Shapeshifters (67 page)

“I've never thought of you as a falcon until now,” Vere said, “when I heard you speak of yourself as if Anhamirak has never touched you. I suppose it was arrogant of me, to ignore one half of your parentage because I was fonder of the other.”

“If you have to ignore half my blood, I would rather you ignore my father's,” I said, cut by his words, which I had heard in many forms as a child.

He shook his head. “Then you would have been dead long before I let you walk these woods.”

“I could kill you before you could injure me,” I pointed out. “I could kill you in such a way that you would feel like it took you centuries to die. I was raised on Ahnmik, after all. I might have been a dancer, but I learned many of the Mercy's tricks.”

He nodded. “I suppose you could, except for one thing.”

“What is that?”

“You would have to care enough about your own life, and my death, to do it. And you don't, not nearly.”

I shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Perhaps. I felt very tired, very worn down by the despair in my visions, for someone who couldn't care less if she lived or died.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the child darted across our path again. White-blond hair streamed behind the running figure.

“I told Nicias I would check on Oliza for him,” I said, shifting the topic to something that concerned me more, “since I knew that you would not want him to come here himself.” Partly I spoke to fulfill my duty to the peregrine, but I was equally interested in learning Vere's opinion of the abdicated princess. Keyi's possible fathers were many, but her white-blond hair in this particular vision could come only from one of the white vipers of the Obsidian guild.

“She's here. Heartbroken by what she has had to do, but confident that it was the right thing. Betia will help her through it.” He paused, considering, before he added, “I have no objection to her being our guest, but I would like someday to know why she made the decision she did. I haven't wanted to pressure her.”

“And you think I might know?”

“I
know
you know,” he replied. “It's only a matter of whether you'll tell me.”

“When your kin first left the Dasi, do you know what happened?”

“I suspect you're going to tell me I don't,” he said wryly.

“In the ancient days, the Dasi were able to summon spirits for guidance and call the rains to feed their crops.
Namid's priest could see if a mother was kindled with life just by looking at her, and when it was time, he could usher that life into the world with ease. Brysh's priestess could take a dying man's last breath just as painlessly and wrap the survivors in peaceful mourning. When your ancestor Maeve left the Dasi, all control, all balance, left with her. Rains turned to floods that swept away homes and drowned dozens of men, women and children.”
A bassinet, swept down the river, with a wailing infant inside.
“Namid's touch could burn a woman so the life inside her bled. Just a glance from the aplomado Syfka—who had been sworn to Brysh—could make a person fall, and a glance from Kiesha, Anhamirak's priestess …” I shuddered. “Can you imagine a cobra's being able to kindle fire with those garnet eyes?”

“They nearly can still,” Vere whispered.

“Serpents don't remember what it was like in those first days, but I've seen it. If somehow Oliza and her mate survived her coronation—an unlikely enough possibility, since serpents will not accept an avian Nag, and avians will not accept a serpent alistair—Oliza's child would bring back those days of despair, which the entire avian-serpiente war was fought to keep at bay.”

The war. Nicias felt that the falcons' actions had been unjust, that kindling the war had been evil, but what else could have been done, when there were no good decisions that could have been made?

“How can you know this?” Vere asked me.

“Sakkri,”
I replied.

Why was I trying to warn this white viper of what the consequences might be if he or one of his people joined with Oliza? What did I have to lose if Wyvern's Court burned? It
would possibly mean my reconciliation with my mother, and therefore my Empress, presuming I survived the fire.

It would mean Nicias's broken heart as well.

And of course, the loss of Wyvern's Court.

Our conversation was interrupted as we reached the Obsidian campsite, and I was grateful for the timing. It kept me from pondering why I found myself trying to protect Wyvern's Court when letting it burn might gain me everything.

The Obsidian camp was simple. Hammocks, designed so they could be taken down swiftly if necessary, had been strung between the trees around a central fire. The Obsidian guild was tolerated by the current monarchy, but in the past they had been actively hunted, and they had never dropped their habits from those days. All their camps were transient, and all their members armed.

As we entered, a pair of serpents was performing a flame-dance. They wove their bodies against each other, sliding around, over and through the campfire.

A mistake, and those watching would choke on the smell of burned flesh.

I closed my eyes, and for a moment I saw the triple arches of Ahnmik. The three arches were among the highest structures in the city, less only to the
yenna'marl,
the white towers. To fall from that height …

Some days, I felt as if I might still be falling.

I opened my eyes, forcing my attention past the dancers, to where Oliza was curled in the arms of her wolf, Betia. The wyvern's eyes were swollen, as if she had been crying, and she was watching the flame-dance intently, as if to avoid drowning in her own thoughts. Her expression, which reflected
how I felt every moment of my waking life, drew me to her almost against my will.

Betia saw me first, and her gaze met mine.
Don't hurt her,
the wolf said, quite clearly, without needing to speak.
She has been through enough today.
I nodded, knowing she would sooner snap my neck than let me harm her mate.

Betia's attention prompted Oliza's, and the wyvern visibly braced herself as she watched me approach.

I almost said,
I understand.
I knew why Oliza had left, knew the horrors she had seen, which no one should ever have to face. I was probably the only person in this world who fully understood.

But as I looked into Oliza's eyes, the words fled. The once princess had her mate for understanding. She had Obsidian land for sanctuary. And, I realized, she had the blessed amnesia that came to those who worked
sakkri
without training. She remembered only enough to know that she had chosen this exile for a reason, and to fear the woman who had twice triggered the terrifying visions of the future.

I took a step back, surprised by how much it hurt to see such wariness in her.

“I'm sorry,” I said, without being able to help it.

“Why?” Oliza's voice was guarded, with good reason. She had no way of knowing that I had not intentionally shown her the visions that had eventually led to her abdication.

Araceli, heir to the Empress, had hinted more than once that it would please the royal falcon house if Oliza never took the throne of Wyvern's Court. If the veiled request had come from Cjarsa, or if my loyalty to Nicias had not stayed my hand, I would not have hesitated to sabotage Oliza's reign.

Oliza was right to be nervous. She had no reason to trust me.

“For intruding,” I said. “Nicias was worried. Since he can't come here, I told him I would look in on you.”

Oliza relaxed a little when I said the peregrine's name. “Please, thank Nicias for checking on me, and tell him that I'm sorry I couldn't let him know where I was going. I'm with friends.” She added, “I couldn't stay at court.”

“He understands.”
As do I.
“I'll let him know you are safe.”

“Thank you.”

I turned to go, but she called my name.

“Hai?”

“Yes?”

“I know my leaving hurt Nicias. Take care of him?”

The image of Nicias as Ahnmik's cold prince briefly flickered through my memory. I wondered if Oliza had seen that vision, and if it had made any difference. “I will, as long as I can.”

 

I walked away from Oliza and Betia and back toward the dancers.

Watching their movement, I could almost read the pattern left by the dancers' bodies. The white vipers currently performing had just enough magic to lace the air with innate power but not enough to hold the spell in place. Otherwise, a
daraci'Kain
like this would have had the power to call the rain … or, if unbalanced, to drown the earth.

“What do you think of our dancers?” Vere Obsidian asked me.

I shook my head, trying to banish the image of dancing from my mind … trying to forget the white arches, where I had experienced the greatest bliss and the greatest devastation.

“They're lovely,” I said, with no real emotion in my voice.

The dancers had sunk into a deep bow, feet, knees, head and hands pressed to the ground. There were two reasons for the bow: the first was to give thanks to the audience, and the second was to recover their strength.

On Ahnmik, such a bow would sometimes last days, as the dancers rested. Those dances were rare, but incredible to behold, especially when performed by someone of the upper ranks.

“Hai?”

“What?” I snapped, more forcefully than I had intended.

Vere Obsidian held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

Fool.
Didn't he know my wings were broken? They had been scarred, tortured and lost the
last
time I had tried to dance, in the skies of the white city. “Are you still courting my father, Vere, or are you courting me now?”

He arched an eyebrow. “I might do both,” he admitted, “if I thought I could ever mean half as much to you as your peregrine does. But what man on this earth could hope to compete with the prince who brought you back to life?”

The honest reply, so blunt that it could have come only from a serpent, diminished my useless anger. I just shook my head. “I don't dance anymore.” I rubbed my hands over my arms, smoothing away goose bumps. “Please, just … understand.”

“It's hard to understand when you refuse to explain.”

Serpents!
Only they would insist on dragging such pain back into reality, on rehashing and sharing such vile histories.

He waited, until I found words that could answer him. “The ancient dances were meant to weave magic. I can't control my power even when I do not call upon it; if I try to dance, I don't know what will happen.”

“There's more,” he said softly, no doubt reading the deeper fear in my eyes.

“Another day, viper.”

He sighed. “As you wish … cobra.”

I winced as I turned away.

Better to forget.

In desperate need of comfort but not wanting to bother Nicias, I traveled to a still pool deeper in the forest. To detach myself from the chaos of this reality, I immersed myself in the cold water. I swam deeper, until my lungs burned and my heart raced, and then finally those physical pains faded as my magic replaced breath and blood.

I reached for the city of Ahnmik.

My two mothers—Darien, who had borne me, and Cjarsa, who had raised me—were almost always together and were almost always fighting. Few people had the power or the courage to argue with the Empress Cjarsa, but Darien was one of those rare souls who did.

I did not mean to intrude on their conversation that day, but I had carelessly reached too far. Cjarsa and Darien ceased talking and shifted their attention to me.

“Hai?” my mother said.

The instant Darien spoke my name, Cjarsa turned away,
assuming that I was not seeking her. Losing that brief moment of attention from my Empress was like having all sunlight disappear. I knew that Darien sensed my reaction; I felt her disappointment through the magic that connected us in that moment.

What did she expect from me, the daughter she had abandoned?

If my devotion had been focused on anyone but Cjarsa, would Darien have cared at all? Or was this just another excuse for her war with my Empress? Darien said she wanted to change the island; like Maya, she had lofty ideas, many of which I might have agreed with if I had believed her stated motives. However, as far as I could tell, what motivated my mother was not the desire for equality and freedom of which she spoke but stubborn spite.

I often wondered: If it had truly been love for my father that had driven her to commit treason, wouldn't she have been more concerned about that man's child?

“If you hate the white city and everything it stands for as much as you say you do,” I asked my mother bitterly, “if you hate the Lady and her heir and Ahnmik, why do you stay there?”

Why do you stay in that land, that land
I
have always wanted … that land I will never have because I was born with a cobra's blood? Why do you struggle in a place you
hate,
struggle and fight, when nothing will ever change?
Why?

Why could you never just be a mother to your daughter?

“Because …” Darien tried to explain. Did she herself understand it? Or was this fight just something she had started one day and now couldn't find her way out of? “I love it as much as I hate it.”

“I have always only loved it.”

“I would give it to you if I knew how. I
am
trying, Hai. I want to change things. As long as I stay here, I have the Empress's ear. I can make things better. Maybe someday you will feel welcome in the city and will come home.”

“You don't do this for me.”

“I do it for you, and for the Cobriana, and Wyvern's Court, and all the thousands who died in Cjarsa's war. I cannot give you the white city, but I am doing all I can to protect the world you have. You know that Araceli would see Wyvern's Court destroyed if our Empress let her.”

“Our” Empress.
Only when it suited her purposes.

Still …

The child Alasdair's scream.

Blood on the hawk child's hands.

Blood on my own.

“And Oliza's abdication?” I asked. “Did you know of that?”

“The wyvern's magic disrupts my
sakkri,
” Darien replied. “I have trouble seeing what she will do. Her abdication was as much a shock to me as it was to you. It certainly was not something I had planned.”

“What about Araceli? Or Cjarsa?”

“Neither of them had a hand in it. I have enough power here to keep them from meddling … mostly.” My mother hesitated. “Did they speak to you?” she asked, no doubt questioning my loyalty, as Oliza did.

“Of course,” I replied. Let her take from that what she would; I owed this woman no answers. There was only one reason I wished to have her as an ally. “Regardless, my concern isn't for Oliza. I'm worried about Nicias, now that he isn't bound to her. You helped him leave the island once—”

I broke off, suddenly realizing that Darien was not on my side. She had helped Nicias leave the island, yes, but she had always wanted him beside her on Ahnmik.

“If you take Nicias from here …” There was no threat that would matter to my mother. I would never forgive her, but since when had she cared?

“Don't you see?” Darien argued. “Nicias has no place in Wyvern's Court—not now—and he could do so much good here. Araceli would listen to Nicias, because she wants her son's favor, and as prince, he would have power I can never dream of.”

“My Empress,” I said, petitioning for Cjarsa's attention. “Please, leave Nicias alone.”

“It is not my will that would bring Nicias here,” Cjarsa replied. “I have denied both Darien and Araceli permission to interfere with him. However, if he comes home of his own free will, I cannot refuse him his place.”

“There is no free will. Not on Ahnmik.”

“I will not take him from you,” my Empress assured me. It was a cold comfort, and she knew it; she probably would not need to. “Be strong,
quemak'nesera,
” she bid me, the words a dismissal.

My mother said nothing as I severed the magic between us so abruptly that I fell into the sound of Nicias's screams.

 

Oliza's child, Keyi, was laughing, her red-blond hair rippling around her cherubic face. Her eyes were bright and as golden as a hawk's, but her eyelashes were pitch-black, an eerie contrast to her otherwise fair features. Her hands and arms were stained by twisting indigo magic that contorted and heaved across her flesh, but the child paid it no mind.

Keyi laughed. She was too young to understand ruin.

Sive Shardae wore not a mark upon her skin, but she was as still and silent as all Brysh's realm as Araceli lifted Aleya into her arms.

Sive's baby began to wail.

“You can't take Aleya!”

Keyi giggled as Nicias protested and struggled to reclaim the only surviving heir to the Tuuli Thea. The falcons had taken Salem's son Zenle; they couldn't take Aleya.

Araceli's Mercy held Nicias back, two of them gripping each of his arms.

Araceli held the baby as gently as porcelain, looking sadly into its frightened eyes. “I will return her to the avian throne when the time comes,” she assured Nicias. “Be grateful … my grandson … that I do not have the heart to slay my own blood.” She dropped her gaze to Keyi, who had begun to hum a little song. “Care for that one, if you wish. I will leave to you the decision of when she must be given back to Brysh.”

“No,” he pleaded.

Araceli turned with Aleya in her arms, and again Nicias shrieked, tearing into the guards holding him physically and magically. They knocked him to his knees as black-red slices of power rent his skin, leaving him shuddering on the ground. He could only watch as the falcons carried the little child away.

All of Nicias's monarchs were gone. Aleya and Zenle, taken. Oliza, Salem, Sive, Zane, Danica, Irene … The faces of the dead marched through his pained memory.

Keyi still laughed, though her hands—those tiny pink hands—were stained with the blood of thousands. She giggled, reaching for things only she could see: birds and butterflies, faeries and nymphs, raindrops, snowflakes, anything but the steel-hard sky, bleached as white as bone.

I dragged myself from the vision, choking on screams as I struggled back to shore.

Don't cry, my love; you do all you can.
I wept as I lay on the beach, too exhausted to move.
I'll do what I can, for you.

Someone nudged my shoulder, roughly checking for life, and my body shuddered and began coughing up water, seeking air instead of raw power to sustain us.

Velyo Frektane looked at me with distaste. One of the two competing alpha wolves in the area, Velyo despised weakness. Nearly drowning in still water probably did not strike him as strong.

“I've heard that falcons can do that—just stop moving, eating, drinking,” he remarked. “But I didn't know they could stop breathing.”

“Breath belongs to
Mehay,
” I replied, drawing in the air nonetheless. I could sustain myself for years on nothing but Ahnmik's power, as I had in the Halls of
shm'Ecl
before Nicias had taken me from there, but if I wanted to escape from that last vision, I needed to ground myself back to the world. “Ecl has no use for it.”

The wolf let out a disdainful snort. “Well, sorry to interrupt your melodramatic expiration, but I thought Wyvern's Court might object to a dead cobra in our woods.”

I would be shocked if they noticed.

But I accepted the wolf's help as I stood. When I touched his hand, I tried to ignore the images that it conjured. Oliza and her mate had each crossed paths with Velyo in the past.

“Do you need assistance back to Wyvern's Court?”

“I can make it.”

He watched me skeptically as I wrung water from my hair; surely I looked less than capable to him, with my hair and clothes still dripping and my hands and arms streaked with dirt from my lying on the ground.

I was content not to earn the high regard of Velyo Frektane. He was a man who was used to power and getting his way even if it meant abusing those beneath him. I was too much a falcon to tolerate intimidation by or force from a wolf and—though I cringed to think it—too much a serpent to forgive the crimes he had committed in his past. After I'd chosen to ignore Araceli's hinted requests that I begin a war in Wyvern's Court shortly after I first woke here, it would have been a pity to start one accidentally by killing a wolf king.

So I walked away, not upset to hear the wolf scoff as I made a halfhearted attempt to brush mud from my skin and clothes.

Wondering if I would have to walk back to Wyvern's Court, I called silently for Najat and was pleased to find that the horse was not too far away in the woods. She came to me, and I climbed into the saddle and closed my eyes to rest as we returned slowly to Wyvern's Court. Najat knew the way home, far better than I.