by Sharon Shinn
Cammon’s head swung around sharply; Melly’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh,” Kirra said. She thought about it. “Any preference?”
Justin was grinning. “Whatever’s comfortable for you.”
Kirra was grinning, too—no, she was laughing. Melly was horrified, but Cammon looked intrigued, and Kirra knew, she knew, that if Senneth or Tayse were here, this little game would not proceed for another second. Magic should not be played with. Kirra had gambled with Lyrie’s life because the stakes were so high. But there were so many reasons it was a bad idea to practice her shape-shifting skills on Justin, here off the main road somewhere in the sparsely wooded northern stretch of Helven, for no reason except that each of them thought it would be fun. Cammon wouldn’t stop them—it wouldn’t occur to him he should try. Melly might offer a protest, but she would never dream of gainsaying a serramarra.
And Kirra had never been one to walk away from deviltry.
“Let’s make it easy on both of us,” she said. “You’ve already been shaped like a dog, so we both know that works. Let’s try that.”
“Serra,” Melly breathed.
“It’s all right, Melly. Don’t worry,” Kirra said. “We’ve done this before.”
“Do you want my help?” Cammon asked.
“I think—let’s see if I can do it by myself. Here, I’ll put the lioness on the ground, right by you, but don’t touch it unless it looks like I’m having trouble.”
“Say, if I’m half-dog and half-man,” Justin said.
“Though I might like you better that way,” Kirra said.
Melly turned around, a hand over her eyes. “I can’t watch.”
“You really don’t see much,” Cammon said in a comforting voice. “It’s not disgusting or anything.” Melly strangled a sound that could have been a snort.
“Get down,” Kirra said, kneeling. Justin dropped to a crouch beside her, balancing himself with one set of fingers against the ground. She placed her hands on either side of his face. “Watch me.”
His eyes fixed unwaveringly on her face; he was serious now. She took a deep breath and held it, searching for reserves of magic in her body. This was hard, harder than she’d expected without the boost of Cammon’s power. She felt the silent spell gouge a heavy track through her chest. Her ribs contracted from effort. But there was Justin, now a sandy-haired dog, floppy-eared and disreputable, springing to his feet and barking in a mad frenzy of excitement.
“By the Pale Lady’s silver tears,” Melly breathed. She’d whirled back around and was staring at the apparition. Who, truth to tell, was behaving more like a street mongrel than a dire act of sorcery, growling low in his throat and then throwing himself at Cammon’s chest. Cammon laughed, and the two of them fell to the ground, wrestling. “That’s—that’s Justin?”
“And wasn’t I right? Isn’t he better like this?”
“I can’t believe the goddess doesn’t strike us all with lightning.”
“Well, this is the third time I’ve done this, and so far she doesn’t seem too interested,” said Kirra cheerfully. “We’re going to go hunting for a while. Tie up the horses and go get those berries. We’ll be back in an hour or so.”
A minute later, Kirra had slipped into the shape of her favorite retriever, more elegant than Justin but just as playful. She nipped him on the shoulder and darted into the woods that lined the side of the road. He tore after her, plumed tail stretched behind him, mouth stretched in a canine grin.
She wasn’t sure they’d actually catch any game, but the afternoon promised to be enjoyable.
They chased each other through the undergrowth for the next half hour, rousting out plenty of grouse and rabbits but not reacting quickly enough to overtake any of them. Every once in a while Justin gave up on hunting altogether and just stood in some tangle of weed and bramble, barking because he liked the sound of it. At one point he wandered off, following some scent that didn’t interest Kirra, and she settled back on her hind legs, yawning hugely. If he was gone for any length of time, she just might flop to the ground, right in a pile of dead leaves, and take a short nap. The sunshine and the exercise were wearing her out.
Without warning, Justin jumped her from behind, pouncing on her with all four feet and taking her neck between his jaws in a mock grip. She yelped and rolled to her back, dislodging him, then sprang for his throat. He was too quick for her, though—Rider reflexes, even in dog shape. He darted aside and circled her, waiting for an opening, his mouth wide in a panting grin, wholly unmoved by her low growl of warning. She leapt at him, biting his flank, then kept running. Within five paces, he’d caught up and knocked her to the ground.
If she’d been human, she would have been laughing so hard she wouldn’t have been able to keep to her feet. She felt light and joyous, irresponsible and carefree, as she always had when playing with Donnal. They would chase each other across the woods, into the water, through the air, changing shapes, changing sizes. Now that would serve Justin right—she could transform herself to a lioness, or a bear, and he would not be able to counter. Unlike Donnal, he would have to stay as she made him, respond only to her call, rely entirely upon her magic—
She was human again so abruptly that Justin yapped and backed off. She hadn’t even meant to change. She hadn’t realized her body planned to take another shape. That of a woman, sitting on the ground, sobbing into her hands.
She would never play through the woods with Donnal again, never see his dark face, recognize it no matter what form he took. Never hear his voice. He was gone.
Justin had crawled forward again, belly low to the ground, tail down, whining. His cold nose nudged her hand, and, when she pulled away, lifted to burrow against her neck. She turned her face aside, but his pink tongue lapped across her cheek; he lifted one wiry paw and scraped at her shoulder. Unmistakable dog language for what’s wrong with my person? She kept her face averted and he grew more insistent, back legs on the ground, both his paws on her shoulders. He barked once, right in her ear, and it startled her so much she almost started laughing. He licked her face again, this time catching the corner of her mouth. She knew he could taste the tears on her cheeks. He barked again.
“All right,” she said, turning to look at him and grabbing his scruffy face between her hands. “I’m all right. Don’t worry. I’ll turn you back into Justin. In a minute. Just—give me a minute.”
He settled back but kept his gaze intent on her face. She dropped one hand to her lap, kept the other on his head, scratching between his ears. She was almost moved to pour her heart out, to talk to him as she had always talked to Donnal when he followed her in animal shape—but this was Justin; this was neither Donnal nor one of her father’s hounds, not nearly as safe to confide in. So she said nothing. She just looked away and waited for the tears to stop.
Apparently Justin decided that might take a while. He folded himself down to the ground right beside her and rested his head on her thigh. Giving a mighty sigh, he yawned and closed his eyes. She kept her fingers in his fur, absently stroking his head. They stayed that way until she heard Cammon’s voice, lifted to call their names.
AT the end of that journey, Ghosenhall seemed like some mythical city of grace and refinement, so beautiful and so long-sought that it could not possibly be real.
“We’ve found paradise,” Kirra said as, tired, hungry and a little dirty, they finally rode through the great gates of the royal city.
“Maybe not paradise,” Justin said, “but it’s home.”
“Not for me,” Melly said with a sigh. “Home’s another long journey away.”
The Rider glanced at Kirra. “How soon will you be leaving for Danalustrous?”
“Not sure. The dinner’s tomorrow night, if I’ve reckoned correctly, which means there’s probably a semi-formal function tonight. You know, for all the people who’ve arrived a day early. I imagine I’ll stay a day or two after the main event.” As long as Romar is here. “But Melly’s right. It’s time
to be getting back to Danan Hall.”
“Make sure you say good-bye,” Cammon said.
“Where are you going tonight?” Justin asked him. “Off to your mystic friends? You could stay a night or two at the barracks. Hear all the gossip.”
Cammon nodded. “Sure. That’ll be fun.”
“I wonder when Senneth and the others got here,” Kirra said. “I bet we’re only a day or two behind them.”
Justin grinned. “Maybe we beat them.”
But at the gates to the palace itself, they were informed that the royal caravan had arrived two days ago, everyone safe but weary. Kirra had been expecting the usual inquisition she had endured every other time she had tried to enter the palace grounds, but the presence of a Rider at her side made for a whole different experience. The guards had merely called Justin by name and waved the rest of them through. Kirra had had to rein back on her horse to ask for information about the princess’s party.
“And I’m right? Tomorrow is the formal dinner?” Kirra added.
“Yes, serra.”
“Good. I was afraid it might be tonight,” she said, and caught up with the others.
“We’ll ride up to the door with you,” Justin said so nonchalantly that she had to stop and realize that he didn’t really have to. Inside the royal compound, she was about as safe as a person could be, and the pathway to the barracks lay in a completely different direction. But she had finally started to figure Justin out a little. The six of us . . . We’ll ride with you. . . . When he said “we” or “us,” he meant this small core of friends that he hadn’t even known existed a year ago, and hadn’t really liked when they were first thrust upon him. Except for Tayse, of course. He had always worshipped Tayse. But the rest of them had surprised him by coming to mean so much to him. She thought he must still be astonished by his depth of feeling.
“You can take my horse for me,” she said casually.
He nodded. “Will do.”
Milo, the royal steward, was waiting at the door when their ragged little group rode up. “Serra Kirra,” he said in that voice that never showed dismay or disapproval. “The king will be glad you’re here. Your usual room has been reserved for you.”
Kirra slid from the saddle and unhooked her bags. Melly was also on the ground and retrieving luggage. Kirra handed her reins to Justin and gave him a friendlier smile than she usually bothered to show him. “Thanks,” she said. For returning the horse to the stables. For feeling the need to guard her on the way back from Rappengrass. For comforting her while she cried and never mentioning the incident again. “I’ll swing by the barracks before I leave.”
He nodded carelessly, as if it didn’t matter, and turned away, already talking to Cammon. Kirra smiled and followed Melly up the stairs to the grand entrance of the palace.
SENNETH wasn’t in her room. It seemed inappropriate to seek out Amalie or Valri, who would take on much different personas, Kirra thought, now that they were back in the royal compound. She didn’t dare go looking for Romar in broad daylight in the king’s palace. So she had to impatiently get through the intervening hours until dinner, unable to catch up on any good tales of the road.
Melly convinced her to nap, and then she luxuriated in a real bath, all scented soap and hot water. Melly seemed so eager to style her hair and help her with her clothes that Kirra submitted, just sitting and standing as Melly directed.
“This is the last time, though,” she warned. “Tonight and tomorrow night. I’m getting tired of being fussed over.”
“I know,” Melly said with a smile. “That’s why I want to do it.”
When Melly was done, Kirra was wearing a gown of deep violet silk edged with borders of velvet; against it, her hair looked bright as a pile of new coins. Melly had woven purple ribbons through the loose curls and set garnets and amethysts in Kirra’s ears and around her fingers. The ruby pendant of Danalustrous hung perfectly in the narrow V of the neckline. Kirra’s blue eyes looked smoky, tinged by the color of the dress.
“I hope I look this good tomorrow,” Kirra said, admiring herself in the mirror. “Thank you, Melly.” Thank you for your patience and care and good humor these last few weeks.
“I was happy to do it,” Melly said. I would do anything for House Danalustrous.
Kirra smiled and turned away. “Time to go charm the multitudes. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“I won’t wait up.” Because I know Romar Brendyn is here.
Kirra was surprised into a laugh. “Good. Time you finally got a long night’s sleep on a real bed.”
She flitted downstairs toward the sound of voices and found twenty or thirty people gathered just outside the smaller of the palace’s two formal dining rooms. She didn’t get five steps into the room before someone called her name and she was drawn into light conversation. Senneth was across the room, looking bored but unable to break free from a conference with some ancient-looking lord. Kirra waved and Senneth nodded, not breaking into the smile Kirra expected. Kirra raised her brows. Was something wrong? She tried to ease out of her unwelcome tête-à-tête and edge toward Senneth, but three more people caught up with her before she had even made it halfway across the room.
And then there was Amalie, descending on her in a swirl of gold skirts. “Kirra!” the princess cried, giving her a hug. So maybe it would have been permissible for Kirra to seek her out earlier in the day, just two old friends chattering the hours away. Amalie seemed to think friendship still held off the road. “When did you arrive? You must have traveled so fast!”
“I’ve only been here a few hours. But I was worried! I was afraid the grand dinner was tonight and I didn’t want to miss it.”
“No, it’s tomorrow,” Amalie said, and if she added something, Kirra missed it. Wild Mother still her wild heart, there was Romar a few feet away, standing with a small group. He looked almost as serious as Senneth, or maybe that was irritation on his face. The large woman talking to him at just this moment looked pompous and overbearing.
“Have you seen Senneth? Have you said hello to everyone?” Amalie was asking now.
“No—I’ve really just walked through the door.”
Amalie took her arm and—heart, please behave—tugged her in Romar’s direction. Kirra shaped her face with her most serene expression. “Uncle Romar, look who’s arrived, a whole day before we expected her,” Amalie said, as Romar’s circle of friends parted to admit them.
Romar turned to them so smoothly, with so little surprise, that Kirra was sure he must have seen her when she stepped through the door. He was smiling, but something about his expression was shuttered. Perhaps, like her, he was striving not to let his emotions show in such a public place. Great gods, they’d been apart less than two weeks and it was already like some kind of breathless holiday when they were reunited. “Serra,” he said very formally. “I trust you had no troubles on the road?”
“No, we were a small party, and we traveled without incident,” she said, spreading her smile impartially over the other four people in the group. She didn’t recognize any of them, though she thought the overbearing woman might be from Tilt. Or possibly Merrenstow, which explained why Romar was trying to be civil to her.
“You’re Kirra Danalustrous, aren’t you?” the large woman said, grabbing for Kirra’s hand without waiting for introductions. “Pretty as everyone says. I’m Macey Carrostan from Merrenstow.”
“Ah—forgive my rudeness,” Romar said. “Serramarra Kirra Danalustrous. That’s Lady Macey and her husband, George. Lord Gilbert Porrin. And my wife, Belinda.”
She was holding Lord Gilbert’s hand at the moment or Kirra would have fallen over. As it was, she felt the foundations of the palace shake and the walls pounce forward in one dark swoop. She could not falter; she could not scream. She could not crumple to the ground in a small, bleeding heap.
“Lady Belinda,” she said, making a quarter turn and keeping her smile perfectly in place. “I didn’t realize we would have the ple
asure of your company for this event.”
Belinda placed her little hand in Kirra’s and offered a shy smile. She was small but not overly delicate. The bones of her face were prominent; her grip was strong. She had dark hair and a determined chin and the look of someone who was, quite simply, kind. But she was obviously a little dazzled at the exalted company she was keeping.
“I don’t often come to court, but my husband says it’s something I’ll have to get used to,” she said, giving Romar a swift sideways glance. “I must say, everyone has been most gracious.”
I want to strike you. I want to hurt you. I want to see you run whimpering from the room. Kirra forced a smile. “Oh, people are pretty much the same everywhere,” she said breezily. “Title or no. Some are pleasant and some aren’t. But I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself so far.”
She felt a touch on her arm and turned blindly to see who might have accosted her. Senneth. “Kirra, can I drag you away for a minute?” Senneth asked, giving everyone else an apologetic glance. “I need a favor.”
