by T. A. White
“Why?”
“No one likes to be cowed,” he said in a gentle voice. “Especially when they do not see it coming. We are already feared by the other races. Such actions can incite further panic and hatred.”
Tate considered him. She could see how that would be the case.
Ilith’s amusement tickled at Tate’s mind. The dragon found it humorous that the two of them had beaten the other woman at her own game. Tate, on the other hand, just hoped they hadn’t created an enemy.
She turned to Lennart. “Thank you for explaining.”
Every piece of information made her path through this world a little easier to navigate. Knowing that dominance games were a potential every time you met a Silva’s eyes would make antagonizing them a choice rather than an accident.
He gave her a partial bow.
“Would you like to eat first or go on a tour of our gardens?” Gabriella asked, propping her head on her hands.
Tate’s stomach rumbled.
Gabriella laughed. “I guess that answers that. I’ll have additional refreshments brought in.”
Chapter Ten
A woman glided through the trees carrying a tray. Gabriella perked up.
“Bridgette, is that for us?”
Bridgette gave a shy nod, her eyes darting to Tate and then away. Her face was round and her eyes downcast.
“The doyenne asked for something to be set aside since you are our guests.”
How nice. Tate made a face. Perhaps she had misjudged Tala.
“Thank the Saviors. I’ve been hungry all morning,” Gabriella said, reaching for a cookie.
Bridgette tapped her hand. “These aren’t just for you. The witness deserves first pick as our guest.”
Tate was more than willing to accept that. Her stomach rumbled. The snacks they’d started with had disappeared quickly. It seemed the Silva were a perpetually hungry people.
Bridgette set the tray down and offered Tate several cookies. They smelled delicious. Tate’s mouth was already watering. She plucked one off the plate, happy to munch on it.
Bridgette busied herself pouring a cup of tea before setting it in front of Tate. Seeing it, Tate fought against a frown. She wasn’t looking forward to another round. The last one had tasted awful. Bridgette’s eyes were big and soulful as she watched Tate, reminding her of a puppy that expected a pat on the head for a job well done. The other woman seemed a little too eager to please. Not like the other Silva she’d met. Most of whom had a wild, untamed air about them.
“Is the tea not to your liking?” Bridgette asked, looking from the tea cup to Tate and back again.
She looked so hopeful and earnest that Tate couldn’t insult her by telling her that the tea tasted like dirt to her.
Tate picked up the tea and took a small sip. Yup, it still tasted bad. She gave Bridgette a smile that was barely this side of a grimace.
Bridgette relaxed, giving Tate a brilliant smile before standing and picking up her tray.
Tate took another small sip before setting it down.
“Not a fan of the tea?” Gabriella asked once Bridgette was out of hearing range.
“No, no,” Tate said. “I’m just not terribly thirsty right this second.” That was a bald-faced lie. The talking and the cookie, as good as it tasted, had left her feeling parched.
“Relax, I’m not going to make you chug the stuff. Most people don’t care for the tea. It’s an acquired taste.” Gabriella lounged back on one hand. “It was nice of you to humor Bridgette, though.”
Tate felt relieved that she wouldn’t be forced to drink any more of the stuff. She nudged the cup a little further away from her. If anything, the tea had gotten worse the second time around; that metallic undertone being joined with an acrid taste.
“She seems different than I expected,” Tate said, blinking. The world was a little blurry around the edges.
“You could say that. She’s what we call obeziku.”
“What’s that mean?” Tate was beginning to sweat. It felt like the temperature had shot up by ten degrees in the last few minutes.
“The definition in the human tongue would be one who is perpetually young. It’s very rare for our people. It’s usually someone who lacks even a rudimentary level of aggression. Their thinking can be very childlike.”
“I find it odd that the Silva would give such a high-level position in their doyenne’s home to someone who seems so fragile and at odds with the strength they respect.” Tate blinked again, her vision shifting from blurry to darkness and back again.
Something was wrong.
“Yes, in a darker part of our history those who were obeziku were taken into the forest to be abandoned. If they survived and made their way back to a village, they would be forced back out to make their own way.
“Sounds kind of brutal.” Tate needed to get out of here. Maybe find a doctor.
“It was considered more honorable than forcing the parents to murder their own child.” Gabriella sat up, studying Tate with an intense gaze. “Are you alright? You look odd.”
“Actually, I think I’ve had enough of these plants. I’m going to make my way home.”
“I haven’t given you a tour yet.”
“I’ll come back. I just remembered a place I need to be.” Tate moved slowly, her head spinning. It felt like it was connected to her body by only the thinnest of strings.
She put her hands on the table to lever herself to her feet and stalled halfway up. Her arms collapsed, spilling her to the ground. Pain darted through her body, settling like a burr under skin that suddenly felt too tight. As if it was three sizes too small.
“Tate!” Gabriella leapt over the table, landing with a thud next to her.
Tate moaned. Gabriella’s landing sent a cascade of discordant noise through her ears.
Night yowled, a plaintive sound of distress.
“What’s wrong with her?” Tate heard Lennart ask.
Hands felt her face.
“She’s burning up.”
No shit. That must be why she was sweating enough to fill a river.
There was the sound of dishes being moved. Tate could only see darkness. Black upon black in a never-ending blanket.
“No,” she moaned, shuddering. Not this. Not again. She wasn’t going back to the nothingness where her only company was the chill of the abyss.
Hands grasped her face. “What are you seeing?”
“Dark. Cold. I can’t go back there.”
“Hold on, I’m going to get help.”
“Can’t go back. Can’t go back.” Tate’s hands clutched at air.
Gabriella was gone, her voice raised as she shouted. Lennart’s voice joined hers.
Tate rolled over onto her stomach, crawling, grasping for anything. Needing to feel. Needing to reassure herself she wasn’t buried underground in a glass chamber designed to force her to sleep and dream of the hell of an eternity spent alone.
You’re not alone. Ilith shoved forward, her presence a burning hot coal in Tate’s consciousness. You were never alone.
“Ilith,” Tate said, relief desperate in her voice. “What’s happening to me?”
Poison.
“Is that all? I thought it might be something dire. Like death.”
Ilith ignored Tate’s poor attempt at humor. It’s triggering the change.
“The change?” Panic was back in Tate’s voice. “You mean that thing that might kill us.”
Yes. Ilith’s mental tone was grim.
Shit.
There was a yowl next to Tate’s ear and then a raspy tongue swept across her face. A feeling of anxiousness reached her. Tate reached up, her hands hovering until Night thrust his head into her reach. Her fingers convulsed on his fur as a cramp bowed her back. Warmth spilled down her skin.
I smell blood, Night’s voice carried a hint of anxiety. He was scared but trying to hide it. Where are you injured?
Injured. She wasn’t. Just poisoned, evidently.
&nbs
p; We’re changing, Ilith said. Keep them back.
Tate’s surprise shadowed Night’s. How was Ilith able to speak with him? She’d never spoken to anyone before Tate. She filed that under things to ask later.
Night’s roar hurt Tate’s ears.
Her hands were left gripping nothing. She fought to draw breath in, her chest tight—as if someone had put a weight on it and was pushing down.
“We can’t change, Ilith.” Tate screamed as her back rippled, the skin splitting. She could feel sharp scales under her skin, pushing, fighting to rise to the surface. Wings ached to unfurl. Her mouth suddenly felt too small for the number of teeth crowding it.
No choice. Die otherwise.
We promised, Ryu.
That promise was taken under duress and doesn’t apply if our lives are in danger.
Tate suspected Ilith was being deliberately obtuse. That agreement had no such restrictions on it and Ilith knew it.
We change.
“No.”
No choice. Ilith surged forward, taking hold of Tate and shoving her down as she leapt into ascendency.
Ilith did something that Tate couldn’t follow. It was like uncorking a bottle that had been pressurized. Like unleashing a storm that suddenly surged with explosive force, reaching, and reaching for its resolution.
Tate’s skin split, turning back to reveal scales. Her body gained mass. Her bones popped and cracked as they changed.
It hurt, but in a good way, like after a hard run where the burn in the muscles let you know they’ve been used.
The change pushed her along, closer and closer to freedom. Then suddenly it stopped and that good pain changed to the kind that left Tate feeling like she was going to die.
Something’s wrong. Ilith’s panic beat at Tate.
A long, thin sound somewhere between a roar and a scream escaped.
Finish this, Ilith.
Can’t. Stuck. The dragon sounded impossibly young and afraid at that moment.
What do you mean we’re stuck?
I can’t complete the change. Something is preventing me from assuming our form.
Go back. Back to human.
Tate could feel Ilith straining, pushing, but nothing was happening.
It’s not working. Tate got the sense of a dragon with wild eyes and scales a blue so deep they were almost black.
Calm down. Tate thought, sensing her dragon’s fear. Think, concentrate. You can do this.
No, I can’t. Something is keeping us stuck between two forms.
You have no choice. We’ll die otherwise. Just take a breath and find your way through.
Cool hands pressed against Tate’s back. Her shirt had partially shredded in the half shift.
“She’s caught between two forms,” Tala’s voice said above her head as if from a great distance. “She needs to choose one or the other to survive.”
Why hadn’t Tate thought of that? Oh right, that’s because she had.
Night’s growling yowl seemed to echo Tate’s sentiments.
“We do not have the skills to help her,” Tala said. “Our kind is not meant to sustain a full shift. We do not have the knowledge that she needs.”
Another sound of dissatisfaction.
“All we can do is send for someone who does, and pray they arrive in time.” Those cool hands stroked Tate’s face. “Hold on, little one. We’ve sent for help.”
Tate didn’t think whoever they’d sent for would get here in time. The poison’s affects had been negated with the beginning of the change, but her body could not sustain this stress for long.
Tate drifted on a haze of pain, the sound of voices washing over her but making little sense.
“I think it was in the tea.” Gabriella said.
“My lady, it could be dangerous,” Lennart said.
“If we leave her like this, we’ll be the ones blamed.” A voice Tate didn’t recognize.
Tate writhed as pain took her in its jaws and locked down again and again as she floated in a cloud of razor sharp blades—each time splintering her focus further. She felt Ilith in a ball next to her, the dragon twisting and turning as she fought against the thorns that held them in their spell.
They weakened further with each breath.
The scent of a thunderstorm on a summer day reached her. Gentle hands with rough skin touched her face.
“How long has she been like this?”
“For the last hour. We called you as soon as we realized what was happening.”
An hour. Tate hadn’t realized it’d been so long. She was surprised she was still alive. The deepest part of her hurt, the kind of pain that would be with her for years to come.
“She shouldn’t be caught between forms like this. It’s not how the change works.” There was frustration and just the slightest edge of fear in that voice.
“My Ayer said she didn’t look well before she collapsed.”
Tate struggled to form words with unfamiliar mouth. Her jaw didn’t work the way it should and her tongue flopped around creating a hissing noise.
“SSS.”
She shifted, forcing the pain out of her thoughts and tried again.
“Posssss.”
“I think she’s trying to say something,” Gabriella said.
“Possosss.”
It was useless. She couldn’t get her mouth to form the words. Wet rolled down her cheeks.
Hands cradled her face.
“Your jaw and mouth are too far towards dragon to create human words.” Tate knew that voice. Knew that smell. Ryu.
She made a high whining sound. She didn’t think even his stubbornness could save her.
“I know it hurts. You need to push past the pain.”
She couldn’t. She’d tried. Ilith had tried. Nothing they did worked. Whatever that poison had been, it disrupted her ability to make the transition. She didn’t want it to end like this but motivation and sheer bone headedness only took you so far.
“Night, can you get through to her?”
The bed she was on shifted and fur brushed against Tate. She felt an insistent mental nudge, but couldn’t bring her thoughts together enough to connect.
Tate lost the thread of the conversation, sinking back into the abyss.
She came back to consciousness with a lurch.
“Focus, Tate. You’re too close to dragon. You have to continue through the change. Concentrate on one body part at a time. Eyes first.” Ryu’s voice was urgent. “Imagine that there’s a keyhole. You need to push your entire being through that keyhole. Compress yourself down and then shove as hard as you can.”
Tate was tired. So tired. It would be so easy to give up. Instead, she reached for Ilith, dragging the dragon’s consciousness to her, inch by painful inch.
“Good, good. Now your hands.”
Tate could see now. Ryu looked disheveled but his focus was entirely on her. As if he was willing her to succeed with his entire being.
Step by step, body part by body part, Ryu talked her through the rest of the change until the momentum carried her all the way through to dragon.
Transition complete, she collapsed onto her side. For the first time, Tate was actually aware of her dragon parts, all of which ached like she’d spent the last month with the worst case of flu known to man.
Though she was aware and conscious, Ilith was the one in charge. Tate was merely along for the ride.
Ilith panted. She still hurt, but not in the same way as when she was caught in between.
The little furry creature batted at her nose, making a questioning mrrow. Ilith opened one eye, glaring at the creature with its odd markings.
Safe?
A huff of air ruffled Night’s fur. He stepped forward, rubbing his cheek against as much of Ilith as he could.
Enough, she snapped. She wasn’t his territory and didn’t want him rubbing his scent all over her.
Safe?
This time her breath whistled as she exhaled, the sound a grumble.
Yes. Safe.
Both?
She bared the fangs on one side of her mouth. Her tail lifted and then dropped again.
The question came again. Both?
Tate pressed forward, her presence having as much substance as a butterfly. If Ilith had wanted she could have swatted it down with all the effort it would have taken to swat the butterfly.
Why are his thoughts so much simpler now? Tate thought. It was like when she had first encountered Night in the tunnels. He’d had trouble expressing complex thoughts then too. As he’d grown more used to conversing mentally, his voice had gotten more mature as well. His questions now reminded her of then.
Ilith’s thoughts were a tangle, the dragon uninterested in Tate’s question. She was parsing the nearby scents, a snuffling sound emanating from her as she moved her head in a snakelike manner.
She rolled to her belly.
Ilith?
Ilith ignored Tate, focused on that smell. The smell of dirt after a heavy rainfall. She knew that smell. From where?
She snuffled again.
There. It was coming from outside the room.
Where did she know if from? The long sleep had shuffled things around, graying out most. This smell was more recent. Something she had encountered since arriving in the city.
She lumbered to her feet, wobbling for a moment before finding her balance. The small creatures around her squawked and protested.
She took an unsteady step forward. That smell tugged at her. It meant something. Her curiosity consumed her. She needed to track it down.
One of the creatures darted in front of her, blocking her exit. A growl escaped her and was answered by another, deeper one of warning. Her wings rustled with unease.
She sniffed again, her breath washing over the creature. Dragon, like her.
Ah, this was the dragon man her other self danced around from time to time—the one with the pretty eyes and roguish smile.
Ilith approved. He smelled like a windstorm and forest. Windstorms were always the best. They turned flying into an exciting gamble.
She gave a trill in the back of her throat. Asking him to change. To join her in the skies.
He spoke, using the human tongue. Ilith shook her head and huffed at him. She didn’t want to think in human patterns right now. She was free and there was that smell to hunt.