The Shapeshifters: The Kiesha'ra of the Den of Shadows

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  “Could we get her here?” I asked. “I hope to gather as much information as possible before dealing with Syfka again.”

  “Valene’s nephew was once a member of my flight, so I’ve stayed in touch with her despite the scandal,” Rei admitted. “I remember her as a strong flier. We could probably make it back here by the evening meal, though that’s assuming she’s home and not off investigating some new land.”

  “Danica is performing tonight, so we have been invited to dine in sha’Mehay,” I said. “When you two return, could you have Valene meet us there?”

  Sha’Mehay was the name for the local dancer’s nest, where the members of the dancers’ guild lived, slept, dined, studied and of course danced. The name most closely translated to the ones who dance with illusions or the ones who dance with eternity. Outsiders were rarely allowed inside, and even for a cobra, an invitation was a rare honor.

  Rei nodded. “I will come find you the moment we touch ground.”

  DANICA’S NORMAL GLOW HAD RETURNED by the time evening fell, though her golden eyes still held traces of the nerves she had spoken of earlier. Her warmth helped soothe my tousled emotions as we walked together to the nest, her hand in mine.

  On the topic of falcons, Danica shared one memory: that of a child the falcons had sent to the Keep when she had been too young to realize he was there to check up on her kind.

  “Sebastian was only twelve when he came to us, as a sort of ambassador,” she explained. “I remember teaching him children’s games, and wondering why he did not know them. When Syfka arrived to check on him, he announced that he wanted to stay and be my alistair. I can still remember her horrified expression before she ordered him to return home.”

  Danica smiled slightly, though there was a dark shadow of loss behind the memory.

  “I learned to fear the falcons later,” Danica added, “when my mother first explained to me how critical their help was, and how we struggled not to offend them … but I always remember Sebastian fondly. In a way, he was the last real playmate I had. Rei’s father was killed right after Sebastian left, and finally the war seemed real to me. All my friends began to train as soldiers, and I began to walk the fields. Two years later, upon my sister’s death, I became heir to the throne, and suddenly childhood was over.” She shook her head. “No matter how much I’ve ever feared the falcons, when I think of simpler days, I still remember peregrine wings.”

  Danica paused, and I pulled her into my arms. She looked up at me with a smile.

  “Peregrine wings and Cobriana eyes,” she said, drawing herself out of the past and into the peaceful shelter of the present. “The two things that come to mind whenever I think of home and safety. Come, my love—let me dance for you.”

  At this she led me toward the doors of the dancer’s nest, a place that held no room for melancholy or suspicion.

  Sha’Mehay had been built into the forest, the walls and ceiling formed by heavy nets strung between trees and then covered with leather, clay and finally ever-growing vines. The nets in the center of the ceiling could be rolled back to let sun or moonlight in and fire smoke out.

  Even while standing outside, I could hear the rhythm of drums and the flutist’s tunes. Once we were inside, the world was awhirl with sound and color and movement. I had come here only rarely before, but even if I had spent all my life in the nest, I did not think I would ever become immune to its wonder. The slate floor was almost entirely covered by layers of Persian carpets, pillows, blankets and other soft material the dancers had found. The only undecorated surface was in the center, around the bonfire that constantly burned to keep the nest bright and warm.

  Some of the coven were working, teaching their students not only dances, but history. Among the serpiente, these dancers preserved our myths and most ancient traditions. A few, who had been born and raised in the nest, had also spent their lives studying the language that Maeve’s coven had spoken thousands of years ago.

  A’isha twirled up to us in a ripple of crimson and silver melos scarves belted around her waist to form an improvised bodice and skirt that alternately molded to and slithered away from her skin. Each flowing movement revealed bright symbols painted onto her body.

  “Danica, ak’varlheah,” A’isha greeted her student warmly, kissing Danica’s cheek as she drew her farther into the nest. “A gift, for each of you,” A’isha said as she produced a pair of woven silks the color of beaten gold. She tied one around Danica’s waist, then turned to do the same for me. The color symbolized an eternal tie to another; it was an instantly visible declaration of loyalty to one’s mate. “Now, I must steal Danica from you,” A’isha apologized, “if you wish to see her dance later.”

  In the back of the nest was a stairwell I had never descended. Danica stole a kiss for good luck before A’isha led her down those steps to prepare.

  Meanwhile, one of the other dancers called me over to the fireside, where food was being passed in a ring around the flames, along with jugs of warm spiced wine.

  “You made a good choice for your Naga,” she assured me. “Danica is more graceful on a dais than half the serpents I know.”

  “Provided she isn’t blushing too brightly to see,” another quipped. “The first time I saw our queen perform, I thought she was a lost cause—far too uptight, like most avians—but I’m glad to be proved wrong.”

  I knew I was grinning. I had never doubted that Danica could learn the serpent art. Much of her loved my world; a part of her craved dance as surely as anyone else in this nest did. Perhaps that thirst came from her time dancing with the currents of air far above where we earthbound creatures roamed, or perhaps it came from the expressive nature her own world forced her to hide.

  Similar conversation flowed among us until A’isha’s musical voice commanded me, “Zane, admire your queen.”

  The words brought our attention to the back of the room, where Danica had emerged, looking so beautiful that she took my breath away.

  In response to her teacher’s words, Danica smiled and shook her head, causing her golden hair to ripple about her face. It made my heart speed and my breath still, as if I was afraid the next movement would shatter the world.

  She was a spark of fire in sha’Mehay. The serpiente dress rippled around the hawk’s long legs, the fabric so light it moved with the slightest shift of air. The bodice was burgundy silk; it laced up the front with a black ribbon, and though it was more modest than many dancers’ costumes, it still revealed enough cream-and-roses skin to tantalize the imagination. On Danica’s right temple, A’isha had painted a symbol for courage; beneath her left collarbone lay the symbols for san’Anhamirak, abandon and freedom.

  “You dance every day with the wind. This is not so different,” A’isha said encouragingly to Danica. “Now, look at the man you love and dance for him.”

  The nest hushed, faces turning to their Naga. Her cheeks held more color than usual, which A’isha addressed with a common dancers’ proverb. “There is no place for shame, Danica. If Anhamirak had not wanted beauty admired, she would not have made our eyes desire it. You are art.”

  Danica stepped out of A’isha’s grip. “If my mother could see me now,” she murmured, but she smiled as she said it.

  “Feel the beat. It is the wind,” A’isha directed. “Fly with it.”

  The soft beat of a drum, paired with the lilting melody of a flute, filled the room as Danica stepped onto the dais at the back of the nest.

  Closing her eyes, Danica stretched upward, moving onto the balls of her feet, wrists crossed high above her head, and paused there for a heartbeat. The pose was known as a prayer—a dancer’s call for guidance from the powers that be.

  She moved into the dance flawlessly, the sway of her body as fluid as water over stone. This was the magic of the serpent and the snake charmer combined, as pure and intense as a thunderstorm.

  The first dance was soft and gentle, a common sakkri’nira. I could feel the drive in the music, however, and kne
w the moment when the first dance would move into a more complex one.

  When the flute stilled, Danica rose once again onto the balls of her feet for an instant. She smiled at me before she began the most complex of the intre’marl: Maeve’s solo from the Namir-da.

  What had been praise and beauty became passion. Maeve’s dance was a seduction, and the way Danica held my eyes made me feel it. Seeing my mate perform those steps made me want to join her, as any royal-born serpiente would. The holiday for which the Namir-da had been named was still four months away; she would be able to perform then, and I with her, in a ritual that dated back to the creation of my kind.

  The music was softening, in prelude to the end, when Danica stumbled, losing the beat precariously close to the edge of the dais. I crossed the room without a thought and caught her with barely enough time to brace myself and keep us both from tumbling to the floor. My heart was pounding painfully beneath my ribs.

  A’isha had followed me, and she seemed instantly relieved when she saw that I had caught her charge. “Danica, are you …” She broke off when it became obvious that Danica could not hear her.

  There was no blood, no wound. I cradled Danica against my chest. “Danica?”

  Avians didn’t faint. Their systems utilized oxygen at a rate fast enough to keep the body supplied during a long flight against wind. Danica had only ever passed out from poisoning—assassination attempts, to be exact, during the tumultuous time after we had first declared the war between our civilizations over.

  “Ooh.” The light sound escaped from her throat, and her eyes fluttered open—golden eyes, a shade darker than her hair. Her brow creased with confusion.

  “Zane.” Danica’s voice was tentative, as if she wasn’t quite sure how she had gotten there. She smiled wryly and started to sit up.

  The movement was aborted; one hand flew to her forehead, and she fell back, taking one deep breath after another.

  “What happened?” I tried to keep the worry from my voice as I looked frantically around the nest, searching for threats. The other dancers were watching us from a careful distance.

  “I’ll … be okay,” Danica asserted. “I was just … dizzy.” She accepted help standing, but once she was up, her balance seemed to return quickly; she rested one hand on my arm, though I sensed that touch was more from habit than weakness.

  A’isha looked from one of us to the other, and her expression slid from worried to startled to amused. “Little hawk, you’ve never been faint before,” the dancer said.

  “It’s hot in here, and I’ve been tired and nervous,” Danica argued. “Perhaps this was too much.” She tucked her head down, suddenly realizing that she had fainted in front of an audience.

  “Bring her to rest, Zane,” A’isha ordered, apparently not daunted by the fact that she was addressing her king. Inside the nest, no one ever was. “I hear your sister’s mate makes an excellent raspberry-ginger tea. I suggest you get the recipe. Now off with you.”

  A’isha’s hinted meaning suddenly dawned on me, and I could not help pulling Danica against me to kiss her. “Is she right?” I asked, my mind tumbling with too many thoughts to put into words.

  “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Danica responded, leaning against me. “I hate raspberry tea.”

  I tried not to laugh; Danica’s innocence asserted itself at odd moments, and right now nothing could keep me from grinning. “Danica, Danica …” Concerns returned abruptly when I touched her skin. Serpiente were cold-blooded, but Danica was a hawk; her skin was always warm, almost hot. Now it was dangerously chilled. “You’re cold.”

  “I’m just tired,” she protested, but I could feel her shivering.

  All delight disappeared.

  “A’isha?”

  The dancer came quickly to my side. “Yes?”

  “Would you send some of the Royal Flight to the Keep for Danica’s doctor?” Saying the words made any problem more real somehow, more frightening.

  A’isha frowned. “Of course. Meanwhile, your mate may rest downstairs.”

  Danica pushed away. “Zane, I’m not—”

  “Danica, you can fly for hours under the Mediterranean sun without being winded; dancing shouldn’t leave you this drawn,” I pointed out. “The nest is designed to hold in warmth; it is never cold.”

  I understood her refusal to acknowledge any problem. The last thing either of us wanted to imagine was that something was wrong.

  Please, let it be simple. Please, let it be … I cut the thought off. I knew what I wanted Danica’s ailment to be, what A’isha thought it was, still I feared the worst.

  BEFORE WE REACHED THE STAIRS at the back of the nest, we heard bright voices by the front door, a chorus of welcomes as the dancers one by one recognized the newcomer. Danica turned slowly, forcing me to do the same.

  I caught a glimpse of a dark-haired avian woman wearing a vibrant blue dress in a style I had never seen before. She was talking animatedly with A’isha, and though I recognized the old language, I could not follow a word. The newcomer spoke it fluently, as almost no one did these days.

  Eventually A’isha shook her head, admitting, “I’ve been studying the old language since I was a child, but you’ve surpassed me.”

  The stranger beamed. “I never could have managed without your teachings.”

  Danica blinked with surprise. “Valene?”

  The raven turned, excusing herself from the dancers to greet Danica and me with a curtsy. Rei walked behind her, obviously a little uncomfortable inside sha’Mehay. For a moment I wondered why he had been allowed inside at all—guards were let into the nest even more rarely than cobras—and then I recalled that A’isha was teaching him.

  “Milady Shardae. Diente Zane,” Valene greeted us. “It is good to see you both.”

  A’isha followed her and gave the raven a knowing glance. “Your Tuuli Thea was about to go lie down; she was feeling faint. Zane, one of my dancers went to fetch the palace doctor, and another is off in search of a bird to fly the message to the Keep—Andreios, relax,” she said, stopping the crow before he demanded an explanation. “There is no problem. Zane is simply being overprotective in the most charming way.”

  Rei looked at me, but Danica spoke before I could. “I think I will go take a nap,” she said softly, forestalling Rei’s questions. “Zane, Rei, I forbid you from worrying. There is nothing wrong with me that rest will not heal, and you need to talk to Valene.”

  “Sensible woman,” A’isha asserted.

  I was torn between the desire to accompany Danica and the knowledge that Syfka would return too soon.

  “I’ll walk her down and stay by her door,” Rei suggested, seeing my hesitation. “If she wakes or anything happens, I’m sure you’ll be nearby.”

  I would rather stay and forget about the falcons entirely, but when it came to Danica’s safety, I trusted the crow unconditionally. Andreios had known and loved Danica all her life. Too much the gentleman to speak of love for another man’s mate, he never raised the topic, but only continued to defend his Tuuli Thea as I felt sure he would with his last breath.

  Seeing our anxiety, A’isha sighed. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” she said. “Women have been having children forever. Rei can take care of her. You have work to do and your mate wouldn’t approve of you shirking your duty when she’s in no danger at all.”

  As Rei had predicted, I arranged to have my conversation with Valene in the room next to the one where Danica was resting.

  “Andreios says you have had a visit from Syfka?” the raven asked, as I tried to turn my thoughts from my mate to the current situation.

  I nodded, taking a deep breath.

  “The falcons have lost someone, and seem to think we might have him. Our knowledge of their world is sadly lacking, and I thought it best to learn more before Syfka returns. Erica suggested that you might be able to help.”

  “Thank you for the compliment,” Valene answered. “Among my adventu
res, I spent several months as a student on the falcon island. What did Syfka have to say about the lost falcon?”

  “Only that he—or she—was a criminal, that he might have changed his appearance so we would never even know what gender he was, and that he might have asked for asylum among our people. So far, no one has come up with any ideas.”

  Valene explained, “The falcons’ easiest magics include illusions so strong they can fool every sense. We would never be able to recognize one of their kind, if he wanted to hide. As for gender …” She laughed a little. “I’ve seen such a switch made with illusions, though I’ve never heard of it being maintained for much time. Still, Syfka is probably certain that if she names one gender, our little minds won’t think to consider someone who appears the other.”

  “If that’s the case, how could Syfka expect us to recognize this criminal?”

  Valene shook her head. “I doubt she does. Falcons aren’t quick to overestimate anyone else,” she added. “Most likely she asked for your help primarily as a formality.”

  “That kind of formality seems out of place, considering her opinion of our kind.”

  Valene paused as if considering. “It is hard to explain. On the falcon island, appearances and conventions are crucially important. The polite face is unnerving in a city where torture and manipulation are condoned.”

  “If you spent time on the island recently, do you know anything about the criminal they’re looking for?”

  Valene let out a half caw, a barking laugh that crows and ravens had a tendency toward. “The word ‘recently’ is nonsense, since more than a century may go by before the Empress turns her attention to an unpleasant matter, and asking ‘which falcon criminal?’ is like asking ‘which leaf?’ while standing in the forest.” She shook her head. “Falcon law is strict. So much as disagreeing with the Empress can get one executed, even if she was wrong. The criminal they are looking for now may have done nothing more than accidentally curse in the Empress’s presence and then flee her punishment: execution by torture. Of course, no one on the island would dare argue with the sentence. Implying that the royal family is anything but flawless, just and merciful is considered treason, and punishable by death.”