by Amy Harmon
Wait for him, the old Teller had said. Her words had been prophetic. I was always waiting.
I felt Shindoh, heard his excitement, his eager happiness at having his master on his back and fresh air in his lungs. I even knew the moment he sensed me and quickened his step toward me. But I didn’t turn to greet him.
“Lark,” Tiras called, the words he exuded very different from his faithful horse. Stubborn and woman were the most prominent ones. I stopped walking and turned on him, not even waiting for him to get abreast of me before I responded to his not-so-private opinion.
I may be a stubborn woman, but you are an insensitive ass.
“And you are the queen. You must think like one. You must act like one. You must do your duty even when you are angry with me.”
You chose me, remember? Me. Lark of Corvyn. I am not a Changer. I cannot transform into a queen.
He ground his teeth. “And where is your guard? You must have a guard when you leave the castle!”
I have no need of a guard. You are just like my father. I will not be a prisoner.
“You also have to stop wandering around at night, Lark. It isn’t safe. Especially when I am not here.”
I turned away and began to walk, frustrated by his imperiousness. With a snarl and a spur of his horse, he was on me, swooping me up with one arm and placing me in front of him on Shindoh, exactly as he had done a lifetime ago.
His fingers spread on my lower belly, testing the way it swelled against his palm. I tossed my head, my hood sliding down my back, and his lips found my ear as if he couldn’t decide whether to nuzzle my neck or berate me. He did both, running his rough cheek against my jaw and along my throat before he spoke again.
“You aren’t invisible. I know you think you are. But someone could harm you.” His tone was hushed but harsh. “Why do you do that?”
What? Get angry when you return and avoid me?
He was motionless, contemplating, and I waited for him to answer.
“No,” he finally whispered, and I felt his remorse drip from the word. I stared blindly ahead, refusing to blink so the angry tears would not fall.
“No, not that. Why do you walk in the forest at night, all by yourself? I see you, even as an eagle. I watch you. And I am afraid for you.” His voice was suddenly so gentle that my will crumbled like the dry leaves beneath Shindoh’s feet.
I know you watch me. That’s why I do it. I am looking for you.
His arm tightened around me and his lips found my ear again, but he didn’t speak, and his yearning covered us both, obscuring everything else.
You have told me to let you in, Tiras. Begged me. And I have. I have opened my doors wide. Yet . . . you stayed away.
He cursed and gripped my jaw in his gloved hand, turning my face toward him so I could lift my eyes to his.
“Don’t you understand? I would do anything to stay here with you. I am losing myself!”
I started to shake my head, pulling on his wrist and releasing myself from his grasp. No.
Indecision matched his yearning before he suddenly swept both away, and with a swift jerk, yanked the thick leather glove from his left hand with his teeth, revealing what was beneath. His hand was still that of a man, but as his fingers tapered at the tips, talons jutted from the very ends. My heart climbed my throat like a caged animal, and I could only stare, transfixed.
“I can’t even touch you without a glove anymore, Lark,” he groaned. “I will harm you.”
Without a word I smoothed my fingers over the talons that had broken through the skin. They were twice the length of his natural nails, tubular and sharp. His fingers flexed like he wanted to pull them away, but he didn’t.
I raised his palm to my lips and kissed it gently. Then I glided his hand over my jaw and held it against my face, welcoming his touch.
“I am losing myself. Piece by bloody piece,” he whispered. “And you have to let me go. Jeru needs a queen. Someone who is strong and wise and powerful.”
That is not me.
“Of course it is. I knew it the moment I met you.”
No! It isn’t. I have all this power, but I can’t save you.
The ice that shielded me, that made me strong, began to drip, drip, drip and stream down my face, and Tiras laid his cheek against mine, pressing my head into his shoulder and holding me tight.
You chose me because I am of use. But I chose you because I wanted you. All I ever wanted was for you to love me in return.
He froze, and when he pulled away and peered down at me, it was all I could do not to open a hole in the earth and climb into it. His eyes gleamed in the gathering twilight, and he began to shake his head, rejecting my words.
He brushed the pad of his thumb against my cheek ever-so-softly then jerked his hand away, curling his talons against his palm. Without comment, he sheathed his hand in his glove once more and spurred Shindoh forward, as if words failed him. They had failed us both.
“I need to show you something up there.” Tiras pointed up the narrowing road before us that led to the jutting cliffs and shallow caves that made up the eastern perimeter of Degn. No wall was required here. Jeru City nestled at the base of the hills, sitting on a huge plateau that dropped off again beyond the western wall before descending to sea level and the settlement of Nivea on the outskirts.
I eyed the cliffs and the steepness of the path. It will be dark soon.
“I won’t leave you . . . not yet. And Shindoh knows the way.”
He did, and he climbed steadily, impervious to our weight. Within a quarter of an hour, Tiras veered off the trail at a jutting overlook. The city lay below us, the shadows muting the colors, the wintery light softening the edges and the angles. The castle turrets and towers gleamed, the green flags echoing the color of the evergreen trees that crowded the wall like faithful sentinels.
He slid off Shindoh and pulled me down with him, tethering the horse to a nearby tree and finding a seat among the rocks that peppered the overlook.
“This was my father’s favorite spot,” Tiras said quietly, as we gazed at the shimmering city below us.
I stiffened beside him, not wanting to talk about King Zoltev. He brushed the back of his hand against my chest, as if to soothe my heart, to apologize for bringing his father’s memory to my mind. But he didn’t stop.
“He would sit right here and look down over his city and vow that no one would ever take it from him. That is what he feared the most. Everyone was a threat.”
So he removed anyone with any power that might prove greater than his own.
“Yes,” Tiras whispered. “He did.”
You fear losing Jeru as well. My words were sharper than I intended.
“Not for the reasons you think,” he murmured, taking no offense. “I don’t fear someone will take Jeru from me. I worry that I won’t protect her.”
For a moment neither of us spoke, watching the shadows lengthen and connect as the day came to an end. The castle sconces were lit, and light began to flicker from homes and watch-towers, making the city glow.
“Do you know how he died, Lark?” Tiras asked.
I realized suddenly that I didn’t. King Zoltev had killed my mother, and three years later he ceased to exist. I was only eight at the time, but Boojohni had taken my hand in his and told me the king was dead, that he couldn’t hurt me anymore. I’d had ongoing nightmares about him, about his sword and my mother’s blood, and his death was an enormous relief to the entire keep.
I’d gone to my mother’s turret, closeting myself with her things. For the first time since her death, I’d made poppets and tried to will them to dance and climb and fly. I thought with the king’s death, maybe my words would come back, that I would no longer have to be silent. But my poppets had remained as still and lifeless as my mother’s body on the cobblestones, and my inability to speak had persisted.
No. I don’t know how he died.
“He killed himself. Right here. Kjell was with him along with several memb
ers of the guard. They said he just . . . jumped. We never found his body.”
You will trade your soul and lose your son to the sky.
My mother’s words rose in my mind, and I knew Tiras heard them.
“What did he trade his soul for?” he whispered. “I’ve never understood why he killed himself when he never felt remorse or guilt. Everything my father has done—even his death—has filled me with guilt.”
How are you responsible for his death?
“I thought perhaps my gift drove him to it.” Tiras swung his gaze to mine, and he didn’t look away. “I have spent the last fifteen years trying to be everything he was not. A good king. A fair ruler. A just man.”
You are all those things.
Tiras shook his head, disagreeing with me, our eyes still clinging in the murky light.
“I am more like my father than I thought. He wronged you, and I have wronged you. I have taken you from your home. I have used your gifts. I have taken your will and spent myself in your body. I have given you worry and fear and responsibility. I have taken. Endlessly. And you have given endlessly. I only wanted to save my country. I told myself, ‘I’m doing it for Jeru.’ That’s what my father always said when he did something terrible.”
Bile rose in my throat, the taste of rejection, and I shot to my feet. I moved away from Tiras, from the rocky ledge, needing a moment to prepare myself for what he was surely building up to. But he followed me.
“You were not supposed to love me, Lark. I did not set out to make you love me. And I was not supposed to love you. But I do. And it is terrible.”
I whirled, so surprised I would have fallen if Tiras hadn’t been right on my heels. He caught me and set me back on my feet, his hands gripping my shoulders, his face raw, his despair billowing around him, making the darkness ripple like water.
I laughed.
It was soundless and dry and it hurt my chest. But I laughed. I knew exactly what Tiras meant. It was terrible. I laughed until I felt my face change, crumpling from mirth to grief, but Tiras was relentless.
“Every second I am a bird, I long to be a man. For you. For me. For the child I was so desperate to create. Not for Jeru. For us. You said I chose you because you are of use to me. And I did. But know this, Lark.” Tiras’s voice broke on my name, but he didn’t pause. “I have loved you every moment of every day, and I will love you until I cease to be. Bird, man, or king, I love you, and I will always love you.”
In the quiet of our chamber, Tiras’s kisses were fevered but his caresses were careful, touching me with the backs of his hands, his fingers curled away from my skin. I welcomed him, feeling the battle within us both, the need to reconnect and disconnect simultaneously. He pulled me to him even as he tried to purge me from his pores, and I memorized every line and plane and sinew, afraid that each moment might be his last. We were urgent. We were slow. We were barreling toward the finish, even as we started all over again.
Tiras seemed loathe to release me, but in the quiet space after passion was spent and our skin cooled, he rolled away. I followed immediately and gathered him to me, my eyes almost as heavy as my heart.
“Stubborn woman. Sleep.” Tenderness rang in the familiar command, and a smile touched my lips before his mouth found mine again.
I couldn’t sleep. I wouldn’t. I didn’t. I squeezed every second from the time he had left, kissing his mouth and holding him close until he began to shudder, his eyes full of pain, his body arching from the bed. He was holding on for me, and I put my hands on his chest, willing him to stay, pressing words and spells into his skin. But he was now a part of me, and I could not cure myself.
Then he was gone, bursting from the room, becoming a bird before he reached the balcony wall, soaring up and away from me like he’d never been there at all.
For a solid month, Tiras didn’t come home. He didn’t change. He was an eagle by day and an eagle by night. Some nights he came to me as a bird, leaving me little things, a rose, a magnificent feather, a glittering, black rock as big as my fist. Each morning there was another gift, but no Tiras.
Then he stopped coming at all, though I watched for him wherever I went. I visited the mews daily, my eyes clinging to the rafters, pretending to be interested in the irritable falcons that bristled whenever I approached. Hashim, the Master of the Mews, didn’t question my sudden interest in his birds or my frequent visits, but after several days, he greeted me with a careful suggestion.
“The king must have told you about my eagle friend,” he murmured, not raising his eyes from the bell he was attaching to a falcon’s hood.
My heart lurched but I didn’t flinch, and I watched him warily, waiting for him to continue. He glanced up briefly, and his eyes were kind.
“He has not returned, my queen, not for a very long time. I watch for him too. If he does, I will send word immediately. Never fear.”
I could only nod, fearful of revealing too much about myself and about the king, wondering if Hashim had known Tiras’s secret all along.
Kjell was as drawn and quiet as I, and though there was little love lost between us, we’d formed an alliance, desperate to protect the king and the kingdom, though that was getting harder and harder to do. We’d spread rumors of his travels to shore up support in the provinces, though the guards must have wondered who accompanied him on these official royal visits.
Twenty-eight days into the king’s absence, a message was received by carrier pigeon from Firi. Volgar sightings were increasing in the area, and nests near the shores of the Jyraen Sea were causing general unease. The Lord of Firi wasn’t asking for reinforcements, but the news added to the bleak atmosphere in the castle.
What would Tiras want me to do? I asked Kjell, pacing from one end of the library to the other. I need him to come home.
“There may come a day when he won’t return, Lark,” Kjell said quietly. “We have to face that.”
He will return. He always has.
“You have to start making decisions without him,” Kjell urged. “It is what he has been preparing you for.”
I can’t rule alone.
“He was convinced you could.” It was the kindest thing Kjell had ever said to me, and when he raised his blue eyes to mine, I saw something new there. A begrudging respect, a sliver of forgiveness . . . something. For the first time, I didn’t feel any disdain or dismissal.
“You have to start somewhere. There hasn’t been a hearing in a month. The people are afraid, crime is rising, and altercations abound. Our dungeon is full, and the guard doesn’t know what to do with those they are holding. You have to take his place. You are the queen.”
Will you help me? Will you speak for me?
It was Kjell’s turn to balk.
How will I render judgments if I can’t speak?
Kjell groaned and fisted his hands in his hair.
Sometimes Tiras and I pretend that I am whispering in his ear. That way it doesn’t look so odd when we communicate in front of others.
Kjell looked as if he regretted his insistence on a hearing day, but he agreed, the word was spread, and the following morning I walked into the Great Hall amid confusion and wonder, chatter and whispers. I sat on the throne, and the guard, already briefed by Kjell, began to organize the line of hesitant subjects, who looked as dubious as I felt.
And it began.
One by one, the people approached, quickly stated their case, and a judgment was made. I listened more to what they weren’t saying, just like I’d done before, terrified that I would make the wrong choice. Kjell would lean in, I would cup my hand over my mouth, pretending to speak privately, though my lips never moved, and I would tell him my judgment. He would repeat my verdict and we would move onto the next case. He never questioned me or raised a condescending eyebrow.
I grew more confident as the day progressed, relying almost entirely on my ability to hear what others couldn’t. When I was unsure, I asked Kjell for guidance, and he would make a suggestion. But that happ
ened less and less as the day wore on.
Toward the end of the day, a man came forward and laid a large satchel at the foot of the dais.
“Tell the queen your trouble,” Kjell commanded impatiently.
“I caught a Changer,” the man exclaimed excitedly. “I hunt them . . . for the good of Jeru, of course.”
“Show me,” Kjell commanded, sounding exactly like Tiras, and I heard the same apprehension in his voice that gripped my chest.
The man opened his satchel and pulled out a huge black bird with a glossy white head. He laid it out carefully and stepped back, puffing his chest and standing akimbo like he’d presented me with a chest of jewels.
The bird was limp and lifeless.
I rose from my throne, overcome with dread, and Kjell hissed beside me, telling the hunter to back away. I knelt beside the bird and raised his red-tipped wing. I started to shake, my vision blurring as Kjell pulled me away. The feathers were still warm, and bile rose dangerously in my throat. I collapsed in my throne, unable to stand.
“How do you know it was a Changer?” Kjell asked, his voice so cold the man shivered where he stood, sensing his offering had not been well-received.
“I saw her change,” the man babbled. My heart stuttered and skipped, and guilt warred with the sliver of hope that made me ask, Her?
“Her?” Kjell repeated.
“She was a woman one moment . . . then she changed. She flew away. I set a snare . . . and I caught her when she returned.”
“And you killed her?” Kjell asked.
“She is a Changer,” the man repeated, as if that were explanation enough. I rose to my feet once more, outrage giving me mettle, and the man must have seen something in my face that alarmed him, for he began to back up.
“I didn’t mean to kill it. It was alive in my snare. I covered it in the shroud and put it in the sack. There must not have been sufficient air.”
The law says only the king can condemn the Gifted.
Kjell repeated what I’d said, and the man began to tremble.
“But . . . King Zoltev—” he stammered.