Another denial was on his lips when the fiery glow of magic flared outward from underneath him, where Sorsha lay. His grief-numbed mind didn’t understand what he was seeing until the first tendril of magic—far older and stronger than anything he had at his call—touched him and flooded its thoughts across his senses. The Falcon Staff, he realized—it was still tucked away in Sorsha’s pack.
“Harbinger, you have served The Twelve well. Your duty is fulfilled.”
The strange voice seemed to talk straight to his soul. Shadowdancer stood rooted to the ground, not backing down even when the Staff’s magic spun into a small, tornado-like funnel.
“You protected me when I was unable to protect myself. Thank you. Rest with the knowledge you and Sorsha have honored all the Twelve.”
It was far too late to take comfort in words. What was honor compared to the pain of Sorsha’s death?
“What boon would you ask of me, Harbinger?”
At its words, the wisps of cloud-like magic intensified. Flashes of power glimmered deep in the funnel’s depths.
Shadowdancer collapsed to his knees next to Sorsha in a deep bow, though, not really sure if he was paying homage to his fallen love or the broken Staff. Tears flowed down his cheeks when he looked upon Sorsha, lying so still and cold next to him.
Above him, the Staff’s magic swirled more violently, wind accompanied its magic, driving down upon Shadowdancer mercilessly. Pain burned along his body and mind.
“What boon?”
The Staff sounded impatient, almost eager to hear his answer. Closing his eyes, he turned his head up to the swirling power. He had fulfilled his duty to the Twelve. Broken in both body and soul, he deserved peace—to find the same eternal peace as Sorsha.
“If you would grant me a boon, let me walk with Sorsha once again at my side and know no more pain.”
“Very well.”
Raw power blasted down upon him. He couldn’t scream. All his muscles were locked, even his jaw. Power twisted through him, seeking his Larnkin, and then deeper to his soul. Something ripped into his chest. Blackness encroached upon his vision, invading from the sides. He slumped forward. His thoughts blanked out.
Chapter Thirty
Murmuring voices invaded Shadowdancer’s quiet, disturbing his much-deserved peace. He felt a frown settle over his features. Merciful gods—is there no peace even in the afterlife?
“Grumpy as ever, I see,” a vaguely familiar voice said with a dry chuckle. “I still don’t know what my little sister sees in you. You’re far too surly.”
“Ashayna, be nice.”
“Mmm. Sorry, I guess.”
Shadowdancer’s eyes snapped open.
“I still can’t believe he’s one of the Twelve—I’ve known him almost all my life.” A dark-skinned phoenix with indigo plumage leaned over him, his crest raised, and a curious expression in his onyx eyes.
“And how is the fact you’ve known him most of your life even relevant? You’re the Judge, exalted Leader of the Twelve, and you were oblivious to your own heritage.” The droll female voice pulled Shadowdancer further out of his stupor.
The Crown Prince of the Phoenix moved away and sat down on a small wooden bench, next to a woman who shared Sorsha’s coloring. Shadowdancer’s mind scrambled for her name a moment—Ashayna Stonemantle, Sorsha’s older sister, and bondmate to Sorntar. It felt like a lifetime ago since he’d laid eyes upon these two. Both sat and watched him with curious looks.
If they were here in the afterlife, where was Sorsha? He lifted his head. And why was he human and not back to his normal santhyrian self? A large blanket covered his body. With a sinking feeling in his middle, he surveyed himself and moved his legs—all four of them. He wasn’t human, either—he still wore the Oracle’s Mark.
Prince Sorntar cleared his throat. “I imagine we both have interesting stories…”
“This isn’t how I envisioned the afterlife,” Shadowdancer said, slowly looking over the phoenix’s shoulder. The afterlife suspiciously looked like one of his people’s tents. A healer’s tent.
No.
He was supposed to be dead.
Dead like his beloved Sorsha. The Falcon Staff had promised him a boon.
Pain stabbed through the numbness protecting his mind and body. Why was he alive when Sorsha was not?
“Afterlife?” Ashayna snorted without humor. “If we were in the afterlife, we wouldn’t have to worry about Dakdamon or Trensler’s master. No, we’re not so lucky.”
They were not dead, then. Shadowdancer mulled that over. Why was the human woman so unemotional? How could she feel nothing? Sorsha had been her sister. Fresh grief threatened to crush his heart.
“Shadowdancer, calm. We’ll explain everything.”
Sorntar’s voice drifted to him as if from far away. Shadowdancer didn’t care what else the phoenix had to say.
“Sorntar, he’s not listening. Let me try.”
Surprise engulfed him when Ashayna grabbed his chin. Her fingers, made strong from wielding a sword most of her life, tightened their grip and twisted. It was either turn his head or have his jaw broken.
“There, you see. All is well. I wouldn’t be calmly sitting here if it wasn’t.”
His eyes widened, his breath hitched. Several cots had been pushed back to make room for his big body, but one still remained near him, at his back. Sprawled on his side as he was, his rump nearly touched one of the cot’s legs. He bolted to his feet so quickly his vision darkened and he stumbled. A misplaced hoof landed on something soft. Ashayna loosed a curse that made him blush as he hastily moved the offending hoof.
Slowly, the vertigo eased and his vision cleared.
Now that he was standing, he could easily look down at the cot and watch the one who slept there. The blankets tucked up to her chin, her chest rising and falling with beautiful life, Sorsha slept on, unaware.
“H-how?” His hands shook uncontrollably as he touched her cheek. Sorsha mumbled something in her sleep. He leaned closer, having to brush his cheek to her, inhale her welcoming scent. His Herd Mistress, as human as she’d been the first time he’d seen her, but still his love.
She lived.
A silly grin tugged at his lips. He couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to stop it.
“By the Light.” Ashayna loosed a long, low whistle as she rubbed her sore foot. She craned her neck to look up at him. “I heard you ran afoul of an Oracle, but seeing it is something else altogether. He certainly changed you into a behemoth.”
Shadowdancer shifted positions at the sound of the Crown Prince’s sharply cleared throat, and he felt his head brush the top of the tent. Strange how when he and Sorsha had been galloping for their lives, he hadn’t realized how lofty his vantage point had become. But, as Ashayna had put it so elegantly, he was a behemoth, towering even over Sorntar.
Prince Sorntar coughed discreetly into his fist as he elbowed his bondmate hard enough to elicit a grunt.
“What?” Ashayna smacked her bondmate in the shoulder. “It wasn’t as if I insulted him.”
Sorntar rolled his eyes in a hopeless gesture.
“I wasn’t.” Ashayna eyed Shadowdancer. “If you must know, you’re rather handsome in a... a... unique way. I’m sure Sorsha still finds you appealing.”
The phoenix’s long, feathered crest quivered in what was clearly a wince. “Forgive my bondmate, but I believe she suffers from an incurable flaw that is shared by all the Stonemantle line. You may be familiar with it.”
The Crown Prince’s dry comment earned a chuckle from Shadowdancer. “Hmmm, yes, I think I know of what you speak. Though I find their mouthiness rather adorable.”
Ashayna mumbled under her breath, something that sounded a lot like insufferable males.
Still in awe of Sorsha’s miraculous recovery, Shadowdancer slowly placed his arm under her shoulders, another under her knees and lifted her to his chest, blanket and all. She continued to sleep, but murmured something beyond his range of hearing a
nd turned her face into his chest. With Sorsha secure in his arms, he folded his legs under himself. It was easier to cuddle her this way.
“The Falcon Staff said healing Sorsha would go easier if she returned to human form—something about the effects of blood loss and a smaller body,” Sorntar said from where he still sat on the bench. “Your Oracle helped as well, said it didn’t want to lose one of its Harbingers so soon.”
“But how?” Shadowdancer cast curious glances between the Crown Prince and Sorsha. Yes, she was very much alive, now. But he’d been certain she’d died. “There’s no way to heal Death.”
Sorntar bobbed his head in ascent. “Death, no, that isn’t something even Ashayna can unmake with her powers as the Destroyer. But when the Oracle made you and Sorsha its Harbingers, it gave another gift—a preservation spell. You may have felt the cold as the magic triggered. When the spell sensed Sorsha’s heart failing, it preserved her body, spirit, and memories until the Oracle could repair the damage.” The Crown Prince tilted his head to one side, looking Shadowdancer up and down. “I heard what you did to that acolyte. If you hadn’t attacked when you did, Sorsha would have been lost as the acolyte would have fed, draining the spell.”
A cold sweat trickled down Shadowdancer’s human spine at the phoenix’s words. “I hadn’t known—I only raged, wanting to hurt something as much as I hurt.”
Ashayna cleared her throat, her expression softening into something gentler. “When you have both recovered, you’ll regain the ability to shapeshift and take which ever form you wish for short times, though you’ll always be the Oracle’s Harbingers. At least that’s what the Oracle claimed.”
“Thank you.” He really didn’t know what else to say.
Sorntar stood and shook his wings out before tucking them tight to his back. “We’ll leave you now that you’re awake and recovering. The Elders have graciously asked for an audience with the ‘Judge’ and the ‘Destroyer,’ if we’d be so inclined. I don’t think they quite know what to do with us yet,” Prince Sorntar made a vague gesture at his chest, and then he tapped Shadowdancer in the same spot. “I think they’re afraid.”
Shadowdancer looked down upon his chest. An intricate, twisted design was branded there. He’d once seen a sketch of the mark that denoted Members of the Twelve while he was still a young colt studying his history. But he recognized it easily enough. With a shaking hand, he pushed aside a corner of Sorsha’s blanket, revealing first the soft, pale skin of her shoulder, then the upper swell of her breast. She bore a mark twin to his.
Sorsha murmured something in her sleep, a sweet, slurred sound that melted his heart. He tightened his arms around her, but transferred his attention to where Sorntar stood looking on with a curiously tender expression.
Shadowdancer coughed to clear the tightness in his throat. That Sorntar had referred to himself as the Judge and Ashayna, the Destroyer must mean they were healed and the Twelve once again had their leaders restored to them. “So I take it you and Ashayna overcame whatever darkness tainted you?” He was never really clear on what blight had beset these two, for it had occurred around the same time as when Trensler first set his acolytes upon them all. And then, he’d been too busy trying to keep Sorsha alive and his own hide in one piece to dwell overly long on the problems of others.
With a shiver that coursed down the length of his wings, Sorntar released a shaky sigh as his gaze took on a faraway look. “Yes. My Larnkin still carried... damages within it from the last time the Twelve walked the land. Even the passage of entire ages hadn’t been enough to heal those scars. When my Larnkin awoke almost a moon cycle ago, he...” Sorntar gave a helpless shrug. “He had issues and an agenda of his own. He took control of me, but Ashayna’s love overcame and banished his darkness, healing him.”
Shadowdancer noticed Ashayna’s cheeks had taken on a rosy hue, but she stepped up to Sorntar and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then before the phoenix could respond, his human bondmate marched for the tent flap, calling in a gruff voice for him to hurry up and move his princely feathered ass—the Elders were waiting for them.
The Crown Prince merely looked amused and then gave Shadowdancer a companionable pat on the shoulder before turning to follow his bondmate. He was almost to the exit when he called over his shoulder, “Come join us when you and Sorsha feel up to facing the elders—we’ll be in need of reinforcements, I imagine. And then we must try to heal the Falcon Staff.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The rhythmic tug of a soft, bristled brush being pulled through her hair shattered the remnants of Sorsha’s dream. She blinked open sleep-heavy eyes and try as she might, she couldn’t remember where she was. But the strong arm around her back and the other pulling the brush through her hair belonged to Shadowdancer, so she wasn’t too concerned about the where.
“You’re awake?” He sounded nearly as relaxed as she felt, so there couldn’t be any immediate danger waiting to sweep in and steal her contentment.
“Hmmm, depends.”
“On what?” He chuckled, the sound more felt than heard with her cheek and ear pressed against his chest.
“If I awake fully, is someone or something going to demand we go on another suicidal quest?” Memories were stirring and they were not overly pleasant ones.
Shadowdancer loosed another deep chuckle. “I think we might be granted a few days of rest and relaxation. Beyond that, I can’t say.”
“Oh.” Sorsha managed the one word before a big yawn cracked her jaw. “So I take it we both survived. I thought I was dead for sure, and then when I woke up here, I thought you’d died, too, and this was whatever comes next...”
“I understand how you feel.” Shadowdancer resumed brushing her hair. “I thought I was dead when I first woke up as well, but between the Oracle and the Falcon Staff, we both were healed to battle again another day. I was told when you recover fully, you’ll again become the Oracle’s Harbinger, with the full use of all your magic.”
“But I remember the bolts from the crossbow... and then the deep cold of death creeping upon me.”
“I was told the Oracle gave us another ‘gift’ when it made us its Harbingers.” His eyes took on a faraway look, as if he was remembering something from long ago, or perhaps a time he’d rather not remember. “A preservation spell—one which triggers when it senses our heart is about to stop. As I understand it, the spell suspends the last moment of life, allowing the Oracle to heal either of us at a later time.”
“Ah. Handy, that.” What else could she say, she wondered? To be so close to death, and then pulled back to the living, it was power beyond anything she knew. But for all that, she realized one thing. “I’m grateful.”
“No more so than I.” Shadowdancer’s arms tightened around her.
She curved her fingers around his bicep, holding him just as fiercely, admitting they had reason for being a little clingy. Hadn’t she died once today? Or was it longer ago than a day? She had no real sense of time. At the moment, she wasn’t so much concerned with how long she’d been unconscious as how long her recovery might take. She leaned forward to nuzzle him under his jaw.
“So we can’t shapeshift until we’re recovered?” Even she heard the note of disappointment in her voice.
Shadowdancer chuckled again. “No. But don’t sound so disappointed. I think there is someone else here you’d like to see and spend time with. There will be time for us later. For now, I’m just happy to have the chance to walk beside you again.”
A smile pulled at her lips, his words warming her heart more. “So, who is here that I’ll want to see?”
“If you want to know, you’ll just have to come.” Shadowdancer’s demeanor switched to playful. “It’s a surprise—one I dare not spoil for fear someone will try to make my life miserable in retaliation.”
With that he stood, pulling her up with him and started for the tent flap. Sorsha, unable to slow his overeager progress, almost found herself dragged from the tent in nothing but a silky
robe and bare feet.
“Whoa, there!” Sorsha tugged on her hand as she dug her heels into the thick carpet underfoot. “Can I get dressed first? Boots would be nice.” She tightened the sash. Normally, she wouldn’t be too worried about modesty since santhyrians didn’t even understand the concept, and the rest of the Elemental races seemed to share their somewhat cavalier attitude concerning humanity’s need for layers of clothing. But if she was about to meet persons of importance, she’d prefer to do it fully dressed.
Shadowdancer regarded her with a scowl for having postponed his surprise, but he shrugged and let her dress without comment.
***
Outside it was midmorning, and the day was bright, warm, and more beautiful because Shadowdancer was walking beside her. She cast a subtle look up at him out of the corner of her eye. Granted, she felt like a child next to him, but their present physical differences couldn’t put a damper on her happiness.
“So where is this surprise?”
With a mysterious look, he simply stepped to one side. She looked beyond him to where he pointed.
She spotted the exotic silhouette of a phoenix with his back to her first. His broad wings blocked whoever he talked with from Sorsha’s view. Then he shifted a wing and looked over his shoulder and smiled, nodding to both her and Shadowdancer. The Crown Prince of the Phoenix was as strikingly handsome as she remembered.
Then Sorntar moved to one side, revealing who Sorsha had barely allowed herself to hope would be there. Ashayna covered the distance with her scout’s long-legged, ground-eating stride, the one that even most human soldiers had trouble matching over any distance.
“Ash!” Sorsha’s brain moved faster than her legs, but belatedly she broke into a run, almost tackling her older sister.
With a grunt, Ashayna absorbed the impact, maintaining their balance so they didn’t tumble to the ground. “Easy.” Ashayna laughed. “Don’t give Sorntar ideas. He’s fond of play fighting. One person tackling me a day is enough.”
In Deception's Shadow Box Set: Book 1-3 Page 54
