A ghostly white bird flitted across the cave opening and settled on Brownie’s rump. It screeched, almost sounding angry. The man looked up, then turned back to his dinner. The bird called again, and Ember realized with a start it was the same hawk she’d seen twice that day already. The bird caught her eye and sounded one last time. Ember was chilled to hear another voice join in as the hawk trailed off—a wolf howl, and close by, she was sure.
Brownie pulled against the stake and screamed.
“What . . . ?” Her kidnapper dropped his rabbit skewer and started for the cave entrance as the howling grew in volume, another wolf joining the first. Brownie pulled steadily at her tether now, Ian nearly hanging on her reins trying to hold her. The other horse started to panic as well, and Ian seemed to forget Ember in the excitement.
Now was her chance. The wolves had given her an idea, and Ember focused all her thoughts and energy into the image that had come to her. The dress and her ear had been completely accidental, but now she put all her energy into hearing the sounds of the wolves and yearned with all her heart to jointhem.
She had watched a wolf one night as she sat on the roof, its white coat gleaming in the darkness, and now as she lay there on the cold stone, she begged her body to become one. It was almost easy, she found, as if she had discovered a second form that her body knew more intimately than she knew herself.
It was strange, feeling her body shrink and mold, her jaw expanding out from her face and her limbs thinning and straightening. It hurt, there was no denying that, but it was tolerable until a tail burst from her back-side. That hurt like nothing else. It took her breath away. But by the time she became aware of herself again, the transformation was complete. In a matter of seconds, she went from being chained and bound to the floor to shaking her white fur and scrambling out of the restraints. She tried to shake off what appeared to be chains still attached to her fur, but then realized she was seeing the shape and shadow of the bracelets that had embedded into her skin that morning. Evidently, her shift into wolf shape wouldn’t take away the gray tattoos, even when in fur. She wondered if the gray pendant still marked her sternum. It didn’t matter at the moment. She had to get away while Ian was distracted. She wobbled for a moment, trying to get used to the balance of four feet and a tail, but the adjustment came quickly, and she darted toward the cave entrance.
Ian yelled at her and let go of the horses to try to grab her. The white hawk swooped at his head, distracting him long enough for Ember to streak past. Ember was clumsy at first, trying to coordinate front and back legs. She tripped several times before she found her balance and rhythm, then she took off on all fours, the wind ruffling her fur, her nose assaulted by scents she had never noticed before, her eyes finally able to see in the near dark as she darted in and out among the trees toward whatever safety she could find. The hawk screeched from up ahead, and Ember could see its glowing form flowing easily through the forest. Ian thundered through the woods behind her, much faster than she’d thought possible without a horse to carry him, but he wasn’t fast enough to catch up with her. She was the wind riding through the forest, the shine of moonlight on a midnight pool.
She was wolf.
The wolves called again, and this time she not only heard, but understood. "Come run with us. Join us, wolfchild!"
One by one, the lupines darted out from amongst the trees and surrounded her, running with her in joy, guarding, guiding, strengthening her with the pack. A huge white wolf came through the group to her side, his tongue lolling out like an oversized puppy, though he was anything but. "Follow us to safety, wolfchild. We have much on which to speak."
CHAPTER TEN
C’Tan waved her hand to banish the mirror, as she did every morning, and pulled her scarlet robe closed, gathering illusion around her face, creating the image, the memory of the past that walked with her each day. She hated the falseness of it, longed for the image to be made real again and to be free, but that could not be as long as she was bound to her master, chained to S’Kotos. Only the keystones could free her, and the blasted things could not be found. It infuriated her endlessly, day after day, and all she could do was continue the search that maddened her with its slowness.
She heard the steady step of the aged one long before he appeared at her door. She kept her back to him and made him wait. It was a game they had played since first she met him, when he had been the teacher and she the slave. But the roles had reversed, and she had come to live for these dangerous battles for power and position.
“You’re early, Kardon,” she snarled.
“I am well aware of that, mistress, but I thought you would be most anxious for my report.” He stopped speaking and waited for her to respond. And so the game continued, with her issuing threats and commands, him responding with as little information as possible. Someday she would make him angry, she was sure of it, and fireworks would erupt between them, the kind of fireworks she would be lucky to survive. Until then, they continued the game.
“Report then, Kardon.”
“One of the keystones has manifested itself.”
That was enough to make C’Tan turn quickly and face him. “Which one?” she demanded.
“The Sapphire Flute, my lady.”
Her lips parted as a slow smile spread across her face. Though any other person would have been chilled to see how the smile never reached her eyes, Kardon would not flinch. Why should he, when he was the one who had taught her the coldness, had stolen her conscience, turned her into the monster she knew she had become? It sickened her, and yet she could not be anything else.
“Well, well, well. That is news worth hearing indeed.” C’Tan strutted to the unmade mess of her bed and stood staring at the blank wall for several seconds. “Is it with the king?” she asked, her back to the menace of Kardon. She knew she tempted him, but she could not help herself. Part of her wished he would someday attack and they could finally battle out the hate between them—but today was not that day.
“No, mistress,” he responded in a clipped whisper. “We have yet to determine who has it, but it is within the borders of Peldane.“
“Anything more specific than that?” she asked, becoming annoyed. This was too important for him to hold back. The flute was the first of the stones that could set her free.
“There are rumors, my lady, but we have been unable to verify them.”
She turned then and nearly thrust her power at him, but stopped herself. No. It was not the right time. She still had need of this weak man with his dangerous games, but the anger made her voice tight. “Well, verify them or find me a source for the manifestations, but do not come back until you can tell me who has that flute!” she spat, menace dripping from her voice like acid.
“Yes, mistress,” he answered, unruffled, and turned to leave.
C’Tan stopped him with his name. “Kardon,” she called sweetly and waved her hand, pulling a small knife from the air and cleaning her nails with a soft scratch. “The next time you interrupt me in the early hours like this, I’ll have your heart on a plate and serve it up to S’Kotos. Do you understand me?”
Kardon met her eyes, but did not blanch under their fiery gaze.
“Yes, Lady C’Tan, I understand you perfectly.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kayla opened her eyes and blinked to clear them. The morning sun streamed through the window at an odd angle, the light coming from above rather than to the left. The walls here were made of cut gray stone instead of thin wood panels. Still lost in a blur of foggy sleep, she wasn’t sure where she was until a light tap came at the door and Sarali poked her head through.
“Are ye awake now, miss? The master sent me up to fetch ye. Breakfast be on the table.”
It all rushed back then—the banquet the evening before, being seated at the high table with Brant’s family, the showdown with her grandfather. She smiled, tucking the covers beneath her chin.
Dragonmeer. She was at Dragonmeer.
She threw back the heavy down comforter, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. “I’m awake. Tell the duke I’ll be down shortly.”
“Oh, the duke still be sleeping, miss. I don’t imagine ye’d be seeing his face around the castle for many an hour still. Master Brant be leading the breakfast bunch, and he sent me up to fetch ye.”
Kayla grinned. It was doubtful those were his exact words. She imagined he had said something more along the lines of, “Tell Kayla to get her lazy backside out of bed and come join me.” She nodded to the servant. The girl withdrew, shutting the door softly behind her.
Kayla sat on the side of the bed for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight and the softness of the feather bed. It was a much more pleasant awakening than she usually had. Most mornings, she awoke before dawn to her mother calling from downstairs. Content, she scampered into the lovely clothes she had worn the night before. They were a little wrinkled, but they would have to do. She had brought nothing more than that and the outfit she had worn shopping the day before, which did not seem suitable for breakfasting with the duke’s household. She would rather be overdressed than under, so she laced up the dress, glanced in the mirror, and prepared to leave. She turned to the door and spotted her unmade bed. There was one thing more she had to do before she left.
She pulled the Sapphire Flute from beneath her pillow where it had slept with her during the night, and opened the case to see its glowing blue length. It had a different feel to it today, as if more alive, more aware of her and itself. It had almost a presence, as if it were a person and not an inanimate object. Chills shivered Kayla to the core. She closed the case and shoved the flute deep beneath the feather mattress so it would remain hidden even if the maids came and made up the bed in her absence.
Business accomplished, she smoothed her dress, took a few moments to brush her hair and twist it into style, and marched through the door.
It was strange, circling down these particular stairs after so many years of hiding on them and watching the parties take place through the slats of the railing. She and Brant had become quite adept at crashing the duke’s parties and never getting caught. On numerous occasions they had foraged for food and watched the ladies and gents as they sang and danced and performed. The dancing had been fun, the jugglers and magicians funny, but the music had always set Kayla’s heart to racing. She would sit entranced for hours, listening to the sound that filled the cavernous room. It had not mattered if they plucked the soft strings of a harp or trumpeted their horns—soloists or choirs, she was pulled into a world of dreams and imagination and magic when the music struck her ears.
Brant had learned early on that if he wanted to have any kind of fun with Kayla, he had to wait for the music to end. They sat on the balcony overlooking the great hall, nibbling at their stolen food, wrapped in blankets for warmth. How she missed those years. It was nice finally to be noticed for her accomplishments, but there was something to be said for the carefree days of childhood.
It looked as if Duke Domanta was not the only one feeling a little delicate this morning. Kayla noticed many missing faces, but all that mattered to her was that Brant was there. His eyes lit when she entered the hall, and he stood, waving his arm enthusiastically.
“Come in, come in!” he called, coughing over the bite of steak he had just crammed into his mouth. Kayla shook her head at him and smiled.
“You’re going to choke one of these days if you don’t slow down, Brant.” In answer, he cut an even larger chunk and stuffed it in his mouth, growling as if he were a starving dog.
Despite his playfulness, Brant seemed distracted all through breakfast. He was much more quiet than usual and seemed almost sad. His sense of humor only returned at the end of the meal.
“I don’t know how you do it, Kayla. You eat more than most men, and you stay so blasted skinny. Can’t you just try to let me eat more than you? Just once?”
Kayla laughed. “Why should I? It keeps you humble, love. You can’t be better at everything, you know,” she said, taking his hand and winking at him.
“Right now I’m not better at anything,” he grumbled, though his heart didn’t seem to be in it.
For once Kayla didn’t know what to say. Despite his joking manner, there seemed to be a hint of real bitterness in his tone. She looked at him sharply, but he said nothing more. So she let it drop as he tucked her hand into his arm and escorted her into more familiar territory—the stables.
“What are we doing here, Brant?” she asked, curious.
“You’ll see.“ He gave her a smug smile. He patted her hand and left her standing on the cobblestones as he went to speak to the groomsman. The old man bobbed his head and retreated inside.
“Brant . . .” Kayla called, but Brant held up his index finger in the universal sign for “wait a minute.” What was he doing? He was behaving very strangely. The answer became apparent when the groomsman led matching white horses from the stable, mare and stallion.
“What’s this?” she asked, awed by their beauty.
“A little gift. Would you like to ride?” he asked.
“Of course I would, but what do you mean, ‘a little gift’? From whom? Why?”
“I’ll explain later, love. Just ride with me for now,” he pleaded. Kayla couldn’t resist and didn’t really want to. The animals were beautiful. She quickly mounted and had barely settled herself in the saddle when Brant spoke. “Race you to the river?” He grinned and dug in his heels without waiting for an answer.
“Hey! That’s cheating! Wait for me!” She nudged the mare, who took off like a dream.
The horse’s gait was smooth, as though she was floating instead of riding, and Kayla understood what people meant when they said they were “as one” with their mounts. She felt as if she were a part of the horse, her body embedded within the back of the animal, as they flew over the hills and through the swathes of forest that dotted Dragonmeer.
She sailed over stone walls and fallen logs faster than she ever had, and it reminded her of the feeling when she played the flute—specifically Darthmoor’s Honor. The images she had of flight were similar to the feel of racing this horse across the land. In that moment life was complete, with no battle for position, no nagging parents or loveless grandfathers, no pain, no fear, no loss—just the perfection of being joined with someone else and running.
Joy welled up in her then—an emotion she had not truly had since that moment ten years before when she had learned what her birth had meant for her mother. She felt free and wanted the moment to last forever.
But that could never be.
Much too soon, the ride was over, and Kayla met Brant at the river’s edge. The two of them arrived side by side in the final leg of the journey. It had ceased to be a race long before, and instead, they rode in companionable silence, though still at the fastest speed their horses could maintain together. Kayla was pleased to see that not only did the horses match each other in looks, they also matched pace, as if they were duplicates mirrored and reversed in gender, but still moving as one.
Brant dropped to the ground, pulling the reins over his stallion’s head. He helped Kayla down and immediately took her into his arms. Her head nestled against his chest as she took in the musky, sweaty smell of him. She couldn’t help the feeling of wonder that came over her. Brant would be hers. It was no longer a dream she was afraid to ponder, but a tangible thing standing before her.
Their horses began to wander and pulled against the two of them, forcing the separation neither as willing to initiate. Brant and Kayla laughed, a trifle ill at ease with each other for the first time. They were alone, no one around to judge or know how they behaved or whether they kept things proper, and Kayla would have been lying to say she was not tempted to tease Brant a little and see where it would lead.
But it was wrong. She could not start their life together with that on her conscience, so when he tried to pull her into his arms again, she danced away, laughing.
“Huh, uh
, uh, Brant.” She wagged a finger at him. “You know the rules.”
“Yeah, but rules are meant to be broken, Kayla,” he said, lunging for her, his eyes gleaming.
“Not these rules, Brant. Not for us,” she said, holding her ground as he slowed and stopped before her, disappointed, but thoughtful. When she was sure he understood, she moved toward him, but he turned away.
“Brant, don’t be like that,” she said, hurt by his refusal.
“I’m not mad, Kayla, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get too close to me right now,” he answered, his back still to her. He moved down the stream in silence, picking up rocks here and there and skipping them out across the still waters. Kayla followed after him, unable to let him go far without her. It was as if a magnet were between them, pushing and pulling, but never allowing its opposite to wander.
“My father’s not happy, you know,” he said.
Kayla’s heart lurched. “What do you mean, Brant? I thought you said he likes me.”
Brant smiled over his shoulder, then continued his walk down the water’s edge. “He does. A little too much.“
When he didn’t expound, Kayla blew out an explosive breath. “What do you mean?” she demanded, trying to catch up with him. He finally let her.
“I’ve never seen the duke as angry as he was last night, and believe me, at that moment he was ‘the duke,‘ and not my father,” Brant said, still not looking at her.
“Why?” Surprise and worry mixed like oil and vinegar, upsetting her stomach with their fervor.
“Because our announcement was so unexpected.” He sighed. “The duke does not like surprises, especially in regards to his family. I guess once people knew we were attached, they started asking him questions, and he had no answers. He said I was inconsiderate and impulsive, and that if I planned to take over Dragonmeer, I had better start thinking of other people before blurting my plans to the world.” Brant stopped and faced the river, tossing his pebbles into the water with distinct kerplunks that brought fish to the surface to investigate. “I guess more than anything, he was upset that I didn’t tell him first so he could plan for it. The horses are a gift from him, an outward show of his approval. You know he likes you. He doesn’t disapprove—he just wishes we’d informed him first.”
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