Under a Winter Sky

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Dafne didn’t have to make it a royal command,” Zeph agreed with a flutter of black lashes, “but I hear it was a near thing. Lena is here under protest, too. A pity, as I’d think you two would love the rest of us enough to want to attend. We’re never together anymore.”

  “I see you and Gendra all the time,” he protested, then tugged on one of Stella’s dark curls. “And Willy and Nilly here nearly as often.” It was only Jak and Salena he hadn’t seen as much. “I can’t help it if Jak and Lena are always off adventuring.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Stella replied, eyes darkening and magic making her hair coil around his fingers as she focused on him. Rhy knew that sorcerous look well from his mother and had to resist backing up from it. “I’d like a gift from you tonight.”

  “I didn’t think to bring gifts,” he admitted. Tala just weren’t that great with things, but that was an excuse. He hadn’t been thinking about his friends much at all—he’d been trying so hard not to think about the past. And Salena.

  Stella huffed at him. “Moranu is the goddess of the intangible. Even mossback tradition recognizes that, so we give gifts of promises and favors.”

  Ah. That explained all the scrolls. Now that he thought about it, his mother had tried to explain that to him, but he’d been too annoyed with her to listen. “I’m an idiot,” he told Stella with a smile, mentally apologizing to his mother, too. Something he’d never do aloud. “What would you ask of me, cousin?”

  “You can make it easy for us to be together, Rhy. This group has always followed your lead, and that’s where I want you to take us. That’s the gift I ask of you tonight.”

  Zeph, who’d been uncharacteristically silent till now, smothered a laugh and quickly drank from her goblet, but her blue eyes sparkled with amusement at his expense. He scowled at her, then smoothed his annoyance to turn back to Stella. “This group follows Astar’s lead.” He gestured with his mug at the golden prince, holding forth with expansive gestures as he told some tale that had Salena, Jak, and Gendra laughing uproariously. “As it should be.”

  Stella gave him a pitying look. “I love you, Rhy, but you can be very thick skulled.”

  Zeph actually choked on her whiskey, so Rhy pounded her on the back, much harder than was helpful. She escaped him by briefly becoming a black cat—who clawed his wrist with a brisk swipe before she manifested again, perfectly coiffed and in the same crimson gown and matching jewels. Just figured she’d mastered that trick, too. Nursing his bleeding wrist, he gave her a warning glare.

  “Will you do it?” Stella prompted, gazing at him with earnest entreaty.

  “I will do my best,” he promised her. It was impossible to refuse Stella anything.

  She beamed, happiness lighting her eyes to a silver as bright as her gown. “That’s all any of us asks of you, Rhy. Not the impossible. Just your best.”

  He’d opened his mouth to reply when Astar called out for everyone to gather at the fireplace. Dutifully, they all obeyed—Stella was crazy to suggest that anyone but Astar led their group—and they made a circle around a black-draped table set with pieces of paper, crystal-tipped quills, and elegant short glasses.

  “We’re going to have our own ceremony,” Astar informed them. “And a special toast.”

  “For a special toast, we should open the mjed,” Jak said, surveying the setup. He punched Rhy on the shoulder. “Help me out, Rhy.”

  Though they were speaking Common Tongue, Rhy heard the command sense from his half-Dasnarian friend anyway. “Have you gotten so puny that you need my shapeshifter strength?” he taunted.

  Jak grinned. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  The four women stood together on one side of the table, their soft laughter twining through their animated conversation like flowers blooming on lush vines. Salena had her back to him, and he wondered what they were discussing. Hoped it wasn’t him.

  Astar frowned at Jak. “I can call for footmen to bring it, if this cask is too heavy,” he offered.

  Jak looked affronted. “The day a man can’t carry his own cask of mjed is a sad day indeed.”

  “Oh, good,” Rhy said blandly, “then you don’t need my help after all.”

  Jak poked him in the chest, hard enough to hurt. “Too good to help a common guy with a menial task, Prince Rhyian?”

  “Not really a prince,” Rhy muttered under Astar’s booming laugh.

  Astar clapped him on the shoulder. “Jak got us there, cousin. Let’s see this enormous cask.”

  It was enormous. Astar and Rhy stood back, surveying the man-sized barrel in one of the outer courtyards near a service gate. Rhy coughed into his fist. “Ah, Jak, why under Moranu’s gaze did you bring a cask this huge?”

  “It’s a big party.” Jak gestured at the looming edifice, its towers white against the night sky.

  “What I want to know is how you got it here.” Astar scanned the courtyard as if an answer might present itself.

  “A wagon,” Jak replied. “It’s this device with wheels that common people use to cart heavy things around when you don’t have footmen to do it.”

  Astar and Rhy exchanged glances. “Why didn’t you leave the wagon here?” Rhy asked.

  “Or at least bring the cask inside?” Astar added.

  Jak gave him a look of exaggerated patience. “Because, you royal ass, the wagon had other stuff to deliver, and I told my folks that we could handle it between the three of us. I didn’t know you guys had gone soft.”

  “Can we just get this done?” Rhy asked. “It’s colder than Danu’s tits out here.” Though it was still early in the evening, no light remained in the sky, and the wind bit even harder, the rivets holding the banners rattling on the battlements high above.

  “It’s going to have to be in human form,” Astar said, eyeing the cask. “Too bad, as my bear form could probably hold it, but I can’t return to human form and still be wearing these clothes. Still can’t do that trick.”

  He looked so mournful that Rhy shrugged in solidarity. “Neither can I.”

  “And some of us can’t shapeshift at all,” Jak declared, then flexed his muscles. “But I bet I’m as strong as either of you. We can lift it.”

  Astar tried wrapping his big arms around it, barely reaching halfway around. Grunting and straining, he hardly budged it. “There’s no good leverage.”

  “Idiots. We all three have to lift, which will work better with it sideways.” Jak grinned at them. “Teamwork. Rhy, stand there and be ready to catch it when I tip it toward you.”

  Rhy studied the giant—and heavy—cask with a jaundiced eye. “No.”

  “I’m calling the footmen,” Astar said.

  “An army of them,” Rhy advised.

  “You two give up too easily,” Jak said in exasperation. “Stand aside, then, and I’ll show you. I can carry this by myself.” He shrugged out of his scarlet coat, unbuckled the sword belt, then climbed the cask like a monkey, clipping on some straps.

  “All right.” Rhy put his hands on his hips and stood well back. “Let’s see this.”

  “Wait,” Astar said, holding up placating hands. “That thing is seriously heavy. We don’t want—”

  “Jak says he can do this,” Rhy replied blandly. “Are you impugning his Dasnarian manhood?”

  “Right.” Jak scowled. “Watch this.”

  “I’m watching all right,” Rhy called cheerfully.

  “You are a troublemaker,” Astar muttered.

  Rhy grinned at him. “Love you, too, cuz.”

  Jak put his back against the cask, looped his arms in the straps, and leaned. Slowly, improbably, he lifted the thing. He balanced there with the cask on his back, grunting, breath puffing out white in the torchlight…

  Until his legs gave.

  Jak managed to drop the cask to the side, so it didn’t come straight down to crush him. The cask hit the courtyard stones—fortunately buffered with snowdrifts—then rolled down the slope of icy snow, whipping Jak helplessly toward the sky as it
went. With a shout, Astar and Rhy leapt to stop its roll before it smashed Jak beneath its considerable weight. Serendipitously, with a loud crack, the cask fetched up against the stone-well housing in the center of the courtyard—with Jak still trapped in the straps facing upward, kicking like a squashed bug. Rhy burst out laughing at the sight.

  “You all right, man?” Astar called, then glared at Rhy. “Don’t laugh, he could be hurt.”

  “Get me down from here!” Jak yelled, thrashing at the straps so that Rhy—who’d really tried to manfully swallow his laughter—cracked up all over again. He pointed at Jak, arms and legs flailing as he tried to get loose, but couldn’t get words past the wheezing laughter.

  A smile cracked through Astar’s concern before he squashed it into seriousness. “We have to get him down,” he said.

  Unable to speak, Rhy clutched an arm around his gut and nodded. Astar tried to look disgusted, but a snicker escaped him, snorting out his nose. He tried to stifle the laugh, but that only made it worse. Astar’s face tightened and swelled with suppressed laughter until he looked like a bloated jellyfish about to pop, which only made Rhy laugh harder. Finally Astar lost the battle, his booming laugh ringing out, both he and Rhy leaning against the barrel to keep themselves upright.

  “Fuck you guys!” Jak yelled with renewed frenzy. He went on, but in Dasnarian, the few words Rhy recognized increasingly filthy.

  “All right, all right,” Rhy managed, finally mastering himself. “Hang on. We’ll get you down.”

  Astar stood with his butt against the cask, bent over with his hands on his knees as he wheezed. “I’m sorry, Jak,” he managed to say. “Really, I am. But the way you look—” He choked on another laugh and cleared his throat. “How are we getting him free?”

  Rhy began resolutely stripping off his clothes. “I have an idea.”

  Astar eyed him. “I take it this idea doesn’t involve calling footmen?”

  “Not for us manly men,” Rhy agreed with a thin smile.

  “We could call the girls to help.”

  “We are not calling the girls!” Jak yelled at the sky.

  For once, Rhy agreed. “Strip, Astar, and do the bear thing. Jak can carry our clothes.”

  ~ 4 ~

  “What is taking them so long?” Gendra frowned at the door the three guys had gone through.

  “Hopefully we won’t have to stage a rescue,” Zeph said, tossing back the last of her whiskey. Lena was nursing hers, as she was not a shapeshifter and lacked the hearty metabolism that kept them from getting drunk without serious effort. If Zeph’s story was true—and there was no reason for her to lie or exaggerate—that Rhyian had gotten drunk following his mother’s edict that he attend the party, then he’d had to work at it. Certainly said something about his feelings for her. As if he hadn’t demonstrated that clearly enough with the incident.

  “I could go spy on them,” Zeph offered. “I have a bat form that would work. They’ll never see me.”

  “Never mind them,” Stella said. “They can handle it, and their absence lets us talk. Lena, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m having a great time,” Lena lied through her teeth. Being in the same room with Rhyian was sheer torture. He kept staring at her with intense, broody eyes over the rim of his goblet, like she wouldn’t notice. And he had yet to speak to her directly. She wished everyone could just get it through their heads that she and Rhyian did much better with a desert and a mountain range between them.

  “You don’t have to stay if it’s too difficult for you,” Stella persisted.

  “Yes, she does so have to stay,” Zeph insisted, sliding a long arm around Lena’s waist and hugging her like she meant to keep her from running.

  Stella’s soulful eyes searched Lena’s face. “It’s painful for them, Zeph. Don’t be cruel. You weren’t there for the incident.”

  Stella had been there. She’d been the one to sit with her while Lena cried—and to witness Lena’s vow that she’d never shed another tear over Rhyian. Stella had also promised never to tell anyone what had happened, and she never had. Not even Astar, unless she had told her twin and he’d kept it to himself, too, which was possible.

  “No, I wasn’t there for whatever happened,” Zeph said, sharpening. “Isn’t it time you told us?”

  “No,” said Lena decisively.

  “It’s good to talk about these things,” Zeph persisted. “Isn’t that right, Gendra?”

  Gendra’s indigo eyes widened, and she choked on her whiskey. “Leave me out of it. Rhy is my friend, too. Whatever terrible thing he did, I don’t want to know.”

  “How do you know it was Rhy who was terrible?” Zeph demanded.

  “Because he feels so guilty,” Gendra retorted.

  “He does?” That surprised Lena. Rhyian had never demonstrated a hint of remorse. Quite the opposite. The way he’d smiled when she discovered him, sly and smug and shameless… She clenched her teeth to force the memory away.

  Gendra met her gaze with sincere concern. “He does feel guilty, Lena. He’s never gotten over it, whatever happened between you. I’m not saying you have to forgive him, but at least talk to him.”

  Just then, the doors to the salon opened, music and the roar of the party crowd spilling in, along with Astar in huge grizzly-bear form, Rhyian as a black bear beside him, both of them upright on hind legs as they rolled an enormous cask into the room. Jak followed them, red-faced, hair mussed, walking slowly and stiffly as he carried a stack of clothing.

  The four women stared at the sight. “Do we even want to know?” Lena said into the silence.

  The two bears wrestled the cask upright to stand on one end, then the black bear vanished, becoming Rhyian in his basic black pants and loose shirt, the simple outfit he’d drilled in since childhood so he wouldn’t return to human form naked. He met Lena’s gaze with a crooked grin. “Suffice to say that Jak is an idiot.”

  “We knew that,” Lena replied lightly, excruciatingly aware that these were the first words she and Rhyian had exchanged in seven years.

  Rhyian smirked, his eyes still on hers. “You have no idea. Once we get dressed, we’ll tell you the whole story.”

  He snatched his clothes and boots from Jak, who scowled. “Hey! You promised you wouldn’t tell.”

  “In your dreams,” Rhyian retorted, prowling to the other side of a high-backed sofa and stripping off his shirt. His leanly muscled chest and back gleamed golden in the light of the many candles, their glow lovingly caressing the planes and angles of his long, gorgeous body.

  Astar had returned to human form, too, his clothes a basic white tunic and blue pants. He shook his golden head. “If you ladies would please turn around?”

  “Of course,” Zeph replied sweetly. The four women fanned out for the best view, watching steadfastly and sipping their drinks.

  Astar gave Stella a pleading look. “I’m your brother, for Moranu’s sake.”

  “Rhy isn’t,” she pointed out placidly. “And the Tala don’t worry much about modesty.”

  “Then why is Rhy hiding behind the sofa?” Astar retorted, stalking that way to join him.

  Rhyian shook back his hair as he straightened—clearly naked now, though Lena couldn’t see past the sofa any lower than the carved bones of his narrow hips. He slanted the women a wicked grin. “I don’t want the sight of my glorious nudity to make them faint,” he said. “We have a lot of drinking yet to do. Witness that enormous cask we nearly killed ourselves to bring in here.”

  “I’m the one with the strained back,” Jak muttered.

  “Whose fault is that?” Rhyian shot back, bending to work the tight black velvet pants up his long legs. Was her mouth watering? Lena was definitely feeling warm. Astar was also swiftly changing clothes, but he was mostly a golden blur compared to Rhyian’s crisply dazzling darkness.

  “Let me help your back,” Stella said, going to Jak. His crimson clothes bore wet patches and smears of mud. “Between my brother and my cousin, it’s true
that the show doesn’t do much for me.”

  Jak blew her a soft kiss. “You are a true friend, Nilly. Marry me and be my love forever.”

  Stella blushed lightly. “Don’t tease, Jak.”

  “I feel I should point out that I’m not blood-related to anyone here,” Zeph announced.

  “Me neither,” Gendra put in, with unusual boldness for her. The two toasted each other.

  “Not that it matters,” Lena put in with some irritation, finally managing to wrench her gaze from Rhyian’s brilliant masculine beauty, “as none of us are here tonight for sex.”

  They all turned and looked at her, even Astar, who’d just poked his head through the opening of his shirt. Zeph snorted, unapologetic gaze fastened on Astar’s bare abdomen. “Speak for yourself, Lena,” she purred.

  Astar yanked his shirt down and pulled on his powder-blue velvet coat. “Lena is right. Tonight is for celebrating our enduring friendships, not indulging in lustful flirtation.”

  “You were the ones putting on the naked man show,” Zeph pointed out.

  “Out of necessity,” Astar replied tersely, then glared at Jak, who held his hands up in innocence—the gesture completely ruined by his roguish smile. Apparently restored to his usual agile fettle, he returned to busying himself with tapping the cask.

  “I, for one,” Rhyian put in, gaze lingering on Lena as he pulled on his glossy boots, “would be perfectly willing to be a gentleman and entertain some turnabout, if the ladies care to put on a show for us.”

  “Hear, hear!” Jak toasted with a goblet freshly filled with mjed, dark eyes going to Stella.

  “Absolutely not,” Astar nearly growled, glaring at both Rhy and Jak as he fastidiously buttoned up his jacket. He leveled the glare on Stella, who blinked in surprise. “You’re keeping your clothes on.”

  She made a face at him. “Sheesh, Willy—I grew out of that phase by the time I was five.”

  “Six,” he corrected.

  “Don’t be such a prude, Willy,” Rhyian agreed with a sly smile, prowling over to swipe two of the elegant glasses from the table by the fire, taking them to Jak to fill with mjed. “I miss the days when Nilly ran naked through the halls, sending the fancy mossback ladies into palpitations.”