, silk jacket, insolent smile, and all. Imitating his self-important swagger, she sauntered back into the house, found the salon where the guests were gathered, and looked around.
The diners had already been divided into groups of about ten people, and each group was clustered together, arguing over some plan. Kirra was not surprised to see Toland Storian and three or four other young lords had been assigned—or had appropriated—places in Amalie’s circle. Senneth and Valri hovered nearby, watching but not participating. Valri sat in a chair a few feet from Amalie and observed her with that usual unnerving attention. Senneth stood against the wall and practically blended into the stone and brickwork. Kirra grinned. Not for long.
She strolled over to join her supposed friends. “I missed the explanation, whatever it was,” she said, her voice a low drawl. “What’s the game?”
Toland gave her a grin; the others ignored her. “We need to come up with a skit,” he said, “to act out a word. We’re trying to decide on our word.”
“I think it should be hard to guess,” Amalie said. “If no one guesses, we win a prize.”
/> “I think it should be an easy word,” Toland said.
“Here’s an easy word,” Kirra said, still in that sneering drawl. “How about dance?”
And she surprised the princess by pulling her into Raegon’s arms and twirling her once around. There was a moment when Amalie looked disconcerted, but then her face smoothed out. She freed herself and stepped back. “That one is too easy,” she said.
