Shift of Shadow and Soul (SoulShifter Book 1)

by Hilary Thompson

  Chapter 29

  Coren didn’t know where to go.

  Despite struggling with wanting to leave, she wasn’t quite ready to do such a drastic thing, but she certainly didn’t want to be in that room. It was too crowded for these cursed wings, and she couldn’t bear to watch the little boy die.

  All she could think of was Kosh, and how he could be undergoing the same sort of torture this very minute.

  And she would never know. She had abandoned her family to the mercy of the Hungry River and the Sulit witches. How was she any better than that slaver she had just murdered, really? She had killed another of her own people. Yes, the man had been cruel, but it could be argued so had she.

  The rain slowed again, allowing the moon to poke through the swift-moving clouds. Still, she was soaked and chilled to her very bones from the trauma of the day. Her feathers shook as she curled her arms around herself, trying to think through the mess of wants and needs in her mind - desire and fear swirled with obligation and responsibility.

  She wrapped what was left of her tattered shirt more tightly around her, shuddering at the bloodstains that covered the front. And then she stiffened.

  Something was there, watching her. She felt it, like the slitted eyes of a catten tracking her every movement.

  “Do not come closer.” Her voice was so quiet it was nearly lost in the night, but the shadows stopped moving. “I feel you moving, gathering strength. But know that I‘m stronger, and I will beat you again and again, until the threat of Shadow is no more.”

  She heard what could have been the low rumble of thunder, or what could have been the laughter of a beast of Umbren. Either way, she immediately stretched her wings in a wide threat, feeling the cool breeze ruffle the damp feathers.

  Crouching low on the roof tiles for balance, she scraped her talons against the tiles, scanning the roof for signs of Shadow. As she turned toward the far end of the roof, she glimpsed a slim form watching her.

  Cloaked in black, it was much more human than Shadow should be. She stood, her eyes struggling in the darkness and mist. The form took a single step toward her, though, and she flapped her wings just enough to rise her feet from the roof tiles. She could be off and in the sky in seconds, but if this were Shadow, she needed to protect the people in the room below.

  “Who are you talking to?” a familiar voice asked, and the figure stepped closer. A cloud stripped itself from the moon, and a shaft of silver light broke over the roof.

  “Reshra,” Coren murmured, landing back on the tiles gently. He grinned and stepped forward again.

  “Is there someone else here?” he asked, glancing around at the gathered shadows.

  Coren closed her eyes and sifted through the sources around her. She felt the clay of the roof tiles, the warm and cold of the night air, the droplets of rain. But she no longer felt Shadow. Opening her eyes and turning a full, slow circle, neither did she see a gathering of darkness that might point to the Umbren presence.

  “It’s just the two of us,” she answered finally, turning back to Reshra. “How did you get up here?”

  “There’s a balcony off the dining room with stairs leading up here.”

  “Shouldn’t you be resting?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the city below, where the streets were dark except for a few windows.

  “Shanta popped my shoulder back in place and gave me strong medicine. I feel very nice, actually,” he answered. Coren turned back to him, curious at the friendly tone in his voice. He was even closer now, close enough to reach out and touch, or to grab her arms as he had once on Weshen Isle before claiming her with a kiss for Sy.

  Coren nearly grinned at how poorly that had played out. She scanned her eyes down Resh’s body, conscious that she could do anything she wanted now. Never again would she need to fear a boy like Reshra.

  She allowed herself to notice how handsome he truly was. The opposite of Sy, with his sly smile and thick-lashed eyes that could harden or turn curious in a blink.

  Right now, they were curious. He didn’t hide, and she could tell he was puzzling out her motives. She noticed he held a thick cloak, and she ached to snatch it from him. He already wore a black coat, slicked with wax against the rain, the collar turned up against the wind drifting from the NeverCross Mountains. His shirt opened deep at the throat, and she could see jewelry sparkling there, diamonds and onyx in the dark.

  “So,” he began, gesturing toward her. “Two arms, two legs. Four wings. Eight ways to help our people. Will you do it?”

  “The Magi number,” she whispered, realizing he was exactly right. He turned to gaze out at the city, and the necklace shining on his chest glinted in the moonlight - prayer beads. “I never thought of you as prayerful,” she said, immediately regretting the slight tease of her words.

  “I am in debt to the Mirror Magi for everything I have. How could I not be prayerful?” he asked with a sincerity that surprised her.

  A beat of silence swelled between them, and Coren shivered. The rain had begun again, and she watched as the soft mist dampened his hair. She longed for the cloak in his hands, but she was too proud to ask for it, and he had yet to offer it to her.

  “The child is about the same age as your brother, isn’t he?” Reshra asked, turning back to pin her in his gaze, and Coren closed her eyes against the pain his question brought.

  “He’s just a child. They’re all just children,” she whispered.

  “So help them,” Reshra hissed, and her eyes flew open. “Look, Corentine. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I know I’m to blame for your banishment, and I’ve questioned that morning with each new morning that has dawned since. But I was only acting on what I knew then. I know more now, so my actions will be different.”

  She eyed him, not ready for what he was about to say, but knowing he would say it anyway. He wouldn’t hold back like Sy might.

  “You know more now. How can your actions be the same? Your siblings are no more important than that boy. Your family is no more special to the Magi than any other Weshen family. But you are. You can save them all, Corentine.”

  She bit at her lips, resisting the harsh words that bubbled inside her. Kosh and Penna were more important, if only to her. But hadn’t the child on the bed been important to someone once? Maybe there was a sister or brother or mother desperately seeking the boy right now.

  “No-one can save them all.” This part was easier to address.

  “You can,” he insisted. “Your power. It’s incredible.” He reached out to grasp a wing, drawing his fingers down the slick, rain-darkened feathers. Coren felt the touch vibrate in every part of her body, and to her embarrassment, she had to bite back a moan. Closing her eyes against the awakened desire and what it would mean to a boy like Reshra Havenash, she backed away a few steps.

  “You can change the world we live in,” Reshra continued. “You can kill the king with the power you have.”

  “Or he could just shoot me out of the sky.”

  Reshra stepped forward again, and Coren stepped back. But this time, her wings brushed the stone chimney behind her, and she would have to fly if she wanted to move farther away. And she wasn’t certain she wanted to. Not just yet.

  Reshra closed the distance between them, reaching around her and finally slipping the cloak up behind her wings, a newly-cut slit in the fabric allowing the cloak to part around them and still fasten close about her neck. She sighed into the dry warmth of the silver-black fur, hugging it close to her soaked body.

  Then Reshra’s hand slipped beneath her chin and tilted her face up. His eyes were heavy-lidded, as though he’d had too little sleep or too much drink. They dropped to study her lips, and Coren suddenly wished she had taken the opportunity to fly away.

  Her magic shuddered, clamoring to help her escape, but she fought to control it, staying still beneath his touch.

  She was stronger than the girl who used to run from the boys. That had been a sort of strength, certainly, but now her power was so muc
h more. She would no longer be intimidated by Reshra. What harm was a touch or a kiss from a vain Second Son to a warrior woman like her?

  He was only a man, and she had killed a man for less. She straightened and looked him directly in the eye, knowing she could do the same to him if needed.

  Reshra stopped, dropping his hand.

  He angled his face back to better see her in the faint moonlight. “You’ve changed more than your form in Riata, haven’t you,” he said, his voice smooth as the evening shadows. “What wicked have you done, Weshen woman?” His congratulatory grin and the wonder that accompanied it was contagious, and Coren felt her own lips stretch into a smug smile. She knew she shouldn’t be proud that such a change had happened.

  It should sicken her that the deed of murder was so visibly written on her face.

  But it didn’t. It proved she did not have to be a victim, and that none around her need suffer. “That child had a cruel master, and that master is now dead,” she answered, holding his eyes. No, she wasn’t proud that she’d slain another man, especially a Weshen shifter, but she also knew she would make the same choice again and again.

  Reshra watched her several more moments, as though deciding whether to believe her.

  “So it’s true. You. And not Syashin. You did kill that guard in the armory.” His voice held interest, but not surprise.

  “I am no helpless island girl,” she said, leaning close enough to hear the catch in his throat as she twisted a single talon in his prayer beads, the other golden claws scratching lightly at his bare skin. She didn’t try to wound him, only warn.

  But then he laughed, the sound blending with the quickening rain around them, and his fingers closed over hers. Her talons turned inward toward her palm, tangling in the beads as he pressed his entire body against hers, pinning her completely to the stone chimney.

  He dropped his head and crushed his lips over hers, sucking greedily at her mouth, one hand clutching her waist beneath the cloak that was suddenly too hot, and the other hand moving to clasp the back of her head, holding her lips just where he wanted them.

  She thought he breathed her name in stuttering syllables as he broke the kiss abruptly, and her eyes fluttered at the odd sensation.

  Somewhere deep in her core, her body realized that this was an entirely different sort of kiss than the one she’d shared with Sy, and she clamped down on the growing need. Traitorous wings, she thought, as his fingers dredged them again. She closed her eyes to keep them from rolling back in her head.

  Reshra stepped back then, glancing up at the night sky, where the clouds had begun to part, allowing moonlight to stream down on them. Grinning, he reached for her hand, unfolding the golden claws. His prayer beads had snapped and were wound around each talon, and a tiny dot of her blood rested in the center of her palm, her skin pricked open by her own needled talons.

  He stroked her palm, blending the red with the rain, then slipped the beads into his pocket.

  “I’m not all bad, Corentine. There are parts of me that can be very, very good,” he said, and a shiver slunk across her shoulders.

  Then he leaned close once more, his eyes glittering black in the shadows as he looked down at her lips, then up again. “You kissed me back,” he whispered, then swiveled and was gone in a swish of black cloak, his tall leather boots quiet against the roof tiles. She heard the noise of a raucous crowd as the balcony door opened to the dining area, then silence as it closed again.

  Coren blinked after him, uncertain whether she could honestly argue his parting comment.

  Surely she had done no such thing. Had she?

  Then again, she certainly hadn’t tried very hard to stop him, Vespa talons or otherwise. She looked down at the smeared red on her palm and pulled the cloak tighter around her.

  Only then did she recognize it as being the same cloak she’d taken from Reshra’s room so many days ago. She scowled; that meant he’d been in her bag.

  Shaking her wings dry as much as possible, she dropped off the roof and ducked into the attic window. Instead of finding Sy and Shanta tending a sick child huddled on the bed, she found a boy nearly as tall as Sy, holding a rusted dagger before him as Sy crouched protectively over Shanta.

  “Stop where you are,” the boy said, holding a hand up to Coren at the window, but keeping his blue eyes fixed on Shanta and Sy.

  “Coren, he SelfShifted,” Sy informed her. He kept still, though he was still reeling from the boy’s ability to hold his shifted form for so long, then still have enough strength to bring part of the wall down onto Shanta, knocking her unconscious. “This is the child you brought.”

  “Stop!” the boy cried again, slicing his dagger through the air. Sy knew he could easily overpower him physically, but he was uncertain what further magic the boy might be hiding.

  “Nikesh? Isn’t that your name?” Coren asked from her crouch at the window. Her voice was low and soothing. Sy noticed that the cloak Resh had taken draped around her shoulders. She folded her wings back and tucked her talons beneath the cloak. “I promise we aren’t going to hurt you.”

  Nikesh snorted a cynical laugh. “I have been told that many times, and each time it was a lie.” But Sy noticed that the rusted dagger he’d pulled from a sheath on his thigh a few minutes ago had begun to lower a bit. The shirt he’d been wrapped in lay in tatters on the bed, and his pants, too loose only moments ago, were now fitted perfectly to his slim waist.

  “Is this your regular form?” Coren asked, stretching one leg down to the floor.

  Nikesh glanced back at her and nodded. “I’m nineteen.”

  “We’re of similar age,” she said, lowering the other foot gently. “I’m just going to shut the window,” she added, reaching behind her to the flapping shutter.

  Sy watched Nikesh carefully, risking the boy’s anger to lower one hand to check Shanta’s breathing.

  “I’m sorry I hurt her,” Nikesh said, his voice softer now. He looked again at Coren. “Thank you for saving me. But I’m afraid it will mean your death.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Sy asked, the growl in his voice barely contained.

  Nikesh snapped his sky-blue eyes to Sy. “She killed my master. Someone will come looking for him. They have Sulit magic, too. They can do tracking spells. Binding spells. That’s what they did to me.”

  “Would you like something to eat?” Coren offered, pointing to the tray still on the table. “Did you know your master was Weshen?”

  Sy sucked in a breath. She had killed a Weshen? Another?

  He saw the moment when Nikesh decided to trust them. He finally lowered the dagger, laying it on the table. His eyes fixed on the food. “Of course I knew. His training methods, like trying to drown me in river water, were obviously Weshen shifting.” He shoved a piece of cheese in his mouth, his eyes drifting closed as he chewed. “But the Sulit magic was in the leather ties, binding me in child form,” he mumbled around a bite of bread.

  Sy stood slowly, testing the boy’s new calm. Nikesh watched him closely but continued eating. The two boys were nearly the same size, though Sy’s build was thick with muscle, and Nikesh looked as though he’d been long without a full meal.

  Shanta began to stir then, and Sy held up a hand to warn Nikesh. “She won’t hurt you, either.”

  Shanta sat up, holding her head and brushing wood dust from her eyes, from the wall planks Nikesh had shifted down on her. She blinked up at the others.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Sy asked, bending back down to her. “Stay calm,” he whispered.

  She glared, turning her attention to Nikesh, who was already on a second piece of bread. “Why did you do that? We aren’t the enemy! We’re all Weshen!”

  He stopped chewing and looked at all three of them in turn, darkness sliding over his face. He swallowed and put his food back on the table, sinking into the chair. “When your own people turn against you, it’s hard to tell. For me, everyone is an enemy.”

  “I know what you mean,
” Coren said, stepping toward the table. “Sy and I were banished from our homes for using Weshen magic. By his own father. My siblings fled to Sulit to escape, and I may never see them again. But we have a plan,” she added.

  Sy nodded, helping Shanta to the bed and coming to stand next to Coren. “We know of a group of Wesh who were recently sold as slaves, and we plan to track them and rescue them. Then we’ll go on to StarsHelm to attack the king.”

  Nikesh’s eyes grew wide, and his face broke into a grin. A laugh bubbled up, filling the room, and Sy glanced at Coren, uncomfortable.

  Nikesh snapped his lips shut, ending the laughter. “You will all be dead by summer’s end.”

  Coren moved to stand over Nikesh then, her wings spreading as wide as they could in the cramped room. She bent down, her face close to his, her talons resting on the table on either side of him. “Have you ever seen a Weshen who had this form of SelfShifting?”

  “No.” Nikesh stared up at her without fear. “My master and I are the strongest Wesh we know of. And he was only stronger than me because of the witches.”

  Coren straightened and folded her wings, pacing the length of the room with measured steps. “Do you know any of the Sulit magic?”

  “None,” he answered.

  “Will you let me leave now, or are you going to freak out again?” Shanta asked, sitting up on the bed. “I have to check in with my crew soon, or they’ll start scouting the streets for me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nikesh said again, gesturing at the door.

  “I’ll send you my bill through Resh,” Shanta grinned wickedly at Sy, gathering her bag and slamming out the door. He sighed, sagging against the wall.

  “Where is Resh?” Sy asked, looking to Coren. He raised an eyebrow when she startled at the question, her cheeks flushing. She turned toward the fire, her wings brushing the walls as she gathered them to her back.