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

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  She looked at me and shook her head. “For the moment, we’ll let it drop. But if Syfka does start to cause trouble, we’ll need to do what is necessary to get rid of her.”

  Rei nodded, his expression more troubled than I had ever seen it.

  “We have some problems beyond Syfka,” Valene asserted. “I spoke to Ailbhe about them earlier, but you should hear for yourself.” She hesitated, shaking her head. “As you know, when I’m in the market here, I’m a dancer. That gives me a chance to listen to a lot of gossip.”

  “Go on,” Danica prompted when the raven paused again.

  “News travels fast,” Valene said. “Most everyone has heard that their Naga is carrying a child. But not everyone is happy.” She sighed and joined Ailbhe’s pacing. Her dancer’s garments swirled around her when she turned, expressing her agitation. “People called it madness when their Diente proclaimed his love for the Tuuli Thea, but they thought it was romantic. A child between you two is all well and good. But many people don’t want that child to rule.”

  My hand slammed down on the table as if of its own will, but my words froze in my throat.

  Danica’s voice rose as she abandoned her normal calm. “Why not? It’s their Diente’s child.”

  Danica had only scratched the surface of my horror. I would not allow mob rule to deny my child its rightful place on the throne.

  Valene turned from Danica to me, as if seeking a more reasonable listener, but she flinched as she met my gaze. She continued cautiously. “The cobra form breeds true with any serpent, except the white viper. So the child of a cobra and a python or boa will always be a cobra. But the child of a cobra and a hawk is a less certain equation. The serpiente don’t mind having a hawk as Naga so long as their Diente is pure cobra—the Naga’s power is always second to her mate’s. But they aren’t fond of the idea of a feathered Diente. They are even less fond of the idea that any half-avian child could choose an avian mate, leaving the serpiente throne ruled entirely by birds.”

  “It gets more complicated.” Ailbhe took over. “Many people refuse even to consider that you would let a half-avian child take the throne. They’re acting as if you’ve already declared your sister’s child your heir.”

  Valene nodded, adding, “They might tolerate a mixed child as your heir if he or she is raised serpiente, and if they are assured that its mate will also be serpiente, but …” She trailed off, not needing to say what the other side of the problem was: Danica’s court would feel the same way. They would want a daughter to be given an alistair—an avian alistair. Even if the child was male, avian tradition would demand that he be betrothed to a suitable avian girl within his first few years of life.

  I had worried about how our child would be raised and how people would react, but this abject refusal was too horrific for me to have imagined.

  The serpiente were ruled in only a nominal fashion. Loyalty bound them to the Cobriana line, thousands of years of leaders who had treated them fairly. My family had never hidden while soldiers walked the field, or we never would have held our people’s respect. They trusted their leaders to keep them safe. So the Cobriana stayed in power, and the civilization survived and thrived.

  Loss of that loyalty, respect and trust would destroy the Cobriana. Loss of their royal line would destroy the serpiente. If the serpiente refused to acknowledge Danica’s child as their monarch, no number of guards would be able to keep that child on the throne.

  I had walked this precarious balance before, when I had declared Danica my mate.

  If necessary, I would do it again.

  “I don’t think we can deal with this immediately.” I looked at Danica as I spoke, searching her expression for agreement or argument. “Valene, the dancers have already welcomed Danica and our child. If they can circulate the knowledge that I will name Danica’s child my heir, I can only hope it won’t be as much of a shock when the announcement is made.” Even as I spoke, I felt the cold knot of fear in my gut. Our child would be born in peace, but would she live in war? “Besides that, we’ll have to wait until the protests are raised specifically.”

  “Not meaning to be troublesome,” Ailbhe answered, “but how absurd is the idea that Salem could be Diente?” The white viper’s words were answered by a roomful of glares, but he stood his ground. “What I mean to ask is, what is your ultimate goal? Salem will be raised without hatred for Danica’s people. He’ll have no hunger for war, and what’s more, he’ll have a civilization at peace to begin with. If peace is your goal, your sister’s child will still make a fine Diente.”

  “And what of our child?” Danica spoke in her calm and detached court voice, which she used among serpents only when she was too angry or disgusted to maintain rationality any other way. My hand found hers, and she gripped it tightly.

  “Your child may well be born as purely avian as you are. If it takes an avian mate, its children will probably show little of the Cobriana blood. Again, if your goal is just peace, the child could be raised avian—raised to be Tuuli Thea. Each court would have its heir, an heir raised without bloodlust and hatred. You would have peace.”

  For a moment I could not speak. So long as I had breath in my body, I would see my child on the serpiente throne. Diente, Tuuli Thea—our child would be both.

  “Are you mad?” The words escaped me as I locked eyes with Ailbhe. “How could you consider—”

  “Zane.” Danica interrupted me, placing a hand on my chest.

  “You can’t be thinking—”

  “Would you rather set up our child for war from the instant it’s born? If the serpiente reject our child for their throne, then you still have Salem as your heir. If my people reject it, there will be no Tuuli Thea after me.”

  I stepped back from her, horror seeping into my blood. My gaze flickered to the others in the room. Ailbhe’s pale blue eyes would not meet mine. Rei’s did, but then he looked away. Valene was watching Danica, her expression unreadable. My mate was the only one who would meet my gaze, her golden eyes pained.

  “Out,” I said, speaking to our audience. They looked at one another, hesitating. Valene first deferred, followed by Rei. Ailbhe lingered a moment longer, and I was not sure whether he did from guilt or compassion.

  Then we were alone, and I took Danica’s hands.

  “Danica, do you know what you are asking of me? Giving up my child to the Keep, to be raised by strangers, to sleep in lonely silence, to be taught to be ashamed of what she feels and what she is … and to be betrothed before she can even speak, before she can possibly understand love.” Danica closed her eyes for a moment, taking a breath. “I will never have a mate but you. I love you. And yes, I will have an heir. But you are talking about taking away my child.”

  “What else can we do?” she returned. “Zane, I was raised in the Keep; it is not as horrible as you think. And you would still see her—” She broke off, because she knew as well as I that the heir to the Tuuli Thea saw her parents only in formal situations. She shook her head. “Please … Zane, is there another way? Anything else that will keep our firstborn child from coming into the world only to see her land ripped apart by war?”

  Silence.

  “It will be months before the child is born,” I whispered, pleading not only with Danica, but with whatever powers might be. “We don’t have to make this decision, not yet.”

  Danica nodded, but still she said, “One queen cannot rule two worlds, even if she is of both.”

  DANICA AND I WENT OUR SEPARATE WAYS that evening, each needing time to think. I dined with the remnants of my family: my sister Irene and her babe, Salem. My brother-in-law, Galen, had been bitten by a petulant five-year-old mamba that afternoon, and although the poison was not nearly as deadly as it would have been to a human, he had asked to be excused from dinner.

  Irene had recounted the tale with a forcedly light tone, obviously trying to keep the mood up unless I decided to share what was on my mind.

  Salem lay cradled against Irene’s
left arm in a shawl-like carrier made of bright silk and lined with fur. She negotiated the infant and her food easily, occasionally humming softly to him when he woke, and otherwise engaging in pleasant conversation.

  “Would you want Salem to be Diente?” I asked abruptly as Irene turned back from one of her interludes with the laughing child.

  She glanced at me for a moment, but kept most of her attention on Salem, who had just decided to shapeshift. Serpiente children were born able to take their serpent form, though they didn’t have much control over it for the first several months and their poison did not develop for four or five years. Luckily my kind had a high tolerance for all natural venom, or childlike tantrums such as the one Galen accidentally stumbled into that morning could be deadly.

  Another potential problem for Danica, I realized, before brushing the pessimistic thought aside. That was the least of our problems and could be dealt with easily enough.

  After Salem had calmed down, Irene answered, “I don’t know. Though these last few months have been wonderful, I’ve seen what you have gone through as Arami and Diente. You and our brothers.”

  I swallowed tightly. Irene, Salem and I were the only Cobriana left. Avian soldiers were fierce fighters, and they had made every effort during the years of war to end the royal serpiente line.

  “Hopefully, if Salem took the throne, he would not have to rule over war.”

  Irene nodded, running her hand lovingly over the black scales. Salem shifted back into human form, reaching his tiny hands up to his mother.

  “I would worry for him, but I would not argue with you if you named my child your heir. I do not think Galen would object either, though he too certainly knows the difficulties that Salem would face even in peacetime,” she answered plainly, either not hearing or not wanting to acknowledge how painful the question was for me to ask. “It’s a bit early to worry whether Danica’s child will be female or male, though I’ve heard that hawks have a tendency toward girls.”

  I had not even considered that issue, though Irene must have thought it was the reason for my worry. Traditionally, the position of Diente was male—if only because enemy soldiers would strike first at the king, leaving a queen and any child she carried marginally safer. However, it was not unusual for a woman to be named heir if she had no brothers of age to take the throne. If she took the throne as Diente, her mate was named Nag, and the succession considered exactly as it would if she were male.

  “I don’t care whether my heir is male or female,” I answered. “We aren’t at war anymore, so I don’t see that it matters. My main worry at the moment is whether people will want any child of mine to rule at all.”

  After that I spoke quickly, sharing with Irene the fears that had been raised earlier—what I had seen and heard in the marketplace, my fury at Ailbhe’s proposal and my shock as Danica seemed ready to agree with it.

  I finished, “Was I such a fool to think that things would get easier after the last arrow fell?”

  Irene was again looking down at Salem—her pure-blooded cobra child. “I remember the day Anjay died, and you became Arami,” she said. “You wept at his pyre, but when you first spoke as heir to the throne, you did so very clearly. You took Gregory and me aside, and you told us that we would see peace if it took your life’s breath and blood and soul to find it. And now here we are.”

  “And Gregory?” I challenged.

  She answered without hesitation. “Gregory’s last sight was the golden hair and eyes of your mate, who sang to him and comforted him so he would not die alone. I think he was the first of us to see the peace you promised.”

  I drew a deep breath and walked away from the table—too much energy, too much agitation.

  Irene watched me pace. Softly she said, “You once thought you could only hate avians. Now you love your avian mate more than life. I think this will be harder for you, but if it is the only way to preserve peace, I know you will do it. And perhaps the result will be as happy.”

  I shook my head.

  Irene refused to back down. “Your firstborn child is a precious thing, but you won’t be giving her over to death, Zane. Only to a different life than you might have wished for her. I know it would kill me to give up Salem, but I would rather lose him that way than cling to him until hatred tore him away.”

  I sighed. As usual, my sister was far more practical than I. Unfortunately, her practicality made the words no less painful.

  Danica and I would likely have more than one child. Perhaps, even if the first was raised to be Tuuli Thea and given an avian alistair, the second could be raised to be Diente.

  Of course, raising the second child as a serpent would require doing to Danica what would be done to me with our first.

  Knowing there would be more children would not lessen the pain of losing my first one—and lost it would be. Even if I saw her frequently, even if she ruled in peace and visited the palace as often as Danica did, she would be lost to me. Avian children were not raised to be as close to their parents as serpiente children were. They were not raised with dance and a passion to live, but with a chaste sense of duty and modesty.

  Danica had been raised avian, but now she lived in the serpiente world almost as much as I did. If this child was raised avian and forced to take an avian alistair and remain as Tuuli Thea at the Keep, she would never have that chance.

  Irene interrupted my thoughts, placing a hand over mine. “Zane, you of all people know that you need to try before you decide you will fail. You have months before the child is born—if there is another way, you will find it.”

  I tried to keep my sister’s words in mind as I prepared for sleep, alone because Danica had not yet returned to our bed. Instead I found myself counting my fears, until I finally reached the painful end of the thread of indecision: Irene was right. We could try to change the world and convince our people to accept our child’s rule, but if we failed, then I would have to let her go to the Keep.

  Losing her to peace would be better than losing her to war.

  That thought filled my dreams during the scant hours when I managed to sleep, and it twisted into nightmares.

  I dreamed Danica’s death. In my nightmares she was torn apart by wolves. She fell from the balcony of the Keep, unable to spread her wings because she had to carry a serpent child.

  I dreamed that the child was born dead, and I woke with a silent scream deep in my throat. I reached for Danica, but found myself lying alone.

  I pulled myself out of bed and went to seek my queen. My guard followed at enough of a distance to afford some semblance of privacy, in case I wished it.

  The day had recently dawned clear, and the earliest merchants were setting up their stalls in the choice spots of the market. I passed by an avian jeweler, who was in the midst of setting out his wares with the help of his daughter and her alistair. She ducked her head shyly as I passed, but her father said a polite “good morning.”

  The scent of baked breads rose from the next stall I passed, this one owned by a serpiente merchant named Seth.

  He greeted me with a tired smile. “I don’t often see you wandering here this early. Restless night for you, too?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Too much so. What troubles your sleep?”

  The merchant hesitated, gaze going distant. “Many things … nightmares.”

  I waited a moment, giving him the opportunity to continue if he wanted to speak, or change the subject if he thought it better left to silence.

  He sighed. “There is a rumor that the falcons’ Syfka is here, searching for someone?”

  The skin on the back of my neck began to tingle with apprehension. I answered cautiously, “That is true. Is this … a concern for you?”

  Again he looked away, and this time I realized what he was doing: searching the skies. He explained, “I respect your efforts, and I’m glad I can sell my goods instead of wielding a blade—I was a soldier until you and your mate ended the war, you see—but that doesn’t mean I’m
not nervous when I see wings in the skies.”

  “I see.” He was lying; of that I had no doubt.

  He shot me an apologetic look, turning his eyes from the dawn and back to me. “Sir, I—” He broke off and turned back to his cart. “Syfka isn’t—”

  The slowly filling market jumped at a falcon’s screech; the merchant went white, drawing back under the awning of his stall as if to hide himself from the circling falcon’s view.

  Syfka banked, dove and returned to human form not far in front of me. She glanced dismissively at the merchant, then said to me, “Diente, I need to speak to you.”

  Instinctively, I stepped between Syfka and the vender, though suspicion about his origins made me hesitate to turn my back on him. “More plots to overthrow the Cobriana line?” I challenged.

  “If I truly wanted to plan treason, I would be more careful than to do so when you are standing close enough to hear,” she replied tautly. “I wanted to speak to you about our missing falcon. I’m afraid the one I’m looking for might be a little more hidden than I first thought and my patience is wearing thin. I’d like to arrange some kind of test.”

  I sighed, irritated that she was still going through the motions of asking for permission when I doubted my answer mattered to her at all. “So long as it doesn’t endanger Danica’s people or my own, or interfere with the workings of the palace guard or the Royal Flight, I don’t care what you do.”

  She nodded. “Then I hope to be free of this backward land by sundown.”

  The thought occurred to me suddenly, and I asked, “Where is your escort?”

  “Sleeping,” she replied offhand. “Deeply. Consider it similar to the heavy slumber you find yourself in after too much wine.” She brushed aside the topic, glancing at the merchant, who had been slinking away. “You were foolish enough to speak my name—not just once, but twice—knowing I was in these skies. You don’t think I’m going to ignore you now, do you?”

  Again I stepped between them, as foolish as it might have been. I did not trust any falcon, but if this man really had once been a soldier in the serpiente army, I owed him something for that service. “I thought you said you hadn’t found your criminal?”