Yet she hadn’t told the high priestess everything.
It had been a few weeks, now, since she left Darkhaven. Not a long time, but long enough. Long enough to feel the changes in her body. Long enough to recognise the truth. A physician would call it early days yet, but she was certain. Certain with every breath she took and with every pulse of her blood through her veins. Something had taken root in her, a seed finding its way into fertile soil as blindly as any green shoot that thrust upwards through the earth in search of the sun.
She was carrying Myrren Nightshade’s child.
Serenna touched the flat curve of her stomach beneath her demure dress, but she could feel the new life inside her no more than she could see it. Yet she knew it was there – and it terrified her. The entire course of her existence had been altered by one short night, a night that should never have happened. Would never have happened, if she hadn’t been so weak as to forget her vows. And now she would have to leave the Altar of Flame. She would have to raise the child alone, or – and she didn’t know which idea filled her with more dread – take it to Darkhaven to be raised there. Most frightening of all, she knew it might have inherited its father’s hidden and lethal gift.
Yet despite all that, a tiny and impractical corner of her heart rejoiced that some part of Myrren would live on, even if it was at the cost of everything she had.
She bowed her head, hoping without knowing what to hope for, while outside the sky faded from pink to purple to the blue shadows of night.
The evening sun was setting. Its light spilled in through the windows in layers of rose and crimson, bringing Ayla’s pale skin to flushed life as she stood naked in the centre of the room, turning in a circle to watch the colours slide across her body. Her dress hung like a discarded chrysalis from the hook on the wall, boots underneath, underclothes folded neatly to one side. This room, with its wide walls and high windows, was Darkhaven’s transformation room: a place where a Nightshade could go to Change in private and leave her clothes waiting for her return. Ayla had come here before, but always it had been with the weight of her father’s disapproval on her shoulders. He had disliked her creature-self, and so she had grown to think of it as something furtive and shameful.
Now, for the first time, she was going to reveal her true nature to someone else.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath through her nose and released it slowly through her mouth. For the first time in weeks she felt at peace. Her grief and shock were still part of her, and Myrren’s absence was a permanent ache in her chest, but they no longer threatened to build into something so painful it could kill her. And Tomas … a helpless smile curved her lips as she thought of Tomas. It had taken the two of them a while to get there, but the past few nights had been … surprising. And yet it was more than that. Every time he took her hand or brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, she felt safe. She forgot the things that hurt. When he was around, she remembered how to laugh.
Of course, they had plenty of problems to deal with. There was still no sign of Elisse; the most reliable accounts indicated that she and the baby had left Mirrorvale altogether. And Tomas certainly had his hands full with reshaping the Helm, not to mention the threat of trouble on the southern border. But the point was, it was all possible. For the first time in her life, she felt as though anything was possible.
She turned in one final, deliberate circle, then gathered her strength and summoned the Change.
As the sensation of pins and needles all over her body faded, she snorted a sigh of relief. It had been a long time since she entered this form openly and unafraid: too long. She pirouetted a moment, relearning the feeling of her four legs beneath her, furling and unfurling her wings. Then she put her head down and pushed her way through the vast double doors at the end of the room, out into the world.
Her mate was waiting outside in the square. She stepped towards him, arching her neck, and he reached out a tentative hand to stroke her feathers.
‘Ayla,’ he whispered. ‘You’re beautiful.’
She tossed her head, catching the last of the sunlight on her spiral horn; correctly interpreting her intention, he stepped aside. The powerful muscles along her back bunched, lifting the wide expanse of her wings before bringing them down in a stroke that stirred the dusty soil. She caught a glimpse of her mate’s face, and the pride and joy she saw in it made her heart leap.
Then she was flying free, past the stark walls and empty windows of the blackstone tower, into the sky above Darkhaven.
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I would like to thank Mr Smith. Because if there’s one thing harder than being a writer with a full-time job and two young children, it’s being married to that writer.
Mr Smith rarely reads, because he’s too busy keeping the household going while I swear at my computer screen. But Mr Smith, if you ever get this far: thank you. I love you. And I’m sorry for what I did to the character who looks like you.
Thanks to my parents, for bringing me up on a diet of Tolkien and Lewis and Le Guin, Wynne Jones and McCaffrey and Pratchett. One of you has read this book already. One of you never had the chance. Both of you are the reason I’m here today.
Thanks also to Harriet and Sam, the Alliance of Worldbuilders, and all the many other fellow authors who have helped and supported me over the years. None of you have read more than a few pages of this book (I hope you enjoy it!) but you have read other things I’ve written, and given me encouragement and criticism and sympathy and jokes and everything else an author needs. I’m proud to call you all my friends, even if I’ve never met most of you.
Of course, this list wouldn’t be complete without thanking the wonderful team at Voyager: Natasha Bardon, who took a chance on me in the first place; Rachel Winterbottom, who made the book so much better (and has an apparently inexhaustible supply of patience for my hundreds of emails!); Simon Fox, who did a fabulous copyediting job; and Alexandra Allden, who designed the beautiful cover. You’ve helped me fulfil a lifelong dream.
And finally, I want to thank you, the reader. None of this would have any purpose without you. I really hope you loved reading about these characters as much as I loved writing about them.
About the Author
A. F. E. Smith is an editor of academic texts by day and a fantasy writer by night. She lives with her husband and their two young children in a house that was apparently built to be as creaky as possible. She can be found on Twitter @afesmith and online at www.afesmith.com
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