“He brought me this cloak and went back down to the dining area.”
“We decided to set out at first light,” Sy said. “Traveling at night might be safer, but we don’t have a good idea where we’re going. And we’re all exhausted. I’m going downstairs to reserve another room, so we can all have somewhere to sleep a few hours. Unless you’ve decided on a different plan?” He stepped next to the fire, turning her shoulders to face him. He fixed her in his gaze, challenging her. Nikesh blinked between them, watching carefully.
“No. I’m coming with you. When I thought he was a Weshen child,” she gestured to Nikesh, “all I could think of was Kosh. I don’t want any other children being hurt, or any other families being torn apart. Maren will take care of my family. I need to help you. I’m sorry,” she added, reaching her arms around his waist and sagging into him.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her whisper dissolving into his shirt, tugging at his heart. He ran a hand through her hair and held her close.
“If you’re going to get naked, I should probably go,” Nikesh said, breaking the silence of the room. He stood, grabbing more of the bread and cheese.
Sy and Coren pushed apart a little too quickly. “We’re not like that,” Sy said, glancing at Nikesh. The other boy’s eyes sparked, and a sly grin turned up the corners of his lips.
“I’ll come with you to get the keys, then. I could use a stretch,” Nikesh answered. Sy shrugged. He glanced back at Coren, but she had already turned back to the fire, watching the flames do their own shifting with the sources of the wood there.
Resh sat alone at a dark corner table in the dining area, letting the noise of the other patrons drown out all but the most important of his thoughts.
Coren had kissed him back: she was letting him in. Of that he was certain. But why? And why had he pushed himself on her again?
He’d been so wrong about her. So wrong, yet so right. “Little Weshen witch,” he whispered to himself, taking a deep draught of the wine before him. But the words had grown from a curse to something more familiar, somehow almost endearing. Resh had been trained all his life to disbelieve and hate the magic.
But he was no fool, either. Things were changing in the world, and he intended to ride the crest of the wave that was about to sweep across Riata.
Sy’s plan was short-sighted as always.
He and Corentine could kill Zorander Graeme with their magic, Resh was certain of it. But when the Restless King was no more, who could step up to put the pieces of an empire back together? Sy wouldn’t want such a responsibility. He barely wanted to lead his own people.
Without the Restless King, Riata would dissolve into civil war, as all the nations the king had forced to unite tried to separate themselves again.
Resh smiled to himself, absently rubbing a finger over his lips. He could lead them, though.
True, he knew nothing of kings and court games. But he knew people, and he could guess their reactions often before they knew themselves.
He stared into the crowd, seeing nothing except the image in his mind of a beautiful girl, wings curled around them both, lips turned up in a beckoning smile.
Coren’s magic made her a beautiful, deadly weapon. She was uncertain of her power - mistrustful of her instincts to rule those around her.
Her life had done nothing but teach her submission, yet still she did not cower. All he needed to do was push her a little farther, and she would come into her destiny.
Finding and rescuing this child was a boon to all Sy and Resh had discussed. If the boy reminded her of her brother, even better. Now Resh could lure the magic in her to notice the atrocities all around her. Everywhere, there were people taking advantage of innocent Weshen children.
He had seen the darkness swirling in her eyes when she claimed her kill, and he intended to use that darkness to smother the evil in StarsHelm.
Using dark to overpower dark sounded counterintuitive, but he had felt the song of her blood rising when they kissed.
He knew the blood magic of Umbren chased her. If they could find and merge the light of Weshen, the dark of Sulit, and the Shadow of Umbren, they would be unstoppable.
Sy was the strength, Resh was the sly, and Coren was the shifter.
Together, the three of them could rule Riata.
Chapter 30
Coren took advantage of the empty room to strip her wet clothes and gather clean, dry ones. Wrapping again in her cloak, she hurried down a flight of stairs and found the hotel bathrooms, locking herself in the single bathing room.
The water wasn’t very warm, but it was a relief to rid herself of the crusted blood and dirt. Feathers were difficult to wash, and she finally gave up, drying them as best she could. She wished for her own body again, or for the ability to shift in and out of these Vespa wings, the way she could with her younger form.
She even tried SelfShifting, but that only resulted in a young Corentine with wings that were far too heavy to lift.
Sighing, she shifted back and dressed as best she could in the cramped space, her sleeping gown thin against the night air. She threw the cloak over her wings and hurried back to the room, uncomfortable in the knowledge that so many strangers waited around her, down the stairs and behind so many closed doors.
Locking the door behind her, she decided she did not like city life.
“I can help you cut that gown so it fits your wings properly,” a voice sounded from the darkness.
Her grasp on the cloak faltered, and it slipped to the floor as a single candle flamed to life. “Reshra? What are you doing? Get out!” she cried, her words running together. She clutched at the untied neck of the gown.
He didn’t move, his eyes roaming over her form in the thin dress. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sleeping in another room with Sy and Nikesh. You’ll be alone with your thoughts soon enough.”
She glowered, uncertain which was worse - alone with her thoughts, or alone with Reshra.
“You would look stunning in my clothes, though,” he murmured, standing and holding up one of the dresses she had stolen from his closet in Weshen City so many days ago.
“I wish I had been the one to present you with this dress. It would have given me much…pleasure.” He stepped closer, a smile spreading across his face.
“I took what was mine by right,” she retorted, finding her pride and using it to prop herself up taller. “You claimed me, so I chose a dress.”
“And this?” he asked, holding the stiletto out toward her.
“Why have you been going through my things?” she asked, refusing to take it.
“Because you went through mine. It seemed fair.” He dropped the dress onto her open bag and stretched out on the bed, toying with the stiletto.
“What do you want, Reshra?” she asked. Now that she was clean and dressed for bed, her body strained for the warmth of the blanket and the relief of a pillow.
He fixed her with his dark eyes but said nothing. She shivered beneath his gaze, the question hanging between them like a flag of war, or possibly surrender. A log in the fireplace broke, sending a brief spurt of light in the air, and Coren watched each spark die, glad for the distraction.
“Would you laugh if I said I wanted magic?” Reshra asked, his voice barely a whisper. When she turned back to him, his face was open in a way she had never seen. “I want what you and Sy have. I want that power.” He sat and leaned forward, and she sensed a rare simplicity in the openness of his eyes. “I don’t want to be left behind, Corentine.”
Her feet carried her the few steps to the bed without her permission, and she hovered at its edge. His words had pulled her in too easily, as though he already possessed some strange magic. He reached out hand, palming her stomach over the nightgown and stroking the golden circle at her waist with his thumb. Her wings floated out lazily, responding to the touch.
Somehow Coren sensed the severed claw in her skin was the source of her power.
Could it be removed? Was that the sec
ret?
“A true talisman,” Reshra whispered, sliding his hand around her waist to her lower back and tugging her closer. Coren’s mind felt blank with fatigue as she allowed him to pull her onto the mattress, her legs slipping beneath the blanket. Even alone in a room, there was no more reason to fear him. She lay on her side, facing Reshra with sleep-heavy eyes. He pulled the blanket up around her.
“You’re exhausted. I’ll go now, so Sy doesn’t come rushing up here.” He smiled, slipping off the bed. She felt him pause, and his hand brushed the length of her wing, sending her eyes rolling back in her head again. She pressed her lips closed, pretending sleep.
Did he know how much that single touch affected her?
His fingers left her feathers, and she heard the door open. “Sleep well, my Weshen witch,” Reshra murmured, and then the door closed softly behind him.
His words no longer sounded like a curse, Coren thought as she drifted to sleep.
When Sy knocked on Coren’s door the next morning, it swung open. The three boys filed in, finding her standing dressed and ready at the window, staring into the bright morning sun.
Nikesh set a tray of breakfast on the table and sat, keeping close to the food. Sy smiled at him. Nik had eaten his weight in food the previous night, then fallen asleep curled next to the fire. Sometime in the night, Resh had joined his brother in the bed, but he looked less awake this morning.
“Out late?” Sy asked Resh, smearing butter on a chunk of bread. It would be just like his brother to chase a girl the night before a mission. Resh’s eyes flicked to Coren’s back. He shrugged and chose an apple from the plate.
“What can we expect today?” Coren asked, turning. She wore the boys’ clothing they had stolen from Weshen City - a burgundy shirt tucked into tight breeches, and a leather vest with new slits cut for her wings. Her hair was braided away from her face, and her whip wound around her arm, its handle resting on the inside of her wrist.
She strode around the bed, her borrowed boots echoing on the wooden floor. The outer feathers of her tucked wings brushed the walls. She paused before Resh, and when he didn’t move out of her way, she leaned across his chest to spear a piece of roasted meat. Resh choked on his bite of apple, hiding it with a cough.
Nik’s blue eyes widened, and he arched his brow at Sy, asking a question about something Sy was only beginning to notice. Resh was watching Coren stand by the fire, seemingly mesmerized by her form in the fitted clothes. Sy frowned. Why would Resh suddenly gain an interest in Coren?
He cleared his throat. He had no time for this today. “We have a map with abandoned estate homes marked, where slavers often hide the Wesh.” He glanced at Nik, whose face was storm-dark with fury. He rubbed at the scars on his wrists, and Sy swallowed. “But we aren’t sure where the slaves were taken. They might even have been sold to someone outside of EvenFall.”
“If only we could find out who bought them,” Coren muttered.
“We can,” a voice said from the door.
All three of them startled as Shanta closed the door silently behind herself.
“While you were all sleeping, I broke into the auction house.” She pulled a folded paper from inside her leather vest. “The bill of sale,” she added, handing the paper to Resh.
“Shanta, I could kiss you for this,” Resh said, scanning it.
She smirked. “I prefer Riatan gold, thanks.”
“I have that, too,” Resh nodded, glancing up. Then he grinned wickedly. “Though that wasn’t always your preference, was it?”
Shanta glared at him, her hand drifting toward the knife strapped to her belt, and Sy bit back a laugh. Coren swiveled and stalked toward them.
“If you’re done trying to bed another unwilling girl, can you please share the paper?” she said, holding out her clawed hand. Resh placed the paper in it, holding her eyes a beat too long. Sy felt discomfort flush into the room, and he sighed.
Why did his brother have to turn every interaction back to his bedroom?
“My crew and I can hunt down single slaves pretty easily, but I suggest you going after the main purchaser,” Shanta said, turning to Sy. “A single person bought ten of the thirteen Wesh.”
“Who?” Sy asked.
Shanta flicked her eyes at Resh, whose face had grown hard in realization. “The Prodigal Knight,” she answered.
“Who’s that?” Coren asked, looking up from the paper.
“Zorander Graeme’s general, in charge of the Alchemists. And of all Weshen prisoners,” Resh spat. “He belongs to the Restless King, and now so do those Wesh.”
Coren cursed and punched her hand against the wall. Her wings shuddered and pulsed with pale colors, and her claws scraped at the wood. “They’ll be tortured, won’t they,” she whispered. “Because of me.”
“Because of Graeme,” Shanta said harshly. “Don’t place blame where it doesn’t belong. If you want to help those Wesh, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and take back what’s ours.”
Coren turned to Shanta, and the two girls locked eyes, each measuring the other. “You’re Wesh?” Coren asked. Shanta nodded, glaring. “Why haven’t you tried to get through the mountains?”
“Because hiding is pointless! The Restless King never stops hunting our people. He will find a way to cross those stupid NeverCross Mountains, and all you people hiding on that island won’t be safe - you’ll be trapped.”
Sy’s heart dropped, realizing just how right Shanta was. “The barrier will fall soon,” he muttered. Three pairs of eyes turned on him, and he began to rub at his temples. “Now that the magic is returning, the barrier will fall, right?”
Resh cursed. “Let’s figure out this rescue, and then we can take them back to Weshen City to heal. We’ll get the General to let you two back in the city, and we’ll get the army ready again.”
“I’m not going back there,” Coren said. “But I’m up for the rest of your plan.”
Sy grinned down at his breakfast.
Coren soared above the trees, watching for glimpses of movement. She had already doubled back to check on Sy, Resh, and Nik several times before she saw the party of Wesh slaves. They were tied together with loose ropes, and she counted maybe a dozen prisoners and at least two guards following a dirt path through the forest. The trees were thick here, though, and somehow she doubted all those slaves were being held by just two men.
Her boys were still several minutes behind the traveling party and would need to cross a wide part of the stream first.
Just as she swooped down to land near the water and scout a good crossing point, she noticed movement among the trees, too close to be either the slaves or her friends. She scanned the foliage, her nerves thrumming as she noticed how thick the shadows were in this part of the forest. Even the water of the stream was dark, with the sun barely reaching through the dense canopy.
Then voices reached her, and she quickly ducked behind a trunk, her breathing already calming. Shadow, at least, did not speak.
“There are at least ten, according to the auction records,” one voice said, not so much loud as near. Coren shrunk in on herself, praying her wings would not catch any of the few dappled sunspots.
“I wish we knew who had ambushed Oren. That still unsettles me,” another answered. “Losing Nik was a disaster.”
Hearing the gruff voice speak Nik’s name nearly drove Coren from her hiding spot. These men had tortured Nik, and who knows how many others. She should attack. She could beat them. A small whisper echoed in her mind, encouraging her to cut them down with her talons. Coren shook her head, trying to free it from the images playing there.
A figure passed closer now, and then a second. Both men were carrying bow swords, shining daggers strapped to their waists. She saw the glint of Weshen prayer beads at one’s throat as well, and the whisper in her mind grew louder.
These were Weshen, preying on their own kind. Their blood should spill.
A branch snapped beneath her foot, and she ducked to the g
round, cursing under her breath. She hadn’t even realized she’d taken a step. She gritted her teeth against the overwhelming need to go after the men - even in her Vespa form, she may not be a match for two grown men with powerful weapons.
Only the sort of discipline she had gathered from her summers in the hunts allowed her to stay still in the brush, watching them until they disappeared. Then she raced through the trees to find Sy and the others.
“Do you think they could be after the slaves to free them or capture them?” Sy asked Nik when Coren had described the men.
“Capture,” Nik answered, his face dark and drawn with a violent sort of hatred. Coren found satisfaction thinking that now, Nik could repay what was taken from his youth.
“Either way, we need to reach the slaves before they do,” Resh said. “Let’s move.”
Sy heard the man running through the trees for him before he saw the movement, and he ducked low. When the man burst onto the dirt path, he nearly sailed over Sy, who had his longknife ready.
He slashed at the man’s outstretched arms, knocking the crudely-made bow sword away. The man shrieked in rage and whipped a dagger from a sheath on his thigh, charging Sy again. He was large but less trained, and Sy danced around him, almost teasing. Just as the man was about to lunge again, he cried out, and his eyes grew wide.
The gleaming tip of a bow sword push through his chest from behind. The man began to gurgle, blood leaking from between his lips, and he fell like a stone to the ground. Standing just behind him was Nik, a satisfied grin stretching his lips wide.
“This one was especially cruel to me. I know you didn’t need help,” he said, holding Sy’s gaze a beat longer than expected. Sy wondered what Nik was trying to tell him, but another Weshen traitor bore down on them, yelling all-too-familiar curses.
The second slaver was much more skilled, and Sy leaped at him. Nik had been slow to recover his shifting strength, and Sy wondered if Nik might be permanently affected by the Sulit spells.
Shift of Shadow and Soul (SoulShifter Book 1) Page 31