The Arrows of the Heart

by Jeffe Kennedy

  Nothing like sitting alone in a dank cave—it was definitely dank, no matter how Zyr talked it up—to make you tired of your own dismal thoughts. Taking my restlessness as a hint that I should move around, I found my clothes. Clean and dry. I sniffed them and they smelled of fresh water and grass. More of Zyr’s thoughtfulness. And I’d been so horribly ungrateful.

  Two of my shifts had disappeared, likely to make bandages and the cloths he’d used to cool my fevered skin. The image rushed back of me lying naked in the firelight, his face intent and haggard as he bathed me. I put only one shift on, saving the three remaining ones, then my dress. It seemed silly all of a sudden, to put on so many layers.

  Nothing much made sense anymore. Zyr had seen me naked, had touched me everywhere, but he hadn’t lost control of his lust. He’d kissed me, and wanted more, but stopped when I would’ve kept going. None of those rules I’d been taught had applied.

  Heroes don’t follow other people’s rules.

  I wonder if you even see me as a man.

  Maybe I’m like a puppy to you, nice to pet, but not someone with thoughts and feelings of his own.

  You’re not even trying. Maybe you should have stayed in Dasnaria and lived the life they planned for you.

  I wanted to shake those words out of my brain. Instead I made my way out of the cave, my body groaning in protest, stiff from lying still for so long. Four days. The light on the beach made me squint, but not painfully like the fever-induced sensitivity. Zyr had made another campfire out there, neatly dug in the gravel, with a spit for roasting.

  I felt grimy and stinking, my hair greasy with old sweat. It was in a clumsy braid, tied off with my ribbon fashioned in a neat bow, and I realized Zyr must’ve done that, too, knowing I liked to keep it out of my face. Untying it, I laid the ribbon on a rock, then undressed again and carefully put my clean clothes on a dry boulder well above the tideline.

  Determined not to be self-conscious or ashamed, I walked naked into the water. I would’ve said I’d never been naked outside before, but that would be deceiving myself, because I remembered in sharp, starlit fragments how Zyr had carried me into the water to cool me off. And purge the wounds he’d reopened. Almost certainly saving my life.

  I’d wanted to give him a star and he’d promised to carry me anywhere I wanted to go.

  Tears stung my eyes and I dove into the next wave, the cool shock familiar and cleansing. I swam a little, letting my body loosen and warm. I had no idea how to make amends with Zyr. It might well be too late, but I could at least embrace this mission. He’d been right that I’d behaved as if none of the responsibility fell to me. I’d been living with one foot still in Dasnaria, even to the point of thinking of selling information to get back to where I’d been.

  To a life I’d come to loathe.

  So easy to forget that, in my fear. Whining and finding excuses why I couldn’t do the things people asked of me. Well, that would change. Zyr might never forgive me—I wouldn’t blame him—but I could at least begin repaying the kindness people had shown me. And not to cozen them into taking care of me, but because they deserved more from me.

  Something bumped me in the water, and I shrieked, losing my stroke and going under. The something nosed me, pushing me up, and I surfaced, sputtering out salt water. A porpoise surfaced next to me, tossing its nose in the air, making a laughing sound, the blue eyes full of familiar mischief.

  He turned, nudging his dorsal fin into my good hand. I closed on it reflexively and he began swimming away—so I let go. He circled back, nudging his fin into my hand again. This time I grabbed on and held tight, the water streaming over me as he swam, faster and faster. I aligned my body closer to his, and he surged through the swells, never going all that deep or too far from the beach, but speeding up so it felt like a kind of flying.

  Laughter pealed out of me, the sheer joy of swimming with him unlike anything I’d ever felt. He was right. I was alive and I should relish that.

  ~ 17 ~

  I stirred the fire, dispersing the flames to distribute the heat so the fish would cook more evenly. After I’d tired of swimming—which happened pretty quickly, even with Zyr doing all the work—he’d taken me back to the shallows, pointing me to a big fish he’d apparently left stranded in a tide pool. He took off again, presumably to find another. So I gutted and cleaned it, still naked, since it made no sense to dirty my gown for a modesty that felt increasingly false by the moment. Maybe it had been the swimming with him, but I hadn’t been self-conscious when he was a porpoise. For someone like him, clothing was just a weird thing you did in human form and not otherwise. After I had it clean, I dressed, then mounted the fish whole on the spit over the smoldering coals.

  It was restful enough, sitting in the sun, letting my hair dry and monitoring the fish. A splash in the surf caught my attention, and I saw porpoise-Zyr in the shallows, another big fish in his mouth. Tucking my skirts up high to keep them out of the water, I waded in and took the still wriggling fish from him.

  As soon as I did, Zyr became a man, clean and dry, but for where the water surged around his knees. “Thank you,” he said with a smile, taking the catch back from me. “Shifting back without bobbling the fish isn’t easy.”

  Feeling shy for no good reason, I bent to rinse the fish slime off my hands in the surf, my unbound hair shifting and sliding like heavy, coiling threads of silk on my bare arms. Zyr deposited the new fish in the same tide pool he’d put the other in, then sniffed the air. “Smells good?”

  He seemed tentative, too. Maybe we’d kind of made up during the swim, but the harsh human words we’d exchanged still hung in the air between us.

  “Yes, this one should be about done. Shall I, I mean, we could cook this one, too?”

  “Later. I thought we could eat the first and smoke this other for the journey across the water.” He frowned a little, maybe thinking that had been a bad reference to make. “It was very nice of you to clean and cook the fish,” he offered. “I hope you’re not too tired.”

  “I’m tired, yes, but not too much. It feels good to move around.”

  “Good.” He seemed to be casting about for something else to say.

  “I liked the swim, too,” I said, wondering if maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that, but he smiled broadly.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes. Very much.”

  We stood there, smiling at each other like idiots.

  “Shall we eat?” I ventured.

  “I’d like that,” he answered, and it seemed he said something else under the words.

  We worked together, easing the fish off the spit and onto a makeshift platter of driftwood, not easy with the skin cooked crisp and the meat meltingly soft and flaking. Because it was easier, we ended up simply putting the meal between us, plucking out tidbits with our fingers.

  It tasted fresh as the ocean and full of delicious oils, something my body craved, as Zyr had accurately predicted. It might’ve been the best meal of my life, on the otherwise deserted beach in the sun, in the company of a man who’d cared enough to save my life. He’d protected and fed me, I realized, taken care of me in intimate ways my own husband never had, exhausting himself to do it. I’d been a fool, and now it might be too late.

  I eyed him, wishing I looked prettier. Now that I wanted to attract him, I had no way to fix myself up.

  “What’s that look?” he asked, raising a brow. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “It’s not fair that you can shapeshift and have combed hair and neat clothing,” I complained.

  “If it were up to me, I’d teach you to shapeshift so you could do it to heal,” he replied grimly.

  I blushed, abashed that my sally had landed poorly. But I choked back the apology that wanted to spring to my lips. He wouldn’t want to hear me apologize for him having to tend me while I was hurt. “I really appreciate that you saved my life,” I said instead, hoping it was more the right thing. “You were amazing. I would’ve died if you hadn’t thoug
ht to open and cleanse the wounds, to cool my fever in the ocean.”

  He gave me a crooked smile, then sobered. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember that night. You were kind of out of your head. Scarily so.”

  “If I could give you a star, I would,” I told him, meaning it—and hoping he could hear the words I was still too much of a coward to say.

  “I’ll just have to fly you high enough to pluck one,” he replied, meeting my gaze, eyes full of emotion.

  I took a breath. “I’m very sorry that I treated you badly. I was thoughtless.”

  He was already shaking his head. “No—I should apologize to you. I had no business taking your head off when you were barely awake and recovered. It was just…” He blew out a breath. “It was a long few days. I didn’t handle it well.”

  “You did. You took care of me.”

  Tilting his head, he got a funny expression. “I’ve never had to do that, you know. When my sister Anya nearly died in childbirth—several times, as she insists on getting pregnant again and again—it was always Zynda who went to help. She was there when our mother died, too. You’re right to think of me as flighty.”

  “I never said that.”

  His mouth twisted in a wry, rueful grimace. “Karyn, gréine, you didn’t have to. It was clear in every argument you posed against having sex with me. Besides, it’s true. You’re looking for permanence. A real life with babies and someone to take care of you. I came right out and told you I’m not that man.”

  “You have a right to not want that kind of life.”

  “You don’t understand,” he replied with bitterness. “If I’ve fathered children, I don’t know about them, because their mothers knew they couldn’t count on me. I’ve never been the one people could depend on like that. I’m not… good at it.”

  I needed to handle this very carefully. “I think… I’m discovering that I should be thinking about taking care of myself. When I can. And I have to point out that you’ve been taking very good care of me when I couldn’t.”

  He studied me, smiling more, though crookedly. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “Though I suppose your ethics—the values you spoke of—wouldn’t let you do otherwise, when there was no one else here to help me.”

  His smile faded. “I took care of you because I wanted to, not because of some set of ethics.”

  I held out a hand to him, nervous that he’d refuse, but he took it in both of his, folding his long fingers around mine, keeping me close. “I do want babies,” I told him. “Someday. But I think that maybe permanence is an illusion. With this war, everything we face, I’d like to try relishing the moment. Being happy to be alive.” I looked at him meaningfully, willing him to receive my unspoken message.

  He lifted one hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You didn’t braid your hair.”

  “No.” I tugged away from our joined hands to snag the ribbon nearby. He watched, bemused, as I tied it around his wrist. “I’d like you to have this, as a memento of sorts. And I’ll leave my hair loose, since you like it that way. Though it would be prettier if I could truly wash and comb it.”

  “You’ve never looked more beautiful,” he said, his voice hoarse, and he cleared his throat. Holding his wrist out, he examined the bow, touching the silken ribbon with a strange expression.

  “It’s silly, I know,” I said in a rush. I’d overstepped and done a foolishly sentimental thing. “It will disappear the next time you shift.”

  “No, it won’t.” He took my hands again, his gaze fierce on mine. “Zynda has precious things she’s learned to keep with her when she shifts and comes back. If she can, I can.”

  Impossibly moved, torn between laughing and tearing up, I smiled. “You referred to a thing without sounding disgusted by it.”

  He blinked, then burst out laughing. “So I did. Apparently this is what comes of keeping company with mossbacks.”

  I made a face. “I probably do have moss on my back, being laid up for so many days and bathing only in seawater.”

  He gave me a very serious look. “I’ve examined every bit of your soft, lovely skin and I can vouch that it’s perfect and flawless.”

  Yes, I blushed. But I also didn’t mind so much. “You promised you wouldn’t look,” I pointed out, in my most prim tone.

  “I didn’t!” he protested, sounding injured and falsely accused, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. “I verified entirely by touch, keeping my eyes closed the whole time.”

  “Zyr!” I yanked my hands away, and he let me go, instead slipping close to me so fast that I gasped, his hands cupping my face. His eyes blazing and intent, he kissed me, lightly and almost chastely—if not for the burning desire so evident in his expression. I waited for him to deepen the kiss, but he didn’t. Instead he moved away again. “You should rest,” he told me. “You’re still recovering.”

  I wanted to protest that I was fine, but I did feel unbearably drowsy. “I’m not sure I can bear to go back in the cave,” I said, then yawned.

  He chuckled. “It is pretty dank, I’ll admit. Sleep here. I’ll watch over you.”

  Because I trusted that he would, I laid down on the sun-warmed gravel and sank into healing sleep.

  We built up the campfire as evening fell. While I slept, Zyr had cleaned the other fish, sliced it into strips and smoked them over a low fire. He left me to keep an eye on it when I awoke, and took off in the form of an eagle, returning with another creature, already skinned so I couldn’t tell what it had been.

  “How did you skin it in eagle form?” I asked.

  He gave me a sideways look. “My beak?”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “I bet you did that thing where you shifted your fingers into sharp claws and used them like a knife. That’s how you sliced up the fish, too, isn’t it?”

  He looked at the skinned animal, as if it might have an answer, then shook his head. “Do you remember everything from when you were fevered?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly. He gave me an opaque glance and I became suspicious. “Not really. Only flashes of things. Why—is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “Of course not,” he replied too easily. He held up one hand and the fingers extended into long, razor sharp claws. He began neatly carving up the meat, handing the pieces to me to put on the spit. “My being able to shift selectively is generally considered a secret,” he said, mentioning it oh-so-casually.

  “Is it?” I recalled Andi’s remarks about Tala secrets and her surprise that Zyr had told me as much as he had already. “You didn’t seem to be hiding it from me. I figured it’s a shapeshifter thing.”

  “My sexiest talent, and she takes it for granted,” he lamented, shaking his head, then grinned at me. “Zynda can do it. A few others, but it’s one of our more powerful skills. Most of the time we keep it subtle—make our eyes more like a long-sighted raptor’s to see a far distance. Make our nose inside more like a hound’s to better discern scent.”

  “Make your voice all growly to scare mossbacks,” I added.

  He had the grace to look abashed. “Yes, well, sometimes it’s not an entirely controlled thing. Emotions can make it get away from us, which is one reason we keep the ability quiet, even among shapeshifting brethren.”

  “What are other reasons?”

  He shrugged a little, concentrating on his carving, but I thought he seemed… embarrassed? “It’s monstrous,” he admitted. “Becoming an animal is one thing—they’re a natural part of the world—but being only part human is unnatural.” He still didn’t look at me.

  “You showed me the gríobhth form and that’s not exactly a natural animal.”

  “True.” He shook his head at some thought. “That was an impulse of the moment.”

  “Why did you?” I asked softly.

  He finally looked at me, bringing me the rest of the meat and tossing the remnants into the waves. “I wanted to impress the pretty girl, of course.”

  “There are lots of pr
etty girls,” I said, carefully threading the meat onto the spit.

  “Also true.”

  “So why am I different?”

  He didn’t reply immediately, so I glanced up at him. He was studying me, as if searching for the answer. “An excellent question,” he finally said. “I think the bits on this end are done.” He plucked them off, put them in a bowl and handed it to me. “Do you think you’ll have the strength to ride tomorrow to at least the point where we’ll head across the water? I don’t think it’s too far.”

  “Yes.” I’d make sure I did. “All I have to do is sit there, after all.”

  “If only. The real trick will be getting off this beach and in the air again.”

  Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. In the press of escaping the Deyrr birds, he hadn’t landed on a high place to take off from again. “Is it even possible?”

  “Yes.” He sounded like I had, also grimly determined.

  I bit my tongue on the impulse to point out he’d have an easier time without me on his back. I wouldn’t be so careless with him again. It made me think, though. “What if more Deyrr creatures find us?”

  “I’ll outfly them,” he said with confidence, making himself comfortable on a log. “If I start to speed up, just lie flat and hold on.”

  “I wish I had a bow,” I fretted. “Even that one was better than nothing.”

  “You didn’t like it?”

  “Well, it was a man’s bow and standard Imperial issue, so decent enough, but not special. Not like the one I left at home.”

  “I didn’t know it mattered. I thought they were all the same.”

  “Oh no. Mine was carved from a very expensive and rare wood that’s both tough and flexible, and made just for me—so the length and draw suited me perfectly. I could hit anything with that bow,” I said wistfully. “Best gift I ever received.”

  “Did Kral give it to you?” Zyr sounded idly curious, the way he did when he really wanted to know something. Surely he wasn’t jealous.

  I laughed, though, at the very notion. “Kral would never have given me such a gift. It would be highly inappropriate, possibly even something the emperor could interpret as treason, arming a woman. No, Kral always sent me perfectly appropriate gifts of clothing and jewelry, all selected by his mother, Her Imperial Majesty. And she loathed me, so she made sure none of them suited me.” I hadn’t thought of those off-handedly cruel gifts in a long time. The empress could easily have delegated that task to one of her servants, but the specific wrongness of everything she sent me had been a malicious reminder of her lack of regard. If nothing else, the empress was a master of the subtle art of delivering insult, and some of those gifts had spoken so eloquently of her opinion of me that I’d had to burn them. They’d conveyed a warning, too, that Kral would never truly be my husband, even if the emperor lifted his edict.