Shift of Shadow and Soul (SoulShifter Book 1)

by Hilary Thompson

  Resh shrugged. Grabbing a plate of food, he followed her out the door, turning up the stairs when she turned down. He clomped up to the attic, passing Sy on the way down.

  “Nik has the food,” he said. Then he stopped mid-step, and Sy glanced up at him from the bottom of the staircase. “You’re coming home, aren’t you? You and Coren?”

  Sy opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think she’ll want to go anywhere near Weshen City or the island for a long time. And I promised her the king.”

  “She can’t do much to the king without her wings,” Resh muttered.

  “She made that decision long before the wings were even a thought on the horizon,” Sy said, opening the door to the boys’ room. “I doubt she’ll back down now.”

  Resh sighed and continued to the attic, where Coren lay motionless on the bed, just as he’d left her. He knew Sy was right. He tried to settle in a comfortable position in the chair, but his ribs ached, and the bandages seemed too tight.

  Nothing was working out the way he’d hoped.

  “Any change?” Nik asked as Sy came into the room. He shook his head, weary of the question and its same answer.

  Nik handed him a plate filled with Sy’s favorites from the downstairs tavern. He smiled and sat at the table.

  Over the last three days, their eyes had met over mugs of tea and sandwiches, in the early morning hours, and just before the last candle flame flickered out. Sy had grown used to looking for Nik’s easy smile and raised, questioning brows, although he still wasn’t certain what Nik wanted to ask him.

  “Your brother offered me a teaching position in Weshen City,” Nik said, his eyes twinkling.

  Sy snorted. “He’s only trying to get out of it himself. But you’d do well at it,” he added. “You know as much as any of us. Maybe more.”

  Nik nodded. “You plan to go to StarsHelm?” he asked after a few moments.

  Sy gazed out the window. “I promised Coren the king. Graeme’s time is done.”

  “There are rumors that he has Sulit magic. That he’s far younger than his years should make him. It would be too dangerous to attack him without a trained army of shifters.”

  Sy didn’t respond, instead standing to stretch. He’d been sitting far too much these last few days. Besides, these rumors meant nothing. He’d heard them all and more, and there was no way to confirm them.

  He should have asked Kashar, but the man had disappeared immediately after delivering the wounded Wesh to Shanta. Sy assumed he had returned to StarsHelm with the remaining slaves.

  He dreaded that conversation when Coren woke. And she would wake. He still clung to that belief. They all did.

  “She has a hold on you yet, doesn’t she?” Nik asked, his voice almost too soft to hear. “Corentine. Do you love her?”

  Sy glanced at Nik. This was the question. But now that it had been asked, Sy realized he feared answering it even more. What would his answer mean to Nik? His storm-dark eyes caught Nik’s crystal-sky eyes, and they held.

  A challenge, an evaluation, a measuring.

  A wanting waited there for him, and Nik didn’t look away when Sy noticed it.

  Sy shook his head. No, he didn’t love Coren. Not that way.

  Nik pushed his plate away and stood, facing Sy, his eyes hopeful and wide with a new question.

  Suddenly a coward, Sy turned away, ruffling his hair from his brow. What was he doing?

  Nik made an odd noise. “Where did you get that scar?”

  Sy startled, and his hair feathered over his eyes. Nik stepped into the light and pushed his black curls from his temple, revealing a grid of eight circular scars, tiny but distinct.

  “You have that, too. On your temple,” he said.

  Sy pushed his hair away and felt for the circles he knew were there. He’d had them as long as he could remember. “I didn’t think it was a scar,” he admitted.

  Nik shook his head. “It’s from a test. Someone tested you for magic.”

  Sy felt the blood drain from his face, and he leaned against the edge of the bed. Had Ashemon tested him?

  “It’s not always accurate, though. If you don’t have a true talisman, the magic sometimes doesn’t show. The slavers who kept me did it to all the new Wesh. They’d do it every few months, sometimes, just to be sure,” Nik explained.

  He stepped forward again and lifted Sy’s hair to study the marks. Sy barely breathed, his mind whirling with too many unanswered questions.

  Nik’s hand slid from Sy’s temple, tracing a gentle line down his cheek, and Sy burst away. He paced to the window and stared, seeing nothing.

  He should be wondering about Ashemon’s intentions, but all he could focus on was the feel of Nik’s calloused fingers.

  And suddenly Sy’s cheeks were hot and his chest was hotter and everything clicked as the machine of desire rumbled to life in his body. Everything slid into place and he finally understood. He hadn’t disliked the hunts because of the indignity of chasing girls. Well, yes to the indignity.

  But he had disliked the hunts because hunting the girls was wrong in an entirely different way.

  Nik stepped close behind him, interrupting Sy’s churning thoughts.

  Sy turned and focused on how full Nik’s lips were, how soft they looked, despite everything he’d suffered. His eyes flickered down the lean muscle of Nik’s chest under its thin shirt and stuttered over the narrow waist tapering into low-slung pants.

  Sy blinked up just as Nik pulled his lips apart in a soft smile, and Sy’s breath thickened in his throat.

  “General…First Son,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He couldn’t…wasn’t supposed to…

  “I know what you are,” Nik whispered. “And I know how he treated you.” He took another step, and Sy’s back touched the window’s warm glass. They were close enough to touch now, but they didn’t. Sy felt dizzy from the heat swirling around them.

  “You’re not a General’s son anymore. He doesn’t deserve you,” Nik continued, erasing all the distance. His slippered feet rested at the tips of Sy’s boots, his chest rising and falling only inches from Sy’s chest. “And by the Magi, I don’t either, but I want you,” he finished, and Sy stopped breathing altogether.

  They were nearly the same height, and all he needed to do was lean forward, cross the tiniest channel of air from between their lips. Sy closed his eyes to keep Nik from seeing the fear he knew was creeping in, turning him to stone.

  He tried to move, to show Nik what he wanted - what he now felt like he’d always wanted - but his muscles were locked down from fear.

  “Sy,” Nik said, and the word was barely a breath on Sy’s face, pushing away the fear, and then Nik slanted his lips over Sy’s, pressing him to the window. His hands slid up Sy’s arms, squeezing the corded muscle there, then into his hair, pulling the strands as he kissed harder than Sy thought he could bear.

  Still, he hesitated to touch Nik. He didn’t know what to do or where to begin, and his chest was near to exploding with indecision when Nik broke away, fear now transferred to his hooded eyes.

  “I-I’m sorry,” Nik whispered, backing away a single step. Uncertainty twisted that incredible mouth into a frown, and Sy realized this might be his only chance to tell himself the truth.

  He forced his feet to advance, prowling like the animal he felt he’d turned into. His lips were rough and used, and it was glorious. Sy had waited his entire life to feel like this, and now that the door had been opened, he wasn’t backing down.

  Nik must have caught the look in Sy’s eye because his lips broke into a sly grin.

  “I guess I’m not sorry,” he said, tilting his head, a challenge lifting his brows.

  “Definitely not,” Sy answered, his voice barely above a growl. But he made it only far enough to grasp Nik’s narrow waist before the door flew open, revealing a very angry Kashar.

  “I’ve waited long enough. We need to talk about Corentine,” he sai
d, his eyes flicking between the two boys. Sy had jumped away from Nik like an electric charge separated them, and he flushed now, wondering what this man thought he’d seen, or who he might tell if provoked.

  And then, seeing the hope mixed with disappointment on Nik’s face, he wondered if he even cared what others would think.

  In the attic room, Coren opened her eyes, blinking into the afternoon sun streaming in the window.

  Turning her head, she saw only Resh there, his head tilted back, eyes closed in sleep. Her limbs felt filled with sand, and she pushed herself up to sitting with difficulty. Stretching each muscle slowly, she watched Resh’s chest rise and fall gently. His lashes cast thick shadows on his flushed cheeks, and his lips were slightly upturned with a content she’d rarely seen on him.

  He had filled her dreams. They all had. She had flown the length of Riata, to Sulit and Umbren and back again, bringing the head of King Zorander Graeme to place on the spikes of Weshen City. She had danced with Sy and embraced Resh, and he had kissed her, long and without reason to hurry.

  She was still rifling through the odd images and studying the scruff of unshaven beard on his jaw when his eyes opened, locking on hers.

  “I knew you’d wake again, little witch,” he said, his mouth pulling up on one side in a sly grin.

  Coren glared, the moment of remembrance from her dreams gone. “You still believe my wings are not Weshen?” But as soon as she said the words, she became conscious of the weight that no longer pressed at her spine. She reached her hands around her back and felt nothing.

  “My wings!” Her eyes flew to Resh’s, and she noticed a hesitation there. “What happened? Resh, how did I shift back?” Her strength…her beautiful power. Gone.

  “Shadow stole the claw from your stomach. Kashar believes that was the key.”

  “The talisman,” she whispered, and he nodded. She pulled up the edge of her tunic, noticing it was clean and wondering who had changed her. Her stomach was bandaged, and when she peeled away the edges of the cloth, she could see the hole in her flesh. It was healing, as were several fierce red slashes across her middle.

  “Shadow did that,” Resh said, and she glanced up to see his face full of fury, all trace of content gone.

  Coren swung her legs over the edge of the bed, standing and swaying a bit. Resh caught her gently, his hands careful around her injuries.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked, steadying herself enough to push away his touch. She was beginning to remember other things, like the moment they had shared in between Shadow attacking him, then her.

  “Sy and Nik are downstairs eating. Are you hungry?” Resh’s voice was soft in her ear.

  She shook her head, taking a step back from his grasp. Her balance was imperfect, though. As her body overcompensated for the lack of weight on her back, she stumbled again.

  Resh was there a second time, his arms strong and ready. For a moment, she allowed herself to sag into his strength, to be gathered against his chest like a scraped-kneed child. A wave of grief shuddered through her as she mourned the loss of power.

  Resh pulled her close, his arm firm around her waist. Her cheek rested on his collarbone. And for the space of a few breaths, she soaked in the comfort of his warm, smooth skin.

  When she pushed away again, he didn’t resist, and when she leaned a hand against the nearby chair, he didn’t suggest that she lie back down.

  For all of that, she was grateful.

  She couldn’t learn to care for or depend on anyone now. Not yet. She needed to regain her strength.

  Wings or not, she had a king to kill.

  “Come back to Weshen City with me,” he whispered, and her eyes flashed to his. They were close enough that she could read the hesitance in the set of his jaw, and something that looked for a mere second like pleading.

  “I’m sorry, Resh, but I’ll never go back there,” she said.

  “Then I’ll come with you and Sy to StarsHelm.”

  She shook her head. “Someone has to go back and tell Ashemon all that has happened. He needs to be readied.”

  The excuse seemed valid enough as she said it, but really she wasn’t ready to travel those miles with Resh so near. She could focus with Sy nearby, but she was beginning to suspect this would not be so with Resh.

  He nodded with guarded eyes and glanced away. She raised a brow. He had accepted her rejection too easily. Perhaps he was as conflicted as she. All the better for them to go in separate directions.

  “I should eat,” she said, taking the few steps around the chair and sinking into it. Dizziness pulsed behind her eyes, and she wondered if she should drink some of the lemondrine tonic as well.

  “I’ll go fix a plate and bring it back to you. Sy will want to know you’re awake.” And with that, Resh slipped out of the room, leaving Coren alone in the attic. She glanced around, noticing that someone had shifted together the broken panes of glass and the scratches in the wall. There was no more evidence of her Vespa form.

  Not in the room, and not on her body, except her healing wounds.

  Remembering her triumphant dreams again, Coren wondered how she could possibly be strong enough to become a killer of kings.

  Now that she had known true power, without it she felt insubstantial and silly, like Penna playing at war with her wooden sword.

  Still, it changed nothing. She hadn’t been born a savior of her people, but she could become one.

  Chapter 32

  When Resh entered the boys’ room, he was irritated to see Kashar pacing the room. Sy sat on the bed, a half-eaten plate of food next to him, his knees drawn to his chest. Nik sat at the table, still eating, but his back was to the others.

  The tension between them all was like the air before a summer storm breaks the horizon. And by storms, Resh thought, he really meant accusations.

  “She’s awake,” he said, grinning to himself as the tension ratcheted several notches. A dark look passed between Kashar and Sy, and Resh straightened. “What is it?”

  “This one,” Sy said, gesturing rudely at Kashar, “wants to take her back to the palace with him. He claims he can get her in undercover and that she’ll be safe there.”

  Resh examined his brother. There must be more to the plan. “Isn’t that exactly what you wanted?”

  Kashar turned and nodded at Resh, but Resh wasn’t about to side with this traitor.

  “He doesn’t want Sy to go,” Nik said from the table. “He wants me instead.”

  Sy stood, his energy barely contained in the small room. “I don’t care what he wants. You’re still not leaving with either of them,” he said to Kashar, as though he’d said it a few times already.

  “Why would you want Nik?” Resh asked.

  “Because he’s stronger than any Wesh I’ve met. We could learn a lot from him,” Kashar answered.

  “I will not teach you methods to torture the magic from someone’s veins!” Nik burst out, nearly overturning the table as he stood and strode out the door, slamming it behind him.

  Sy took a few steps toward the door, as if to follow, then glanced back to Resh, a puzzling guilt on his face.

  “Why don’t you just let Coren decide what she wants to do?” Resh asked. “She’s awake,” he repeated. Sy nodded and squared his shoulders.

  “Come upstairs, then. We’ll figure this out now. Then you leave,” Sy said to Kashar. The older man’s jaw twitched, but he nodded silently, and the three men headed up the stairs.

  When Resh reached for the door, however, he found it locked. He rattled the handle, and Coren’s voice called, “Wait! I’m changing!”

  In the locked room, Nik grinned. “Now you have to actually change.”

  “Not with you in here,” Coren whispered. “And keep your voice down.”

  “Relax. I’d much rather see Sy’s naked chest than yours,” Nik replied, and Coren snapped her eyes to his, her jaw slack.

  He raised his eyebrows, challenging her to find fault.

  “S
y?” she managed. He grinned, his dark eyes sparking.

  Coren was about to ask another question when the door rattled again. She hurried to slip off her tunic and pull on another one, just as clean as the first. It had been a silly excuse.

  “You can’t let him take us to StarsHelm,” Nik repeated, advancing on her as she pulled her hair forward and began to braid it. “None of the Wesh who go there ever come back. And you may be his daughter, but to the king, you’re just another powerful Wesh.”

  “I don’t trust him at all,” she agreed. “But he could be my way into the palace. You could go back to Weshen City with Resh.”

  Nik glared. “I don’t want that brother.”

  Despite his petulance, Coren grinned. The grin faded as she imagined Sy’s reaction to Nik’s interest. “He won’t be with you, though,” she said. Nik raised a brow. “He’s too loyal to the General still, and Ashemon wants heirs.”

  “Have you been with him?” Nik asked, his eyes turned toward the cold fireplace.

  “Coren!” Sy called from beyond the door, and their eyes met.

  “I’ll never be with him,” Coren whispered. “Or any boy. I need all of my magic.”

  Nik tilted his head as though puzzling out her answer, then a smile edged back onto his face. “Good. Because he kissed me back.”

  And before Coren could recover from that revelation, he strode to the door and threw it open, amusement splashing across his face as he took in the startled looks on Sy’s and Resh’s faces.

  “Why are you in here?” Resh asked, his voice harsh as he pushed past his brother and Nik, peering around them to see Coren.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing as Kashar followed the boys into the room. There was suddenly too little space and too much disagreement.

  “Nik came up here to tell me the plan you were all discussing. He’s the only one who thought I might like some input.” She was pleased with the flashes of guilt on the brothers’ faces. Kashar simply leaned against the closed door, mimicking her crossed arms and blocking the way out.

  “Coren,” Sy started.