“Were you waiting for me?” I asked, to put him out of his misery. I’d begun to get the trick of asking the questions with obvious answers—another mossback courtesy—rather than the actual questions, which they seemed to regard as invasive. Better to let them volunteer information on their own terms, rather than feeling interrogated. I, myself, didn’t quite understand why they felt that being asked a question demanded they answer it, but that’s the onus many of the twelve labored under and I tried to be respectful of it.
Marskal’s eyes—brown as earth, not Tala blue, green, or gray—flicked to mine, and back to that point over my shoulder. “Yes, Lady Zynda. My apologies for intruding on you, but Her Majesty Queen Ursula and Her Highness Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo request your presence in the library.” He put his fist on his heart in the Hawks salute, and inclined his upper body in a slight bow.
Ursula and Dafne had been in the library with their heads together for days trying to discover how to thwart the High Priestess of Deyrr, and whether locating the lost civilization of N’andana could help. The dragon Kiraka had been N’andanan, a shapeshifter and scholar before she’d taken Final Form. She’d been teaching Dafne the N’andanan language, but tended to be less helpful on answering direct questions. Apparently Tala, as their far descendants, came by our caginess naturally. It fascinated me that, even though they knew Kiraka had once been human, they all seemed to think of her as a dragon only, fixed in that shape. I’d tried to warn my friends about Kiraka’s nature—a shapeshifter didn’t change her spots by taking Final Form—but true to both of their obstinate characters, they persisted to a point that exhausted me.
I’d needed the break, to quiet my mind, but I’d clearly been gone too long if Ursula had sent her lieutenant after me. I turned my feet in the direction of the palace, the damp sand warm against my bare soles. “Calling me plain ‘Zynda’ is fine, as I know I’ve told you before.”
“I know.” Marskal fell in beside me, matching his pace to my amble, and folding his arms behind his back. He’d prefer a brisker march, I imagined, more his usual speed, but conveyed no impatience with me. That quality went with his quiet reserve. “It would be overly familiar, however, to address you without a proper title.”
I shook out my gown, holding it away from my body so it would catch the air and dry faster, then glanced at him. He stared steadfastly ahead, scanning the long, white-sand beach with that same relaxed alertness Jepp always displayed. No surprise, as long as they’d worked and fought together. “I’m not royalty,” I pointed out. “I have no title.”
“You’re related to royalty.” His firm mouth, bracketed by deep lines, quirked at some wry internal thought. “In at least two realms.”
“In Annfwn such things aren’t as… regimented.” I settled on that word, though I wasn’t sure it was the one I wanted. I’d learned Common Tongue as a girl, part of my training to follow in the footsteps of my celebrated aunt, the sorceress Salena, who’d been Queen of the Tala and the most proficient shapeshifter of her generation. Her path had taken her beyond the magical barrier that once shielded Annfwn from the world, to be high queen of the Twelve Kingdoms. I knew mine would also take me out of Annfwn, as no one there had been able to find the key to Final Form.
“Ah,” Marskal replied, not asking more. He’d never been to Annfwn and couldn’t know what it was like there. We walked in silence and it occurred to me that he might consider it my turn to say something. The mossbacks could be particular about that sort of thing.
“How did you come to be at Ordnung?” I asked. “Or were you raised there?”
Marskal tilted his head, sliding me an opaque glance. “Why do you ask?”
I had to smile—both for his evasion and that I’d made the attempt at conversing with the man, against my natural inclination—then gestured at the expanse of beach, the palace on the point in the far distance. “We’ve a bit of a walk ahead of us.”
“And yet, you’ve never struck me as someone to make idle conversation for the sake of killing time.”
I considered him. An observant man, as the quiet ones often were. I’d never thought he’d paid all that much attention to my nature. “How did you know where to find me, anyway?”
“I didn’t find you. I waited for you to emerge from the water.”
“Yes, but at the exact spot.”
He studied a tree we passed, eyes narrowed in concentration, but I doubted he contemplated the heavy fruit or the strawberry colored Nahanaun bees partaking of the sweetly overripe juice, crawling over the fallen smashed pieces. “You routinely go to that beach when you shapeshift into aquatic forms.”
That startled me, and not in an entirely comfortable way. “You follow me every time?”
Glancing at me, he pressed his lips together, considering the words he’d let squeak through. “Not I, personally, but I am a scout, first and foremost—I recognize signs. It’s also my responsibility to ensure the safety of the High Queen and her retinue.”
“You have spies.” I said it lightly, but my skin crawled. How unsettling that I’d been observed. Though my movements wouldn’t have revealed to a casual observer that I’d been attempting to draw Kiraka’s attention and invitation, I still should have noticed.
“That bothers you.” He turned his head more fully to study me now. Exactly as if I were another exotic bit of fauna to assess and track, which I supposed I was.
“I’m not accustomed to being watched.” Or treated with suspicion.
“If something were to happen, I need to know where everyone is, so they can be retrieved and confirmed safe.”
“I can take care of myself.” Irritation prickled inside me, my fingertips tingling with the desire to extend claws I didn’t own in my present form. Just as well.
“Oh, of that I’m well aware.”
We walked in silence. He didn’t seem to be about to say anything more. It rankled that I should be the one to initiate the dialog, yet again, but I wanted an answer. “In that case, why would I need to be confirmed safe?”
A slight smile twitched the corner of his mouth, making me think he’d deliberately drawn me out. “Maybe I meant I’d potentially need your help.”
Ah. I resisted asking more, ignoring the dangling “maybe,” no doubt intended as more bait. This time, he relented first.
“You weren’t watched so much as checked up on. You’re fairly regular in your habits. So I only ask my people to verify that you’ve gone to your usual beach—and that you returned. It’s a lovely cove. Private. I can see why you chose it.”
“And yet you claim you’ve never followed me there.”
“I didn’t say ‘never.’ Just not every time.” He gave me a serious look. “And only to verify where you go. I wouldn’t otherwise invade your privacy.”
I considered his studiously averted gaze and reassessed my assumptions. A learned skill, to both spy on people and give them privacy. “And it comes in useful when Ursula and Dafne suddenly decide I’m urgently needed.”
“They did wait some time for you to return, but I understand something urgent has come up. Her Majesty asked me to retrieve you as quickly as possible.”
“Would you have plunged in to swim after me?”
He shook his head, not smiling at the joke. “It’s a real problem that we have no way to reach you when you’re… away, like that. Were you anyone else, I’d ask you to take measures.”
Away. A euphemism for not-human. Perhaps Marskal, like many of his mossback brethren, did harbor a deep dislike for my shapeshifter nature. No surprise there, as the Tala had been at war with the Twelve Kingdoms until relatively recently. Normally I didn’t give such prejudices—or the people who harbored them—much attention. This time, however, I had to poke at him.
“‘Anyone else.’ Does that mean someone who isn’t a shapeshifter—or someone who isn’t the High Queen’s cousin?”
He gave me a long, steady look. No ire or amusement in it. Considering his answer. It might be interesting som
etime to see if I could goad him into speaking without thinking about it first. But that’s the trickster in me, and I’d resolved to leave such childish games behind when I undertook this mission. The Shaman had sworn me to both secrecy and discretion. I wouldn’t fail either charge.
“Someone who would be amenable to such requests,” Marskal finally said.
Had I fur, I would have bristled. “You’re saying I’m difficult.”
“I’m saying that, if I asked you to report in regularly, to inform me or someone I designated of your plans—how long you’d be gone, what form you planned to shift into, what medium you’d employ and in which direction you’d go—that you would be unlikely to take that well.”
Just the thought had me wanting to claw. Which meant the mossback understood much more about me—or about the Tala in general, though he’d never been to Annfwn—than I’d suspected. He’d out-tricked me.
I burst out laughing, and Marskal’s eyes widened slightly, a slight flare of his nostrils and flex of his fingers, though he didn’t reach for any of his weapons. Too controlled for that. His mouth quirked uncertainly.
“I’m surprised you didn’t suggest tying a long rope to me.”
He pursed his lips, as if contemplating the idea. “Difficult to fasten a rope on a fish. Perhaps a string to hold in your mouth?”
Well, look who had a sense of humor after all. I liked humor. “I rarely take fish forms.”
“Can you?”
“Of course.” I made the answer offhand, breezy.
“Because you can take any form.”
“Not any.”
“How many forms can you take?” He had a rhythm to the questions, but more determined people than he had attempted this kind of interrogation. Nothing like being ship-bound in a storm with someone as curious and relentless as Jepp.
I gave Marskal my sunniest smile. “Several.”
He made a sound of disapproval, flattening his mouth, all humor fled. “It would be helpful to know.”
“Why?” I was genuinely curious.
“To plan strategy. A good commander knows the abilities of everyone who serves with him.”
“But I am not one of your Hawks.”
“No—you have your own agenda, don’t you?”
I shook out my gown, then my hair, pretending that sally hadn’t struck exactly on target. How had the cursed mossback discerned as much? We neared the palace and I looked mostly presentable. Sticky with saltwater, but not dripping wet or covered in sand.
“Not going to reply to that?” Marskal asked, grit in his tone.
I shrugged with an easy smile. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”
“That doesn’t reassure me.”
“I wasn’t aware reassurance was necessary.”
“Let’s try this—why did you come on this journey, Lady Zynda?”
“I accompanied Ursula to Annfwn, and thence to Nahanau to aid in Dafne’s rescue. Then I went with Queen Andromeda to assist with moving the Dasnarian ship through the magical barrier. After that, I helped Ursula look for Jepp, then returned here with her.”
“You’re very helpful, aren’t you?”
“Indeed.” No need to mention that staying the vicinity of Nahanau and Kiraka suited my needs.
“Though none of that explains why you left Annfwn in the first place, and haven’t yet returned,” he added, as if reading my mind. “I understand few Tala care to be away from their homeland.”
“Maybe I wanted to see the world.” Two could play the “maybe” game.
He frowned at me. Opened his mouth, but I spoke before he could.
“Maybe I thought you’d potentially need my help.” I patted his cheek, moving faster than he could react, tempted to scrape my nails in the slight stubble. He jerked back, startled. Mossbacks forget how fast shapeshifters can move, if we wish to. I usually keep my movements deliberately languid around them, so as not to be upsetting.
But every once in a while, it’s good to remind them of who—and what—they’re dealing with. I smiled at the lieutenant, his hand now on the sword he’d never draw in time if I truly wanted to do him harm.
“It’s my duty to protect Her Majesty,” he ground out, jaw tight. “From all threats.”
“Don’t fret yourself,” I said. “Those of Salena’s line protect their own.” I turned and walked up the broad steps of the palace.
“That still doesn’t answer my question,” Marskal called after me.
I tossed a pleasant smile over my shoulder, adding a bit of sashay to my hips. And didn’t reply.
~ 2 ~
I like the palace at Nahanau. It’s intended to be beautiful, to reflect the grace of the natural world, and to be accessible to the people—all aesthetics that work for me. In many ways, it reminds me of Annfwn. Enough to make me a little less homesick and nostalgic. The open archways and balconies offer views of the outside from every room, and egress is always possible, though getting out requires me to take wing on occasion.
As long as I can get out quickly, I’m happy.
I suppose it’s different for mossbacks. As far as I can tell, they never seem to feel trapped in places like Castle Ordnung, where the walls and stone and heavy doors are there to close danger out and allow them to snuggle inside in safety. For me, safety has always meant being able to escape.
Various palace denizens bowed as I passed, and I smiled at them. They knew me as the companion and confidante of their queen, Dafne, and of the enigmatic High Queen Ursula laying claim to their islands. I didn’t mind being unclassifiable to them or to the Lieutenant Marskals of the world. He hadn’t followed me, apparently trusting my motives enough to believe I’d go to the library as requested.
Or some other of his spies watched me.
The wood floors had complex patterns, but they’d been sanded smooth, first by craftsmen, then by time and the passage of many feet, so they felt like the finest fabric on bare feet.
In places like Nahanau, where the tropical weather allows people to go barefoot year round, they paid attention to such textures. Not like at Ordnung where I’d finally had to accede to wearing slippers on those cold, uncomfortable floors. The scent of salt from the sea and the heavy sweetness of tropical blossoms wafted in on the warm breeze that caressed my skin. The sensitivity of human skin was one sense that exceeded all other forms, with their protective fur, scales, and feathers. Even the human half of the mermaid bore fine scales instead of actual skin.
I have a mermaid form, but I don’t care for it. I grant that it’s more useful than being a dolphin because it combines the swimming power of an aquatic form with humanoid arms and those very handy opposable thumbs. The best of both worlds, in theory. Not in my experience, however. Even though a mermaid technically has a humanoid mind, it still doesn’t feel like my human brain. Far from it. And the fish half always gives me this strange aggressiveness. Asexual, but in a ferocious way. Not at all peaceful.
In the legends of mermaids, they lured and seduced sailors, then drowned them. I suspected this violent behavior came from that strange sexual frustration. In that form, I understood the urge—they killed what they couldn’t have. The intelligent desire for intercourse from the human half battles with the non-contact reproduction of the fish portion. Fish, naturally, reproduce by the male ejaculating milt over eggs the female laid—no intimacy there at all. So with mermaids, even if the human part longs for sexual contact, it’s physically impossible beyond a certain point. Endured long enough, it could drive a person insane.
I’m not driven by sexual urges, in general, certainly not to the exclusion of all else. It did say something about me, though, that I’d rather forgo having human hands than subject myself to the warring frustration of a mermaid’s dual nature.
And yet, at the moment, it felt as if I’d become the metaphorical mermaid, similarly armored. I’d dallied with lovers, but since my vow to take Final Form I’d eschewed such intimate pleasures. It wouldn’t be fair to a lover who might
become attached, then left behind when I abandoned human form.
Also, I had selfish reasons. Once a dragon, I’d be isolated from intimate relationships. As with my shapeshifting and magic spells, I thought it best to practice at being alone, too. It might make that transition less wrenching. It’s a piece of the magic I don’t quite understand, that maybe is beyond our limited comprehension as mortal beings, that I can become a mermaid though I’ve never encountered a real life mermaid. Though I believe they must exist if I can assume the form.
There’s debate about this in the Tala scholarly circles. Some argue that if we can imagine a form, a gifted shapeshifter can create it—or Moranu can, passing it along to us. Others say that if a form has ever existed in the history of the world, it lies within our racial memory. No one can quite explain why we can imagine a dragon and yet the form remains beyond anyone’s reach. The racial-memory contingent of shapeshifting theorists tend to align themselves opposite the gift-from-Moranu ones.
I fall somewhere in the middle and, like most shapeshifters able to assume multiple forms, I prefer to leave the debates and parsing to the scholars. Overthinking something as instinctual as shifting can mean disaster.
I smiled at the Nahanaun guards keeping watch at the library doors. They opened them for me with sunny courtesy. Another reason the islands reminded me of home—the Tala also tended to be relaxed and playful, though we did it more deliberately, to shed from our backs the eternal dread of ceasing to exist.
Dafne and Ursula had set up at a long table in the library, scattered with tomes and scrolls, and sat at opposite ends of it. This room, alone of all in the palace, had no open arches to the outdoors. The high windows showed the sky, but through thick glass, so one couldn’t fly out. Dafne had explained that this was deliberate design, to create a consistent environment to protect the documents contained within. I believed her, though it didn’t make me like it any better. If the stories are memorized, then told and sung, then there’s no need for all this preservation. I avoided the place when possible—too much like a cage—but she loved it.
The Shift of the Tide Page 2
