“What? Non-female? But that means . . .” Realization dawned. “You want me to look like a boy?”
“Er, yes.” Shad at least had the decency to shut up after that.
Ember was appalled. “No. Absolutely not. Dressing like a boy, fine, but I will not make myself less female by shape-changing.”
Shad sighed and stepped closer, his head almost touching hers. “I know it’s hard to grasp, but it’s the last thing he would expect. Most people don’t understand that as a shapeshifter, any form is possible. You wouldn’t technically be a boy—you would just look like one. You know, make yourself a bit bulkier, narrow the hips, thicken the jaw, and add some stubble, shrink your chest—”
Ember interrupted him there. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Just hold on. I can’t even figure out how to become my normal self again—how do you expect me to do all that? Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I can see the need for changing my face, but there is no way I am going to shrink my . . .” She stopped. If she’d been in her human skin she would have been several shades of red. “Well, I’m just not, that’s all.”
“I’m going to have to insist. Your safety is of the utmost importance. I’m not going to let you endanger yourself just because it makes you uncomfortable. You will change your face and form, Ember. Accept it, or I will not help you learn how to shift back, nor will I take you to Javak.”
Shad turned to walk away, and Ember’s panic set in. Like it or not, she was going to have to do as he asked. She had to be at those mage trials. “Okay, okay, I give up, you win, but I won’t shrink my chest. I’ll bind it up if I have to, but I’m not going to change anything that makes me female, understood?” Too many years of being teased by the village girls about being flat-chested made Ember all too aware of the differences between boy and girl.
Shad looked at her for a long moment, his head cocked as he thought. Finally, he nodded once in assent and beckoned for her to come with him to the other side of the tree. Several of the wolves had shifted into human form and carried loads of rocks to the center of the clearing. Ember was curious what they were doing, but learning how to shift back into herself seemed more important, so she left with one last glance over her shoulder.
Once Shad and Ember were in a semi-private spot on the other side of the tree, he stopped and sat down. “I’ve been thinking—”
Ember interrupted. “It sounds like you’ve been doing a lot of that today.”
Shad chuckled. “Actually, yes. More than usual, anyway. So, I was thinking, maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way. Maybe breaking the transformation down into steps is too much detail for you. When you changed into a wolf, you did it quickly, almost instantly, correct? You didn’t stop to think about what to do with your clothes or how to change the color of your eyes, did you?”
Ember hadn’t thought about it, really, but he was right. When she’d transformed in the cave, it had been an emotionally spurred act. She didn’t think about it, she just did it. She thought of what needed to be and made it happen. It had been the same with the dress. She’d visualized it, wanted it very badly, and suddenly it was. Could it really be that simple?
Shad continued. “How do you best see magic?”
“With my eyes closed, or at least, that’s the way I saw the green swirls and spikes yesterday. When my eyes were open, everything looked normal, but when they were closed, I saw green everywhere.”
The wolf nodded his head thoughtfully. “Let’s try something here, shall we? Close your eyes. Keep them closed and tell me what you see.”
Ember complied, though she saw nothing.
“What do you see?” asked Shad from beyond the darkness.
“Nothing,” Ember answered. Even she could hear the frustration in her voice.
“Good. You weren’t supposed to. That was a check. Now comes the important part. Pay
attention.”
Ember strained against the darkness, but there was still nothing for what seemed forever. She was about to call out to her uncle in frustration when a sullen green light sprang to life in front of her. She gasped in surprise. It was a wolf-shaped image that started to stretch and pull like taffy. She could see the flares and spikes as energy surrounded what had to be Uncle Shad, and somehow, on a deep, magical level, it clicked. As she watched him, she suddenly understood how it worked, though she could not have told someone if they’d paid her. It was so basic as to be instinctive—there were no words to describe it.
She watched with her magic eyes until he became a man, then opened her eyes.
Uncle Shad was more handsome as a human than she’d thought he would be. Ember hadn’t really taken the time to see him that morning, but now she did. His dark hair was short, his eyes the same murky green as her own. He was shorter than she’d imagined, but powerfully built, though not in a grotesque way, as the kidnapper Ian had been. He was just a nicely built man with not a bit of fat on him. He smiled, and her heart melted. He had dimples that creased his cheeks and sparkles in his eyes, the kind she knew identified him as a big tease.
“All right, your turn,” he said, his voice a melodic baritone. It was strange to hear him speak aloud after all the mind-speech they’d shared in the past day. “Remember, try to turn yourself into a boy."Take the picture of someone you know, or better yet, parts of people you know, and combine them into a whole. It’s your best defense against Covainis.”
Ember nodded. The idea was repugnant to her, but she didn’t see any alternative. Closing her eyes, she created the image in her mind of the perfect man. Dark eyes, hair as black as raven’s wings, a strong chin, and full mouth. She made it as perfect as she could, then wished for it with all her heart.
There was a searing pain in her paws, and then her entire body felt like it had been caught between the horses. She was smashed, stretched, and molded like clay, all of her fur disappearing into the clothes she’d worn before she transformed. She’d wondered where her clothes had gone—evidently they became her fur. Strange.
Glancing at her hands, Ember was relieved to see long fingers instead of furry paws. She felt her face. She still had her same nose and rounded cheeks, but her jaw and mouth felt different, and what hair she could see in the twilight seemed pretty black.
With a snap of his fingers, Shad called up a mage light and examined Ember’s face in the blue glow. A slow grin spread across his face as she panted, still fighting with wolf reactions despite her human face. “Good. Very good. I was right.” His laughter was contagious, and she smiled, despite the residual pain that still sparked through her body. “Next time go a little slower. The pain will be less, but you’ve got the idea. A few finishing touches and you’ll be set.” He looked closely at her nose and ran a thumb along her jaw. “Your nose is too dainty for your face. I’m sure it would be beautiful for a girl nose,” he qualified when he saw she was about to object, “but for a boy, it’s too pretty. Make it bigger here, maybe a little thinner there,” he touched her nose, “and give yourself some stubble.”
This was the part Ember had been dreading. She closed her eyes again and imagined a bit of peach fuzz lining her upper lip and chin, much like Tiva and Ren had at the moment. It felt strange to feel hair sprouting from her pores, and she only hoped things would go back to normal when she was herself again. She didn’t want to go through life as a bearded lady.
Next, she concentrated on her nose. She found it helped to actually touch it as she worked. She imagined it thinner through the bridge and wider through the nostrils, and finally settled on one similar to Aldarin’s. He had the perfect male nose—very dignified, but not overly hawkish.
When she felt she was done, Ember opened her eyes to gauge Shad’s reaction. He nodded his head, his lips pursed as he examined her face in the light. “Not bad, my dear, not bad at all. Now, are you sure you won’t flatten your chest a bit? You’re rather, umm, how shall we say, obvious as a girl.”
Ember was shaking her head before he had finished. She closed her eyes one more time and attempted to bulk her bod
y up as he’d suggested earlier, hoping that it might better hide her assets. The mass in shoulders, arms, and chest increased, her hips thinned, and her hands expanded a little to look more masculine, though she didn’t dare increase the size of her feet or she’d never get her boots back on.
She thought about flattening her chest, but she just couldn’t do it. For some reason, it felt wrong to her. Instead, she asked, “Do you have anything I can use to bind myself? I think with all the muscle, I can hide things pretty well.”
Shad looked leery, but he didn’t object. “I’ll give it some thought and see what we can come up with.” He cocked his head, very wolflike, and nodded approvingly. “You’ve done a marvelous job. It would be a miracle if Ian found you in this disguise. Are you hungry yet?” he asked, completely changing the subject.
Ember’s stomach growled loudly, answering his question. He put an arm around her shoulder and thumped her on the back. “Then let’s go eat.” Ember took several steps forward before realizing Shad wasn’t with her. She stopped and turned. He was looking at her as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or pull out his hair. “What?” she asked, feeling self-conscious.
“We’ve got to work on the way you move.”
“Why?”
“You walk like a girl,” he said, his dimples starting to show.
Ember flipped her hair and strolled away. “Well, I certainly hope so. I am a girl.”
Shad threw back his head and laughed. “Not today, you’re not. I wish you could see yourself.” Shad simpered past her, and if that was anything similar to what she looked like, he was right. Her walk definitely needed help. Ember snickered and shook her head. For having had the morning from helar, the day hadn’t turned out so badly at all. At least now she could eat.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kardon was at C’Tan’s bedside when she awoke, the red light from the windows high above streaked across her black walls. It was a perfect reflection of her mood. She had not heard him enter, and only became aware that Kardon was there when he touched her, awaking her with a start.
“Kardon!” she spat, raking her fingers through her illusory hair. “Has your memory left you so quickly that you have forgotten my words of this morning?”
“No, mistress,” he answered. “I remember both of your threats quite clearly, but since I am not disturbing you early, you have no reason to carve my heart and serve it to our master, as you promised you would.”
She snarled. “I ought to flame you where you stand.”
“As you wish, mistress, but you may want to hear me before you decide to turn me into a human barbecue.”
C’Tan fought the urge to laugh. It was not like Kardon to joke. For him to make such a comment meant he had very good news for her indeed. His face remained an expressionless mask, seemingly molded from stone, so cold and still was it. The only thing that showed he was truly alive was the movement of his eyes and mouth and the slight flaring of his nostrils with each breath. She had wondered many a time if he were not a simulacrum of S’Kotos sent here to torment her, but he had proven the humanity of his physical form often enough to convince her that his body did indeed live, even if his heart did not.
“Oh, very well then,” she sighed, bored, though she was anxious to hear his apparent good news—important enough to wake her from the small amount of sleep she was able to get.
“We have found the flute,” he answered, still not smiling, though his eyes held a small amount of excitement for once.
“Yes, so you told me this morning. Have you nothing more for me? I do so want to get some sleep before the moon rises.”
There was a flash of annoyance in his eyes, and C’Tan smiled, though her face didn’t show it.
Finally, she had gotten to the old man.
“This morning the flute manifested itself. Tonight we discovered who has possession of it.”
C’Tan stilled. Her heart skipped a beat at his words. “Tell me more,” she purred.
“The flute is held by one Kayla Kalandra Felandian of Darthmoor. We have tracked her location, and she is currently staying at Dragonmeer, the keep of Duke Domanta. Rumor has it the youngling is engaged to the duke’s son. What are your wishes, my lady?” he asked, obviously pleased with himself.
“Kay-la . . .” She drew the name out like a caress. “What a common name for such a special little girl. What do we know about her?”
“She is not well accepted there, mistress. Her father was evahn, and her mother is a disinherited noble.”
“This could work in our favor. Perhaps the people of Darthmoor will send her to me with only a small amount of persuasion.“ She smiled coldly and threw the silk blankets from her. She waved a hand in the air and pulled her riding clothes from the same insubstantial place where she stored her mirror. The red leather and silken cape suited her well. She pulled them on, disregarding the man still standing in her room as if he was of no matter, and truly he was not.They both knew he was no threat to her.
“Well, then, we’d best saddle up the dragons and pay her a visit, hadn’t we, Kardon? See to it.”
The ageless man bowed and backed his way from the room.
“It shall be done.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
T’Kato was the thief. Kayla never would have thought it possible. He didn’t strike her as the type of man capable of pulling off such an act. Actually, he seemed the kind of guy that would bash your head in and take what he wanted without subtlety. Evidently there was more to the tattooed chef than anyone had realized. Now that she thought of it, he made everyone in Dragonmeer believe he didn’t speak their language, proof of his duplicitous nature.
And then there was Sarali to consider. Kayla was extremely disappointed that the servant she adored so much had played her for a fool. It hurt and made her angry, though she had known the woman with the beautiful brogue less than a day.
Kayla looked at the darkening window. The hours had raced past since the flute’s disappearance. She’d missed lunch and probably dinner as well, and had not heard the bell announcing meals. That was not like her, but the thought of food was repulsive. The loss of the flute tightened her stomach with nausea and fear.
Her thoughts turned back to T’Kato, Thenari, thief—all applied, and she couldn’t distinguish
between the three names. They had become synonymous.
“The Hand of Klii’kunn,” she muttered to herself, remembering the last phrase in his note. What did that mean? Klii’kunn was one of the Guardians who created Rasann, or so legend said. The glowing flute was supposedly cut from the mountain whole. But questioning the legend of deity did not answer the real question: what did T’Kato mean when he claimed to be the Hand of Klii’kunn?
Legend said Klii’kunn was one of six Guardians who remained behind after Rasann was nearly destroyed. He was the Blue Guardian, responsible for the blue magic dealing with wind, sound, and air.
Okay, that made sense, since the flute was powered by air, but why the Hand? The hand was the extension of the body, the tool of the mind. So . . . maybe Thenari was like . . . a prophet? No . . .that didn’t seem right, but something along those lines, as if he were the Blue Guardian’s greatest tool, his servant, a disciple perhaps. Disciple, yes—that word made sense to her, whether true or not, and would explain his seeming possessiveness where the flute was concerned. It helped somehow to label him. He wanted the power of air to be used properly, wisely, though why he would not just come and talk to her about it, she wasn’t sure.
Something in that last train of thought nagged at her, though she couldn’t quite grasp it.
The power of air . . .
What was it Thenari had said? Kayla pulled the note from the folds of her dress and read it aloud.. . . "You were warned, and yet not even a full day went by before you breathed life to the instrument . . ."
Breathed life to the instrument . . . the power of air . . .
Could it be? Kayla’s stomach clenched, her heart stopping at the thought. S
urely not—but, what if . . . ?
The power of air—
If the flute was the blue keystone, and if it truly had been created by the Guardian Klii’kunn, the Guardian of sound, wind, and air . . .
Could her breath alone have brought the instrument to life?
Somehow that was exactly what had happened. Kayla knew it without doubt. She was tempted to give up right then. How could she prove herself worthy when she truly was guilty of T’Kato’s accusations? It seemed hopeless.
But it was not in Kayla’s nature to give up.
She stiffened her spine and stopped sniffling, then swallowed the lump in her throat. She would not let him beat her, no matter who he thought he was. She was the flute’s guardian. Somehow she would prove her worth and get it back. She had to.
She just didn’t know how.
The sun was going down quickly, and Brant still had not returned. Thenari was waiting in the cellar. Kayla quailed at the idea of going down alone. Anything could happen, anything at all. What if T’Kato was something worse than a thief? What if he was a murderer? What could she do then?
In the end, she decided it didn’t matter. She would rather die than face King Rojan without the flute.
And so, just as the light of the sun was brightening to sunset, with streaks of pink flashing across her wall, Kayla left her room in search of a thief and went to meet T’Kato, the tattooed Ketahean chef, in the darkness of the immense cellars. She walked down the hall, stopping to look at the statues and portraits of Brant’s ancestors that seemed so out of place on the bare stone walls of the castle. Only the tapestries brought lightness and life into the castle, and Kayla found herself admiring them as she wound her way downstairs.
Despite her resolve, she was in no hurry to reach the cellar. Few people wandered past—a servant activating magelights and lighting torches, a young whispering couple cuddling in a corner, a pack of giggling girls she easily avoided. Kayla sincerely hoped Brant would find her so she could let him know where she was going. Mentally she kicked herself for not having left him a note, though if T’Kato truly was what he claimed, even Brant could not help her. She would have to fix this one herself.
The Sapphire Flute Page 16